Old Mill at Newry -- Off the Beaten Path

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January 29, 2011

It has been a couple of weeks since I have been out on the bike due to weather and other priorities, but there is a place I have been wanting to visit for some time.  It is an old textile mill about twenty-five miles from home.  Since the mountain roads are still covered with salt and sand, it is a good time to head out for this less-challenging terrain. 

I have to work for a while today, so I bundle up, as the temperature is about 29 degrees.  After a few hours at work, the temperature has risen a few degrees, so I start out on my adventure. 

Here is the route I have plotted out, so you can follow me today. 


View Larger Map

I wend my way west on mostly secondary roads, stop for a few minutes at Cateechee (at Pushpin "B" on the map) to watch them remove a dam on the Twelve Mile Creek that used to provide power for an old mill, long since torn down. 

After a spell on main roads again, it gets very secondary on Substation Road.  Catchy name, eh?  It is so named because there is an electrical substation near Old Clemson Road at Pushpin "C" on the map.  The road surface is well-graded fine stone, and is firm and flat in most places.  Before I go a quarter mile, it feels as though I have gotten off the beaten path and into the mountains.  It is quiet, and peaceful.

 

 Somebody's motorcycle is on the road in the right background here.  I wonder whose it is. 

I stop a couple of times, then begin to follow the Little River on my right.  I get my first distant glimpse of the mill I am seeking.  It looks majestic and stands proud in the distance in the bright sunlight.  I can almost imagine smoke billowing out of its chimney, powering the machinery within.  I take in the scenery for a few minutes before mounting up again.  Just a little ways further, completing only a mile and a quarter of gravel, I reach the thoroughfare called Broadway Street in the town of Newry.

Even though Broadway is one of the main streets, it is not so much of a thoroughfare these days, for two reasons.  One reason is that Newry is not on the way to anything else.  There are only two paved roads out of town, and they both go in the same general direction.  Only Substation Road leads out another way.  The other reason that Broadway is not too heavily traversed is that there is no other economic activity here.  The mill was the only major employer, and it closed many years ago. 

From the Oconee Heritage Center website:   

"On April 21, 1893, [William Ashmead] Courtenay and his associates received a charter from the South Carolina secretary of state 'to establish a factory in Oconee County for the manufacturing, spinning, dying, printing, and selling of all cotton and woolen goods.'
"To his stockholders, Courtenay wrote, 'It was in a sparsely settled and unfrequented corner of the county; labor had to be brought there, shelters built for them; in fact all the primitive conditions of the distant border had to be dealth with, machinery for brick making and other purposes had to be transported from distant points, one and a half miles of railroad must be graded and built...'"

The mill was built in 1893 by Mr. Courtenay, a former mayor of Charleston South Carolina, 1879 to 1887.  He found this place for building his new cotton mill that reminded him of his ancestral home in the town of Newry in Northern Ireland.  Both town sites are located in a river valley surrounded by wooded hills. 

Mr. Courtenay's portrait from the Courtenay Society website:

Courtenay was one of the pioneers of the industrial movement, which had transferred the bulk of the American cotton industry from New England to the Southern states where the raw material is produced. The South in the days before the Civil War had despised manufacturing, but the men who rebuilt the war-ravaged Southern states were well aware of the importance of industrialization.

Most of the buildings here in Newry were erected between 1883 and 1910.  The mill's waterwheels first turned on June 14, 1894, starting production. 

I arrive at the town square, which is flanked by the company office...

...and the company store with its second floor assembly hall and adjacent post office building. 

Photo circa 1935

The small, frame post office was replaced by this nondescript addition to the store about 1940.

Photo circa 1980

The mill entrance is located on a third side of the square.

I make my way closer to the mill grounds.  The gate in the fence is non-existent, and there are, surprisingly, no signs warning of trespassing.  I can now see that the building is in poor condition.  The once-numerous windows are mostly bricked closed, blotting out the natural light that was so important in days gone by, and there is not an unbroken pane of glass to be found.

The mill was designed by one W.B. Smith Whaley, and consists of four floors served by a stair tower in the center of the front, but I note that the wood-framed warehouse visible in the aerial view is gone now.  I look back at the gate, and visualize the workers coming to work through it.  It was just a short walk to work for the residents of the town. 

I park and venture toward the stair tower.

The wooden stairs inside are rickety, and the floors are rotted in places.

Please do not enter this building due to the danger.  

I peek in.  There is little to see but desolation, where once there were 10,000 spindles (some sources say 18,000) for spinning thread from fiber, and over 250 looms for weaving the thread into cloth.  It now lies silent except for the echos of my footsteps. 

The concrete dam that originally powered the mill still extends across the Little River, but coal boilers were installed in 1905 to provide more power and thus increase production. 

