Swinging over the Shenandoah

Saturday was another chilly day, with some strong gales thrown in, that would reduce the temperatures a little more. With so many wild fires currently raging around the world, I was shocked to discover that we had one of our own about 30 minutes from Front Royal, in Woodstock. All through the week I followed the daily reports and on Friday evening I decided to drive out there and see if I could get any photos. I wasn't expecting flames, and in all honesty, didn't want to see any. The news had reported that most of the fire had been contained. I often though of the wildlife through the week as I read the reports, and hoped because of the much smaller scale, that not too many small lives were lost. I was hoping to get some cool shots of smoke passing across blackened thorns, mists swirling low over spiky grey cornfields, contrasting mountains looming dark and silent in the background. But nope, it wasn't to be. I drove up and down narrow rustic roads, my neck craning to see smoke billowing above trees. I drove up to Kennedy's Peak trail, which had been closed down briefly, but saw nothing. I stood on the edge of the overlook, looking back and forth, disbelieving that I could see no signs of fire anywhere. The fire had apparently covered over 750 acres, but this actually equates to just over a square mile, so I could only assume that, in this vast forest area, it wasn't easily visible, or accessible. I occasionally saw tufts of smoke lifting out of tree tops but when I climbed out of my car to sniff the air I realized it was wood stoves from houses I was smelling. I followed some narrow lanes I'd not explored before, hoping that maybe I'd round a corner and see a smoky scene in front of me.

 I did stop for this. A beautiful antique Farmall tricycle tractor that was actually working. Looking beyond it I spied an old hay wagon, fully loaded, and off to one side some ancient hay cutters. I looked unsuccessfully for the farmer, curious as to whether he was also aged, or a younger guy who enjoyed working with old machinery.

 These cows made me chuckle. The herd had just been brought food, laid out in a strip, and they were all scarfing it down,except the only white cow in the herd,who was watching me. I was lucky to get this shot.
I took yet another back road in Woodstock and rounding a corner, was amazed and excited, to spot a bridge, instantly recognizing it as a swing bridge. I'd only read about these a few days previously, thanks to a Facebook post, explaining that swing bridges were built so the locals could cross the river if the low bridges were flooded. I quickly parked Stanley and rushed to the wooden ramp with my camera.

 And then I slowed down considerably. I read the sign, noting only 3 people could cross at one time, and remembered it was called a 'swing' bridge. Memories came flooding back from mine and Margie's rock climbing expedition a couple of years ago, and how that hellacious bridge had defeated me. This one looked a lot sturdier and was certainly not so high up, but as I walked off the firm wooden ramp, it began swinging immediately. I took a video with my phone in one hand and hung on with the other. I couldn't walk fast, if I sped up then the bridge swung even more. The thin wire fence on either side was a little flimsier than I would have liked, and once I was over the open water occasional gusts of wind nudged me, making me lean on the fence. I have to admit to groaning a few times but I doggedly plodded across and heaved a sigh of relief as I finally stepped onto solid slats of wood.
I shot a short video of the crossing, here.https://youtu.be/XiH-f8smx7o

 Even the rotting wooden steps didn't faze me, I was so relieved to be on terra firma. I climbed up to the top quickly, amazed to discover that I was on a grassy bank looking down on to Rte 11. But anybody driving past would have no idea that this bridge existed. It couldn't be seen from the road and no signs alerted people of its existence. Only flattened grass indicated that some locals used the bridge, it was only about a mile from town. But it sure seemed a long way below me as I looked down from the top.

I trotted back down the steps, took a deep breath, and without hesitating, groped my way back across. I had both hands to hang on with this time, but I was acutely aware of how that bridge rattled and squeaked, and jerked and twisted as I gingerly stepped from plank to plank. It appeared to be well maintained, yet made a lot of noise with equally unnerving movements, which implied otherwise.
There were black cows with their calves frollicking in the field on the other side of the road, seemingly as ecstatic as I was at reaching the other side, and as I walked down onto the tarmac they stopped to stare, and I'm sure that if I understood cow talk they said, "You made it then?"
I did some research on Sunday and found that there are actually 4 of these bridges over the Shenandoah. I had a day off on Wednesday and, despite rain with high winds in the forecast, I doggedly set off early to fulfill my quest of visiting, and walking over, the 4 bridges.
The bridge from Saturday was Narrow Passage swinging bridge and the first on my list today was Deer Rapids swinging bridge, near Woodstock.

 As I climbed up the steps I looked down spotting pumpkins on the river bank that had been thrown down for the wild critters to snack on. I began to walk across the bridge noticing immediately that it was a lot more swinging than Narrow Passage. I swayed from side to side as I groped my way across, determined to reach the middle so I could get the perfect view up and down the river. I smiled in delight as I suddenly realized that both sides of the bridge's wire fencing were progressively becoming more adorned with small padlocks. A closer look revealed couple’s initials scratched on the surfaces and then I became aware that many of the wooden slats I walked on also had initials or names carved on them. This was a lover’s bridge, out in the middle of nowhere. How wonderful!

The river swept underneath me peacefully but I noticed the clouds were accumulating in the sky and the wind was beginning to pick up. It was only just over 20 minutes to the next bridge so before long I was driving along a narrow road that zigged and zagged its way down to the Shenandoah before crossing over a low level bridge. I couldn't see the swinging bridge at first,but then spotted it across a cornfield, almost hidden by trees. I walked down a track before opening a gate and stepping on to the Lupton Road swinging bridge.

This bridge had a lot of mossy wooden boards which concerned me a little and was extremely bouncy as I traversed across, each step heralded with a high pitched squeak. This was a little disconcerting but I persisted in my journey across to the other side. The wind had picked up considerably, so as I stood still on the middle of the bridge, I could still feel it moving beneath my feet as brown leaves tumbled and curled through the air above my head. A short video is here. It was a little saddening to be accosted by 3 brand new 'no trespassing' signs as I reached the other side but I put this down to the Seven Bends State Park that has just been developed here. I’m sure the owner just doesn’t want to be overrun with the inevitable bridge visitors that the new park will bring.
My final destination was less than 20 minutes away, Lantz Mills swinging bridge. This one crossed the river beside a beautiful old mill with a water wheel rusting gracefully by its side. This link explains the history of the mill, a beautiful postcard at the top with the swing bridge spanning the river.

I climbed up the sturdy steps leading up to the bridge, immediately beginning to bounce up and down on the wooden slats but this bridge was less intimidating due to having a thicker wire handrail all the way across and it was only a mere 15 ft or so above a very shallow stretch of the Shenandoah. An old house was at the other end but its neighbors could also access the bridge. I think the house owner resented my presence as I bounced my way over to his bank because he let out his 2 French bulldogs who immediately stood guard at their bridge entrance and barked wildly. Ignoring them I took some photos, then one of the dogs decided it was all too much effort and instead trotted over to me for rubs and kisses while the other one looked on, with an expression which very clearly implied his buddy was a traitor.

I found this site with the co-ordinates for the bridges. The Hollingsworth Road bridge was demolished in 2010 and I wonder whether these remaining four will follow the same fate or be maintained. I'm sure they don't see a lot of use, but they are a delightful part of Virginia history, and I hope the locals will push to ensure their continued existence.