Lake Leaping in Luray

On Saturday morning I drove down to Arrowhead Park in Luray to witness their first ever Polar Plunge. They were raising funds for Page County's Alliance for Community Action whose mission is to promote the drug-free, healthy and positive development of youth and families through community collaboration and prevention based initiatives, and announced that 93 persons with no aversions to cold water had registered. The weather forecast had just a couple of days ago promised temperatures in the low 30's with snow flurries, but today that had improved to no snow, but with a breeze keeping the digits at below 35. I wrapped up in a scarf and jacket, shivering at the thought of these folks voluntarily splashing into the lake. The sky was heavy with dark clouds making me wonder that the promised snow might make an appearance after all but the sun battled its way through the gloom, occasionally flinging some warm rays on the sand.

 There was only a small crowd when I arrived and I promptly made for one of the oil drums that were spouting welcoming warm flames. A couple of gas heaters stood on the sand but their feeble heat could barely be felt. Little groups clustered together as they helped each other get changed, keeping warm layers on top of their skimpy costumes. The 'plungers' were given an embroidered fleece to wrap around their shoulders, and all were used. A few hardy folks wandered about in scant outfits; I marveled at their hardiness, especially as they showed no gooseflesh at all. I would have been a quivering mess in their position.

As the plunge time neared more people arrived, who had likely been sitting in their warm homes or cars as long as possible before braving the inevitable moment. Out of the 93 registered, 88 had turned up and were now posing for photos along the shoreline. I chatted with a young couple who I assumed were brother and sister, quiet and really well mannered. I took to them immediately. She was dressed in a Neptune-esque dress while he was part of a penguin group. They sat quietly on a bench, shivering in their porous clothing. Another lady was here who took part in the polar plunge at Virginia Beach every year, so this was her second of the season. Wearing a tutu and bunny ears she was all smiles while her husband shivered patiently by one of the oil drums.

The announcer told everyone to get ready and the plungers turned towards the water, every face etched with anxiety and dread. But their agony was prolonged when there was suddenly an almighty splash and one of the kayakers tipped out of his boat. There had been 2 gentlemen in kayaks holding a position that the plungers shouldn't pass, and supposedly offering help if needed. I'd watched them earlier getting into their boats, wondering if they had wet suits on under their jeans and jackets, they didn't look that well prepared for kayaking in freezing water. and now one of them had fallen out. A huge cheer went up from everyone on the shore, including me, as we watched him splash about trying to gain a foothold. It wasn't deep so nobody was really concerned but a life guard swan out to help in just in case. They both pulled the kayak back to shore and once again the crowd on the shore readied itself for plunging. The whistle blew and they were off. I was impressed that not one single person faltered or decided to keep their toes in the sand. Everyone lunged and plunged into that numbingly glacial and arctic water.

With their arms held high, as though trying to keep some of their bodies out of the water, they rushed and screamed, battling against their initial shock. It seemed only a couple of minutes had passed after wading out to the iceberg they then lunged their way back to shore. Their resolve to get back on the beach was so strong that they caused a wave of water to rush up onto the sand as they passed me, my boots and jeans getting soaked in the process. Here's the young lad making his way back, one of only a few that managed a smile. Many were wincing and grimacing, faces contorted with the effort of pushing through the frigid lake, struggling and battling to get back onto the warmer land where towels and fleeces could be snatched to wrap about them. Many were holding prizes, held aloft like trophies. These had been attached to the blue and white iceberg that had floated in the water at the beginning of the plunge and was now simply a flattened soggy mess floating sadly on the surface of the water after having been pulled apart by the crowd.

The poor little Neptune girl was obviously struggling with the freezing water, but she did it. She managed to drag herself onto the beach a short time after her brother, gasping with the cold. I asked her if she'd do it again next year and without any hesitation she yelled, "NO!!"

The plungers' hardiness was very apparent,it seemed almost immediately that their faces, pinched in pain and shock just a few minutes before,  were now beaming with triumph and joy. They had faced that icy demon and won, raising money for their local community. It was now a time of celebration, excited chatter while drinking hot chocolate and cider while chewing on home made cookies. A few rushed straight to their cars but most remained on the sand,enjoying their well deserved attention and accolades. I didn't stay long myself. My feet were wet and I was feeling the cold. I too headed for my warm car, wondering how many of the brave souls from today would return next year.

