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.

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