Mr. Courtenay died in 1908 at the age of 71.  His sons continued to run the business until about 1920. In 1946, the Courtenay Manufacturing Company merged with Anderson Cotton Mills, Panola Mills, and Grendel Mills to form a corporation called Abney Mills. 

Smallpox and influenza epidemics, droughts, floods, and lack of raw materials all hindered the operation of the plant over the years, but it was finally offshore competition that caused it to close in 1975. 

After I leave the mill building, I wander all of the streets of Newry town.  The mill village is much like hundreds of others in the south.  This one has about 115 houses in four styles, mostly doubles, plus a few larger houses for the boss men, and a Neoclassical house, named Innisfallen, built for the mill founder.  The latter, located on a ridge southwest from the village, is now in ruins.

 

The four types of double worker houses.

All of the houses were served by a sewerage system, running water, and electric lights.  Some of the houses are now well kept while others are run down.  This particular house has seen much better days, but some, er, ingenious roofer has solved his too-short ladder problem in an innovative way. 

Yes, that is a stepladder standing on a wooden platform attached to the roof of the porch. 

The textile industry was by far the largest of any in South Carolina.  In 1880, there were fourteen mills in South Carolina involved in cotton manufacturing.  By 1900, the mills numbered around eighty.  The industry employed about 45,454 wage earners in 1909.  In 1890, workers in South Carolina textile mills earned an average weekly wage of $5.17.

I leave the little town and climb up to SC-130, to Pushpin "C" on the map below.  This road crosses an earthen dam that helped Duke Power create Lake Keowee in 1971.   Lake Keowee covers Keowee Town, site of the capital of the Lower Cherokee Nation.  Keowee, meaning "Place of the Mulberries," was visited by Spanish explorer Hernando DeSoto when he came through the area in 1540.


View Larger Map

I can see the village of Newry from here, on the right below me...

...and the water of the lake and the distant Blue Ridge Escarpment to my left.

 

The elevation of the mill site is about 700' above sea level.  The surface of the lake is about 797' today, so it is, in round figures, 100' above the town.  I hope this dam holds!

Lake Keowee covers 18,372 acres, with 300-miles of shoreline, and is used for hydroelectric power, cooling of the Oconee Nuclear Station reactors, boating, and other recreation.  Upscale homes line its banks.

After I wander about a bit on some nearby roads, I find others that lead generally north until I reach SC Highway 11, the Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway, which runs along the base of the Blue Ridge Escarpment.  I motor north on it until I reach US-178 and the Holly Springs Country Store where many bikers gather.  I ride through the lot, but don't see anyone I know, so I continue south on 178.  This is the somewhat curvy section that I like, so I go at a pretty good clip until I get backed up by some slower traffic near Pickens. 

It has warmed up to 62 degrees by now and I take familiar streets until I reach home.  My odometer says that I have traveled 123 miles today -- a short ride to a historic place.

I've enjoyed taking you along.  Come again! 


If you go:

Coordinates of Newry: 34°43′33″N 82°54′25″W

Get there by boat:  See the Paddle to Newry posting by Tom in his Random Connections blog.  He paddled his kayak from the Lawrence Bridge over the Keowee River branch of Lake Hartwell.  He has posted many more photographs of the mill and of Newry.

Videos by others: 

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Acknowledgments:

The black and white photos in this posting are from the South Carolina Department of Archives and History, National Register of Properties in South Carolina.  Note that the name of the mill founder, Mr. Courtenay, is misspelled on this page.  Must be government attention to detail and efficiency.

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First Trip to Whitewater Falls

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February 2008 -- about a year ago.

The Blue Ridge Escarpment just north of where I live has many waterfalls, most of which have been described by Allen Easler on his website.

One of my favorite destinations is an easy ride to one of these waterfalls.

Whitewater Falls is located on the Whitewater River just into North Carolina in Jackson County on Route SC-130. It is 411 feet high, and is located in the Nantahala National Forest.

The route from home is through Pickens, SC (where the red star is on the map), then north on US-178 to the Holly Springs Country Store at the junction with SC-11. Recall that “the store” is a favorite meeting place for motorcycle riders. I stop here for a few minutes to see if any other riders are around. They are not today, so I go on my way to the south on SC-11.

I have previously described SC-11 as a nicely-paved highway with very long sweeping curves and straights. Along the way is Keowee-Toxaway State Natural Area. There are not many facilities here, but there is a small museum of mostly Indian-related items and information, a campground, a picnic ground, a view of Lake Keowee, and one rental cabin. Hiking and kayaking are nearby. Here is some additional information.

It is a bit cold this morning – about 40ºF, so I welcome the warmth of the museum. I thaw out while I look at the displays. They tell the story of the Cherokee Indians who once roamed this area and their relationship with the European settlers of South Carolina.

