Impure Waters

By James D. Hutcherson

When the small North Carolina mountain town of Eli was flooded in the early 1940s to make way for a TVA dam and lake, the homes and businesses were buried beneath the water—but buildings weren’t the only things buried. There are hushed stories of a spirit that lingers beneath the murky waters, hiding a dark secret.

Judy and her husband Craig journey to the area to care for her ailing adopted grandfather. The elderly man reveals some interesting anecdotes about his own life in Eli, but the sharing of this information is more than mere storytelling. Judy and Craig are now entangled in a sinister plot, set in motion seventy-five years earlier by an evil presence and complicit town residents.

Seeking truth, Judy and Craig begin investigating, but their poking around does not go unnoticed. Their lives are in danger as Judy uncovers past nefarious plots while moving closer and closer to the answers she seeks. This is a battle of good versus evil, influenced by both Appalachian and Cherokee myth, as four time periods coalesce to reveal a terrible truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Sep 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480894440

James D. Hutcherson

James D. Hutcherson lives in North Carolina and is an avid enthusiast and reader of local history and lore. He has undergraduate and graduate degrees in biology and a doctorate in education. He now lives in the small seaside town of Ocean Isle Beach with his wife and their cat. James previously worked in environmental protection and has taught biology in the NC Community College System for the past 25+ years.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

There’s an old appalachian poem that was found years after the curious events of 1945, in an old archive of the Jordan public library. Some say it was written about the submerged ghost town of Eli. Some say it was the writing of a decrepit, aged teacher who had gone mental in the last days of his or her life. Some say it was the writing of a guilt-ridden soul. And still others say it was the writing of someone haunted by a nefarious spirit.

Regardless ….

It rested in a shallow vale,

Suckled by the river’s alms,

Would suffocate the very life,

No solace found in bitter psalms.

What baneful spirit now resides,

Beneath the murky, bemired town,

Held hostage by colluded guilt,

Until forgiveness by the drowned.

Such absolution has a price,

For souls once sold shall have no rest.

Pernicious purpose is betrayed,

When impure waters have recessed.

A regional book of facts painted quite a picturesque vision of the pre-ghost town era Eli:

Eli was a small mountain community of nearly 650 residents. At the entrance of the town, there were three stores on your right, C.L. Jergins’, Masterson’s, and Mentz’ General Store. On the other side of the street sat T.W. Lawsons’ store. Between there and the Tennessee river, which ran through the center of town, was a sawmill operated by Tom Jergin. As you crossed the river by the old covered bridge, Bennet’s Garage sat on the right. The old corn mill sat just below the garage. A barber shop run by G.L. Clawson was just up the road on the right. Between the barber shop and the train tracks, the US Post Office resided. J.C. Gordon owned the store across from the Post office.

The train depot was just across the tracks on the right. At that time, Steven Bradshaw was the Postmaster, who stayed in that position until his family was forced out with all the other families by flooding of the community to create Luftana Lake. Before he was Postmaster, he was employed in the general store making $2.10 per month. You could set your clock by the train which ran through the center of town 3 times a day; two times a day to Murphy and once to Bryson City. Mike Joyce’s farm occupied the far end of Eli.

The Eli Elementary School overlooked the Depot from the hill above it. The building had been a small hotel at one time when Hensley Lumber Company was operating. Gerald F. White, Sr. taught grades 1 and 2 at the school. In addition, he taught all grades at Irvin Creek. Older children attended Picorney High School in the area that is now Maston’s Boat Docks.

Two churches existed in Eli, the Methodist and the Freewill Tabernacle. Two doctors practiced in Eli at different periods, Dr. Barton and Dr. Axton. When they moved on, Dr. Carson from Bryson City would travel to the town to see patients. If residents needed to see a doctor sooner, they would ride the train to Sylva or Bryson City.

The local magistrate’s office/jail was located a short distance down the road between the bridge and the Freewill Tabernacle. Joseph Greene was the first Sheriff of Eli followed in later years by his son Ansel.

CHAPTER 1

Eli I (1983)

Martin maglio, and his friends, tom patrick and jennifer Sasser had been planning this trip for a while. Scheming took some time and researching this possibly dangerous venture, and preparing for it, required a little more extensive training than most excursions. Becoming competent scuba divers demanded great attention to detail, which could mean the difference between life and death. Still, in their minds, all the time and effort were going to be worth it. To date, as of 1983, no one had successfully photographed the underwater town that had gone down in legend.

