The Big South Fork of the Cumberland River is a 76.0-mile-long (122.3 km) river in Tennessee and Kentucky. It is a major drainage feature of the Cumberland Plateau, a major tributary of the Cumberland River system, a world-class whitewater canoeing and kayaking stream, and the major feature of the Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area.
The Big South Fork begins in Tennessee at the confluence of the New River and the Clear Fork at the southern end of the Big South Fork National Recreation Area near an oil field developed by petroleum interests. It is downstream from extensive coal deposits. This confluence occurs approximately 4 miles (6 km) northwest of the U.S. Highway 27 bridge over the New River, in Scott County, Tennessee. From here, the river runs roughly north. This area is extremely remote. The river flows through a deep gorge which has been eroded through sandstone of the Pennsylvanian Period. A large island, unsurprisingly called "Big Island", is located fairly near the Kentucky state line. Many rapids features have names by which they are well known in the whitewater community. The stream enters McCreary County, Kentucky, shortly below this point.
This area was depopulated when the National River and Recreation Area was formed. The balance of the stream course prior to its confluence with the Cumberland River downstream of the National Recreation Area is in Daniel Boone National Forest. It is bridged by Kentucky Highway 92 near the community of Hill Top.
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“You shouldn’t be a big shot about your fate. I’m an enemy of Destiny, I’m not a Greek, I’m a Berliner.”
—Alfred Döblin (1878–1957)
“While the South is hardly Christ-centered, it is most certainly Christ-haunted.”
—Flannery O’Connor (1925–1964)
“Wherever a man separates from the multitude, and goes his own way in this mood, there indeed is a fork in the road, though ordinary travelers may see only a gap in the paling. His solitary path across lots will turn out the higher way of the two.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
“The river’s tent is broken; the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights.”
—T.S. (Thomas Stearns)