With numerous places named for British Kings George I, II and III already examined and set-aside in the previous article, it was time to turn my attention to IV, V and VI. This would be more difficult. The first set of Georges ruled for a contiguous period of more than a century, from 1714 to 1820, an era coinciding with a rapid growth of the British Empire. The remaining three ruled for half that time with a large gap in between while the Empire began to unravel. There were considerably fewer opportunities to name places for those Georges. Most of the names had already been bestowed within the Empire and new territories weren’t being added much anymore. Also, opportunities in the United States and other places dried-up after their independence. Even so I still found a few examples scattered amongst other areas of the world although sometimes I needed to get creative.
That creativity extended to the City of Guelph in Ontario, Canada (map). Guelph? Yes, Guelph was named for King George IV. The University of Guelph explained the logic:
Where did the name GUELPH originate? The city of Guelph was named in 1827 to honour the British Empire’s King George IV, whose family name was Gwelf. The spelling has been changed to today’s "Guelph" — but it’s pronounced just as it was 170 years ago: gwelf (rhymes with self). The origin of the city’s name is also why you might hear Guelph referred to as "The Royal City." Of course, we just refer to it as ‘home.’
I decided to provide another example just in case readers felt a bit cheated by the reference to Guelph. Purists in the audience probably wanted to see something named George instead. How about Georgian Bay (map)? This corner of Lake Huron on the Canadian side of the border sat east of Manitoulin Island and the Bruce Peninsula. It was quite sizable with a surface area of fifteen thousand square kilometres (just a little smaller than Kuwait), so George IV got at least one geographic feature of note named for him. Indeed, I confirmed that it was true.
Examples began to taper quickly from there. Lots of cities named streets for George IV, including a nice elevated one in Edinburgh, Scotland. However his decade long reign limited the availability of naming opportunities.
The First World War was a horrific conflict that ravaged Western Europe although it did result in something that met the criteria for this article, a swanky street in Paris named for George V. The street originally went by Avenue d’Alma. The French decided to honor George V for his support to the nation during the war and changed its name to Avenue George V on Bastille Day, July 14, 1918 (map). It wasn’t a long road, less than a kilometre, although it was exceedingly prestigious as would befit the ruler of an important ally. It formed one side of Paris’ Triangle d’Or (Golden Triangle) when paired with Ave. Montaigne and the Champs-Elysées, an area considered "the most luxurious place on the right bank." This also provided a home to the magnificent George V Four Seasons Hotel, a 1928 Art Deco masterpiece. These were all served by the adjacent George V station on the Paris Metro subway.
Additionally, George V gained a lake named for him located directly on the equator in Uganda (map) although he was still Prince George at the time. I thought that should still count even though he wasn’t yet king. I had to take what I could get. There weren’t many examples.
What blank spaces on the map could the British possibly be able to fill by 1936 when George VI came to the throne? Why, places in Antarctica of course! It might have been a bit removed from the beaten track although the territory was immense, as were the naming opportunities
Lincoln Ellsworth was born into a wealthy Chicago family and had the financial means to become an Antarctic explorer. His groundbreaking 1935 expedition by airplane "covered a distance of 2200 miles of which 1200 miles was over previously unexplored territory." and he "was able to photograph the major fault depression" along his route. The British Graham Land Expedition reached the rift overland by sled the following year, traveling 200 miles "down the channel separating Alexander Island from the Peninsula." This expedition named this area King George VI Sound (map). Most of the sound was covered by ice, and that became the King George VI Ice Shelf. It was big too, stretching 300 miles (483 km). The scale was downright impressive. George VI did alright with that deal, all things considered.
I’ve paid close attention to country names during my many years of combing through access logs of Twelve Mile Circle readers, looking at various patterns and trends. I’m not sure what drew my particular attention to the names of nations containing the conjunction AND. It was probably one of those days when multiple instances appeared by chance, offering something beyond the ordinary rate of occurrences. By my count there were a total of six of these nations. I examined three of them for today’s article and I’ll discuss the remaining three in a follow-on post. These will be presented in alphabetical order because it seemed as good a pattern as any.
