Riding the Dawkins Line

The Dawkins Line Rail Trail is an 18-mile-long rail trail in Johnson and Magoffin counties in southeastern Kentucky. It is longest rail trail in Kentucky. It is currently a multi-use trail that follows the railroad constructed to support the operations of the Dawkins Lumber Company as the Big Sandy and Kentucky River Railroad in 1912. After changing hands a number of times over the years, 36 miles of track were abandoned by the R.J. Corman Railroad Group in 2004. Two years after abandonment, the Kentucky General Assembly allocated funds to begin converting the right-of-way into a rail trail, with the project moving forward in 2011. Presently, the trail runs 18 miles, but is eventually expected to be extended for the entire 36 miles of abandoned right-of-way.

Aiming to spend more time on my bike and wanting to visit the in-laws in Huntington, West Virginia, my husband and I put the bikes in the back of the truck and decided to challenge the prediction of rain and head down to the Jane Beshear Trail Head near Salyersville, Kentucky. We planned to start here and bike to the Gun Creek Tunnel to sate my husband’s dream to see every single railroad tunnel.

It was cool and the weather was not looking favorable, the skies were quite foreboding as we journeyed down U.S. Route 23 from Catlettsburg, Kentucky to Paintsville, and then over to the trailhead off of U.S. Route 460. The rain was holding out.

We parked at the Jane Beshear Trail Head and thought it looked quite nice. There is plentiful parking. Facilities to help folks get on and off of their horses. There are even bathrooms… which were locked tight. It was a little unnerving to find this nice trailhead entirely abandoned with locked pit toilets. We persevered.

We started heading toward what we thought was the tunnel, but realized in short order that we were moving in the wrong direction. In that mile or so we traveled before realizing we were headed in the wrong direction we enjoyed some light rain, stunning views of working farms, and some areas with aggregate that was really testing my calves. Almost back to where we started, a dog came out of nowhere and was quite menacing. I’m incredibly afraid of most dogs, so I was already feeling a little out of place, and this really upset dog was not helping me feel any more at ease.

Back to where we began. Back to the trailhead. Back to the locked bathrooms. I hated that the bathrooms were locked.

We now found ourselves biking through Royalton. Royalton is little more than a Dollar General, a convenience store, and a lot of Confederate flags. The houses, churches, and ruins abutting the trail heading beyond Royalton are a study in Appalachian poverty. I was both glad to see them trying to develop the rail trail and frustrated that the environment was so bleak and unwelcoming. Despite how bleak the built environment was, the natural beauty of this area was impossible to miss. I am grateful for the experience.

About two miles into our journey the rain stated. However, we believed we could not be that far from the tunnel. We decided to keep going. The grade got steeper (logging railroads always pushed the boundaries in terms of grade). The rain fell harder and harder. In a fit of frustration, soaked to the bone, I started belting out You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive, my only audience my husband and those resting in the number of country cemeteries we passed.

Legs burning, soaked to the bone, and full of all kinds frustration, we arrived at the Gun Creek Tunnel. The Gun Creek Tunnel is not terribly impressive as railroad tunnels go, but I am certain that when it finally came into view I had never been happier to see a tunnel in my life. My husband and I breezed through the tunnel, felt like we were starting to dry off from the downpour, and felt that we had accomplished something great.

Gun Creek Tunnel Portal

The best part? It was all downhill back to the car! Though shortly after leaving the tunnel, there was a sign that suggested trail users menaced by dogs should call the Magoffin County Sheriff’s Department. Well that’s too little too late, I thought.

The rain stopped as we coasted the miles back to the truck. Mile by mile, we got a little drier and decided we had accomplished something great and discovered a complicated, beautiful, and pained place.

Locked bathrooms and horse facilities at the Jane Beshear Trail Head near Royalton, Kentucky

Following the Hatfield and McCoy Feud

I have never understood the fascination with the Hatfield and McCoy feud. The entire situation seemed fueled by members of two groups consistently trying to prove their worth but who were really on more of a race to the bottom, not unlike the violence and irrational behavior between rival gangs of now. I will even be the first to confess, I never saw the Hatfield and McCoy miniseries on the History Channel because I am that disinterested and, truthfully, I just can’t stand Kevin Costner (fun fact: both Kevin Costner and I briefly attended, but did not graduate, from Villa Park High School in Villa Park, California).

