The river arcs around Jim Bowline’s big sheep pasture and then snakes on down toward the lake. The river is wide. On one side its banks are high, a remnant of a downriver mill that needed the water piled up.
Bowline’s been on this river his whole life. He grew up on this land in Hiltons, this stretch of the North Fork Holston River.
He was one of seven children, poling across the river in an old boat his dad had built to catch the bus. It was quicker than walking the road. He went out every evening as a teen to swim or watch the river flow. He witnessed ice tides, breaking free with shards slicing fish and whole trees.
“Whatever it hit it cut in two,” he said. “Water is a powerful thing.”