SNOWFLAKES IN SHENANDOAH

Snowflakes stippled the barren-gray scene, tossed by a corkscrewing breeze tumbling down the gauntlet of a mountain hollow, following the track of a frigid mountain stream. I opposed its course, head into the wind, eyes watering, mind set on a deep pool upstream.

The author with a large Shenandoah brook trout taken in the snow. Photo by Matt Reilly.

    Clouds set the tone for the landscape, casting a cold, flat light on rock and trunk, granting a frozen appearance to even what was not. Brown leaves, long since fallen and captured by a stiff layer of frost, were static features, even in the wind, and finalized the atmosphere of harsh rigidity about the place. The bone-chilling threat of nearly-frozen mountain water resounded.

    The natural world stays inside on days like these, or so it seems. Gray squirrels may not show themselves in the absence of a mid-morning sun to loosen their limbs. Save for perhaps a solemn march for carbs, the majority of their day is spent dreaming of sunlit explorations of the treetops, curled up, veiled by a thick, bushy tail.

    Deer find thermal refuge in thick lowland pine groves, legs curled under their tawny brown coats, metabolism slowed, fighting tooth and nail for spring. Hunting pressure from the expired season has trained them to sit tight in daylight, and venture forth at the moon’s height (if there is a big moon) or in the respite of dusk for safety.

    Even the parking lot on the fringe of the Shenandoah backcountry, typically jammed with automobiles for its proximity to Charlottesville, is devoid of all but three vehicles, owned, of course, by humans who have engineered their own nutritions outside of the seasons’ environmental demand, and think nothing dangerous or wasteful of a two-mile hike in sub-freezing weather.

    One of those cars is my own, and I passed the owners of the other two on my way up the mountain trail, stride rustling in a pair of weathered waders, my fly rod gripped through a thin glove on my right hand.

    The first was a college-aged girl, presumably from UVA, or otherwise on Christmas break, like myself. As she approached, her covered head bobbed up to see me, as it was previously fixed on the ground, keeping pace with her swift stride. She drew attention to the cold--the weather, as is a cliche among brief trail encounters--and then passed, returning her gaze to the path, hands jammed into her pockets, without breaking stride.

    Surely her business in the mountains was of fitness, as her visit was quick (I saw her depart from the parking lot as I geared up), and seemingly devoid of observation or enjoyment, which might have been hinted at through a slower stride and exploring gaze.

    The second driver followed shortly behind, accompanied by his female of unknown relation, and canine, who, more than any of the humans I had yet encountered, seemed to be enjoying himself. The owners, both clad (as was I) in winter coats, hats, gloves, and sunglasses, whisked by at a hurried pace, hardly breaking their gaze from the course ahead to acknowledge my passing.

    It occurred to me that their being there must have been tied to the needs and desires of their furry companion, though I should think it not entirely fair to consider their motives totally polarized from a respect for nature. Why else, then, would they choose to walk their dog in the mountains and not down their own street?

    That is not to say that there is a right or wrong reason to be in the mountains on an exceptionally cold, and snowy and windy, afternoon. Just that I seldom encounter an angler so taken by the spirituality of the chase as to cross paths with one in the dead of winter, and that I naturally find my mind coming to rest on the question of why that is, and how that makes me different when the creeks turn cold. Am I crazy? Perhaps.

     My own motive comes clear when I reach the trail’s third ford in the creek and moves on, up the mountain, affording a view of the water tumbling through the woods. I leave the trail and make a short trek to the creek to find a large hole with current bordered by a large volume of slack water.

    I ply the water with a large fly, and entice a handful of lethargic, delicate brook trout, and hoist them only momentarily from the icy water, conscious of the air temperature and its effect on them.

    It’s in that cold mountain scene, harsh and rugged in winter, that I feel content, classically pleased. To me, the action is as important and as relaxing as reading a book by the fire or tying flies to music and hot chocolate.

    But everyone lives for different things. I just happen to live for this.□

*Originally published in The Rural Virginian

AMERICAN PUBLIC LANDS A SPIRITUAL TRADITION

Modern society has convinced the outdoorsman in me that I was born too late.  The rivers that I frequent are suppressed in spirit, their wonder restrained to their actual dimensions by urban sprawl, highways, and water treatment plants.  When I take to the field, I thirst for the refreshing experience of new waters; but I lust for those places tucked away, out of sight, lost in nature—where their essence extends for miles through some black hole of the mind, never threatened by development or the idea that they might, in some dimension, end.

