A trip that was not spearheaded by me for once! And a wonderful trip she was.
Me and The Boys took an overnight jaunt down to Cumberland Falls in the south of Kentucky to see the sights and get away from all of the terrible garbage that is reality at the moment and I gotta say, it was quite nice. After a two-and-some-change hour drive down, we checked into the hotel in Corbin, then set out for our adventure.
We picked a trail somewhere vaguely in the direction of Cumberland Falls to start out, but on the way there, passed a dam that looked interesting too, so we ended up making that our stop instead:
A hidden trail behind the dam led us to a smaller falls area, where the creek bed was fairly dry:
Next, we continued on our way to Cumberland Falls, and the timing worked out to give us a nice sunset backdrop when we arrived:
There was a visitor center and a few other little manmade doodads to see:
But the main attraction was of course the falls itself:
with its elegant mist.
We continued down the trail that ran along the river, which led to some overlooks:
and eventually, a beach:
and a buncha rocks:
We then headed back toward Corbin, to get some dinner and turn in for the evening.
The next morning, being a bit more ahead of schedule than we expected, we decided on our way out to at least make a stop at the biggest tourist attraction in Corbin, which is doubly closed right now, for both covid and renovation reasons:
In a few days, I'll return to the library as we continue curbside service and slowly expand our offerings to something resembling the "normal" we used to know. Later, in August, classes will resume at IUS and I'll teach a socially distanced room of students to sing while wearing a mask. Life will continue to be lived inside our own homes as much as possible. But beyond that, I don't know.
This time away these last few weeks has been really amazing. And I recognize that a sentiment like that can come off as tone-deaf; after all, the virus has meant the death of family members, has meant ruined lives and livelihoods, has meant inescapable terror for so many. So for me to say "it was nice to get away" can come off like a New Yorker in '01 saying "I rather like the new skyline". A silver lining too small to be tolerably mentioned. And of course the coronavirus isn't the only thing of civilizational importance going on in the world right now.
But nonetheless, it's true. Six months ago I was working four jobs - and by the way, really loving it, don't get me wrong - but even a blank day on my schedule was hard to come by. I think it's okay to be grateful that these months have been an opportunity to see family for extended periods, or to explore the outdoors, or to just allow yourself to do nothing for a day with no guilt because hey, what else is there to do?
I keep thinking forward to what the world will look like in one year's time. I suspect that by then, whether by vaccine or by the virus running roughshod throughout the entire population, the crisis per se will be over. We'll be going to gyms and bars again just as we were. The mask thing will seem out of date. Don't they know that stuff's all over? And we'll all finally be able to look back on this time as just some bizarre blip in the timeline of world history.
I actually had some much more far-reaching travel plans for this summer, to maybe a half dozen different countries, which again is not the most pressing casualty of this virus, but the inability to follow through with those plans does remind me that it's amazing what you don't know it's possible to lose until it's lost. And it forces you, viscerally, to remember that history is by no means over. Every day could be a day future schoolchildren learn about and take tests on and memorialize in songs and films and teacher workdays. And that changing history could change what "normal" is, and take away anything and everything we take for granted. It's all up for grabs all the time. Even if it feels like it's not.
But I also hope - and this is my strategy for now - that visualizing that day, imagining yourself imagining this time as the past, will help. I think of what I'll say to myself this time next year about the current crises in the world, and how I'll contextualize them in my then-present life. What silver linings will I find? What lessons will I tell myself I've learned? And it's that imagining that makes that future day feel real, and helps to remind me that it almost certainly will be. That there will come a day when this is all over.
After Congaree, I stayed at the lake for a long time, just getting out in the kayak and getting exercise and sun as much as possible. It was quite nice. Pandemic-created unemployment has its perks. But now, the Long Break is over. I have been recalled to the library, and fall classes at IUS will be starting soon. It's time to get back.
But not without one last adventure! And not to be a broken record, but where better to go than..............a National Park??????
Shenandoah National Park, to be exact, in western Virginia (not be confused with West Virginia). I drove in Saturday via North Carolina, starting at my beloved Charlotte, where I made an out-of-the-way stop for lunch and to see the old places. I cannot describe accurately enough how much I admire that place. I have a fondness for it one cannot fathom. To me it is the greatest city in the world. A shining, gleaming jewel of a city that radiates forth its resplendent light upon all those fortunate enough to see it. It is precious to me, like a child. It shall be as a city upon a hill; the eyes of all people are upon it. It's not bad!