Nonetheless, when the Hatfield and McCoy Geo Trail was published we eagerly accepted the challenge to be among the first 400 to complete the Geo Trail and receive a geocoin to commemorate the accomplishment. I can’t remember what time we left Morgantown to set out for the coalfields of West Virginia and Kentucky, but when we arrived at our first stop, parked behind a church bus from Mississippi, the rain was pouring and I was a little concerned about how successful we would be.

Our initiation to the geotrail involved a steep trudge up the muddy and rocky driveway to the old cemetery where Hatfield patriarch, “Devil” Anse Hatfield, was buried. Despite the perception of seclusion in the narrow holler a group of about 20 were looking on the grave monument while a local historian described Devil Anse. The rain seemed only appropriate because this man seemed miserable.

Into Matewan we stopped at a historical marker that described the feud. Across the river from Matewan was a site far more dismal. Three of the McCoy boys had been returned alive as promised, but because Ellison Hatfield had succumbed to wounds inflicted by a McCoy, the boys were tied to a tree and fifty shots later none had a hope of survival. It was easy to imagine such horrific events on such a dismal day.

Despite the hot feud, romance between Johnse Hatfield and Roseanna McCoy somehow bloomed. The two ran off, with Roseanne even living under Devil Anse’s roof for a time. But Johnse wasn’t going to settle down and left his fling pregnant and unable to return home. Roseanna found quarters with her aunt. On the other hand, the baby survived less than a year and is buried in the cemetery across the road and up the hill from her aunt’s home. The real kicker in this is that Johnse eventually married Roseanna’s 15-year-old  cousin. The historical marker at the foot of the stairs to the historic cemetery reads like the summary of a daytime talkshow.

The skies began to clear as we approached the home site of Randall McCoy. The only evidence of the home that was there is the hand-dug well, which is maintained by the current owner of the property. The current property owner has generously decided that the site belongs to everyone and welcomes guests to park in his driveway and walk over to the well and imagine the area in the years just after the Civil War. Knowing the story well, the property owner added dimension by informing us the McCoy boys who had been murdered were buried on the hillside across the holler so that Mrs. McCoy could see her sons each day. It was such a bucolic place.

Perplexing for me is the feud began over a pig. Times were hard then, but I still can’t imagine a pig instigating a blood feud. But a pig showed up on Hatfield property so they claimed ownership. So did the McCoys. A jury of six Hatfields and six McCoys decided that the pig belonged to the Hatfields. Selkirk McCoy sided with the Hatfields. The case was decided by “Preacher Anse” Hatfield. Preacher Anse’s cabin has been restored and rests below the Hatfield Family Cemetery. In this cemetery is a washstand used by the Hatfields. Feud history aside, it is an interesting relic of Appalachian life at that time.

We continued on the trail toward Pikeville, Kentucky. With six geocaches (of 15) remaining, we sought the grave of “Bad” Frank Philips. His grave is deep in a holler and involved gravel roads narrowly hemmed in between trailers and a creek. Upon arrival it is clear this cemetery has only recently seen efforts of maintenance and improvement. Some of the steps to the burial sites are uneven and loose. Frank’s wife, Nancy McCoy (her first husband, as indicated above, was Johnse Hatfield), is buried here, but so are a few others. Particularly startling was a primitive grave stone from 1992. It appeared to be made of a small square of cement with the last name and year of death written in it by hand with a stick. Times were hard for the Hatfield and McCoys, and the times continue to be very hard in eastern Kentucky.

The last five sites toured us around Pikeville, Kentucky. Numerous times we caught ourselves saying how nice the city looked and how it exceeded our expectations. The university and medical school look to be modern, quality institutions and many of the neighborhoods are populated with beautiful homes.

We finished the trail at the Dils Cemetery. Here many of the McCoy family members are buried, including patriarch Randolph McCoy. It seemed appropriate because we began with the burial place of Devil Anse. The feud was officially ended in 1891. The silence was evident in each of the cemeteries we visited. While many of the descendants of the Hatfields and McCoys moved on, some remain in the area and add dimension to the tale.

As we finished up at the cemetery one of the two people who took the effort to place the caches came up the hill. Our timing was perfect. Before we left Pikeville we were able to obtain our geocoins, evidence we completed this historical challenge!

I still don’t really understand the allure of the feud. It seems like a relic from a certain era of American history, but it’s a story that could be told just as easily today. In fact, I think it’s a story you can see on daytime TV. The differences between the Hatfields and the McCoys still separate us today and the results of brutality toward one another are no less damaging than they were then.

We returned to Morgantown after 2:00am. Exhausted, but thrilled.