The mighty Saco River at low water, crawling through a White Mountain valley.  Photo by Matt Reilly

    Development.  My parents know what it means.  Their age is told in their memories.  There was a time when Charlottesville, Virginia was not a city, but a town.  Before Walmart and Sam’s Club took their anarchical perch above Route 29, farmer Matheny tended to his cows on the grassy pasture behind a blackboard fence and an illusion that things might never change.  The Rivanna River, in the gulley behind Walton’s culturally-obese babies, coursed higher and stronger through the rolling hills of the Piedmont, its lifeblood not yet stolen by the host of housing developments to come, its finned inhabitants still unrestrained by dams.

    I hear these memories as a young child.  Fear briefly enters and exits my mind.  What will the world look like when I am grown?  But at 8 years old, as far as I know, things don’t change.

    I eventually learned my lesson.

    The woodlot that was destined to be subdivided behind our newly-furnished house was just large enough to be reminiscent of Maine’s “Big Woods” that I had learned of in Field and Stream.  If I walked along the length of the creekbottom, in the shadows of towering ridges, I could escape with the perception of total isolation.

    One spring, I happened upon a stream of moderate girth.  I returned countless times in following seasons, slinging spinners and flies to feisty panfish and pickerel. 

    One day I was startled by the sight of two houses.  Both were under construction; and their backyards had torn into the woodland veil protecting my secret gem, revealing it for all to see, eroding the banks, and slowing the current.

    Sour and cynical over the soiling of my stream, I retreated into my mind to a place where rivers run free and woods seem endless, where constant human activity does not hamper the wildlife activity, and the flora is ornamental by God’s design, rather than that of a landscaper.  It was from this experience that I began to crave wild lands removed from human occupation.

    By the time I earned my driver’s license I was a passionate fly fisherman, completely lost in the sport; and my search for new water took me to where my childhood fantasies existed in actuality—the Shenandoah National Park, where my dad had taken me to grouse hunt and trout fish at a very young age.  Now, with the means to transport myself, I set off into the Blue Ridge when I yearn for the tug of a sprightly brook trout.

    I drive west; and as the roads turn from pavement to gravel to dirt to nothing, and the hardwoods close in above my head as I’m intertwined into the deep, meandering hollows where the freestones run, the shackles of society and modern, complicated life disintegrate into the air.

    I can fish my way through the gorge that the Rapidan River flows through in consensual ignorance.  In my mind, the Park does not end, but extends forever in every direction, as does the river; and the fish in its watery depths are virgin natives—refugees, like me.

    When a brook trout comes to hand, my suspicion is upheld.  The fiery brilliance that adorns its belly and pectorals, the olive river rock along its back, accented by strong blue and red bull’s eyes make me believe that they are a purity in nature, a stronghold of all that has been lost in the world, safeguarded, hidden in the bottom of a mountain stream. 

    But alas, I know this illusion is false.  The trout in my hand is a species endangered by a host of man-made threats; and its range retreats into the mountaintops yearly.  However, unlike the Piedmont stream of my childhood, this one is protected, forever sealed from peripheral development by 197,000 acres of federally-protected land.  To the brook trout, and to me, that thought is full of hope; as it is a symbol of like-minded individuals concerned with the state of the environment doing their best to secure recreational areas and wildlife havens for future generations, to preserve our spiritual haunts.  In a word, it is a promise:  For as long as I, and my children, live, places like Shenandoah will be protected and cherished by sportsmen.□

*Originally published in the Rural Virginian

HIT THE TRAILS FOR NATIONAL TRAILS DAY

As I pen this column, Virginia’s trails are no doubt overrun by Memorial Day hikers, and for that very reason I have resisted the urge to visit my favorite spot in the Shenandoah National Park.  Next weekend should be no different; as the first Saturday in June is officially designated “National Trails Day,” a celebration of the wonderful system of paths veining our beautiful country.  In honor of this event, I’ll detail a few places I’ve developed a soft spot for in and around central Virginia.