After that, I continued north to my hotel in Waynesboro, just off the southern tip of the national park. I situated myself here because of My Plan for the following day. We'll need a map at this point:
The Plan was to enter at the southern end, then complete the entire Skyline Drive drive up, ending at Front Royal in the north. I'd then take the interstate back from Front Royal to Waynesboro, stopping by the larger town of Staunton, where I had initially planned to stay, but the better deal on a hotel was in Waynesboro, so y'know.
As you can also see, the full Skyline Drive - the roadway through the park - is about three hours of driving, not counting any stops or detours. Interestingly, two highways cross the park, which you can see above, and the three sections are all roughly an hour each. Nice of them to make the divisions even.
Those crossings also allowed for a quick exit to get something to eat, if needed, which they both were after the hotel's woefully insufficient bag breakfast Sunday morning. I'm sorry to complain, because they're doing as much as they can given the situation, where the normal continental breakfast is unworkable. But the tiny, floppy biscuit in plastic wrap, muffin, and apple were all but burnt away by the time I got to my first overlook.
By the by, this is the first National Park I've had to pay for. The others just by chance have been free to enter, but this one cost me a whole thirty bucks.
Skyline Drive more or less is the park; it's the access to all trails and overlooks, which I believe number in the 70s. So the day was one of making my way slowly up and stopping at any and all points of interest. I'd picked out a few can't-miss views, but mostly I was just pulling aside anytime something looked intriguing.
Speaking of the 70s, the weather was mercifully cool for most of the day. In mid July, down at the hotel, the low 90s were not unheard of, but the elevation kept the temperature tolerable until the early afternoon. So that was nice.
My first big stop was Blackrock Summit. Outside, the flowers were in bloom and the air smelled like Easter morning. The short hike brought me to a very rocky crag and back:
Next was Loft Mountain, a campground with a store and a few other amenities, like this amphitheater:
The next point of interest was in the middle third, so when I reached the Swift Run Gap Entrance Station, I took a brief detour to the town of Elkton to get a proper breakfast. Then, it was on to the Byrd Visitor Center.
Surprisingly, the visitor center was open, to limited capacity and with a mask requirement, of course. I walked through, but there wasn't much to see, and I wasn't in the market for any trinkets.
Byrd Visitor Center is next to a meadow called Big Meadow. Big Meadow is also the name of the campground nearby, which I didn't see. I did see the namesake meadow, and it is big:
Just past the visitor center is the trailhead to Dark Hollow Falls, the most popular waterfall in the park. It was a couple miles to it, and I realized with a bit of dread after I was maybe 2/3rds of the way there, that the entire trail so far had been downhill. I realized the way back would be an incredible pain.
But the waterfall was very nice. It had a few layers and you could clamber up the rocks to upper pools along the way:
And then the hike back was, predictably, exhausting. It shellacked me. This was especially problematic because, as I was soon to discover, the next and final big point of interest for the day was another steep hike, but this time the uphill portion was first. And it was only about 8 minutes down the road from where I was.
This hike, which was to Hawksbill, the highest peak in the park, nearly killed me. I stopped to rest more times on this trail than I think I have in my entire life up until this point. It may have been the greatest cardiovascular exertion of my life, and I say that as someone who had spent the previous three weeks kayaking every day.
Oh wait. I almost forgot that time on the Great Wall. And the other time. Nevermind.
I suspected it was really just the slope; a constant uphill climb with no straightaways. And as proof of this thesis, on my way back down, I didn't stop to rest once. A leisurely breeze! But the view was pretty spectacular from the top:
I made another exit & entrance at the Thornton Gap Entrance Station a little further op the road, again for food, as it was now well past lunchtime. The final third of Skyline Drive didn't have any points of interest I'd found beforehand, so my final hour of winding my way through the park was fairly lowkey, just stopping at the occasional overlook. I did make a stop at Dickey Ridge Visitor Center, the other visitor center in the park, which unlike Byrd, is closed.
At the last overlook of the park, the Shenandoah Valley Overlook, I got a preview of the town of Front Royal, where the north end of Skyline Drive exits:
I'd had this idea in my head that for both Front Royal and Staunton, I was going to get out and explore the town at least a little, but I've gotta say, I was totally beat at the end of that day. Not to mention it was way later than I ever though it might get, roughly 6:30 by the time I'd returned to the hotel after my interstate drive back south. So both of those small towns got just a ride-through from me.
