Southern Splendor

In 1972, on the fabled Chattooga River a few miles north of Lake Hartwell, the lead characters in Deliverance fell into all sorts of backwoods peril. Twenty-four years later, the river was selected as an Olympic training site for a European canoeing team, prompting a joke by Southern-fried comedian Jeff Foxworthy. The punch line, delivered in Foxworthy's trademark redneck whine: "If Ned Beatty couldn't make it down that river, a bunch of French guys in tights don't have a chance!"
Lucky for me, this is real life, not the movies; this is Lake Hartwell, not the Chattooga; and, as far as I know, I won't encounter any skinned-head, overall-clad inbreds playing Dueling Banjos on this trip.
No, the only deliverance I seek today is the kind offered by a 56,000-acre reservoir inside 962 miles of shoreline and oodles of vein-like inlets filled with smooth, skier-friendly water. My companions are my wife, Robin, and the people we'll encounter as we explore Lake Hartwell.
The first is John Evans, a dedicated water skier whom we've arranged to meet in tiny Westminster, South Carolina, a stone's throw from the Tugaloo River - or northwest - side of Hartwell.
To earn a living, Evans works as an insurance claims investigator a few miles north of Atlanta. But to really live, he and his wife, Jenny, spend as much time as possible at their lakefront cabin. John, president of the 16-member Tugaloo River Ski Club, rises early several days each week to run the nearby slalom course at dawn.
Built by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers between 1955 and 1963, the reservoir backs up from Hartwell Dam, 7 miles below the point where the Tugaloo and Seneca rivers join to form the Savannah River. By plugging up the Savannah, the lake's creators allowed water to flow back into hundreds of hills and dales once enjoyed only by cows and farmers. The valleys extend north 45 miles up the Seneca River and 49 miles up the Tugaloo River. There must be something to all the talk we've heard of secluded skiing spots and relaxed boating. The 77 launch ramps provide some pretty solid evidence.
We've come to find out for ourselves. As we hop aboard his '84 MasterCraft, Evans - tan, chiseled and wearing shorts and a T-shirt, with a U.S. Navy cap over his closely cropped hair - unfolds the litany of reasons he spends so much time commingling with these waters.
Hartwell's skiability varies widely from one side of the lake to the other, Evans tells us. He and his ski-club cohorts have chosen to set up their slalom course on the northwesternmost portion of Lake Hartwell, in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, because it's narrower, quieter and less populated than other parts of the lake.
"This is some of the most beautiful country on earth," says Evans. "With these mountains in the background, it doesn't get much better."
The secret is escaping, Evans reports. "Development has started to creep in, and that means more boats. But still, it's pretty quiet up here, except for a few real busy summer days. Now, let me tell you, from buoy 60 (just above Tugaloo State Park) on down, traffic picks up. From there to I-85 and farther south, it's just like every other lake in the Southeast on a Saturday afternoon."
Below Reed Creek, Lake Hartwell opens up and the water skiing gets tougher. "It's open, busy, choppy," says Evans. "People with big Sea Rays who aren't even going to think about getting wet rule the lake."
Even up the Seneca River to Clemson - a stretch of lake with its share of coves and inlets - the higher population can make smooth water a rare commodity at times.
That said, the lake has its share of assets, including cleanliness, sparse development, well-marked buoys for easy navigation, and its proximity to cities (Atlanta; Asheville, North Carolina; Columbia, South Carolina) and to the ruggedly beautiful mountain territory of northeast Georgia and the Cherokee foothills.
Evans' insights are great, but there comes a time to stop talking and to start carving. We dart into Bruce Creek, and after about three curves we emerge at a pocket of flat water. After dialing in my trusty Connelly Revolution, I hop out for some open-water slalom pleasure. Evans drives, Robin kicks back, and I work on my edge changes. Now this is living.
Later, en route back to Evans' dock, he tells us to make sure we check out Lake Hartwell State Park and Tugaloo State Park. "For camping and facilities, it's hard to beat this end of the lake," he says.
As we pass two fishermen in a boat along the shore, Evans remarks that anglers and skiers coexist in relative peace on this lake. But asked if he likes to fish, Evans reveals where his sports loyalties lie, at least for the foreseeable future: "Only when I'm too dang beat up to ski anymore - then maybe I'll fish," he says.
After parting with Evans, Robin and I drive to forest-filled Lake Hartwell State Park. Circling the camp roadway, we notice a slalom ski leaning against a trailer. Bingo. It turns out the Staub family is on its monthly pilgrimage to the lake.
The five-member family, says father Joe Staub, lives in Stone Mountain, near Atlanta, about an hour and 20 minutes from Lake Hartwell. But they come here as often as possible to camp, boat, ride personal watercraft and ski.
"Lake Hartwell is cleaner than Lake Lanier [just north of Atlanta] and less crowded," says Staub. "It is starting to get a little more crowded. It's still not bad, though."
The family puts in at Harbor Light Marina off I-85 at Georgia exit 59 (in sight of the state park), and ventures "all the way up north, where the mountains come into view," says Staub. "The lake is loaded with channels and coves, great places to ski and tube. Up north, where it gets more shallow, there are some shoals and sandy areas for the kids to play. There's a little bit of everything."
The Staub children - 11, 9 and 7 - are learning to ski on Hartwell, which their father calls "a family-oriented lake. It seems well patrolled. And there's lots of calm water. Early in the morning or late in the evening, it doesn't matter where you are; it's quiet and calm. The coves are big and open too. If you want to slalom, there are a lot of good, long coves."
After leaving the Staubs, we zip into Harbor Light Marina for a chat with general manager Keith Ingram. Keith - who nowadays spends most of his time selling boats and running the marina - sounds wistful as he recalls his favorite places to ski on Lake Hartwell. "You'll find good skiing up at Choestoea Creek, north of the marina up the Tugaloo," he says. "Or the stretch that runs south of here to Weldon Island [Buoy 11] has some really good places - especially Reed Creek. We used to ski up there quite a bit."
Just then, we hear the rumble of a runabout down at the waterfront ... but wait, it's actually our stomachs. Lunch time. Evans, Staub and Ingram have all recommended Jolin's Fish House or Gum Log Barbecue. Jolin's is open only at night, so we head for Gum Log. The place oozes country character and, more important, its pork, chicken and fish dinners ooze flavor (and quantity). No wonder we hear that so many skiers and boaters flock to Gum Log between sets.
After a nap we head down to Portman Marina, where the sailboats at the yacht club mesh perfectly with the sparkling lake top. It's true, we discover, that Lake Hartwell is more open in these parts. But a few skiers tell us that calmer water lies only several bends away.
As day fades toward evening, we return northward for more slalom work. Those edge changes still need improvement, but it's tough to concentrate with the approaching sunset spilling its light on the hills that surround the lake.
We turn in early. The sleep is so good along the water that we don't realize our alarm clock has malfunctioned and, dag nab it, we miss the early-morning slalom sets with Evans and the other Tugaloo River Ski Club diehards.
No need to fret, though. The rest does us good. And we're sure that Evans and company have given splendid Lake Hartwell all they've got - and that she has gladly granted them water skiing deliverance in return.

Writer and water-fun lover Phil Newman lives in Nashville, Tennessee, with his wife, Robin, and 2-year-old daughter Abby.