When Maxton County sold enormous tracts of private land in the 30s and 40s, including the aforementioned small, bustling town of Eli, to the national government for the purposes of creating the Luftana Lake and the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, residents of the town and surrounding areas were immediately displaced. At the time, the government had promised to finish US Highway 299, which would allow previous residents some access to the homes that remained, family land and cemeteries. But the Road to Nowhere was never finished. Today, the few people that visited described strange and eerie feelings within the expanse of the lake and park. Many left within a short time of arrival.

The three college students turned adventurers were very aware that others had made this trek, never to be seen again. Sinister stories surfaced intertwining demonic forces inspired by old mountain ghost tales and Cherokee legends. Still others had posited more rational theories about water hazards ensnaring the would-be history makers. And then there were those who had been in the area for decades that understood some of the historical politics, authority-posturing and backwoods entrepreneurship practiced by men of dubious demeanor; when mountain dew meant a whole `nother thing. Naïve, curious explorers had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Dead men tell no tales, they said.

I sure as hell hope you checked the O2 levels and ran through the safety checks, Martin said to Tom.

Martin was a details guy which probably explained his decision to study the quickly developing field of computer science. He could be found most days in his dorm room, sitting for hours on his Commodore personal computer, using the latest computer language.

Martin appreciated the fact that Tom, who had been his roommate for two years, dealt with his typical elevated anxiety levels and anal-retentive nature. I’ve already told you that I did. We’re in tip-top preparation man, Tom assured him.

Tom, being a student of the emerging field of molecular biology, was also a relatively detailed person but believed more in the fluid nature of things. Some things just couldn’t be rushed, he had told Tom. Not that he didn’t believe in assisting nature as needed with the knowledge and technology endowed in man through natural selection, as he had often added.

Jenny, as they liked to call her, interjected, we’ve been over the list, checked everything twice, and ready for smooth sailing … or smooth swimming, she laughed. Martin appreciated the fact that she always managed to keep her composure, at least until someone threatened her worldview or her nerves got the best of her.

She often played the moderator for her cohorts in crime also, until said threat emerged. As a sociology major, she had often imparted on Martin an Tom that she believed she had a duty to transform society into a rational creature, even if limited for the time being, to her closest friends, one person at a time.

I just want to make sure there are no hiccups, Martin replied. You guys know it’s going to be dangerous enough skirting the local law and rangers, going in complete dark, let alone using equipment that we’ve only trained with for two months.

We all have a little scared shitless syndrome Martin, but it’s gonna be fine, Tom tried to assure him. We’ve been over this again and again to the point we could almost live normal lives in these tights and underwater breathing equipment. Take a chill pill.

Jenny interjected, and anyway, these small-town officers will all be home on Thanksgiving evening gorging themselves on turkey and giving thanks for their ancestors that got the local natives drunk three hundred years ago and convinced them to give up their land for worthless bobbles and fire water, giving them the plague as a bonus.

As the little band’s self-appointed kumbaya leader, Jenny also played the role of social conscience to the group. She often participated in rallies and the like pushing a more utopian vision of the future. Those damn, old, white conservatives could rot in hell, as far as she was concerned. Martin could care less. She was a good friend that stuck by them, held the group together, and, as he saw it, entertained them with her stereotypical liberal, white guilt, college bullshit. They could easily motivate her to go on the latest socially conscious tirade.

Tom, having an alternative view ideologically speaking, would often challenge her if nothing more than to rile her up. I think your interpretation of American history is a little skewed towards the typical anti-American propaganda of the liberal media, Tom countered. You and the rest of the socialists would rewrite everything that makes this country great.

Wouldn’t have to rewrite it if the conservative white supremacist wackos didn’t screw it up to start with, romanticizing how our forefathers discovered and created this great nation with their bare hands, as if there wasn’t already a civilization here that we took advantage of, murdered and whose land we took possession of.

Hell yeah, kicked ass and took names, Tom said, bellowing with laughter.

Okay, okay, okay, yelled Martin, we need to focus on where we are right now. You know Tom’s just trying to get you ramped up.

