I survived Dark Hollow Falls

It's now a waiting game for my driver's license: it might reach me before I leave for Korea, or it might not. In the meantime, I'm plunging back into walking and exercise. To that end, I drove back to Front Royal, where one entrance to Skyline Drive is (another is that Thornton Gap, Mile 31.5). Skyline Drive runs through Shenandoah National Park along the Blue Ridge Mountains; it's a nature preserve that is only minimally built up and is generally staffed and cared for by park rangers and employees who work at the sparse visitor centers. My goal today was to hit several overlooks, drive out to Mile 50, and walk the Dark Hollow Falls trail, a Dantean descent down a few hundred feet to a very moderate waterfall that is nothing compared to, say, Multnomah and Horsetail Falls in Oregon (both of which I walked past in 2008, and both of which are gorgeous).

By the time I got to Dark Hollow, the parking lot at the trailhead was nearly full. I think I parked somewhat awkwardly and obnoxiously, but no one keyed my rental in anger. My fellow walkers came in all shapes and sizes and languages; there were even a few dogs.

The drive up to Dark Hollow was interesting: I stopped at several overlooks, remembering nostalgically how I used to come out to the Drive in the evening every July 4 to view the humble fireworks popping off at random in different parts of the valley below. I found this to be a much more meaningful way for me to celebrate the 4th than going to DC to be with a crowd of drunken assholes and overly loud music (despite the presence of Ray Charles some years back). Out in the quiet valley, those little, random bursts of color felt like old-school expressions of defiance, culturally tying in that celebration with what I imagine was the national mood in the 1700s: flares and sparks of hope, optimism, and resistance.

Before I hit the Drive, I had to fuel up the rental. All the driving I had done back and forth to Fredericksburg and Front Royal had depleted the gas tank pretty quickly; this morning, I was down to an eighth of a tank. I knew I had enough to get from Manassas to Front Royal, and once in town, I found a gas station selling 87 octane for $2.79 a gallon. 

With the car fueled up, I went to the Drive and stopped at the entrance to flash my newly acquired multi-visit pass. I spoke with the ranger about an idea that had popped into my head: parking at the entrance, then walking 2.5 miles uphill to the first overlook, then walking back to my car—a total of five miles or eight kilometers. The ranger said that walking the road wasn't encouraged, but it also wasn't forbidden, so that's what I'm going to do tomorrow. Unlike the Dark Hollow Falls trail, the grade of the Drive isn't that steep for walkers (bikers might argue differently; hills are one of the reasons why I rarely bike).

The drive to Mile 50 included plenty of sights as I stopped at certain overlooks. Bizarrely, there were squirrels all along the first few miles of the road (35-mph speed limit; you're supposed to be touring), then they just disappeared. I saw plenty of deer and even two wild turkeys. The deer looked winter-starved, but the turkeys looked plump and, frankly, delicious. I'm glad I didn't see any black bears; they ought to be waking up from hibernation about now, and I imagine they're all very hungry. At Mile 20, I saw my favorite "skeleton tree," which looks as if some of its branches have lost a bit of their length. I'll need to compare this year's pics with those of previous trips. Years ago, I'd heard about how huge swaths of the mountain forests had been devastated by a blight, leaving many trees looking skeletal. As I drove along the Drive today, it looked as though the situation had gotten worse, but that might just be my memory playing tricks on me.

The Dark Hollow Falls trail actually continues beyond the falls. When I went there with my buddy Charles and his wife Hyunjin years ago, Charles explored that trail a bit; I was content to remain at the falls. Where that trail goes, I have no idea. Maybe it rises back up to the road's level, and you can then walk the road all the way back to your car.

In going back up the steep descent, I was mindful of my heart, so I stopped frequently to catch my breath and hopefully not have another heart attack on the trail. Since I'm writing this entry, I guess it's safe to say that I survived. People passed me both going down and going back up; I'm no longer the guy who could run down the trail, then lumber back up without stopping (something I practiced after my shameful performance on the day I did Dark Hollow with Charles and Hyunjin; now, I'm back to being out of shape). I noticed how weak I was whenever I had to lever myself upward by taking larger-than-usual steps; it may be necessary to introduce a two-steps-at-a-time regimen to my stairs training once I get back to Korea. (I've hesitated to do this for reasons of post-stroke balance issues, but the apartment-building staircase does have a railing on the right side when you're ascending.) I was pooped after coming back up from the falls; as I was driving back out of the park, I noticed how tempting it was to nod off, so I pulled off at an overlook and had myself a twenty-five minute nap, which seemed to do the trick. I made it back to Manassas alert and without incident.

