Wrecked Woods and Wading in Water

After a late Thursday night watching the Capitals win the Stanley Cup in DC I still managed to get up early on Friday to race out the door for a hike. Work had got too demanding and at the last minute I took the day off, desperate for a break from all the salespeople wanting rush jobs done. I needed a breather from their constant clamoring. The weather was supposed to be good until the afternoon on each day over the weekend so I was anxious to get some outside time under my belt. On both Friday and Saturday I was hiking little used trails. Still relatively pristine, there's no damage to the paths from large groups pounding their way to the top. That's why I'm not naming the trails, let these ones remain quiet and peaceful. Let someone else name them and be responsible for their demise, it won't be me. Both hikes were up a mountain and on both days I was totally alone, the only person walking through these vibrantly lush forests. As I approached the tiny parking lot, I had to stop and wait as a mama turkey trotted across in front of me, 9 fluffy chicks scurrying after her. She anxiously looked from them to me until they were all safe together and then they all scrambled up the hill, wings held out wide as they dodged the vegetation, the whole time without emitting a single squeak. Cardinals and bluebirds swooped in front of Stanley and baby bunnies crouched in the grass as we bumped slowly along to the end of the dirt road.

At the first trail I started up the easy incline, noting that immediately as well as a creek gushing furiously down the mountain, the actual trail itself was awash with water, a shallow stream in itself. Again we'd had recent rainstorms and it seemed the mountains were trying to shake off the excess fluid. The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled the air and the warm sun felt comforting, too early yet for it to be anything other than welcomed as morning dew on leaves swept against my arms.

 A few trees were chopped down. With the humidity and heavy rainfall the wood was soaked, and the aroma of fresh timber floated about me, it was like standing in a carpenter's workshop. Among the rocks on the path, the last flowers of the tulip trees were scattered, their colors faded and browned along the edges. The trail followed the creek for about a mile and came to an abrupt stop. I looked all about to see if it branched off through the undergrowth but then I spotted the trail blaze painted on a tree on the opposite bank. I was supposed to cross but I still couldn't see where the path continued. The water was rushing past at a fast rate and I didn't trust myself to jump across the rocks, they were likely slippery. I could wade across but I had no spare socks or boots so continuing the hike would be no fun with soggy feet. I had to turn back but I'll return when the rains have subsided.
I drove to Chester Gap near Front Royal to see how that trail was, the last time I'd hiked this was in the snow. A squirrel and a chipmunk both flashed across in front of me as they hid from view. This was another uphill climb and I gave up after about a mile. Only yesterday or the day before the trail had obviously undergone maintenance. Branches and vegetation that had been hacked from each side now littered the path in front of me, the green leaves limp and dull. There was nothing to photograph on this day, it was a path of debris, and I didn't want to hike what looked like a mutilated trail so a little dejected I turned back towards the car. The path would look better in a week or so I'm sure.
On Saturday I was up even earlier and soon out of the door, looking forward to a better day of hiking. This time I was returning to a trail I'd discovered in July last year. It would be interesting to see the differences from spring to summer.

These were apparent almost immediately as the trail was now a small creek that I had to paddle in uphill. but this didn't last for long and soon I was on drier ground. I was so excited to be outside again that I didn't think about the latter part of the hike and the effects of the recent huge downpours. but for now I walked along the shiny trail, slivers and slices of wet shale gleaming like silver in the sunshine. The canopy overhead kept me cool but the mosquitoes were relentless, as well as no-see-'ems that constantly tried to get close to my eyes. This just made me walk faster but soon I turned uphill and the climb became steeper.

Beautiful mountain laurel flowers were abundant here, white flowers speckled with pink on either side of the trail. I spotted some fresh bear scat and then further along a few upturned boulders and rocks, signs that Bruno had been searching for insects and other morsels of food. I noticed that birds were trilling above me, a welcome happy sound. Usually I'm completely alone on these forest hikes apart from the odd woodpecker, and then as though my thoughts had been broadcast, a deep hollow reverberation emanated from the distance, a hollow tree being bored into.

The air was thick and humid. Perspiration glistened on my arms and legs while rivulets of sweat ran down my face, dripping off my nose and chin. and my calf muscles burned. This was great! I had to use my bug wipes a few times but at least this resulted in them being held at bay while I was walking. But when I stopped for water breaks they zoomed in, whining about my head and very evidently looking for that opportunity to dive in and bite. But I didn't stay still long. The uphill trek seemed never ending and it was with great exuberance that I finally peaked the summit. Walking slowly along a sandy path softened with pine needles, it felt as if I was walking on air after that arduous climb. I searched for the secret path to the overlook and pushed my way through the mountain laurel flowers .