Well he can kiss my ‘ramped up’ ass, said Jenny, sulking.

Tom grinned.

We’re coming into Jordan now, Martin said, trying to distract the two combatants.

The car slowed down, and Martin began to focus hard on the forested sides of the road.

Eli, having been submerged, precipitated the creation of a new, even smaller town at the edge of the lake called Jordan. To call it a town was really pushing it. In actuality, it was a sleepy haven of cottages that had either remained after the flooding or had been built in later years as summer homes by the wealthy of Charleston or half-backs from Florida. The term had been created as a derogatory term for Yankees who had moved down to Florida, discovered it was too hot and moved half-way back. Half-backs.

Except for a main street containing three obligatory antique shops, IGA grocery, general store, library, and Sheriff’s office, the town had not grown to the heyday of Eli at its zenith, such as it was. The Greene family had remained, and its dynasty of lawmen had been continued and inherited by the latest Sheriff, Ansel Greene, Jr. And Ansel Greene and family preferred that Jordan stay as is.

Look for the entrance to the boat docks, Martin instructed. According to the map, there’s an old dirt road right beyond that entrance that will take us right down to the edge. The aerial photos showed that it’s pretty grown up with lots of trees, but that’ll only help us to slip in without anyone seeing us.

Maston’s Boat Dock and ramp, Tom stated with excitement.

They all craned their necks forward focusing on the road ahead.

And there, my friends, is what appears to be an entrance to an overgrown road, Tom stated with obvious nervous apprehension.

Martin pulled his used 1980 Jeep Cherokee Chief up the overgrown road, throwing them around as the wheels felt for solid ground. The grasses and sedges clawed at the sides of the car as if deliberately halting the enterprise; an attempt to either dissuade intruders or protect the uncorrupted.

The Cherokee Chief came to a halt as Martin assessed the situation in front of him. I don’t know if I want to risk taking the car any further. The ground seems pretty soft, and besides, I think I see some downed trees up ahead.

The lights of the car revealed an unkempt landscape of crisscrossed maples and oaks, interspersed with thorny brambles. And yet, there was an opening through the wooded terrain made obvious by the dark archway under the branched canopy. A little unnerving, thought Martin.

No less unnerving was the distant sounds of owls, coyotes and other nocturnal creatures beginning their own forays into the cold, moon-lit dusk.

How far are we from the lake? asked Tom, noticeably apprehensive of their next moves.

It shouldn’t be more than a hundred feet from what I can tell, replied Martin. We can carry everything that far, no problema.

If you’re sure, said Tom.

I don’t know about you guys but I’m getting some bad vibes about this, said Jenny. Maybe we should try talking to the lake manager or town administration again. I mean, we could do this during the day and do it legally, and we wouldn’t have to be so damned secretive and scared.

Dammit Jenny, scolded Tom, knowing that Jenny would create a snag at the last moment. We’ve been through this over and over. No one is willing to give us that opportunity, and hell, they even threatened to put us in jail if we tried.

And we might very well end up there or worse, Jenny bit back. Remember the guys from Charlotte, just five years ago?

Jenny, now is not the time to wuss out, said Tom. And besides, no one knows what happened to those idiots. One newspaper article I read on the microfiche said some townspeople witnessed a group of students who were drunk off their asses trying to snorkel from their boat in the Balsam Creek end of the lake. Another article said that account was never verified and that the guys never made it to the lake. There was no evidence they were ever at … the … lake.

Yeah, and don’t you think that’s odd? Jenny countered. They just disappeared.

We are doing this, Martin said. We are here, and there’s no better time. It’s dark, no one is around, and we’re ready. Get a hold of yourself.

After a slight pause, Jenny drew in a deep breath. Let’s get this over with.

That’s our girl, said Martin. Let’s go.

The wary crew proceeded to exit the vehicle and collect their instruments of discovery. Wading through the tall grass and stepping over downed logs, they soon made it to the entrance of the woods where the dirt road seemed to open up before them, as if now welcoming them … in fact drawing them forward like Odysseus to the Sirens, thought Martin. They advanced.

In about a hundred and twenty feet, they encountered the edge of the water at the mouth of Almond creek. When the Little Tennessee had been dammed years ago, water flooded back into the surrounding tributaries, mostly smaller recesses in the land carved out by smaller creeks.

