Shining Woodlands and Water and Rusting Wrecks

I'm not sure now how long 'shelter in place' has been in effect with the coronoavirus, but it must be 4 weeks at least. I've been going into the office only twice a week, working from home the other days, and any extra days have been spent painting bathrooms, housework, gardening and watching tv shows. Binge-watching a few since I temporarily have internet in the house while the pandemic lasts. I'd managed to get in a few hikes but thanks to so many people from cities and even other states flooding the parks, upsetting locals who feared their contagion, and also dumping their trash in these beautiful areas, the Skyline Drive is now closed, and the trailheads outside the park that touch on the borders are also closed. A few that have remained open are now swarming with people who refuse to stay in their own area, so my local hikes are now few. I do know of a few remote spots and one morning I got up early to hopefully enjoy a hike without bumping into groups of other people.

The trail was deserted and cold. The sun was heaving itself over the mountain top, casting warm rays through the branches and creating golden spider web effects, but in areas of shade it was decidedly chilly and I was glad of my jacket, even wishing I'd worn a scarf. The spice bushes were in full bloom, the edges of the flowers appearing as though they'd been dipped in glitter. White bloodroot and anemones peeked out from dusty brown leaves, so the whole trail was silver and gold. The birds were vocal this morning too, seeming to be singing their songs loudly so they'd warm up. I walked about 4 miles without seeing a single person and was soon back in my car again, glad I'd got up early to enjoy this mountain top.

Since hiking trails was getting difficult with so many people heading for the hills, I tried a local road that might also offer an opportunity for biking. The road itself wasn't paved, with multitudes of potholes and every couple of minutes I was enveloped in a dust storm as cars raced back and forth. It wasn't as unused as I'd hoped but I persisted along the course as I was hunting for a hidden quarry which had appeared a beautiful deep teal color in a few photos I'd seen.

 A well preserved small cemetery was at the top of the hill, which I later discovered to be the Marshall family cemetery. An attractive rugged stone wall surrounded the gravestones with a small black metal gate as the only entrance. I wandered among the headstones, noting that two were in place with a birth date but no date of death. There are literally people dying to get in here. I carried on across fields and then battled my way through dense woodlands where the brambles were already making their presence very apparent. But my persistence paid off when I finally caught a glimpse of aquamarine through the bare branches.

 I stood admiring the water for a while as I picked out twigs and thorns from my hair and clothes, then began battling back through the undergrowth, determined to find a way down to the banks of this pool. I eventually burst out of the trees onto a flat rock ledge. The sun was beating down, warm and welcoming. I would have loved to just sit on the rocks and enjoy the complete tranquility down here for a while but I wasn't sure if I was trespassing or not and didn't want any trouble. A pair of Canadian gooses were floating on the water, making we ponder if they were annoyed at me busting into their peaceful world, and so I snapped a few photos carefully so as not to scare them into flying off, and then I quietly backed away. I tried to find information on the quarry later but found nothing, only that there are two minerals that turn quarry water this beautiful color, malachite and azurite, and then wondered if I should go back at some point to find samples...
Walking back to the car I came across an old ruin that looked very much like a castle. This old building had been very well built and it saddened me that it was tumbling down here with few people aware of its existence.

This area would make a beautiful park area. I did find an article on the house after some research; maybe one day that park won't be a dream.
Over the past weekend I had spent an hour or two driving and exploring country roads, just wanting to get out of the house and get some fresh air. By chance I drove by an old scrapyard. I had discovered this a few years ago but failed to note its location, and had then been unable to find my way back. But today I recognized it immediately and was delighted to spot its owner chatting to another guy outside a workshop. His buddy left as I approached and I smiled then asked very politely if I could please take some photos of the cars. I'm not sure if I pissed him off because his friend left as I appeared or if he simply didn't like English people. He began making some supercilious remarks about my accent, and it soon became apparent he was trying to wind me up. I didn't bite the hook, I wanted to explore those old cars, so I laughed along with him, my hands writhing behind my back as I imagined wringing his scrawny neck. But then the conversation turned to working on older cars and riding motorbikes. When he discovered that I had been capable of replacing brakes, spark plugs, points, timing belts, alternators, starter motors and other components which had been simple on cars from the 70's and 80's, along with riding fast on motorbikes and performing basic maintenance on them too, he slowly changed from a testy old geyser to a friendly and sweet elderly gentleman, who after another discussion on snakes, finally relented and said I was welcome to go take some photos. As long as I trod careful since the place was crawling with copperheads and rattlers. Righty Ho! I pulled my socks up as far as they would go and trudged onward.

 I had a thoroughly enjoyable hour or so strolling around and inspecting the cars inside and out. I didn't want to outstay my welcome, and hadn't wanted to inquire whether I'd be OK to explore for two or three hours in case I upset him and he ordered me to bugger off. So I kept an eye on the time and kicked through the leaves and rotten wood, having completely forgotten his warning about slithering critters. Even though many of the cars were in bad shape there were still plenty of opportunities to get photos, with hood ornaments still intact, along with much chrome work and light lenses. I particularly loved the sunlight shining through a vintage 7-Up bottle which was caught in a web of wire and throwing a green shadow below it.  I even found a vintage plate. Rusty embossed letters on a thin metal sheet caught my eye among the dead leaves, and pulling it out the letters read 'FRONT ROYAL, VIRGINIA' along the top, 'WHERE THE SKYLINE DRIVE BEGINS' along the bottom and a date of 69. I gave it to the old chap as I was leaving, thinking he'd clean it up and display it in his workshop, but he just took it, inspecting the letters briefly, and placed it on top of an old oil can in the shop. I hoped he wouldn't toss it away or back among the leaves. But he was in a good mood as I thanked him and drove away, hopefully good enough that he'll remember me favorably and let me return another day.