And this was where I sat and ate my lunch, completely alone apart from the birds. Not a single person in sight or earshot, no engines, just bird song, and unfortunately those damn mosquitoes. I sat and swatted, and sat and munched, determined to enjoy this well earned view. I'd climbed 1600ft and it felt like it but from now on most of the hike would be downhill. I really wanted to do some painting from the photos I'd taken on the way up but the incessant whining and buzzing around my head put paid to that. I couldn't relax fully and concentrate, ever conscious of the insects waiting for a lapse in my concentration so they could attack. I noticed the clouds in the distance looking dark and grey, then as on cue a rumble of thunder sounded from not too far away. I needed to get going.
I kept up a brisk pace now I was hiking along a ridge. Coming across a concrete post with trail names on it, I didn't see the one I was looking for, so out came the compass and I chose the path that looked to be heading back towards the car. I was surprised I couldn't remember the route, I'd completely forgotten about needing to take turnings.

The ridge line was a scene of desecration, so many large trees were down, mostly pines, as though a huge wrecking ball had passed through knocking them flat like skittles. The path was completely blocked so I had to clamber over large trunks or negotiate my way around. The recent storms had caused extensive damage up here. It saddened me to see these huge majestic giants that had taken years to grow, looking perfect as they stood proudly on top of their mountain, to now be felled so swiftly. Giant root balls, the essence of the trees' foundations, were bared to the sky, large rocks and boulders held tightly in the webs of tangled fibers. 

And as I worked my way through one tree, immediately ahead would be another, even a cluster, appearing to be desperately trying to hold each other up and remain upright. I couldn't enjoy the smell of the pine, I wished this hadn't happened. As I clambered over the trunks my hands were sticky from the sap, seeming as if they were bleeding. I had to scramble over or under 7 or 8 of these fallen trees, hearing thunder again and realizing the sky had darkened further. The terrain was now looking so different that I recognized nothing and hoped the trail marker I was looking for hadn't been hidden and missed as I climbed this forest obstacle course.

I did find the next concrete post and knew I was on the right trail. Approaching a flooded section of the path, I heard the deep-throated belches of bullfrogs and coming across a pond created under an uprooted tree I spotted 2 huge fat frogs leap into the water with a loud plop. In the murky brackish water were hundreds of tadpoles wriggling back and forth. I passed them and then realized immediately ahead that I had to cross a creek. The stepping stones were submerged, so I jumped and waded, amazed to reach the other side with wet boots but dry feet.
The rest of the trail was downhill, some of it very steep. Rain started falling, drops spattering on the leaves above me but not getting through the dense foliage to dampen me.

There were a few times that I walked downhill in water, a stream rushing down the trail. I spotted a few of these aquilegia like flowers as I slipped past on wet rocks or soggy leaves. Back home I discovered that they are wild columbine flowers. I also saw plenty blue-eyed grass flowers, the vivid blue looking like jewels, bright in the woodland's green. The rain stopped thankfully, but further obstacles were ahead.
Once more the path crossed the now fast moving creek. There was no way I could get across without getting my feet wet so without further ado I splashed down into the water. The wet rocks were very slippery, preventing me from jumping from one to another. I had to wade across. I felt the cold water creep into my boots and actually enjoyed the cooling sensation. But once out of the water and back on the trail it wasn't so pleasant. I didn't want to take my boots off and wring out socks, I assumed that would just encourage abrasion while walking and I would end up with blisters. So I squelched along, evading any steep rocks and trying to ensure my feet stayed as level as possible, as it was uncomfortable feeling my feet moving inside my boots. But I hoped the water would act as a buffer and hopefully keep any skin from chaffing. I thought of the through hikers on the Appalachian Trail and wondered if they carried spare boots or just simply trudged onwards.

And trudge onwards was exactly what I had to do. Before I got to the end of the trail I had to wade across the creek twice more, both times with the water gushing past so fast that I had to hold onto rocks as I worked my way over to the other side. Even trying to assess the depth of the creek was near impossible and a few times I found myself with the water up to my knees. But it did feel deliciously cool and soothing on my sore feet. I suppose it was a bit like wearing a hot water bottle on each foot, but obviously with cold rather than the usual hot liquid inside. I was very relieved to reach the end of the trail and be back on level ground again so my feet could stop sliding within my boots. I still had to walk about quarter of a mile back to Stanley but the thunder clouds had been swept away and the sun was shining. To keep my mind off my feet I stared at this favorite house of mine, perched on a grassy hillside and wished the owner would holler and invite me on to the porch for a cold beer and a dry towel. But despite my wishing nobody moved except me, it seemed as if I was the only person around for miles, squelching along the gravel road and marveling how none of the water was escaping from my boots and leaving wet footprints. I was very glad to get to the car, pour out my boots and wring streams of water from my socks. But the best was driving home barefoot with the AC blasting down on my toes. And later that evening when I checked, no blisters! Joy!