Saint Mary’s Wilderness

    The Saint Mary’s is a special place to me and a popular and well-known destination for hikers and fishermen alike.

    This federally-designated wilderness of almost 10,000 acres is situated in southeastern Augusta County, surrounding the upper Saint Mary’s River.  About 17 miles of trail negotiate the rugged gorge that guides the river, from the lower end of the property near Raphine up to the southern edge of Big Levels at Green Pond.

    The Saint Mary’s Falls Trail begins at the lower parking lot, accessible via Forest Service Road 41, and, moving northeast, fords the river before dead-ending at the wilderness’s dominating feature—Saint Mary’s Falls.  This is by far the most popular hike; the plunge pool below the falls is usually full of cliff-divers during the warmer months.

    The Mine Bank Trail descends into the gorge from the Blue Ridge Parkway near the Fork Mountain Overlook near Milepost 23, following one of the River’s largest tributaries, Mine Bank Creek.  Roughly two miles of downhill trekking will land one at the intersection of the lengthy Saint Mary’s Trail, just within striking distance of the river.  There are a handful of quality camp spots at the base of the hollow where the waters converge, making this trail popular among backpackers.  Keep in mind, though the hike in is relatively easy as it is all downhill, the reverse trip is strenuous.  Plan time accordingly. 

    The Saint Mary’s Trail—the property’s longest trail—begins at Green Pond.  Forest Service Road 162 branches north from the Parkway at Milepost 22.2 at Bald Mountain Overlook and leads to this trailhead, which is probably the least-utilized.

Sugar Hollow, North Fork of the Moormans River

    I’m not giving away any secrets here.   Much to the chagrin of Charlottesville’s brook trout fishing crew, the parking lot at this trailhead near the upper end of Charlottesville’s Sugar Hollow Reservoir is rarely devoid of a car, but it has earned respect from me, both for the experiences I’ve had in the Hollow and for its closeness.

    Follow Garth Road west from Charlottesville and continue on Route 614 until reaching Sugar Hollow Reservoir.  The trail departs from the parking lot at the upper end of the reservoir.

    Three river fords and 2.3 miles of trail separate the parking lot and the Big Branch spur trail on the left that ascends to the Skyline Drive at Black Rock Gap in 3.7 miles.  The main trail continues past the spur, generally following the river.

    If you arrive at the trailhead and the parking lot is slammed, you may achieve a bit more solitude by opting to hike the South Fork of the Moormans River instead.  A yellow iron gate bars the head of this trail on the downstream side of the parking lot.  Ford the river in the first few yards, then continue up the trail to the famed “Blue Hole”—a seemingly bottomless swimming hole.

Humpback Rock

    Again, this is no secret.  The Humpback Rock trail is easily one of the most popular hikes in Virginia thanks to the beautiful panoramic view of Shenandoah’s west slope and the Shenandoah Valley, but if you’re looking for a short, fun hike with a great reward, you can’t beat it.

    At Milepost 5.8 on the Blue Ridge Parkway, at the base of the Mountain Farm Trail, there is a 19^th Century interpretive farm setup.  This marks the trailhead for reaching Humpback Rock.

    This is a short trail of about a mile that gains roughly 800 feet in elevation.  The first portion of the trail is graveled and very steep, but the remainder is rugged, steep, and somewhat muddy.

    The namesake outcropping at the peak is well worth the expended energy, though there is an astonishing amount of writing on the rocks from past hikers. 

    Once you’ve familiarized yourself with the trail, pack your headlamp and camp out on the peak to watch the sun set over the Valley.

    Now that I’m through with this column, I’m excited to go exploring in the days to come.  I’ve only named three, but there are countless other hikes of equal or greater challenge and reward within a short trip from Charlottesville.  Get out and take advantage of the miles of trail within our very own Shenandoah National Park this weekend!□

*Originally published in the Rural Virginian

OUR FAVORITE VIRGINIA HIKES

Virginians residing in the center of the state are fortunate to live within a short drive of the Shenandoah National Park and a wealth of maintained hiking trails.  So to gear up for National Trails Day on June 7, we’ve rounded up seven of our favorite local Virginia hikes--listed from shortest to longest--for the adventurous soul to tackle this summer.