I came back to my hotel to find two more large roaches on their backs and dying, probably because I had found the hole that allowed them to invade my room and had sprayed it thoroughly with my newly acquired bug spray (Raaaaiiiid Ant & Roach). I'm not going to bother telling the front desk about the roaches, which look as though they've been a problem for a while. From walking across Korea multiple times, I've come to expect that some hotels and motels are going to have their problems, and it does little good to kick and scream about the situation. As long as roaches aren't crawling into my bed or across my face, I'm fine with using my Raid to contend with them. I'll even leave the can here when I leave. (In Korea, cans of bug spray come standard in most motels—not so much because of roaches as because of mosquitoes, centipedes, and gnats).

Here's a lengthy gallery of pics from today's adventure. I doubt I'll take (m)any photos during tomorrow's uphill walk: it would just be woods, woods, woods.

early on

one view of the valley below

Historian of religions Mircea Eliade contended that one aspect of the sacred is how it leaps out at us as unique, isolated, never-before-encountered, somehow apart. I think my love of special trees is consistent with this insight. And I wonder whether I might have inherited some Druidic blood from my tree-worshiping Celtic forebears.

Not my skeletal tree, but still weirdly impressive.

I love how it punctuates the scene.

I believe that's the Shenandoah River.

Gimlet Ridge Overlook (Mile 18.4): still not my skeletal tree.

But it's Eliadically impressive.

wider shot

like an Ent from this angle

lichen-covered rocks

Little Hogback Overlook (Mile 19.7)

Note the blighted trees. There'll be a lot of this.

See?

Ents or tree zombies?

frazzled

This looks like what neuropathy feels like.

Little Devils Stairs Overlook (Mile 20.1), and at last, my skeletal tree, looking truncated.

cool background and lighting

looking ahead

Note how the trees seem to be reaching toward the car.

No apostrophe. As if English were German. Das ist Kevins Buch.

My skeletal tree is at the beginning of Mile 20 when you're going south.

When you enter Skyline Drive at Front Royal, you can drive its entire length 105 miles almost straight south. It's a long, placid drive. Just don't get eaten by brown bears. And try not to get killed by crazy people who might be on the trail.

mile marker with skeletal tree in the distance

Elkwallow Picnic Ground (about Mile 24)

I was at Elkwallow because I was looking for a restroom. Unlike in Korea, where people randomly take a piss out in the wilderness, such an act is viewed somewhat dimly along Skyline Drive. We piss at restrooms like civilized people.

With all of this deadwood, I wished I were a wood sculptor.

"Comfort station" is a euphemism for a restroom, the head, the bog, the loo, the terlit.

I went up the hill in search of comfort.

Alas!

So I did what any civilized person would do in such a situation: I pissed in the wilderness.

Random deer. I slowed the car way down to photograph it.

 And another! Skinny beast.

 Yet more!

And one more!

the back of a wild turkey, but you can see the head

digital zoom before the fucker got away

Thornton Hollow Overlook (Mile 27.5)

another arbre insolite et inédit

the dialogue of rocks and trees

another tree backgrounded by the big sky

This was the Thornton Hollow Overlook.

Why did the deer cross the road?

Marys Rock Tunnel (Mile 32.2)

It was dynamited in the 1930s—a tunnel so as not to mar the mountain's surface.

The elevation here is about half a mile (1 mile = 5,280 feet).

The rock sweats at my approach.

Yes, "Marys" is written without an apostrophe. German possessives again.

Pinnacles Overlook (Mile 35.1): another funky tree

more blighted trees

clawing desperately toward the sky

a hide of lichen

Can you guess which way the wind generally blows?

Soon enough, I was at Mile 50 and Dark Hollow Falls. Here's the trailhead:

Some people did bring along their pets. Ignoring rules like Koreans.

The slope rushes you downward, but it punishes you on your way back up.

part of the stream that will become the falls

Hillary Clinton was here, cockblocking you from having any fun.

The trail is, of course, blazed. In French, that mark is a balisage. The verb is baliser, to mark (a trail).

As I moaned before, If only I were a wood sculptor.

The trail down has both rough and smooth parts.

Those stairs, placed there by park staff, required an effort to go up.

I guess I was fascinated by them. Now, I'm no longer sure why.

The beginnings of a dam built by a one-ton beaver.

a look back up

People became hard to avoid at this point.

The water gathers momentum.

About a thousand more feet to go.

This tree had had a rough life.

Final approach. A bit steep.

This looks almost like a carcass, like a dead barracuda.

With what eyes are the woodland spirits watching?

the fall-like falls of Dark Hollow

I didn't stick around. I wanted to get the arduous climb back up over with.

white bracket fungi

a tree-spirit struggles to emerge

the beginnings of a cairn?

uphill on the way back—getting close to the top

the celebratory dog poop by my car to commemorate my climb

Maybe that's not dog poop. Coyote scat? Something else? Swiss chocolate?

So that's how today went. As I mentioned, I probably won't document tomorrow's walk: that would be even more boring than this.