Jenny approached the edge of the lake and looked out over the body of water. Black as ink, she said.

Martin looked up and noted that there appeared to be no reflection. No stars, no moon, nor any other celestial body reflected on its flat surface. Looking over at Jenny, he noticed a nervous tremor, as Tom urged her to suit up.

CHAPTER 2

Welcome to Jordan (Present)

This is going to be a difficult visit, Thought craig. It was bad enough seeing the old fellow fading away, but watching Judy, the love of his life, go through this with her aged guardian was heartbreaking. She could only comfort Pearson in his last days with the typical humor she would muster, and that would be down-right unbearable. She would ignore her own feelings.

As Craig drove carefully down the narrow mountain roads, he realized the landscapes didn’t bring him nearly the joy they once did. They were coming back to the place where they had already lost one family member, their sweet Tyler, and now they were preparing to lose one more. For all the pain he was feeling, he couldn’t imagine the turmoil that inhabited Judy’s head. The town of Jordan had brought much anguish to Judy and her entire family for years.

Craig felt he was so close to Judy sometimes that they were two halves of the same heart. He could do so little for her but be there. At these times he felt farthest away. A real conundrum, he always thought.

Craig knew that Judy had lost her biological parents, Elizabeth and Carl, to a car crash when she was only two. Elizabeth’s adoptive parents, Pearson and Amy, took guardianship of their granddaughter, and the ninety-year-old Pearson was the only father Judy had ever known. No one had ever really determined the cause of the car crash that had killed her thirty-one-year-old mother, although there were plenty of rumors.

So, at the age of forty-nine, both Pearson and Amy took guardianship of their two-year old granddaughter, Judy. They would love her as their own.

Judy stared out the window as they cruised down the old back roads of the Blue Ridge. When I look across the valleys, the haze floating in the air reminds me of ghosts, she said.

Craig could tell that old feelings and memories pressed upon Judy. I remember playing in the creeks at the edge of the lake, walking down the old paths with my grandpa, eating sweet watermelon in the heat of the summer, she said, far off somewhere. She took a deep breath of the spring-tinged air. The musty, honeyed smells of the forests filled the cars interior.

It had been too long since Judy had ventured back to the homestead. She had not ventured out anywhere, according to Craig’s recollection, since the sudden extraction of her oldest son Tyler two years ago.

She was jolted back to the present as Craig jerked the car suddenly – once again, he was doing his own daydreaming and not paying attention.

Dammit Craig. What the hell are you doing? she exclaimed in her Appalachian drawl, the sharpness of which Craig had learned to both appreciate and acquiesce to.

Well, if you can’t keep the car on your side of the road any better than that, I’m going to have to put someone else over there, he replied, grinning sheepishly.

You’re lucky to have what ya got, she shot back, now smiling herself.

Craig knew this to be true.

They had endured the disappearance of her eldest son at the age of ten. But it had taken its toll on both of them. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she had said once. But he very well knew not having real closure is like a slow continuous death that feeds on your soul little by little.

She kept Tyler’s Atlanta Braves cap under her pillow. Makes you stronger, my ass, he had heard her say under her breath more recently.

It was the beginning of the summer, and Craig’s eight-year-old daughter and her ten-year-old son were with their other parents. Because Colton and Lilli attended year-round school, they weren’t able to come on this trip, but Judy thought that was probably for the best. Craig, as a college professor, was off for the summer, and Judy had asked for family leave from the bank. This summer would be the only extended time the two of them had spent time together without kids since their blissful marriage, a marriage that surprised both of them.

While he is no Robert Redford, at least he has the blond hair, he had heard her joke with her best friend. Minus the height and rugged demeanor, she would add with a laugh. But he had an uncanny way of making her feel better. She had told him it was because of his bright blue eyes, and because he loved his daughter beyond measure. He really loved his daughter. That’s what did it.

For him, her independence had been a primary character of his liking. That, and he had always fallen for the combination of long, dark hair and dark eyes. She was a small girl, but her fierce, Appalachian sharp-wittedness and take no prisoners intentions were enough to pique any man’s interest and make him think twice about letting his guard down.

Craig laughed. So, I guess Pearson is giving Vera hell about even telling you.

