I hiked Pilot Mountain and lived to write about it. So it was only 2063 feet tall and I didn't make it all the way to the top. So the outcropping of grantie rocks stopped me in my tracks. I can walk hills, I can't scale rocks.
But I still claim to have accomplished climbing Pilot Mountain. Did I go above and beyond the task of a storycatcher?
No, especially since I caught more than sore muscles on this trek. I caught stories.
Wonderful, gold mining stories.
Trouble is, these stories from the western side of Pilot Mountain are the same stories from the eastern side of Pilot Mountain. Each story is specific to the mountain, each almost identical about two different sides of the mountain.
Gold mining flume from the top of the mountain: east side, ten miles long going past the knoll where the schoolhouse would later be; west side, three miles long aiming toward the setting sun.
East side, old man sneaks to his hidden spot to dig for gold, purchases a car. West side, old man sneaks to his hidden spot to dig for gold, buys groceries. East side, teenagers hide to catch man in act of digging, intending to sneak back and find their own fortune. West side, same exact teenage legend. Both sides, unsuccessful teens that never found the secret.
I had to come back home and rewrite chapter one!
Catch of the day,