The view from Humpback Rock.  Photo by Matt Reilly.

Humpback Rock

    At milepost 5.8 on the Blue Ridge Parkway, at the base of the Mountain Farm Trail, sits a 19^th Century interpretive farm setup—this marks the trailhead for reaching Humpback Rock.  This is a short trail of modest difficulty, roughly a quarter-mile round-trip; but the view from the large rock outcropping at the trail’s end, looking west over the Shenandoah National Park, might tie you up for the entirety of the afternoon.  If you don’t mind rising early, make the ascent before sunrise and enjoy the sun’s appearance from on high.

Whiteoak Canyon

    If waterfalls are your thing, Whiteoak Canyon is for you.  This is easily one of the Park’s most popular hikes, and it has six gorgeous waterfalls to thank.  Access the trail from the lower end off route 600 in Syria, Va. or from the Skyline Drive at milepost 42.6.

    From the bottom, the climb is very steep, and a 6-mile round-trip hike.  From the Skyline Drive, the way in is easier, but the latter half of the 7.3-mile round-trip hike is much steeper.

Crabtree Falls

    Need more waterfalls?  Crabtree falls boasts the longest vertical-drop cascades east of the Mississippi River; and the first showing of five major falls starts just 100 yards away from the parking area.  The trail is moderate in difficulty and, like any other hike, should be tackled with the appropriate footwear.  The last overlook sits about 3.5 miles in, making this a 7-mile hike.

    Access the trailhead from Crabtree Falls Highway in Montebello, Va.  A $3.00 fee is required to use the parking area. 

Mount Rogers

    Seen enough waterfalls and white oaks?  Take a break and visit a unique Virginia ecosystem reminiscent of New England and southern Canada found in the Mount Rogers National Recreation Area.  Mount Rogers is Virginia’s highest peak (5,726 ft.); and the trail to its summit features grassy balds with breathtaking views of Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina.  Begin your hike at Elk Garden Gap and hike 9 miles east along the white blazed Appalachian Trail to reach the summit.  Tackle the hike in June or July to enjoy a fantastic display of native flora.

Strickler Knob

    The Strickler Knob trail is not maintained and includes some sharp, rocky scrambles suitable only for those in good physical condition.  But the trail’s end rewards for its hardships with a stunning 360-degree panoramic of the Luray valley.

    This 9-mile hike is more appropriately called a “bushwhack” than a “trail.”  So consult a guide for directions.  It can be reached from the Massanutten trailhead on Crimson Hollow Road.

Old Rag Mountain

    This hike can’t be left out with its reputation as one of the Shenandoah National Park’s most popular hikes.  “Old Rag” is a strenuous, nearly 9-mile hike with a serious rock scramble near the summit.  No pets are allowed on the trail, a hiking partner is recommended, and ample water is a requirement.  Access the trail by parking in the parking area off SR 600, Nethers Road, and hiking the easy 1 mile to the trailhead.    

    Because of this trail’s popularity, it might be worth a little less sleep to arrive early before the summertime crowd.

Whitetop Mountain

    The Appalachian Trail runs through Elk Garden Gap in between Mount Rogers and Whitetop Mountain.  Proceed west from Elk Garden Gap to reach the meadow summit of Whitetop (Virginia’s second highest peak).  Equal in length to the Mount Rogers hike, this nine-mile counterpart is a strong competitor in scenery and abundance of wildlife.

               

    With thousands of miles of trails veining the Old Dominion, including the longest chunk of the Appalachian Trail in a single state, it would be pretentious, and a lofty compliment, to name the aforementioned hikes as Virginia’s best.  That said, none of them lack in scenery or physical challenge.  So, lace up your boots, throw together a pack, and check these trips off your summer to-do list.  Then go find some favorites of your own!

Originally published in the Rural Virginian

COLORS ARE A'CHANGIN'!

It's October, my favorite month of the year--the best month of the year, as far as many outdoorsmen are concerned.  The Shenandoah National Park (when reopened by the government of course) can be a great place to spend the fall months, hiking, fishing, taking pictures, or just going for a drive.

This useful app tracks foliage color changes throughout the year, and could be a great tool for those hoping to catch colors in their peak!