Reflections on Those other Great Lakes

A trailersailor recalls time spent on Tennessee Valley Authority Lakes

By Norman Stringfield

In the early 1940s the Federal Government, via the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA), in its infinite wisdom, decided to dam up several rivers in the eastern part of Tennessee. The reason given for flooding the land of the farmers who’d held it for generations was, depending on who was telling the story, to generate electricity for the hill folks, or for flood control. Either way, while it created some beautiful lakes, it also ended the legacy of many families in the area. Almost all the landowners were compensated for the loss of their property except for the families in Bean Station.  Since the residents wouldn’t or couldn’t decide on the value of the land, the government just went ahead and built the dam in Jefferson City and flooded Bean Station out of existence. While there is still a Bean Station in Hamblin County, it’s not on the original site of the village. The movie The Wild River (1960) recounts the building of one of the dams and the the people’s opposition.

Fast forward 80 years and you have a series of lakes nicknamed “The Great Lakes of Tennessee.” I sailed on two of them. The first was Douglas Lake, where I kept my boat in Dandridge TN (named after Martha Dandridge Washington and touted as the oldest city in Tennessee). Douglas Lake was created by damming up the French Broad River in Dandridge. The marina was not far from the dam and up a little finger of water. The problem was the “tide” in the area. There were two “tides” each year (instead of 6 hours they were 6 months in duration). Then the “tide” was out (i.e. the dam’s flood gates open) the water level in the marina drops to mere inches at the deepest parts. So I had to move the boat in October and return it in March or April.  The French Broad River runs from Rosman NC  joining with the Holston River in Knoxville where both rivers then connect with the Tennessee River in Knoxville.  A bit of trivia—the Disney Mike Fink, King of the River TV series were based on flat-boat loggers moving logs from Del Rio TN to New Orleans by the French Board to the Tennessee to the Mississippi. I was at Douglas Lake for a year and a half and got tired of having to move the boat twice a year and besides, because of the proximity of the dam and the city of Dandridge, wind was almost nonexistent most of the time. 

Driving around one day I discovered a marina in Talbot ,TN (Cedar Hill Boat Dock) with a couple of sailboats and asked about dockage. The dockmaster said a better facility would be Black Oak Marina in Jefferson City.  So, I drove up there and found heaven. There were 30 or so sailboats on a dedicated pier ranging from 22 feet to 30 feet, with miles of open water straight off the marina.  The body of water was known as Cherokee Lake or Cherokee Reservoir.  The marina was in 80 feet of depth with the flood gate closed, and 45 feet when open. Plenty of water under the keel!  The only issue was it was located in the mountains of East Tennessee and the temps in the winter dropped to the teens, so there was the possibility of ice forming around the boat. However in the 12 years I was there I only saw ice form once and it was very thin. There was one year when a late deep freeze killed thousands of newly hatched fingerlings. The birds came in from as far away as New York state to feast on the departed fish.  

This marina is the home of the Cherokee Lake Sailing Club and almost all of the sailors with a slip were members.  The club had a very active racing schedule and was about as informal as you can be and still claim to be running an actual event. There were no formal rules, boats sailed on no specific classes, and the first boat over the finish line was the winner.  There was no trophy nor records kept. It was just fun.  I never entered my own boat in any race because at 16 feet I was always going to end up being the pickle boat. I did crew on several races, but if any skipper yelled at me for any reason, that was the last time I crewed for them.

I eventually became the Secretary/Treasurer of the club along with organizer of all the family events like the Memorial Day/Fourth of July cookouts and the Christmas Party.  I also organized what I called “Gathering of the Fleet” for the winter months when no one was sailing.  We would just get together at some watering hole and tell lies about our sailing ability.  Occasionally I was able to get a guest speaker.  All in all it was a very good group.

I did also actually manage to sail the lake quite a bit, aboard both the Lusty Slogger and later the 22-foot Helsen, The HenryLina, named after my grandson Henry and granddaughter Angelina.  Sometimes I’d sail with the fleet, but usually just my own course—which on occasion was quite thrilling!

One yearly sail was the Persimmon Cove Overnighter. Persimmon Cove was about 10 miles from the marina and was an island. No one knew exactly why it was called Persimmon Cove since there were no persimmons on the island, nor did it seem like there were any remnants of persimmons trees. It didn’t matter since it was a definite destination, protected from strong winds, uninhabited, and had deep water for most of the area within the cove. A group of us would sail a few days before Labor Day.  We’d set-up a cooking site and clear the beach for those who wanted to tent rather than sleep on their boat.  The next day the rest of us would sail in and observe Labor Day by not doing a lick of labor!  

