St. Mary's River Trail

July, 2008

John and I hike along the St. Mary's River Trail and discover a cool swimming hole. As we are exploring, I realize I've been here before, years ago as a Boy Scout! Suddenly, the St. Mary's Wilderness is like an old friend.

John Martin & Sir Evan's Epic Adventure in the St. Mary's Wilderness

July, 2008

It is our first foray into wild territory. Armed only with a map and our wits about us, John Martin and I venture into St. Mary's Wilderness, a congested, rugged landscape without trail blazes or signs to lead the way. It is an intersection of narrow, barely recognizable trails, concealed behind lush vegetation, all of them insurmountably leading to the St. Mary's River Gorge below. It is Virginia's largest wilderness area, and it is begging to be explored!

We enter the wilderness.

On a humid day like this one, we are careful to stay hydrated, frequently drinking from our Nalgenes, occasionally nibbling on electrolyte fruit snacks. Our trekking poles scoop overgrown branches away from the path, but the ensuing whiplash strikes at our legs, and they are soon scratched and irritated.

We are here partly because John is convinced our friendship lacks credibility. "I wish we could be friends," he says, a typical statement I've come accustomed to hearing from him. I respond, as usual, "We are friends, John." But he insists we are not, and that we must embark on a quest together in order to make it so. This is what brings us to the wilderness.

We hike along the Mine Bank Creek Trail (at least we think so), stopping along the way to take a plunge in an inviting swimming hole. Later, we reach the Gorge and realize we shouldn't have stopped. The river is far more inviting. We're already wet, so we take another swim in a massive pool down river. There, we encounter a baby copperhead. I nearly step on it and barefoot! John also freaks out about a giant spider, and we are certain it's a Brown Recluse, but we are surely wrong, and it isn't even poisonous. So we carry on! But then disaster nearly strikes when I have a run in with a full-blown anaconda!

True story? You decide. If you look closely, you just might see it...

From here, our journey takes us along the St. Mary's River Trail. We cannot resist the temptation to veer off the trail, however, and explore the river bed. It is both scenic and refreshing, and as we reach a particular swimming hole and water fall, I realize I have been to this place before! Years ago as a Boy Scout. I am very excited! John doesn't care. He is too busy jumping off ledges and trying to splash me from far away.

After an afternoon of exploring and swimming, we must begin the arduous hike back to civilization. The heat dries our clothes as we traverse the rocky trail, making excellent time, thanks to our trekking poles and hunger. By the time we return to the cars, our lower halves are caked in mud, but we don't care. We had a blast, and our friendship is credible, once more!

Of course, John will continue to deny it for some time afterword, and we will probably have to engage in other legendary acts of derring do to prove yet again that we are, in fact, friends. But hey, if that's what gets us out there, then keep it up, John! We are not friends...

Stone Mountain: A Day on the Defiant Dome

February, 2009

Stone Mountain might be the most accurately named peak of them all: it is a white stone the size of a mountain. And it makes for a great day hike.

Emily and I are halfway to the summit of North Carolina's premier dome, a granite structure popular for its breathtaking views, cascading waterfalls, and challenging "friction climbing." We reach the first overlook, prefaced by a winding "stairway to heaven," guardrails included, that almost seems to take something from this pure land form, but is surely in place for our safety. From our perch, we gaze west towards Wolf and Cedar Rocks, other notable landmarks in Stone Mountain State Park. Located in Elkin County, just south of the Blue Ridge Parkway, the park is host to several hiking trails, three major waterfalls, and trout streams for those who hike with a fly rod. With opportunities for backpacking, as well, it is a prime mountain getaway.

After a bite to eat, we continue up the aptly named Stone Mountain Trail, and soon reach the summit. At 2,305 feet, this exposed slope offers quite a view of the surrounding landscape. Shallow indentions follow the gradual and seemingly smooth curvature of the mountain, undoubtedly left behind by countless rain slides. While it may appear, at a distance, smooth like a marble, Stone Mountain is scarred by fissures, grooves, and protrusions. Yet, for all erosion has done to this mountain, it has also made it the natural marvel it is today.

Emily, a trained photographer, captures some shots of roaming hawks and "the Hero Tree," a lone, wind-swept piece of bark jutting out of the rock face, before we head down the other side of the mountain.

After a steep descent we come across a sign warning of death near the 200 foot "Upper Falls," and we can hear rushing water plummeting over the mountainside. Like backyard explorers, we exchange excited glances and rush towards the source. An impressive,
labyrinthine staircase zigzags down the peak, taking hikers to the collecting pool at the bottom of the falls.

Emily and I stand within two yards of the pounding, frothy drink. A light spray tickles my face. If only it was summer... I would be swimming!

Later, we hike past the Hutchinson Homestead - a plot of land straight out of history - not to mention a spectacular view of Stone Mountain in its entirety. In the far distance, we see a rock climber ascending the Great Arch, a long, serpentine crack up the side of the dome, and testament to nature's eroding effects on the mountain.

As we return to the "lower" parking area and complete the Stone Mountain Loop, we are both impressed by what we've encountered and eager to come back, since we've really only scratched the surface. But something tells us we won't have to rush back. Like the Hero Tree, this mountain knows how to endure.