Over and through the mountains

The Blue Ridge Parkway has 26 tunnels—25 of them in North Carolina. Most are clustered along the southernmost section where the road navigates its highest, steepest terrain. When the natural contour drops too steeply or turns too sharply, tunnels, like bridges, avoid jarring curves that would otherwise occur.

Tim Pegram, a former park ranger who walked the entire length of the Parkway as a personal journey in 2003, cherished the section of the Parkway he calls “tunnel country,” including one 15-mile stretch with a dozen tunnels.

“They are a large part of the Parkway experience especially for children,” Pegram said. “And most adults are like children when it comes to tunnels.”

It was often so dark walking through the tunnels that Pegram couldn’t see his feet. He retrieved his flashlight from his pack and slid it into his pocket before each tunnel—but only used it once, in the depths of a particularly long, curving tunnel when all semblance of daylight disappeared midway.

“I can’t put into words what the sound of your footsteps is like walking through the tunnel,” Pegram said. 

The signature stone arches that cap tunnel openings weren’t originally part of the design. The tunnels were left with a natural appearance of the Parkway being swallowed by the mountain.

But the icy winters at high-elevations wreaked havoc on the tunnels. Frost heaved the soil and loosened rocks, which fell down around the entrance. Snow melt from above seeped through the ceilings, forming giant icicles inside the tunnels as winter wore on.

When Parkway construction halted during World War II due to a shortage of money and manpower, the hiatus proved a valuable time for reflection. Designers realized the tunnels needed bolstering, giving rise to concrete linings and the rustic but decorative stone portals.

The number of bridges on the Blue Ridge Parkway is a moving target. Some peg the number around 150, others at 169, depending on what qualifies as a bridge. They can take many forms, from culverts crossing tiny trickles to the soaring triple arches over the Linville River. Bridges traverse deep chasms or perch on the side of cliffs to avoid undue scarring of the mountainside from blasting—the most impressive example being the quarter-mile-long Linn Cove Viaduct that snakes around the base of Grandfather Mountain.

Another class of bridges spans the many side roads, country lanes and minor highways that cross paths with the Parkway. Early architects of the scenic road insisted on limiting intersections with the Parkway so it didn’t disrupt the continuity of the Parkway experience.

“There should be a continuous floating feeling along that smoothly curving line,” said Ian Firth, a retired landscape architect professor at the University of Georgia and an expert on the history of Parkway design.

Drivers on the Parkway often don’t realize they are passing over another road since the Parkway often remains at the natural grade, while the intersecting road burrows underneath. As a result, the amazing stone handiwork of the bridges—much of it the work of Italian and Spanish immigrants hired in the 1930s for their expert stone mason skills—goes unappreciated by motorists. But the arched bridges set the stage for those approaching a Parkway entrance.

“You know instantly when you reach the Parkway because you see those very distinctive bridges,” Firth said.

That still doesn’t explain the care and detail taken on stone culverts or bridges over rivers that are only witnessed by those who park their cars, scramble down steep banks to the river bed, and peer back up at the underside of a bridge.