The mere existence of these nations brought a number of questions to mind. Couldn’t their founders come up with a single name that represented the collective? How did they decide which name came first, was it a sign of importance or what? I decided to focus on the junior partners in each arrangement because they deserved a little extra attention, being stuck at the tail-end of the nations’ names for all those years.
The Caribbean islands of Antigua and Barbuda shared an intertwined history. Barbuda had a very small population so it would have been a poor candidate on its own when the United Kingdom began to spin-off various colonial possessions. It made sense to append Barbuda onto Antigua to form a single nation. No decent collective name described the set. I supposed they could have played around with Leeward Islands or Lesser Antilles, although those described larger arrays of islands aligned with several colonial powers. Antigua and Barbuda was good enough.
Both islands had been spotted by Christopher Columbus who bestowed their names, Spanish for Ancient and Bearded. Those were odd choices. I’ve never seen an island with a beard. Nonetheless that’s what happened and the names stuck throughout the centuries. The native Carib inhabitants were particularly fierce and it took almost 150 years for anyone to establish a colony on Antigua. It was the English who finally found success. Early in its history, Christopher Codrington established a sprawling sugar plantation with the labor of African slaves, helping to spur Antigua’s growth. He needed to provision his huge Antiguan estate so he and his brother leased the island of Barbuda: "They were granted the first 50 year lease for Barbuda by King Charles II on 9 January 1685. The rent ascribed to the lease was ‘one fat sheep yearly if demanded’."
Thus, Antigua and Barbuda forged a bond from the earliest days of colonialism. This relationship remained intact when independence arrived in 1981. Antigua still dwarfed Barbuda in population and economic activity, and was divided into several parishes. Barbuda became its own single unit. It had barely fifteen hundred residents, most living in the sole town of Codrington (map), compared to the nearly one hundred thousand residents of the nation as a whole. It made sense for Barbuda to play second fiddle.
I decided to generally sidestep the complex historical situation of the two namesakes forming Bosnia and Herzegovina. After all, these lands fell within the Balkans. They very term Balkanization described segmented small states that fought amongst themselves, either on the Balkan Peninsula or more generically. The breakup of Yugoslavia near the end of the Twentieth Century allowed old hatreds to reemerge. Ethnic groups fought for position aligned with ancient grudges. Bosnia and Herzegovina was one of several new nations that rose from the tattered scraps of the former Yugoslavia, although not before armed clashes, bloodshed and ethnic cleansing burned across the land. The current Bosnia and Herzegovina came out of the Dayton Peace Accords of 1995 and subsequent negotiations in Paris.
Even its overall construct was confusing. The present nation of Bosnia and Herzegovina was divided into two nominally autonomous regions. One was the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina and the other was Republika Srpska. That’s right, Bosnia and Herzegovina had a sub-unit called the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Someone living in the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina also lived in Bosnia and Herzegovina, however someone living in Bosnia and Herzegovina didn’t necessarily live in the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
I examined the second banana, Herzegovina, a little closer. There didn’t appear to be a clearly defined boundary for Herzegovina in present Bosnia and Herzegovina. It was somewhat amorphous in historical terms too. Generally it fell at the southern edge of the nation along with its unofficial capital at Mostar. Herzegovina had been around for a long time though, dating back at least to the Fifteenth Century. Herzog was a heraldic title in the German language adopted to this corner of the Balkans, equivalent to Duke in the English language. Herzegovina meant nothing more than the "duke’s land."
Mostar had a similarly simplistic etymology. The Ottomans under Suleiman the Magnificent built a bridge over the Neretva River in the Sixteenth Century. It was an amazing bridge with an exaggerated arch like something from a fairy tale. The bridge earned a name over time, the Stari Most, meaning Old Bridge (map). Those who protected the bridge were called mostari, or bridge keepers. The town where the bridge crossed the river became Mostar, the old bridge town. Stari Most survived through the ages until 1993 when Croat army forces destroyed it during fighting that erupted as Yugoslavia died. The current bridge is a reconstruction.
