Sunrise with Super Stones and Squirrels

On Sunday morning I made a superhuman effort to get out of bed at 4:30am, even earlier than I get up for work. By 5:10am I was out of the door with my backpack, a thermos of tea and my flashlight. I was going to drive just 11 miles away to the Compton Peak hike and watch the dawn rise. I've been wanting to do this for years but a post from a friend on Facebook, showing her early morning climb, pushed me into action. I had no excuse since I lived so close, and could grab a nap later in the day if I was tired.
I arrived at the parking lot and was a little selfishly dismayed to see 3 other cars already parked. But how could I resent anyone who had likely traveled a lot further than me to watch a new day break. I hurriedly grabbed my backpack, turned on the flashlight and briskly set off up the mountain. It was chilly so I was glad to warm up with some exercise. Because it was so dark I couldn't really get an idea of how steep the trail was but because I was later than I'd hoped I was anxious that I didn't miss daybreak and pushed on as fast as possible, stopping regularly for just a few seconds, and then marching on again while huffing and puffing. I kept looking over my shoulder, noticing a thin pink band stretching across the horizon. The trees were still bare at this altitude so I could see the lights of Front Royal blinking below me. My flashlight kept causing dark shadows ahead, causing me to advance cautiously in case there was a bear. But unfortunately I didn't see a single one, even though I'd seen countless dark blobs in the grey light that had been possibilities. I was rushing now, desperate not to miss the dawn sky. I thought I heard voices but was then amazed when the path showed a rocky outcrop ahead of me, the first pale thin light of daybreak illuminating the way, and there was nobody there!

 I walked slowly ahead and then out onto the grey rocky ridge, a cool breeze against my face which quickly became cold, making me zip my jacket up all the way. A lone junco hopped across the rocks, checking crevices for tasty bugs, occasionally emitting a chirrup, as other birds began to announce the new day.

I sat on the rocks and drank my tea as I enjoyed Nature's Daily Morning Show. the lights in the town slowly receding as the golden rays of sun spread out long finger across the mountains, lighting the trees with their new leaves and the peaks of the distant ranges. The moon, which had been so bright just 10 minutes ago, seemed to gradually dim as the scenery below became bathed in gold and orange hues. Clouds appeared, first as dark purple and lilac wisps which gradually became lighter as the sky turned bluer. I sat only for about 15 minutes before the cold rock and breezes prompted me to move again. It was light now, the new spring growth visible, bright greens and white blossoms where only a short time before everything had been grey.

With the moon still shining defiantly in the sky as the sun hid behind a veil of clouds I trekked across the ridge and down a steep slope. Water ran down the hill like a small creek. Climbing down was treacherous, some of the rocks slippery as the water flowed over the tops of them like tiny waterfalls. I was making my way down to a rock formation that is a rare sight in these parts and one of the more interesting geological formations in the park.

I came across huge boulders, a deep rocky valley on one side with the trail dropping steeply in the form of rock steps on the other. I began to climb down, excited at what would be around the corner. I resisted the urge to keep looking up until I was at the very bottom and then lifted my gaze to look upon the most amazing rock formation I'd ever seen. What had been just a rock from above was a geological wonder from below. This is columnar metabasalt, part of the Catoctin Formation, commonly referred to as greenstone because of its hue.

Most of the columns are hexagonal but many have become rounded by weathering, known as spheroidal weathering. Huge lava flows caused by tectonic plates moving flooded the landscape and as it quickly dried it shrank, causing these hexagonal joints and columns. There's an excellent article here on the outcrop, and it also names the mountains in the panorama photo above that I took from Compton Peak. This rock face was incredibly impressive to see firsthand and quite intimidating to stand under. It was very humbling to hold a rock in my hand that was over 500 million years old, I felt quite insignificant. I actually spent more time just marveling at this gigantic relic from an age I could barely comprehend than I did on the peak watching the sunrise. It was staggeringly monumental.
I finally tore myself away and began the climb back up to the ridge, which was a lot easier than the climb down had been.

I was soon back on the trail walking down the mountain to the parking lot. On my return journey I looked out for the first growths of spring, the sun warming up the woodland while casting a golden glow on the path ahead.

There were more columnar basalt on the side of the trail. I'd been aware of a couple of rock faces as I'd made my way up the mountain in the dark but now I could see that they were part of the same lava flow as the rocks I'd just come from.

Driving back home I stopped at a couple of the view points on The Skyline Drive. It was still early morning, the now bright sun working with the clouds to create wonderful pockets of light and shadows on the mountains and Shenandoah Valley below. The new leaves were bursting out on trees all over, a fresh mantle of bright greens and yellows across the slopes, while vivid pink redbud bushes added splashes of vibrant color.
I noticed as I drove along slowly that there were a multitude of squirrels on the tarmac seeming to be licking the road. I must have passed over a hundred of them, sometimes almost having to come to a complete stop, as they were so engrossed and seemingly desperately licking the surface of the road. I looked this up when I got home and discovered that in spring squirrels crave sodium chloride, or salt. In spring the critters scarf vast amounts of fresh buds and shoots and less nuts, thus throwing their potassium to high levels. The salt balances it back out. And after winter there's still plenty of salt still in the nooks and cracks of the roads to satisfy the squirrels' cravings. In the photo below, beyond the young deer on the verge you can see a cluster of squirrels licking the road. It's a hilarious sight and everyone moved past them very slowly, respecting their strange addiction, while some of the furry fanatics barely moved, unable to stop their frantic licking. It was making me hungry watching them so I drove into town for a hearty breakfast at The Front Royal Diner. What a superb start to my day.