A Windy Peak above a Golden Valley

We've had some ghastly weather at the weekends this year and this one was promising more of the same. An ice storm with a small amount of snow was supposed to be moving in on Sunday afternoon and evening. But even though it was cold the strong winds from Saturday had abated a little and so I decided to get a short hike on Sunday. I found it difficult to leave my warm cozy bed where Rosie Lee and Tricksie Treat were snuggling with me. I'd been sipping a huge mug of tea while engrossed in my book and could quite happily have stayed there all day but the mountains and fresh air were calling out to me and so wrapping up well, with hand warmers stuffed into my pockets, I made for Luray.
I'd read about Kennedy Peak just that morning on a Meetup hiking group announcement, but they'd be starting their hike a good 90 minutes before me so I'd likely meet them on their way out. But when I arrived at the small parking area mine was the only vehicle to take a space. Maybe they canceled their event in case the ice came in earlier. I stood and chewed my fingers while pondering on this. Maybe I shouldn't chance my luck either, the air did have a 'snow feel' about it and the wind was biting. But I realized that I was simply trying to find an excuse to jump back into the warm car, and I'd regret it later if I didn't do the hike. Plus, seeing the summit in the distance was tempting, it was a peak that needed to be climbed.

 I set off at a brisk pace to warm up. I was striding along a wide trail, an old forestry road, on top of a ridge. The wind buffeted me and I pulled my hat down over my ears. The path was rocky so I was constantly looking down to avoid tripping but every now and then I looked up at the summit standing proud ahead of me. With the trees bare on either side of the track I could see down into the valleys, brown fields, narrow roads weaving back and forth, and quietness, apart from the gales. It felt like I was the only person up here. Which I was...

 The path was rocky but the trail was a relatively easy climb. As I passed around the sheltered back of the mountain, the winds dropped and the silence of the forest was deafening. There were no sounds apart from my boots crunching the frozen earth or kicking small stones. No bird cries, no rustling of undergrowth from small critters, everyone was sheltering, likely sleeping. As I reached the final turn I came across a sign indicating that the fire tower was immediately ahead.

 After a short uphill climb over a rocky ridge I arrived at Kennedy's Peak. It was freezing cold, the wind whipped at my jacket and hat as I kept my hands deep in my pockets clutching the hand warmers. But I was amazed to see that the fire shelter had a deep enclosed area under its viewing deck, a fire pit at the front and even a small stack of fire wood ready to use. If I hadn't been concerned about the bad weather coming in I would have loved to sit up there, warming my hands in front of hot flames. Definitely worth considering for the future, especially if I remember a pack of sausages, biscuits and flask of tea!

 The ridge line that I'd hiked along before climbing up the mountain.

Despite the cold I had to sit and relish the experience of having this impressive panorama all to myself. I tucked myself into the shelter but even though I couldn't escape the winds completely I wasn't so exposed. It felt as though I was the only person on earth. I couldn't detect barely any movements down below and no sounds traveled up to my perch, no voices from humans or animals, or growls of engines. Either the wind was blowing all noise away from me or folks were huddled in their warm homes. I don't know, but it felt strangely eerie as though I was the lone survivor of a major catastrophe. There were spectacular views of Luray Valley and the South Fork of the Shenandoah River to the east and the Massanutten Range, including Duncan Knob and Kerns Mountain to the southwest. The Bermuda grass in the fields below was sandy colored; come the spring they'll change to a lush green. It was an astounding view, and one that I'll definitely be back to admire again. My hands were frozen after just the few minutes I'd had them out of my pockets to use my camera, so very reluctantly I began my return journey down the mountain.

On the way back down I took my time. I had been concerned about being caught in a snow storm while on my way up. The clouds were hanging lower and there was a smell of snow in the air. I stopped to observe smaller details, marveling at how even though most of the trail was colored in earth tones, vivid splashes of color lit up the browns and greys. There were neon yellow patches of moss hiding under a ledge and some of the rocks I studied were veined with scarlet and orange or flecked with quartz that glittered in the changing light as I passed. Teal lichens and green mosses clothed the boulders and sides of the path. I heard one solitary crow as I sauntered down, his constant cawing either a warning of the incoming bad weather or a call to his family.
When I reached the bottom my car was still the only one parked by the ledge, used in the summer time by para gliders, but vacant today. Driving down the steep mountainside a turkey vulture swooped low across the road in front of me as I peered up at the houses balancing on tall brick or stone pillars to maintain their position on the precipitous gradients. I'd once viewed these homes as gorgeous but after having looked into the purchase of one, no longer do I see their advantages, only the downfalls of mountain life.
While up on Kennedy's Peak I'd spotted the yellow roofs of a farm I'd discovered a few years ago. It had clearly been vacated some time ago and was up for sale when I'd last driven up to it. I really wanted to explore all the buildings but after my trespassing demeanor a few years ago, exploring in this county makes me nervous.

But I drove down there anyway, just to peer over the fence and see if it was now lived in. Unfortunately the grounds remain deserted. the buildings looking shoddier and a few wooden structures falling down. Yet despite its tumbledown appearance, the bright yellow roofs managed to convey plenty of cheerful appeal and I longed to walk in and explore. I was itching to see if the buildings were open to photograph but the 'No Trespassing' sign held me at bay, still exuding authority over me despite its worn appearance. I took some photos and then drove away before my presence was reported. Better to be safe than sorry!