Judy shrugged. It’s the only way we would have known. Thank God his sister is there to look out for him. He thinks he protects me by not telling me when things are bad, but it only makes everything worse when I find out.

Judy was quiet for what seemed minutes to Craig, as if she were deciding something.

I had that dream again, said Judy, and before you start to rationalize it away with your science, let me tell you some of the details. I mean it gets kind of disturbing.

OK, replied Craig, not wanting to devalue what she was about to say. He walked a tightrope between trying to be honest and trying to be sensitive, the former often getting him into trouble.

A female voice calls to me, real high and wispy. That’s the only way I can think to put it. It floats in and out like it’s in the wind coming in breezes. But then it’s like I’m underwater listening to voices above me. You know what I’m talking about?

Craig nodded that he did.

And this woman, crying because she’s lost something or somebody, I think. Judy squinted as she thought back. Then I feel like I’m floating. I have no control of where I’m headed. Just helpless. Then I hear my mom, I think, singing to me. I don’t know why I think it’s my mother. I just know.

She’s singing, ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine … She trailed off as another thought visibly hit her. Then tires squealing and a huge splash in the water. Someone screaming. And then it’s all quiet. Like the air got sucked out of everything. Total darkness. Here she paused for what seemed like several seconds.

She slowly turned to look at Craig her eyes now tearing up. "Then it’s daylight. An old man with a crooked staff is walking down a dirt road, laughing, … more of a cackle, really. Then he whispers, or it’s more like a hiss, something that sounds like ‘Hear those skulls popping? That’s the poison spreading.’"

Craig saw sheer terror in her eyes. If he had been one of those strong, patriarchal protagonists in her romance novels or chick flicks she was so fond of, he would have said something encouraging and thoughtful, or sensitive and chivalrous. But of course, he would say neither. All he could muster was, Maybe the one glass a night wine rule should apply to weekends as well? He knew it was a mistake when it left his mouth.

If you’re just going to make fun of me when I open up to you then maybe I just shouldn’t say anything she said defeatedly.

Quickly, Craig tried to salvage the conversation. Oh, I’m just kidding, baby. I know this is serious to you. So, what do you think it means?

She sighed, Maybe you’re right Craig. Maybe it means nothing, but I’ve had similar dreams for several nights now, ever since I found out about Pearson. But it’s just so damned detailed. It’s messing with my brain. And I wake up so drained and sad. And then I think of Tyler.

It’s been tough news to deal with honey, said Craig. On top of everything else. You’re under a lot of stress. Pearson’s always been there for you and now you can’t do a damned thing about this sad state of affairs. Maybe seeing him and just being with him will make you feel better.

I sure hope so, Judy said quietly, I sure hope so.

They continued for some time, quietly, as the road became ever more winding. They were entering the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, a range of over 187,000 acres of old growth forests along the Tennessee-North Carolina border. The brilliant orange flaming azaleas were starting to bloom, setting a sharp contrast to the fresh green behind it; mother nature showing who really has a monopoly on true beauty, thought Craig.

Did I ever tell you about the old Indian witch that lived around here when I was growing up? Judy asked Craig.

Um, what?’ he replied. Did you say a witch?"

Well, that’s what everyone always said, responded Judy. Pearson said she was just some old reclusive Cherokee lady who lived in the woods, but I’m not sure he wasn’t a little suspicious of her ways. Sometimes I think he knows more about her than he lets on.

"I remember seeing the old lady come into town a couple of times to go to the old general store. She had long gray, unbrushed hair and one bad eye that stared off to the side. When she passed you would think it was staring at you. She drove a rusty old red truck like the one they had on Sanford and Son."

Craig chortled loudly. Well there you go; she couldn’t have been a witch without a broom.

Peeved but trying to ignore him, Judy continued. She lived about 5 miles outside of town in a little rickety shack. Me and the other kids used to drive out there at night when we were in high school. We used to dare each other to sneak to the house and knock then run, but we were all too chicken shit. Story was that once you knocked you were cursed and that she would visit you one night, stab you in the heart and eat your liver. We were told that’s what happened to Ricky Garret’s boy ten years earlier. The paper said that it was some type of organ failure but the kids in school said it was because he had visited the old witch’s house.

Oh lord, the things you mountain people believe, said Craig, incredulous as always.