I start back out of the park and continue south on SC-11 about six miles to route SC-130. The turn is a sharp right. I am not yet very good at negotiating turns that are greater than 90 degrees, so I take it slow. I try to keep the engine pulling through the turn, rather than coasting for best control.

SC-130 is a nice road for most of its length to the falls. The curves are almost all sweepers, and except for a few places where the surface has been patched, it is well-paved. Some of the better riders tell me that they take a few of these curves at more than 100 miles per hour. I can muster only a little over half that most of the way, and I don’t think it wise to go that fast on a public road anyway. Yes, I expect that it would be exhilarating to do so, but I am always concerned about what could be around the next bend: sand on the road, an animal, or a stopped vehicle. Maybe some day a track school would be a safe way to learn to ride fast in the curves.

It is about eleven miles from SC-11 to the Whitewater Falls entrance. Since I have never traveled this way before, I am watching for the park entrance in this mostly wooded area. I think to myself that it would be pretty in the spring and fall with the budding trees and colored leaves. I have returned many times since that day, and it is, indeed, beautiful along here.

I cross the state line into North Carolina. There is a sign there stating that motorcycle riders must wear a helmet. This is not a requirement in South Carolina for riders who are twenty-one years old or greater. I have come to find that riders along this road frequently stop just south of the state line to don their helmets before continuing. I can’t help but think what would happen to their noggins if they took a spill without a helmet. For my part, I don’t want to find out, especially first hand.

Just a few hundred yards beyond the state line, the entrance to Whitewater Falls appears on the right. I cautiously survey the entrance, slowing quite a bit before I have to turn. Ah, it is not gravel. I make the turn into the road leading to the parking lot. I spot a rest room building on the way in: I’ll need that soon. The parking lot is almost empty, there being only two other cars. Since is it rather cold, there are no other bikers.

I stop and put my two-dollar entrance fee in the envelope and take the parking stub with me. The view back toward Lake Jocassee from the parking lot is already pretty good. I cannot see the falls from here, though. There is a paved path that leads from the parking lot through an open area with a few picnic tables and benches, and it is slightly up hill. In about a half-mile, I reach a vantage point from which the falls are visible. I have left my riding gear on to help keep the chill out, so I am walking with it on.

It has been dry here for some months, so the falls don’t look as full as in some of the pictures I have seen. I gaze for some time over the edge at the distant falls. I snap a few pictures, and try out the self-timer on my camera to see if I can take my own picture. It is a little difficult to make sure the camera view is right, so I take several. Note the fluorescent yellow vest I am wearing. This one was purchased from the Motorcycle Safety Foundation originally, but mine came from the Goodwill Store. I paid all of $2.00 for it, a nice bargain.

I'll stay back!

Smile for the camera.

There is a wooden stairway to the right that leads to another observation platform, offering a nice alternate view of the upper falls. The Foothills Trail is accessible from here as well. A sign says that there are no other views of the falls from the trail, so I linger a while and take some more photographs here.

Long way down.

Whitewater Falls is the highest waterfall east of the Rockies. Unlike Niagara Falls in New York, it is actually a series of waterfalls, as you can see from the photographs. Niagara, and the adjacent Horseshoe Falls in Ontario, are unusual in that they are not cascading, but are one massive drop. Niagara Falls drops one hundred seventy-six feet, though due to rocks at the base, the actual fall is seventy feet.

Interesting aside:

Here are some facts about Niagara and Horseshoe Falls.

Niagara Falls was turned off for inspection in 1969. I visited there on a vacation while it was turned off. This faucet feat was accomplished by installing an earthen cofferdam upstream of the falls. Horseshoe Falls remained flowing, and I suppose that the upstream diversion structures and tunnels diverted more than the usual amount of river water through the various hydroelectric powerhouses in the area. It was thought that something should or could be done to reduce the rate of erosion of the lip of the American falls to maintain their esthetically-pleasing appearance, and to prevent their eventually turning into a series of rapids. They decided that there was nothing that should be done. That was a good decision, I think: Man probably ought to let nature handle itself rather than spending massive amounts of tax money on them. Now some forty years later, the falls still look fine without our having meddled with them.

Another interesting fact is that there is a now-shut-down hydroelectric plant on the Ontario Canada side whose discharge is in the form of a tunnel that exits behind Horseshoe Falls. A group of urban explorers went there and documented their trip. Exciting, if dangerous and illegal stuff, this. See this and this as well.

...and a long way back up.

Once I have taken my photographs of Whitewater Falls, I face the long climb back up the steps. I like to try to keep myself on good shape, so I hoof it apace up the stairs. I count one hundred fifty-four. I find myself panting for breath at the top, so I look over the fence at the falls again for some time and sit for a while on a nearby bench before heading back down the path.