A Scottish Remembrance in Front Royal

The freezing temperatures and icy winds that have thwarted every weekend so far this year may have caused me to cancel any outdoor activities, but I wasn't going to miss the Robbie Burns night at The Beer Museum. Only a 10 minute walk from my house I arrived with a thick jacket and scarf ready to celebrate the famous poet.
The last time I'd done this properly was many years ago in England with our table tennis and wine group in our little hamlet. We'd got together at Sue and Ray's house donned in tartan kilts and each one of us clutching a typed poem which we each had to recite. A piper had proceeded Pete holding the haggis aloft on a silver platter while we all stood around the table. The haggis was given the address and then Pete sliced it open with a long sword, which he brandished about for a bit for good effect. We'd toasted with whiskey and tucked into haggis with boiled potatoes, cabbage and swede with gravy and lashings of red wine. We'd laughed until our sides split as we listened to each other stumbling over the words of our poems. It had been an evening that is now forever etched in my memory as a wonderful moment, and I have to confess that, as I stepped up to the door of the museum, I wasn't assuming that this evening would be a patch on my fond memory. I was wrong.

Michael, the owner, and many others, were decked out in full Scottish regalia. He willingly posed outside of his fine establishment and welcomed me warmly. And as on previous walkabouts in this town, I found myself chatting to so many friendly Front Royal residents.

We had a brief introduction from Eric on the life of Robbie Burns, who like himself, was a free mason. I was astounded at how much material Mr Burns wrote. 716 are listed here. His first poem was written at age 15 and his works have been translated in more than 30 languages. He loved the ladies, dedicating hundreds of poems to them, and fathered 12 children, 9 to his wife Jean. Of course his most famous poem is Auld Lang Syne and he was voted 'The Greatest Scot' in 2009 by STV viewers. Only 37 when he died, his grave is in St Michael's Church, Dumfries, Scotland. Sir Walter Scott met him in Edinburgh and said, "His person was strong and robust; his manners rustic, not clownish, a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity which received part of its effect perhaps from knowledge of his extraordinary talents … I never saw such another eye in a human head, though I have seen the most distinguished men of my time."
I walked to the bar and ordered a porter. The building was quite empty and I hoped the cold wasn't keeping folks away. A fire was blazing outside with 2 pipers and a drummer from Winchester practicing.It was lovely hearing the sound and a group of us watched, enjoying their performance while toasty flames danced in front of us keeping us warm while we stood still. When it was time to go back inside I was amazed at how many more people had turned up, the place was crowded. Food was being prepared upstairs while a tray filled with shots of whisky was placed on the bar so everyone could raise a dram for the toasts.

Michael spoke a few words, borrowing my reading glasses so he could see the small print, and then read The Selkirk Grace, a prayer before eating:
'Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be Thankit!
Then the pipers and drummer proceeded the haggis from the bar to the front room. And the haggis was this time held up high by Michael on a lovely large silver tray followed by his son holding up a silver sword. I was ecstatic. It was wonderful to see this tradition once again, and especially to see it done so properly and evidently held in high respect.

We had more poetry read out, none if us understanding a single word, and more toasts. A toast to the lasses and then the lads is traditional and done on a much lighter note, the room exploding in uproarious laughter. We were allowed to then help ourselves to the food upstairs. The haggis was very tasty although I always find it a little dry and so make a red wine gravy to mix up with mine. But it was lovely to taste it again and the locals were surprised to enjoy it too. There had been many screwed up faces and grimaces when I had explained what was inside, but these had transformed to countenances of surprised delight after a few chews.

I followed the pipers back outside and we once more circled the fire. A larger group was out here now and the flames danced high. One of the regulars had brought an exceptional bottle of whiskey, Johnnie Walker King George V. Look up the price! Michael handed me a glass which held double of what is in the photo above. It was the most wonderful smoothest whiskey I'd ever had, delicious! I chatted to a local who was smoking the fattest cigar I'd ever seen, looking remarkably like a roman candle firework. I kept glancing at it expecting it to send out sparks and bangs at any moment.

The atmosphere was now party mode, some folks were dancing with the music and others were busy concentrating on working their way through the impressive menu of local craft beers on tap. I had no intention of waking up with a sore head the next morning, and after seeing another bottle of whiskey appear I decided to walk home. It had been a fabulous evening and I'll definitely be back the following year to celebrate Robbie Burns again.
I did find out later online that traditional Scottish haggis is banned in the US as it contains offal, and so a 'replica' is made. It tasted absolutely fine when I tried it but this article is interesting.
I also discovered that many Americans believe that the Haggis is an actual animal! I found this hilarious PDF online and had posted it to the beer museum's Facebook page, but they removed it. I must have touched a nerve!

The joy of walking home is still a novelty to me that hasn't worn off yet. I love walking the quiet back streets lined with old houses, intricate wooden gables, porches filled with seats and knick-knacks, warm amber and orange lights glowing from inside cozy rooms and the train whistling in the background. As I turn the final corner I see my little house up on the hill, yellow lights gleaming from inside like welcoming beacons. I'm happy to call this town home!