My girlfriend Tammy, who was a quarter Cherokee, said that some of the Indians in the area believed it too, shot back Judy.

They called her Spear Finger. Tammy said the old people at their annual pow wows would tell all kinds of stories about this old lady who was covered in skin as hard as rock. She lived in an area they called the Devil’s Courthouse, … look it up, it really exists. Anyway, she had one long, pointed finger she could stab people with. She particularly liked young children, or at least their livers. She could disguise herself as a sweet little lady, usually a relative, and lure children to her when they went to pick wild strawberries or sneak into the village in the middle of the night. Either way, her victim wouldn’t even know it until the next day when they would get sick, then eventually die.

OK, that’s just weird, Craig said, a little unsettled.

Well at least there were signs that she was around, like the smell of stinking meat and lots of flies swarming around, responded Judy.

Craig decided that it wasn’t worth encouraging this particular line of discussion and decided to change the subject at his first opportunity, and there it was; the sign stating Welcome to Jordan, Your Mountain Sanctuary. Population 623.

We’re here, he exclaimed.

As they crossed into town they passed a Maxton County police cruiser on their left, sitting off the road in the trees, just waiting. The officer nodded from behind the dark department sanctioned glasses as the out-of-towners passed. Craig had an eerie feeling there was some kind of warning connected to this movement, but he didn’t know why.

Craig saw Judy’s head jerk to the right as something caught her eye. An old, bent-over man was walking down a dirt road, supporting himself with a long walking stick, the end carved into what looked like a serpent wrapping itself around the staff. He was wearing weathered overalls with a faded plaid flannel and a straw fedora that had seen better days. As they passed, the old man turned his head briefly to look at them and Craig could have sworn he saw a quick glint of sunlight reflect the old man’s eye.

Punky?, Judy said, incredulously. The old moonshiner? No way. She shook her head.

Craig and Judy met exactly one more vehicle on their way down the lake road to Pearson’s; an old red 1951 Ford F-100 pickup with an elderly, tanned lady behind the wheel.

Judy shook her head one more item, incredulously.

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The old man stared after the car that had just passed, red eyes almost glowing. He rubbed his fingers over the carved serpent on the handle of his walking stick. A slight grin stretched his thin lips. He turned and continued his walk down the old dirt road, whispering … almost singing. The time has come to pay the dues, and maybe pop a skull or two.

CHAPTER 3

Eli II (1983)

Martin, tom, and jenny quickly donned their wet suits and assisted each other with the self-contained breathing equipment. Martin had made a substantial investment in three rebreathers a few months earlier in anticipation of this dive. At a cost of roughly two thousand dollars for each kit, he literally had to make this dive pay off. The chill in the air nipped at them but the wet suits had been designed with cold weather in mind. A warmer time of year might have been more amenable to their persons, but the winter drawdown of the lake made the depths shallower and therefore less hazardous, or so they believed.

After checking their rebreathers with great care, they entered the water with angst, Martin leading the crew. Martin had calculated their total dive time to be 3 hours with the use of the rebreathers. This should allow them more than enough time to document the dive site. Their silhouettes resembled slithering amphibians returning from where they came, their slick suits reflecting the moonlight.

Martin had gone to great lengths memorizing the layout of the one-time town. If his measurements had been correct, if they directed themselves perpendicular to this spot, they would enter the original riverbed in about ten minutes. At this point, if they followed the contours of the lake bottom downward, they would find the old bridge that traversed the town and then they would have a landmark from which to orient themselves.

Each of them carried an underwater lantern and camera, which slightly impeded them. Still, they made progress in their movement. The lights revealed typical turbid water with a mucky bottom that had become more disturbed with their entrance, and therefore little could be seen at first. Martin’s compass would get them to the approximate area, and hopefully as they descended to the lake depths, the water would become more transparent.

The cool water made them shiver at first, but their bodies soon acclimated to their surroundings. In front of them they encountered a vast nothingness as the lamps only penetrated a few feet ahead. They hugged the bottom so they could better observe the landscape.

Very shortly, Martin observed some irregularities in the smooth accumulation of detritus on the floor, and then he encountered larger objects which he knew to be river rock. He flashed his lantern to alert Tom and Jenny, which exhilarated them and gave them a little more confidence simultaneously.

Now to simply follow the downward slope of