Saint Kitts and Nevis
Saint Kitts and Nevis sat due west of Antigua and Barbuda in the Caribbean Sea, about forty miles (65 kilometres) away. No nation in the Americas had fewer citizens, barely fifty thousand. Despite its proximity to Antigua and Barbuda, the history of Saint Kitts and Nevis differed considerably. Spanish, French and British powers all controlled these lands, sometimes cooperatively and more often in forceful opposition. Britain eventually won that struggle and the islands remained solely in British hands beginning with the Eighteenth Century. Britain placed the two into a forced arrangement along with the island of Anguilla for governance purposes. None of them really got along with each other. Anguilla managed to extricate itself in the 1970’s, so Saint Kitts and Nevis remained joined when the United Kingdom granted sovereignty in 1983. Tensions continue to exist between the two islands even today as they plod along in an arranged marriage, with Nevis occasionally making overtures of separation.
Nevis would be a highly unusual nation. It had only twelve thousand residents and precious few resources other than tourism and a budding tax haven for individuals and companies hoping to hide their assets. I focused on this island way back in the very early days of 12MC in The Point of Five Nevis Parishes in 2008. It held a rather fascinating geo-oddity. The island formed roughly an oval with its five parishes meeting at a common point atop a volcano at its center, Nevis Peak (map). Each parish formed a pie wedge and theoretically one could climb to the top of Nevis Peak and stand in all five parishes at the same time.
I supposed I should note that Alexander Hamilton was born on Nevis, perhaps a point of interest to fans of the Broadway musical Hamilton. From an unlikely beginning on Nevis, Hamilton would arrive in New York for an education, work his way onto the staff of General George Washington during the American Revolution, support the ratification of the U.S. Constitution, become the nation’s first Secretary of State, and then die after being shot by Aaron Burr in a duel. That was quite a pedigree. His image also adorned the U.S. $10 bill although there was talk of replacing him a few months ago. The success of the musical may have been sufficient to save Hamilton from that fate. What a strange turn of events.
I knew I needed to create my own fun when I chose to drive through an area that didn’t cater much to outsiders. The people of Appalachia were friendly and always seemed welcoming, so that wasn’t the issue. Tourism wasn’t a major preoccupation. It didn’t help that my adventure happened at a quiet time of year. Activities focused on the mountains, and I came at mid-March; too late for skiing and too early for hiking, rafting or fishing. I found a backup plan, though. Twelve Mile Circle featured thousands of individual oddities over the years so I turned to my Complete Index for some ideas. I knew I’d enjoy visiting spots that I’d only written about before. This was a golden opportunity. I noticed my path would take me directly past several of them.
The whole concept of Big Ugly delighted me as I described these places recently. It created a bit of a chicken-and-egg scenario as I prepared my plans. I knew nothing of Big Ugly until I started investigating my Appalachian trip, which led to the article and the marker on my map, which then led me to an in-person visit. Thus, the mark on the map created an incentive for my visit although it never would have appeared on the map if I hadn’t started planning the route. What a Big Ugly situation!
In that earlier article I’d noted, "Big Ugly had been around for a long time. Internet book searches found results going back to the 1840’s, when West Virginia was still part of Virginia. This wasn’t simply a big ugly creek, it was an old ugly." I’d encountered and failed to penetrate its shrouded history, concluding that "We will probably never know exactly what might have been considered big or ugly to early Nineteenth Century settlers."
It was an amusing situation although not enough for me to adjust my path. I didn’t get to see the Big Ugly Wildlife Management Area or the Big Ugly Community Center at the former site of the Big Ugly Elementary School. Stopping at the sign for Big Ugly Creek Road on U.S. Route 119 (map) was good enough for me. The kids got a good laugh and I got a photo.