There is another bench at a parting in the trees where Lake Jocassee is again visible in the distance. I sit for a minute and take in the view. As I walk, a young couple is going the other way, and look me up and down as though I were an alien. Well, I guess I do look a little like that. …or a Power Ranger as they refer to me at work, maybe.

By the time I reach the parking lot, I am thirsty and take a drink of water from the bottle I have carried. It is important to keep hydrated. Even in the winter when you are not perspiring heavily, there is a significant loss of moisture through your breath in the dry air.

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The Chicago Region BMW Owners Association has a useful article that many of us can profit from called Flatlander's Ride Guide for Twisties, by Tom Brown.

"Manage your hydration level. Drink water at every stop. When you're 'in the wind', fluids leave your body quickly. If you get even mildly dehydrated, your mental ability will suffer...and you'll be prone to panic and bad judgment."

I also eat one of the crunchy granola bars my wife buys for our son and I. I may have eaten a peck of them so far in my lifetime, but I have lost count. I finish my water, then walk over to the restroom. Without going into too much detail, the color is light, indicating proper hydration.

That complete, I go back to my bike and prepare to leave. It occurs to me that the bike has been out of my sight for a considerable period of time today. Someone with a pickup truck and a couple of helpers could have scooped it up. I really ought to consider an alarm system of some kind.

I start the engine and run slowly in first gear back to the main road. I now notice that I must stop on an upgrade with some gravel scattered about while watching for oncoming traffic on this curving road in both directions. I must manipulate the rear brake, clutch and throttle properly to start out from here, all the while making sure some vehicle is not bearing down on me.

I am apprehensive about this. I am still not very good at coordinating all that I must do in this situation. I look both ways – luckily traffic is almost non-existent, then concentrate on the controls. I slip the clutch a bit more than I should, but otherwise get up the hill and out onto the road again without too much trouble. I will have to practice this many more times before I get better at it.

I shift through the gears and make my way back to route 11. The road surface is more broken on this side of route 130, so I go a little slower in places. I feel a bit less tense than I did on my way up, so I enjoy the ride to a greater extent.

The first thing I pass on the way back is the entrance to Lower Whitewater Falls. Unfortunately there is an automatic gate that keeps me out. The property is owned by Duke Power, the power generation company. Anyone is granted access by driving up to the gate and letting the pavement sensor open the gate. My motorcycle is not massive enough to trip the sensor no matter where I position myself, so I have never been beyond it. I would have second thoughts about going, since the sensor on the other side might not let me out again!

Once I reach route 11, I stop, survey the traffic, and turn to the north -- the way I came. I move along at a good clip here on the mostly straight, smooth road. This is much less difficult riding for me, but I maintain my vigilance in case a hazard should appear. There is temptation to go fast here on this road, and many motorcyclists have been pinched by the police who patrol this road.

After fourteen and a half, miles, I reach “the store” again. Unfortunately, there are no other bikes there again. I move through the stop sign at the crossing with US-178. As I do, I imagine trying it to the north, with its challenging turns. I am not yet ready for that, so I turn my face toward the easier road ahead and continue on.

I pass Table Rock State Park, and turn at the Old Country Opry onto SC-8, through Pumpkintown, then on SC-135 back to Easley. This is part of the same route I have taken – and written about -- before.

As I near home, I feel a sense of accomplishment: I have ridden on my motorcycle to a place I have never been to before. It feels good, and, looking back, I think I was beginning to formulate what has become my favorite type of ride – to a destination, make a stop to look around, then ride some more. I will write further about this preference in future postings.

Also, as I near home, I find that I don’t want to stop today. I think of excuses to stay out longer. Let’s see, the mail can be picked up at the post office, and I could go by the Wal-Mart to see if there are any squids posing there, and, by the way, I wonder whether my mother in law could use some company. Well, there is mail, there are no squids today, and she enjoys a visit. I also enjoy warming up in her house, as I have become a little cold from the ride.

I down a glass of water and have some conversation at Mom’s house, then put my helmet and gloves back on, preparing to ride out of her neighborhood, then the short distance home. I still don’t want to stop today, so I circle through an adjacent housing development and do some low speed, figure-eight tight turns in a cul-de-sac. I have come to do this -- and practice quick stopping -- almost every time I take a day ride. It is a fairly safe place with controlled traffic, but the people who live right there probably wonder why this guy on a silver motorcycle is weaving about in seemingly random patterns in front of their houses. (They may be some of the same people who have seen me navigate through there on in-line skates, so events like this may not be so out of the ordinary after all.) Another good place to practice is at the DMV. Their test course is not far away, and I sometimes stop there to practice as well.

Finally, I return home, put the bike and my riding gear away, and relax. The trip odometer reads 112 miles, my longest ride thus far. The route.

Here are some pictures of Whitewater Falls and Lake Jocassee taken at other times of the year. God's creation is sure pretty, isn't it?