Dinner, then bed, then the next morning I treated myself to a large breakfast from the Cracker Barrel next door. Probably not the morning that needed extra sustenance, but oh well. I did have a drive to make. I had decided to split this final leg roughly in half in the town of Huntington, West Virginia, because otherwise it would have been a fairly long day of driving to get back. Then after that, my very long time away from Louisville would be over.
This is becoming the summer of National Parks! While at the lake with my family, we took a day trip down to South Carolina's only National Park, Congaree. Sadly, the biggest draw and what appears to be the signature area of the park, the Boardwalk Trail, is closed for repairs, but still, we saw a few bits and pieces.
First, we made our way down a trail near the outskirts of the park boundaries, known as the Bates Ferry Trail. It may surprise you to learn this, but a swamp in South Carolina in the middle of June is quite miserable. Especially as the trail turned from this:
to this:
which may seem nicer - I mean hey, a nice grassy floor - but it meant far more bugs and bother as the trail went on. By the time we reached the Congaree River, the trail's main point of interest, I was almost constantly running my hands over my head and neck to shoo bugs away.
We also saw plenty of the vaunted swampland, which is the primary reason this area got set aside as a National Park at all.
Next, we made our way around to the main area of the park, where the Visitor Center is, which - surprise! - is also closed right now:
We took some secondary trails through the area where the Boardwalk resides, including the Bluff trail and Sims trail. We did get to see a few hints of the closed-down Boardwalk:
But that was it. So no visitor center and no main attraction - clearly this is a park we'll have to come back to someday when repairs are done and a global pandemic is a distant memory.
My quest to see the National Parks continues! As does my quest to find trips that are possible under covid.
I did not know of this park at all before the trip; I had simply opened a map of National Parks and seen that this one was, possibly, within a moderate driving distance, and decided to give it a go. Actually, that's not the full story. The thing that sealed the deal was something a bit narcissistic that I'll get to later.
I arrived Wednesday evening and saw that the following day had a threat of rain, so I decided to get the main attraction out of the way: Brandywine Falls.
This waterfall was nestled at the end of a twisty, turny wooden skywalk:
within a picturesque forest.
Next, I took the trail around the waterfall, which made for a pleasant evening hike:
where I also met A Cat:
before returning to the top of the waterfall and driving back to the hotel:
The next morning, I arose bright and early to get a start on that aforementioned narcissistic reason for visiting this park:
The Wetmore Trail!!!!!!!!
This is something I found completely by chance, scrolling through the NPS website about this and other parks. This trail name came up, and I knew I had to go.
Sadly the trail did not have any big overlooks or points of interest, it was just a nice trail. The morning light dappled across the wooded landscape, amongst a hush unbroken by animals or other people:
Also there was a lot of horseshit everywhere:
And it was kinda muddy. So no, my namesake trail did not live up to my wildest expectations. Ah well.
Next, I went over to the Ledges trail, which was a little more interesting scenery-wise.
It also had an overlook:
and a lodge. A ledge lodge!
Those were my big trails for the morning. I returned to town and had lunch, then set out for a more car-centric afternoon. First I visited the town of Cuyahoga Falls, which was south of both the town of Macedonia and the National Park. In this town, there was this Episcopal Church:
Which was founded in 1830 by none other than William Wetmore, A.K.A. Cousin William, who is also the namesake of the Wetmore Trail.
I have no idea how this guy fits into my own family history, if at all, but it felt like family history, and that's what matters.
From the town, I then took the central road north through the park, stopping at a few points of interest along the way. Points such as Howe Meadow:
Indigo Lake:
This swampy marshland:
Everett Covered Bridge:
This other waterfall with winding wooden walkway:
And yet ANOTHER waterfall, which I was able to get up close and personal to:
And then lastly, the northernmost point in the park, a railway station called Rockside:
This station, like the one above at Indigo Lake, is part of a train ride that is normally available through the valley, which is the best way to sightsee in the park. Sadly it, like so much, is shut down due to the coronavirus.
Dinner followed, then some downtime at the hotel. Then, my final excursion into the park, I went back to Brandywine Falls to get a shot above the falls at sunset:
