When we plan a hike, we always keep our fingers crossed for good weather—not too hot, not too cold, clear blue skies—you get the picture. Sometimes that works out. This was not one of those times.
The morning started out pretty enough. The three of us, Dianne, Cathy, and I, wanted to be on the trail by 8:00, so we left our campsite at Davidson River Campground in Pisgah National Forest in the gray-gloom of the morning. As we drove along the Blue Ridge Parkway, the sky gradually brightened. Unable to resist, we pulled over to watch the day unfold over the mountains. Knobby peaks rose out of the clouds, the sky a palette of pinks and blues.
An island in the skyLooking East at dawn, we saw a cloud casting a shadow backwards on another cloud. How could this be?
We parked at the Black Balsam trailhead just off the Parkway. This was the Art Loeb trail that I’d heard so much about. The entire trail stretches 30 miles; we were on Section 3, the most popular part of the trail known for its views. We would see no views this morning. Instead, we found ourselves enveloped by fog, the gray rocks of the trail dissolving into the thickened sky. Spikes of goldenrod punctuated the gray while splashes of red mountain ash berries excited our eyes.
Mountain ash and wood aster
We climbed to the trail’s high point, Black Balsam Knob, and stared out into nothingness. There were no panoramic views from Tennent Mountain, either. Yet I felt no disappointment. The magic of this mist was more than enough.
The trail descended into Ivestor Gap. A wayward glance, a misstep, and whoops: Dianne fell off the mountain. Fortunately, thick shrubs cushioned her fall and her laughter let us know she was unhurt. Cathy supplied a helping hand up, while I made sure to document the event.
The eroded trail narrowed and deepened as we went through walls of shrubs. Wild blueberries still clung to the stems: a tasty treat along the way.
We headed into Shining Rock Wilderness, at 18,000 acres the largest Wilderness in North Carolina. These grassy “balds” and treeless vegetation were due to logging in the early 1900s as well as fires that ravaged the area in 1925 and 1942.
Up from the balds, we entered a conifer forest. Before long, huge impossibly white rocks told us we had arrived at the crest of Shining Rock Mountain. The brilliant white of the quartz was an unusual sight, a true capstone experience. We climbed onto one outcropping of the shiny boulders just as the rain started. We would have liked explore the area more, but the rain had other ideas so back down we went.
I soon found that my poncho, while doing an admirable job of keeping my backpack and head dry, did little else. The wind whipped it around and the narrowness of the trail meant my lower body and arms were soon drenched from the brush on either sides. It wasn’t long before my feet were sharing my shoes with soggy socks. It was chilly, but as long as I kept moving I wasn’t chilled.
Pink turtleheadBottle gentianGneiss the Gnome chillin’ in a s’room pool
The rain continued in spurts but as we neared the end of our hike, the leaden sky broke apart and the fog lifted, giving us glimpses of sunshine and the surrounding mountains. We finished our hike with smiles on our faces, our clothes slowly drying out. We had hiked 10.8 miles, some 1538 feet of elevation change. Not bad for our first hike of the season.
Sure, our hope was to hike in clear blue cool weather, taking in the scenic beauty of the world spread out below us. But the funny thing is, a month later I can barely remember the rain. What I remember most vividly is the way the mist transformed our surroundings as if by magic, giving it an otherworldly appearance. There’s beauty in all kinds of weather and, sometimes, the most memorable journeys are not the cloudless ones.
Lesson learned: There’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong attitude. (And as luck would have it, when I got home I found a like-new LL Bean rain jacket at a thrift store for only $16. Next time I hike, I’ll have the right attitude AND the right clothes.)
Grayson Highlands State Park in Virginia was only meant to be a midpoint on our way home. It quickly became much more than that.
The drive to Grayson Highlands was only supposed to be five hours. It took us eleven. It all started with a sign: Tunnel ahead, 9’9” clearance. Oops. We couldn’t remember exactly how high Elvis the Motor Coach was, but we knew it was more than 9 feet 9 inches.
Cell service being spotty, I pulled out a paper map. That’s when I saw it: New River Gorge National Park. It didn’t look like much of a detour, so off we went. We drove to the Canyon Rim Visitor Center—by the way, things look a lot closer on a map than they really are—and toured the Visitor Center and caught the views of the New River Gorge Bridge. We really didn’t have time to do this National Park justice, but we did get a taste of it as well as a sense of awe at the ingenuity of the bridge builders. The New River Gorge Bridge is the longest steel span in the western hemisphere and is the third highest bridge in the US. Its construction turned a 40-minute drive into less than a minute. But the biggest surprise for me was that it only took three years to build the thing.
The GorgeThe Bridge
Moving on down the road, this time it was my husband suggesting that we stop in Beckley. His friend, a West Virginia native, had recommended the Beckley Exhibition Coal Mine tour. Although it put us arriving at our campground at 8:00 pm, I’m glad we made this stop. Unless you physically see the conditions that existed in a coal mine, you really don’t have any idea of the hardships. Our guide, a retired coal miner, took us through this preserved coal mine in coal cars. He entertained us with the song “16 Tons” while explaining that the coal mining industry, just like the textile industry and the sharecropping system, had workers so tightly bound that they had no power to leave or better themselves, working body-crushing labor that only ended with injury, disease, or death. Truly an eye-opening experience.
We set up camp at Grayson Highlands in the dark, reveling in the hookups for water and electricity. At $40 a night, this was our most expensive campground yet, but we didn’t begrudge the cost as sleeping in a warm tin can was not appealing. However, next time I plan on saving some money by getting a site with no hookups. With the cool temps at this elevation, we didn’t need the A/C and could easily make do without water or lights.
Turk’s Cap Lilies outside the Country Store at GHSP
The next day we set about exploring Grayson Highlands State Park. We joined the Twin Pinnacles ranger-led hike, a 1.6 mile loop trail to the two highest points in the park. Our ranger turned out to be a young woman in the AmeriCorps program. As a volunteer, she received a small stipend and lodging. In return, she got great work experience and a fantastic summer adventure. She led us up to Little Pinnacle through a boreal forest and then further up to Big Pinnacle with majestic vistas all around. She pointed out Mount Rogers, the highest peak in Virginia far off in the distance. My interest was piqued at the thought of bagging another state’s highest peak.
Little PinnacleBig Pinnacle looking out at Mount Rogers
Back at the Visitors’ Center parking lot, I was still in hiker mode. Luckily, the Listening Rock trailhead was right there, so off I went on this 1.4 loop rated as difficult. Having seen a bear raiding a garbage can on our drive up the day before, I found my fear of encountering a bear more difficult than the trail itself. Making lots of noise disguised as singing, I tramped on. Voices ahead—I stopped my “singing” and found three guys standing around a tree in the middle of the woods. It turned out that they were from the Dept. of Conservation and Recreation and were in the process of inoculating the tree to protect it from some sort of fungal disease which I swore I’d remember but then didn’t.
I continued on, feeling safer now that there were more humans around. I came to the trail’s namesake, the rock overlooking the valley where farmers locate grazing cattle by listening for their bells. Heading back up the hill I came to the bouldering field, an area strewn with large boulders where the word “boulder” changes from a noun to a verb. Bouldering, a form of rock climbing done without ropes or harnesses and using crash pads for safety, is big in Grayson Highlands. This trail especially was noted for the numerous boulders upon which one could boulder. I came to one such boulder and decided to boulder it myself. Although chalk marks delineated a path upward on the boulder’s face, I made my own path by walking up the other side which was at ground level. Why make life harder than it needs to be? I’m always proud of myself for achieving new obstacles!
One of the many boulders upon which one could boulder.The view from the top of the boulderIt was really hard to squeeze into this box!
Later that day we joined another program, The “Fun” in Fungus. Although this AmeriCorps volunteer looked barely old enough to shave, he expertly guided us down a path, explaining how to tell the edible chanterelle from the poisonous jack-o-lantern mushrooms. I still abide by my rule that the only place to find edible mushrooms is in a grocery store.
chanterelle
The next day found me at the Massie Gap trailhead, prepared to hike to the top of Mount Rogers. Looking back on this nine mile hike, I can’t help smiling! It was glorious. The weather, the scenery, the ponies—did I mention that in addition to bouldering, Grayson Highlands is known for its herds of wild ponies? Monitored by the Wilburn Ridge Pony Association, they were first brought here in 1975 and are thought to be descended from the ponies of Assateague and Chincoteague. These ponies have a purpose: to control the growth of brush along the balds (mountain meadows) which were clear-cut by loggers in the late 19th century. Hikers are warned not to feed them or get too close, but it’s evident from the ponies’ mooching behaviors that this rule is not followed. I watched spell-bound as they grazed the meadow at Wilburn Ridge, the stallion keeping a close eye out for his herd.
A buzzing sound high above shook me out of my spell. Although clearly illegal in the State Park, a couple of young idiots were flying a drone above the ponies. Circling and swooping, the drone zipped around the herd sounding like an angry hornet. I spotted the guys responsible for this invasion high up on a rocky knob and gave them my stern Teacher Look which I hope they captured on their camera.
The drone flyers are seen as tiny figures on the top of the rocky outcrop.
A good bit of the hike took me on the Appalachian Trail, marked with white blazes. I encountered quite a few backpackers who were section-hiking the AT, as well as many other day hikers like myself. Much of this trail was through open meadows with spectacular views, rocky outcrops serving as vantage points to see the vastness of the world below.
As I continued up the trail, I saw more ponies and even one long horned steer. I was greeted by many hikers’ dogs with loving kisses and thumping tails. Yet the most surprising trail companion I met was a cat named Finn. His owners kept him on a leash and carried him over the most difficult spots, keeping a tally of the number of photos taken of him. I was #10 that day.
There were many campsites along the path and several large metal bear boxes. At the Thomas Knob Shelter, a sign explained that bears have learned how to retrieve food hung in trees! I had to laugh at the privy near that AT shelter—it had a wheelchair ramp! I doubt there is a wheelchair capable of scrambling over and through the boulders and narrow passages on this trail.
A two-seater privvy, but oh, the flies!the white blazes of the AT led right through this rock slot
Once past the AT shelter, it wasn’t long before I reached the Mount Roger Spur Trail. In another half mile, I was at the highest point in Virginia. There was no view from the peak since it’s located in the Lewis Fork Wilderness area with no tree clearing allowed. Standing at the top of Mount Rogers at 5,729 feet, a little over a mile high, I was surrounded by the moist lushness of a temperate rain forest. I found the two bronze survey markers and sat on a rock to enjoy the quiet as I ate my lunch. Until the two idiots arrived.
a “nursery” log, covered with moss, ferns, and saplings
I recognized them immediately and went into full Teacher Mode. Were you the ones flying the drone at Wilburn Ridge? Yes ma’am. Is that allowed? Yes ma’am.
At that point I gave up, not having the rules right there with me. And I know I shouldn’t call them idiots. They seemed pleasant and polite enough. I’m sure they were just looking to get some great shots to share on social media. But they surely weren’t thinking of anyone or anything other than themselves.
The hike back on this there-and-back trail was uneventful. I stretched it out as long as I could, scrambling up each rocky knob to take in the fresh breezes and the view of the world spread out before me. I didn’t want this hike to end.
On our last full day of vacation, I was like an addict hustling the streets in search of drugs. In my case, I wanted to take in all that Grayson Highlands had to offer in the little time I had left. Brian and I took the dogs on the Wilson Creek Trail, a loop trail of a little more than a mile. The creek splashed over rocks and looked inviting, with several pools that begged dipping your toes in. Even in August, it was a bit too cool for me.
the aptly named coral fungus
We drove to the Homestead Picnic Area and peered through the windows of the century-old log cabins and outbuildings. I walked the Rock House Ridge Trail, named for the huge boulder at the trailhead that created a lean-to like shelter. We drove to the park entrance and walked the Haw Flats trail, with me splintering off onto the Split Rock Trail. Time ran out for me to experience all that Grayson Highlands had to offer.
This old tree was loaded with applesthe Rock houseBouldering done rightSplit rockThe Overlook (the only place in the Park to get reliable cell service!)
My heart was full, but even before I left I was yearning to return.
Lessons learned from this vacation:
One doesn’t have to travel thousands of miles to experience the natural beauty of our country. Virginia and West Virginia are beautiful states to explore.
Boondocking doesn’t have to mean being uncomfortable, and it definitely saves money. Cool temps at higher elevations and lack of cell service is a refreshing change.
Don’t count on cell service, even when on the road. Paper maps and trail books still have a place in this digital world of ours.
No matter how long you stay at a place, there’s always more that could be experienced.
The skies were gray this morning as we got ready to leave and indeed it spit rain for most of the way up to Spruce Knob Lake Campground in West Virginia. We were an hour from the nearest town and the last few miles were on a pock-marked gravel road that had Elvis shake, rattle, and rolling more than ever. Regardless, we were excited to be able to stay in one place for several days, and with temperatures at home reaching 100°, here we were donning our jackets in the chilly air with smiles on our faces!
fireweedLesser burdockPink turtleheadViper’s-bugloss (filled with toxic chemicals and with parts resembling a snake’s head, it nonetheless has pretty flowers!)
I chatted for a while with the campground host, a 20ish girl named Lela who kept referring to her camping buddy May. I finally realized that May was her dog, Lilly May. Lela was on a solo adventure, living out of her A-frame camper and making a living by working as a campground host all around the country. As it turned out, she was from Swansea, S.C., about 45 minutes from our home. Small world!
To get our bearings, we put on our rain gear and took a walk. We were amazed that this isolated campground with no electricity, vault toilets, no cell service, and water with a boil advisory was soon to be filled to capacity. A woman sat hunched under an umbrella at her picnic table, the front of her Road Trek camp van pointed toward the sky with the back end sunk in a ditch. We offered her the comfort of our camper, but she replied that this was all part of the adventure. As it turned out, her insurance had sent a wreaker, but it went to her house in Florida instead of her current location! Lela lent her a tent for the night, but it was a day and a half before her van was pulled out of the ditch.
In the spirit of boondocking, we cooked several meals over the campfire. Cleanup was not fun.
The rain finally stopped and the sky cleared. We walked down the road to Spruce Knob Lake, which at 3,840 feet was the highest lake in West Virginia. We hiked the one-mile loop around the lake, arriving at the dam just in time for the sunset.
The next day we subjected Elvis to the 6.5 miles of bone-jarring road up to the top of Spruce Knob, the highest point in West Virginia at 4,863 feet above sea level. When I had planned this trip, I had assumed that there would be hiking trails from the campground. Well, no. It seemed that we had to drive to get to any of the trailheads. The Knob itself was nice, with the Whispering Spruce Trail meandering around the top with different vistas, including an observation tower. I explored the Huckleberry Trail for a mile or so, passing many dispersed campsites with interesting seating arrangements. A father and his three young sons ran past, careening down the rock-strewn path as the boys laughed and the father shouted, “Focus on your footwork, sons!” Youth.
Having just watched the Netflix series “Alone” I knew that bunchberries were edible. So I ate them. I survived.Comfortable campfire seating. Note the mossy seat cushion.At the top of Spruce Knob and undeterred by my presence, this cedar waxwing was indubitably the highest nester in all of West Virginia!View from the top of West Virginia
With no cell service to research hiking options, that night Brian borrowed a trail guide from a neighbor and mapped out a trail for me. Again, Elvis complained at each pothole before we arrived at the trailhead. The first two-thirds of this trail was miserable. This section of the Allegheny Mountain Trail was a sodden mess, deeply rutted with tractor tracks filled with water. I found myself constantly sloshing from one muddy side to another. To make matters worse, when I stepped off the path to relieve myself, my cell phone slipped out of my back pocket. All I’m going to say is that, while not recommended, urea makes a great glass cleaner. Chin up.
Hubby’s trail mapAllegheny Mountain “trail”
When I reached my turn off at Bear Hunter Trail, three horseback riders were resting. They proclaimed this a great trail, at which I grumbled that things must look different atop a horse. I had hopes that Bear Hunter would be better, but again my hopes were dashed. Heading steeply downhill on a single-wide path, it quickly became evident that horses had continued the work of tractors, churning up thick mud and making the footing treacherous.
I finally reached the bottom of the slope and turned onto Seneca Creek Trail. All of a sudden, birds were singing, the creek babbled a happy little tune, and the clouds gathered around my head lifted. Backpackers were scouting out prime sites along the creek and cheerful families were chatting as they walked. A deer sprang across the trail in front of me, then stopped to graze unafraid. Up ahead, a man and two dogs transformed into my ever-loving husband with wagging pooches coming to meet me and walk the last mile or so together. All was right with the world.
Pearl Crescent butterflies puddling for salts
Next time I plan a trip, I’ll buy a trail guide for the area or at the very least, do a better job of researching trails ahead of time.
The following day we broke camp and headed to Gheny Nook Campground, an RV park I had selected since it had full hook-ups including wifi and sewer, an amenity we sorely needed after three days of boondocking. The camp host was both friendly and generous, giving us more than enough free firewood. The afternoon was warm with pesky gnats swarming and causing us to stay inside with our air conditioning on for the first and only time of our trip.
I scouted out nearby attractions online and settled on Beartown State Park. Although an hour away, it did not disappoint. Known for its unusual rock formations, a boardwalk meanders for half a mile through this small park.
We had the park to ourselves as we explored the crevices, cliffs, and boulders of sandstone formed on the shores of an ancient ocean. Gnotty and Gneiss, my two gnomey friends, were on cloud gnine as they tried out various gnooks and crannies that pitted the enormous stones.
On the way back to Gheny Nook, we stopped at the Greenbrier River, billed as the longest untamed river in the Eastern US. How does one tame a river, you ask? Dammed if I know!
We took a short hike on the Greenbrier River Trail, a rails-to-trails path running parallel to the river for some 80 miles. Of course, I had to wade out into the river, following the example of our pup Pip.
I would have liked to lollygag here all afternoon, but a storm was looming and we needed to get back on the road before it hit.
Tomorrow would be a travel day as we headed to our last stop, Grayson Highlands State Park in Virginia, where I would fall hopelessly in love.
I have two criteria when deciding on a summer vacation. First, it should be somewhere cool, both in temperature and WOW factor. Second, it must keep my husband happy. And my husband has his own criteria: it shouldn’t be too far away (due to rising gas prices and a motor home that only gets 10.5 miles to the gallon), we shouldn’t drive more than four hours each day, and we should spend several days at each location.
On the road, with Dog as our Co-pilot.
With this in mind, I searched the map until I found Spruce Knob in West Virginia. It checked my first box with an average August high of 70° and low of 50° and it was the highest peak in West Virginia with lots of trails nearby. More important, it would keep hubby happy since it was only a little over eight hours away, making it easy to travel to in two days. And to top it off, since it was a National Forest campground, it only cost $8 a night with my Senior Lifetime Pass! Spruce Knob became our final destination.
After “moochdocking” at our daughter’s house in Charlotte, we drove on to our first stop: Rocky Knob Campground on the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia. I was a little concerned because a) we didn’t have reservations, and b) it was our first attempt at boondocking. I shouldn’t have worried on either account. Rocky Knob had over 100 campsites, but only about five were occupied when we arrived. We drove around a couple of times and finally chose Site T11. The campground host lit up when we told him our site number: apparently it was the most popular site in the campground (mostly because it was the only one with a little bit of cell service)! And we needn’t have worried about lack of amenities: we had a full tank of drinking water, a gas stove, and battery power for lights and charging our almost-useless cell phones. The campground even had flush toilets and a dump station. At $10 a night with my Parks Pass, we were sitting pretty.
Shhh…don’t tell everyone, but T11 is the best site at Rocky Knob!
And it was a beautiful place. I couldn’t wait to start exploring. The dogs, hubby, and I set off on a trail that took us through a hilly meadow inhabited by curious cows and to the Rocky Knob shelter and overlook on the Appalachian Trail. I had a great time stretching my legs in this beautiful country; Brian not so much. He hobbled for days afterwards—bad knees and elevation changes don’t mix.
Meet Mario, my willing photographic subject
The next day we drove to Mount Airy, NC to visit my childhood friend Karen. Karen was the perfect hostess, showing us around their wooded acreage, feeding us a delicious lunch, and then touring us through the town of Mount Airy, home to Andy Griffith. It was fun seeing all the “Mayberry” references, but I was most intrigued by The Rock, billed as the world’s largest open-faced granite quarry. That is, I was intrigued until we were chased off by two employees who told us we were trespassing. (A sign at the entrance said otherwise, but we were in no position to argue.) Our last stop and a must-stop for any visitor was at the Renfro Sock Outlet in downtown. This was a true outlet, with most of the socks selling for $2. I ended up with almost 30 pairs and a good part of my Christmas shopping done!
Otis’s cellAndy’s deskThe only shot I got of the quarry, taken just as we were being ousted.
Our last full day at Rocky Knob found me solo hiking the Rock Castle Gorge Trail. I was a bit skittish since this was my first long hike since I hurt my knee four months prior and there were numerous signs reminding me to be “Bear Aware”, but the hike went smoothly. Named for the quartz crystals that were plentiful here during the time of European settlement that resembled the stone castles of England, Rock Castle Creek has cut a steep and narrow gorge into the Blue Ridge Escarpment. Looking back on this hike, I’m not sure why I thought that this drop of 1500 feet would be a good test of my knee!
Down into the gorge and then back up, I took it slowly and carefully, singing lots of loud boisterous and off-key songs that kept all the bears away as well as any other hikers.
The only critter track I found: elk? or maybe just cow.
I was rewarded for my courage/naivety/lunacy by two new-to-me types of fungi. The bright yellow cluster of finger-like fungus had me scrambling to open my Seek app: Clavulinopsis fusiformis, aka golden spindles, spindle-shaped yellow coral, or spindle-shaped fairy club.
Not too far away, I found another species of fungus that needed no Seek validation: the aptly named Dead man’s fingers! I had seen photos of this unusual fungus, but had never seen it “live.” Apparently Xylaria polymorpha is edible if harvested when young, but no thanks. It reminds me too vividly of the Sourtoe Cocktail of Yukon fame.
At the bottom of the gorge, I found myself on a dirt road that ran parallel to the creek. At the end of the road, deep inside the Rock Castle Gorge Recreation Area, stood an old barn and a well-maintained two-story house. No vehicles or evidence of anyone around—a mystery until later research uncovered the story. This was a privately-owned section of the gorge acquired by the Conner family in the late 1880s. The house was built in 1916 and then sold in 1954 to John Austin, hence the name: the Austin-Conner House. Still privately owned, it occasionally is the gathering place for the family. My guess is that is doesn’t get good cell reception.
The House in the Middle of Nowhere
Heading back up the gorge, I came upon an old chimney. In my mind, I rebuilt the house around that chimney, adding smoke and the sound of chopping wood and squawk of chickens. Here in this isolated hillside lived a family, eking out a living with a small plot of land. Today, the chimney stands alone.
Remnants of an old apple orchard
After 12 miles of hiking, I had just enough energy to drive with my ever-patient husband down the Parkway to Mabry Mills, a popular attraction with exhibits describing life in rural Virginia. This area looks much different than it did back when the mill was the focal point of the community. That way of life is long gone. I can only hope that the grit and determination and ingenuity of these folks is still alive today.
Tomorrow we’d head to our second “knob”: Spruce Knob in West Virginia.
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