Crazy Border Road
Route 119 served as the optimal path between Charleston, West Virginia and Pikeville, Kentucky. A section near Williamson, West Virginia had been high on my list of places to visit ever since I wrote Bridge in a Haystack several years ago. A random search query suggested an anomaly and I uncovered it after many hours of squinting at maps, for more hours than I’d care to admit. The truth was even more interesting than the original query. It began simply as, "only ky bridge that leaves one state, crosses a river, comes back into the same state." In reality — and in a distance of only three miles (five kilometres) — heading south from West Virginia, the road crossed into Kentucky, then into West Virginia, then into Kentucky, back into West Virginia and finally into Kentucky. That was an astounding FIVE border crossings on a single short stretch of road (with four of them occurring in the first two miles).
It was the path of least resistance and it made perfect sense. The Tug Fork, constricted on both sides by mountains, followed a wildly crooked riverbed. The highway, designed for high-speed traffic, needed to follow a straighter route. That forced it to cross the river at various points. The river marked the boundary between the two states, creating multiple border crossings.
Photographs wouldn’t illustrate the point adequately so I reverted to video, a medium I hadn’t tried on 12MC in quite awhile. My videography skills hadn’t improved in the meantime either. I owned a dashboard camera mount and of course I forgot it, leaving it safely at home. I cruised down the highway with a steering wheel in my left hand, a camera in my right, viewing the GPS from the corner of my eye so I could see when I crossed a border, announcing each state as I proceeded, all while driving as safely as possible. I noticed that the video sometimes showed the GPS. It said I was speeding. Just a little bit. Nothing egregious. I knew I’d better confess before someone mentioned it in the comments.
I’ve now visited nearly every geo-oddity listed in that article.
Woodrow Wilson Birthplace
It might have been a stretch to place the Presidential Birthplaces article on the same list as the others because every single presidential birthplace appeared in it. That created forty-three distinct possibilities, with several of them in Virginia alone. Nonetheless, one of those happened to fall along our direct route, the house in Staunton where Woodrow Wilson was born in 1856 (map). His father served as a Presbyterian minister and the family moved whenever he accepted a new position every few years. In actuality Woodrow Wilson lived in Staunton for a single year before the family moved to Augusta, Georgia. Still, that was enough for Virginia to claim Wilson as a native son deserving a Presidential Library and a Museum. Actually I’ve made his connection to Virginia sound overly tenuous. He did retain longtime connections to the commonwealth even as the family moved, attending Law School at the University of Virginia, and visited Staunton regularly over the years. This was as good a town as any for his library and museum.
I’ve seen other presidential libraries. This one was smaller than the those for more resent presidents although it was well done and certainly worth a visit.
Bath County appeared in Taking a Bath. I didn’t have anything more to say about it because we didn’t stop until we hit the border as we left. The path involved a long day of driving and I wanted to keep moving. We drove past The Homestead mentioned in that earlier article (map), waved, and pressed onward.
Mount Jackson Water Tower
I’d driven past the water tower rising next to Interstate 81 at Mount Jackson many times. I’d always been fascinated by its larger-than-life basket of apples hoisted high above the highway (map). It appeared in my article devoted entirely to Eric Henn Murals.
Some artists preferred oil on canvas as their medium. Not Eric Henn. He specialized in marine paint on outdoor structures, creating lifelike designs on water towers, petroleum storage tanks, the sides of brick buildings and anything with a flat vertical surface. Mount Jackson’s apple basked was an Eric Henn creation, painted by hand and replacing a weather-worn vinyl sticker someone else had affixed years earlier. This water tower, Meems Bottom Bridge, and Shenandoah Caverns all fell within a few miles of each other, making it easy to experience all three sites with minimal effort.
I already mentioned that reader Andy recommended several places for me to visit during the Appalachian Loop, and I made it to two of them: the Pikeville Overlook and Breaks Interstate Park. I hadn’t known about either one of them ahead of time and likely wouldn’t have discovered them on my own, so the suggestions were greatly appreciated. I brought that up to encourage readers to continue posting ideas for my 2016 Travel Plans. I still have trips coming up in the New England states in May and Michigan in July. There’s a good chance that some of your great ideas will make it onto the pages of Twelve Mile Circle!