On Troublesome Creek

 

Christian Greetings Beloved, 

Troublesome Creek flows for roughly 42 miles through eastern Kentucky, traversing Perry, Knott, and Breathitt counties. Its headwaters begin at the confluence of the Left and Right Forks near Hindman, Kentucky, and its mouth empties into the North Fork of the Kentucky River near Haddix, just outside Jackson. Long before modern industry and coal mining arrived, much of the area surrounding the creek was occupied almost entirely by mountain men and pioneers. Around 1892, William Wolman described the headwaters as pristine; he noted abundant aquatic life in its waters and lush banks lined with rhododendrons. I spent much of my childhood in that same creek, Troublesome. I’ve no doubt that, despite all the tires and other debris, it’s still just as beautiful today as when Wolman saw it in the late 1800s. Among the animals I caught were many types of salamanders, darters, freshwater mussels, snapping turtles (both soft-shell and common), gar, various sunfish, spotted bass, smallmouth bass, and probably some largemouth too, not to mention multiple species of catfish. Nowadays, the banks of the creek are mostly lined with white oaks and tulip poplars, with other trees scattered throughout.

 Moving forward on a semi-related note, According to my research, swinging bridges started to appear across Eastern Kentucky in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as a pure necessity in the hills. Often, folks’ homes, schools, and even entire communities sat on the far side of creeks like Troublesome, and a simple timber-and-steel-cable span was the easiest way to stay connected when waters rose. Many of those early bridges still survive today: their steel cables let them flex through floods far better than more brittle, rigid structures. Clay County alone once boasted over a dozen of them, and I don’t see why they say twelve as if it’s such a grand number; there are at least thirty swinging bridges between Perry and Breathitt counties alone. I have fond memories of my cousin Bub, who was terrified of swinging bridges; he’d beg his dad, Toehead, to push him across in a wheelbarrow every afternoon after he got off the school bus to their small house on the other side of the holler. My buddy Charles Turner and I would laugh at him all the way home after. Tho, I must say, I too was scared of swinging bridges when I was little, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to adore them. I’ve always loved swinging bridges since I've gotten older and thought they were downright beautiful: their rugged boards, the way they stay, and the sense that they’re as stubborn and resilient as the people who built and use them every day. Going back to the topic of smallmouths, Gierach notes in chapter 19 of All Fishermen Are Liars that folks have often said they’ll be the next big thing in fly fishing, and I see why. They’re absolutely beautiful fish, with that golden-bronze color, and they’re a lot of fun to catch. I’d even go so far as to say that fly fishing for smallies on a little creek like Troublesome might be the perfect introduction to the sport for a redneck. As a matter of fact, I've been thinking ever since I read the chapter about the Japanese fly rods that I might just go out and cut myself an old cane pole and make one myself  with a few eye hooks and a Walmart fly reel. (All Fishermen Are Liars  chp. 19 & 13) I grew up along the stretch of creek near Highway 476, spanning Breathitt and Perry counties. Troublesome has long been central to the life and focus of the region, much of which was settled by folks like several of my great-grandparents who followed Daniel Boone through the Cumberland Gap. Though I grew up Mennonite, my family were historically Old Regular Baptists, a strict five-point Calvinist denomination with deep ties to the old country and its styles of worship and hardness.  If a body listens to Gaelic psalm singing and Old Regular Baptist line singing, they can’t help but hear the similarities. Troublesome was, and still is, central to the lives of many folks where I grew up in Rowdy. I remember hearing stories from my great-grandpa Arnold about floating lumber down the creek from Fugate’s fork on down to Haddix, long before Route 476 was built under FDR during the New Deal years. One especially troubling story he told was about how he and his brother were working a logging site one night when a mule fell into the creek and let out the most awful squealing sound, caught hypothermia, and drowned in the frigid water, a bleak reminder, he said, of how Troublesome earned its name.  My great-grandfather Arnold made his living on the banks of Troublesome doing logging, and I reckon if anyone knows that creek, it’s him. He’s not only shared stories about his work along its waters but also about hauling in massive flathead and channel catfish up near Pigeon Roost, by where the old Robinson Schoolhouse used to stand. He even said he had caught a trout in there at one time and told me that it may have found itself in Troublesome due to a flood. On another related note, baptisms still take place in the waters of Troublesome, just as they have for the past two or three hundred years. The photo is of Bro. Eldon Miller and Bro. Gene Fugate performing a baptism down below the Little Buckhorn Creek Mennonite Church, which I grew up in. Unfortunately, the creek’s setting in the steep foothills of the Appalachians, where sandstone and shale are the mainstay, results in every drop of rain running directly into the stream. This downfall brings ecological richness but also devastating floods. In July 2022, what many called a “thousand-year flood” unleashed catastrophic flash floods along Troublesome Creek and Highway 476. Over three days, parts of Eastern Kentucky received more than ten inches of rain, causing the North Fork of the Kentucky River to crest at a record 43.47 feet in Jackson and claiming 39 lives in Breathitt County alone; dozens more perished in surrounding drainages. My mother lost her home and multiple animals in the 2022 flood, and I lost family members—all reminders of how quickly a beautiful creek can turn deadly. Coal mining only compounded these problems. Studies show that surface mining in the North Fork basin, including mountaintop removal, may have added over six billion gallons of water by altering drainage patterns and stripping vegetation. As a child growing up in Rowdy and over in Clayhole, I often felt our home shake when blasting occurred on the nearby ridgelines. It should also be said that a lot of the folk in Eastern Kentucky do not have septic tanks; they have what I like to call a Kentucky straight pipe, which emptie mostly into nearby rivers and creeks, only adding to the ecological threats to the waterway. Back when most folks relied on outhouses, sewage issues were minimal, but today waste from homes and sediment from abandoned strip jobs continue to wash into the creek, threatening water quality and aquatic life. 

Despite these threats, a new one has risen. The current Trump administration is aggressively undermining environmental protections and reversing the progress made in safeguarding our planet over the past 70 or so years. By prioritizing economic interests over environmental sustainability, they in turn threaten the long-term well-being of the planet’s waterways and us humans as a species. In this critical moment in our nation’s history, it is of the utmost importance that we, the citizens, speak out and advocate for the protection of what has been achieved and resist further harm. 

As in the words of the Prophet Nehemiah, “I told them of the hand of my God that had been upon me for good... ‘Let us rise up and build.’ So they strengthened their hands for the good work.” Now is the time for individuals to strengthen their resolve and take action, ensuring that the good work done is not undone but instead advanced for future generations so they, to can enjoy fly-fishing for smallmouths on a small Kentucky creek. To close, I’m reminded of the final line in A River Runs Through It: “Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.” That’s how I feel about Troublesome. My grief, my people, my past, all of it runs through them waters.