The Splendor of Strickler Knob

Very early on Saturday morning I drove to the mountains. A heavy fog hung in the valley, clinging to the mountain sides, the tips of the trees disappearing up into the mist as though an eraser had rubbed out the topmost branches.

The sun was rising and as I drove up to the trailhead I had to stop suddenly when the trees on the roadside opened up, a beautiful view of the valley below was visible, clouds rolling towards me tinged with sunrise colors. A wonderful start to the day. I was still a little sleepy as I grabbed my backpack and locked up the car, beginning my hike at 6:45am. Leaving the parking lot a bubbling creek was my first obstacle, requiring concentration as I hopped from one wobbly rock to the next, determined not to soak my feet before my hike started.

Because of the heavy rain from the night before, the trail was a small creek in itself, rainwater running down in rivulets as I negotiated my way uphill. Everything was drenched, leaves and branches dripped, while birds chirruped and cheeped their morning salutations.Along the top of the trail I was accompanied by lots of butterflies, blue swallowtails that floated and bobbed in front of me, while tiny cream and light brown butterflies landed on the path in front of me and then took off as I approached.

Tulip trees flowers carpeted the ground, knocked down by the rain, but the mountain laurel looked resplendent after its shower, bright white and pink flowers in full bloom. The air was fragrant with the morning freshness, the aftermath of rain and honeysuckle, with a damp woody aroma. As I climbed to the top of the ridge, tall black tree trunks stood bare against the skyline, the damage from a forest fire in 2007. But new growth was visible on the charred bark.
I spotted a wooden sign to the right, signaling the way to Strickler Knob, declaring that the next mile was rocky terrain. Strickler Knob is named for Abraham Strickler who around 1730 built a settlement and plantation on the eastern base of the mountain.

From here I would be following bright pink splashes of paint, marked in 2006 by anonymous trailblazers.I cannot award enough kudos to these heroes. It must have taken many arduous hours of back and forth on the rocks trying to find the best route. As I hiked I thought of having to carry a pot of paint and a paint brush while I was rock hopping and determined that I couldn't have done it. I needed my arms and hands for balance, and for hauling me up onto boulders. But every time I looked ahead for that vivid pink stripe I saw it, a beacon guiding me forward. In places I had to push through a narrow trail between bushes of mountain laurel, the wet foliage and flowers soaking my legs as I passed, but I didn't mind, my eyes constantly searching ahead for those pink markings on the ground. As I came to the summit, I walked and hopped along a ridge line, sometimes on narrow rocks, other times padding along a soft path of pine needles, my feet making hollow sounding footfalls on the thick carpet.

The views were outstanding and I was so grateful that I'd made the effort to get up early. It would have been rough, with the current social distancing, to stand back and wait for other hikers to enjoy the vistas before I could step forward, but this morning it was all mine. And an additional joy which I was ever conscious of was the total lack of mosquitoes, not one buzzy blighter to be seen. I sat for a few minutes at each of the viewpoints to appreciate these exquisite vistas and every single time I was aware that I was enjoying them without any form of interruption from those nipping nibbly critters.

I had initially thought that this huge 'head like' rock was the 'knob' and was bitterly disappointed that I couldn't climb up it. My nerves left me here, I wasn't brave enough for that ascent, and so stood looking up at it forlornly, trying to placate myself, until I looked down a steep gorge and spotted a pink blaze. So it wasn't the summit after all!

With renewed energy, I clambered down the gorge, around a corner, and then across more boulders until I saw the end of the trail ahead of me. I slowly climbed up and then sat, taking in the 360 degree views. It wasn't even 9:30am and I was on top of the world. I actually couldn't see all the way around because the morning misty clouds were still hanging in the valley, but as they swirled up and around me they felt wonderful, a natural mister that cooled me off with a gentle breeze. I sat and gazed at the mountains, drinking water, and just enjoyed nature at its best. There was even birdsong up here. I couldn't see the birds but their cheery songs carried up from the trees below me, an enchanting morning chorus. No bugs, no blazing hot sun, no humidity, this was heaven. The granite rocks sparkled in the sunlight, the quartz twinkling like glitter. I wished I could have sat there all day but then I got extremely nervous as I considered the climb back down. I've always preferred climbing up rocks rather than descending, and I worried that I had to do this, and on my own. I knew that if I broke an ankle or leg, my only rescue would be from a helicopter that would cost thousands of dollars. This thought made me extremely cautious as I climbed down, slowly and steadily.
Incredibly, the climb back down was a lot easier, and quicker. I met a few folks as I neared the end of the rocks and we chatted for a while. Plodding back down the steep trail was the worst part, my poor toes scrunching up painfully in my boots and I was feeling every small rock under my sore soles. But it had been worth it, and I know this is a trail that I'll revisit, especially in the fall, and with new boots.