Up above the Clouds

I was up early on Sunday morning, before the sun rose. I wanted to hike a couple of trails along the Skyline Drive but knew the park would be packed by mid morning with out of town tourists, not a good thing when everyone is supposed to be keeping distant from each other. There are other locals, who like me, are frustrated at so many people invading our small town during a pandemic without any empathy towards the impact on our community. Resident hikers have also been complaining about the trash these people have been leaving behind, on the trails and the overlooks.
I drove down towards Luray, chuckling at a house by the road, its windows brightly lit by four Christmas trees, an act some folks are encouraging to lift people's spirits. It lifted mine.

It was difficult entering the park as the fog was so dense. I drove as slowly as possible because bunnies kept darting back and forth, evidently enjoying their breakfast of dew laden fresh grass shoots. And there were so many deers, I must have passed over fifty of them, standing by the side of the road, or running alongside me. It was a magical time of morning that the animals obviously enjoyed before the humans arrived to overrun the park. I only saw a couple of cars, people sitting on the stone walls waiting for the sun to peek over the horizon and turn the sky from blue to orange.
I drove down to Big Meadows, pleased to find that I was the only car parked here. The flat heathland looked dull and barren, herds of deers slowly roaming through the brown grasses, but I'd never stopped here before and wanted to explore.

As I walked along a trail I was suddenly aware of birdsong. Usually while walking in the woods I am constantly aware of the silence, never understanding how the natural landscape could be bereft of birds, but here the air was alive with the trills of robins. They flocked over the grass, presumably hunting for earthworms in the damp soil. They fluttered before me in huge crowds, occasionally bickering, and I was glad of their company. A crow, so large that I initially thought it was a vulture, peered down and cawed indignantly, while in the distance a woodpecker hammered on a tree trunk searching for his breakfast bugs.
I walked through woods, noting sprouts of spring flowers budding through the undergrowth, clumps of sphagnum moss, which was saturated with the previous night's rain when I bent down to squish it. The lichens and mosses were vibrant teals and greens on the grey rocks, and I stopped to take in the view across the meadow, the many golds, tans and browns that colored the landscape, which in a few weeks would turn to greens. It reminded me a little of the Yorkshire Dales.

I followed narrow trails, which I assumed had been made by the deers, and sure enough soon came across a herd. They watched me cautiously but didn't run, an occasional white tail lifted in warning. I stood still and chatted with them, rewarded with curious expressions and a few that dared to tip toe a little closer.
Walking back towards the car, small finches darted back and forth from stalks and seed heads in the grass. A family arrived as I approached the parking lot, but were friendly and kept their distance.

I drove back towards Front Royal, stopping at overlooks to photograph the clouds. At one of them the Appalachian Trail crossed the road to dip down into that fluffy fog that blanketed the valley, like descending into another world. I continued on before stopping at another trail that I hadn't yet hiked, Little Stony Man. There were already two cars here but I decided to take a chance and made my way up the track.

As I neared the summit a couple were hiking down towards me. I clambered upon to a bank and we exchanged greetings, the guy lamenting on the clouds of flies that were down by the cars. I'd noticed these too but thankfully there were none on the trail. The climb up was very rocky, living up to its name, and I had to keep my eyes down on where I placed my feet. After yesterday's rain, the air was fragrant with woodland aromas, wet earth and rotting wood as I passed fallen trees. Suddenly the trail leveled out and I was walking out on to a rocky outcrop, strong winds pushing me back as I looked into the distance, an ocean of clouds moving like waves towards me. It was spectacular. I stood watching for a few minutes and then continued along the trail, now skirting alongside a cliff of rock.

These rock outcrops and cliffs were caused millions of years ago by volcanoes, layers of rock forced up and outwards, changed today by mechanical weathering such as tree roots and ice. I walked about a mile and then turned back to sit on that wondrous bench of stone, watching the flow of the fog below me as I ate an apple and a banana, the winds strong but warm.The mountain peaks were only just visible in the distance, jutting up through the clouds, and a lone turkey vulture skimmed above my head. It was glorious to sit there enjoying this incredible spectacle on my own but I knew the crowds would soon be arriving, and so started on my way back down to the car.

On the way down I met a couple of groups, all of us giving each other plenty of space and soon I was in the parking lot, my morning of short hikes completed by 9:45am. I'd completed about five miles total and smiled as I thought of the visitors in the early 1900s who, staying at the Skyland Resort further down the park, had considered this trail an 'excursion'.
The sun was breaking through the clouds as I drove towards home but I stopped at two outlooks, which weren't full of parked cars, to stand and admire the foggy seas below me one final time, even finding another cherry blossom tree, resplendent in the bright morning light. Cars were pulling in as I drove away, it was going to be another busy day on the Skyline Drive.

,