On my first trip to the island I was told to come into the beach bow first, get off the boat at the bow, wade ashore in the 6 or so inches of water and tie-up to some trees. I came in bow first but decided to jump off the starboard side amidships. The island was apparently sitting on a very steep cliff. Thinking I was going to jump into a foot of water—down I went—drowning my phone, my car keys and my leather shoes! Fortunately only 22 of the 23 people who’d sailed to the island were present to watch me go swimming.

I am basically a klutz and was always doing something that led to mirth and whispered discussions among other members of the club.  Once, on a very nice day—temps in the high 70s, and a good breeze—I was sailing along peacefully when I somehow fell asleep headed toward shore! I woke up about 30 feet from a series of underwater rocks with just their tops out of the water. Another 30 seconds and I would have holed the boat! Needless to say I did everything to stay alert for the rest of the sail.

The lake was dotted with several islands. None were named.  I decided we couldn’t have that so I began naming the more prominent islands. When the lake was full there were two islands about a half mile off the marina that I named Trina’s Dad and Barbies Toes. When the lake was down in the winter the two islands become one solid land mass running from the shoreline. Someone suggested the name “The Dry Tortillas” for that.  If you said it fast enough to outsiders it sounded like I was sailing my little craft to Trinidad, Barbados and the Florida Keys!  

There was another island we used as one of the waypoints when racing on the “short course.” I named that one The Isle of Moe Rocca. There was one named-structure that was used as another marker when racing the “long course.” It was named Millers Rock after one the sailors who’d run aground on it several times. When the water was at “high tide,” only the top 6 inches were above. Supposedly there was a can buoy marking its location, but we suspected the professional fisherman on the lake would move the buoy on a regular basis. In my twelve years of sailing there I never found it.

There was a member who was a judge whose boat was named Justice Prevails. He ran aground and it was suggested he change the name of his boat to Motion Denied.  Other than those few obstacles the lake was clear and deep, running over 100 feet deep in spots. The only possible thing to complain about was found right in the club newsletter’s name: The Light and Variable. Mountain lakes have fluky wind patterns.  Wind shifts were common and “interesting.”  You could sail on a run going up the lake and on a run on your return.  Another nice thing about the lake was that 90% of the non-sailboats were pontoon boats that didn’t go whizzing across the lake at 100 knots. 

Our club members were a much laid back bunch, as I said earlier. Everyone was willing to lend a hand if you needed any sort of help. We referred to the Commodore of the club, Donnie Roberson, as “The Mayor of the Marina” because he was always available to help.  It was said you should never hint you have even a really minor problem because The Mayor wouldn’t let you go back out until it was made right.  The Lusty Slogger sprung a leak and almost sank at the dock, with only the dock lines keeping her above water. I was going to take it to a place that worked with fiberglass and patch whatever hole had developed. They wanted $600.00 for the job. The Mayor took a look at the boat while it was on the hard and determined the cockpit drain had given way.  He had me purchase $35 worth of some goop, and repaired the hole for me.  Until I finally sold the boat, I never had another leak!

When I first joined the club there would be a race about every two weeks.  Problem was, when the race was over everyone would tidy up and then just go home. There were no awards ceremonies or even keeping track of who’d won. I decided to start having a hot dog roast for the racers when they came in.  I bought the hot dogs from Sam’s at wholesale prices. Got the sailors to bring their families down to the dock and when the race was over we’d all eat and drink beer or whatever. I didn’t race, so I wanted to do something that made me part of the club.

Sailing on the lake was always a joy.  I don’t remember any sudden storms of note.  There was one incident where one of the members, approaching his slip, was hit by a “williwaw” and his boat was forced hard aground right in the cove. We all got out there and pulled him free. I think that was the last time his wife would go sailing with him!  At any rate, the waters of the lake were pure, the air was clean and the dues were cheap. 

I have no stories of being caught in a near hurricane in Lake Superior or sailing around Cape Horn or dodging ice bergs in Alaskan waters.  I have, however, sailed in Florida, Tennessee, Maryland, and in the mouth of Tokyo Bay when I was stationed in Yokosuka Japan.  Of all those places I miss Cherokee Lake and not only the excellent sailing conditions but also the camaraderie  of the members of the sailing club the most. Tennessee is a beautiful state with excellent lakes (thanks to the TVA).  And when I take my final sail I want my ashes to be spread on this beautiful lake.  Either that or I want to be stuffed and put in a corner in my living room, although my wife says that is probably a no go since it would freak out her new boyfriend! •SCA•