Ramsey's Draft, Virginia. May 20-24, 1980
First extended solo trip. Well, my dog Toby is with me but he and I are the only domestic species in the woods. We just hiked into Sexton shelter via the Shenandoah Mountain Trail off Route 250. Got in late on a Tuesday evening. I had to brief a legislative committee on a report and didn’t get out of Richmond until after noon. Then I had to return home to get my wallet. You know, city things. Once on the road, though, the trip west was pleasant. Ran into some showers driving up along the way but mostly the rain held. The hike in was was nice but my pack, loaded with gear for an extended base camp, was a real bitch. The sky was partly cloudy but I got a few glimpses of the late afternoon sun.
Morning
One dawns cool, cloudy and damp. Weather reports called
for rain throughout
today
and evening. Clearing tomorrow. Sexton Shelter provides wonderful
solitude, accompanied by the sounds of birds and a babbling brook,
Jerry's Run. Saw a hummingbird
a while ago. Trees are almost leafed in, but not yet fully. A few
dogwood trees still show blossoms. Mountain laurel has yet to bloom.
Maybe I'll see that happen on this trip. I wander back up to the
ridge to explore. Don't want to be too far out if rain hits. Early
going is nice. And if I read my position correctly, I'm a good ways
toward Hardscrabble Knob. Bet I can do the entire loop. Even if I
get wet, it won't be for long. But later on the trail deteriorates,
brush and fallen timber make for slow going. Raining now, steady and
hard. Where is that knob? It can't be too far. I camped there a
couple or so years ago, came up Ramsey's Draft. It didn't seem that
far then. [Note:
This is my first recorded instance of Hiker's Amnesia, a cerebral
impairment that transforms a previous hiking experience or memory
into a less difficult physical task than it actually was. See also:
Gila Wilderness 1984 for an example of memory loss in a three day
period.]
I make Hardscrabble Knob. Finally.
It's socked in with rain and
cloud. I hunker in the remains of a shelter with Toby. We eat and
head down the Ramsey's Draft Trail. Thank fucking god.
Almost
home now. A known distance, if I am still willing to trust my
distance judgment after faking myself into a long, wet hike. The
trails are pretty well marked although I always wonder if signs
leaning against the bottom of the post point in the right direction.
At least on this trail I know. Work my way down Ramsey's Draft (see
Sep 26/77 for previous hike). Emphasis on work. Trail is steep and
slippery. The grand experience of the gorge is overshadowed by my
focus on getting back to the cabin. Numerous stream crossings. Not
too bad. Toby and I are both soaked, we couldn't get any wetter. At
last!! The cabin. I change clothes, towel off myself and Toby. Time
to eat. Fire up the wood stove. I remember to build a small fire in
the vent pipe to start the draw from the firebox. Arrange clothes
and gear ritually around the stove. Now I sit on the porch
listening to the rain fall. How nice it sounds now that I am warm
and dry. I can hear the stream flowing beside the cabin. Bet it
will be running high for the next few days. A bird sings in the
distance. Despite the hardships of the day's hike, I enjoyed myself.
Not that I wasn't anxious at times. The area is truly gorgeous:
sheer ravines carved by strong running streams which at times take
over the trail. I like it here. I can think of no place else I
would rather be.
Day
Two is easy. Legs and butt are a bit stiff after yesterday's long
walk but they don't hurt. Slept late and ate a big breakfast. No
rain this morning. Wrote a letter and cut firewood. Everything is
dry now, even my boots which felt like sponges yesterday. Just
thinking about the rain reminds me that I thought I would never be
dry again. But the evening was nice. The stove worked well. I sat
on the porch listening to the forest in the rain, enjoying the
solitude. Sexton Shelter has a logbook that provides an entertaining
look at those who came before. Two newlyweds spent their honeymoon
at the cabin not long ago; they met on a club hike to this place the
previous year. Many entries discuss the resident mice. One
describes a major engagement between humans and mice complete with
charges, feints, counter charges, retreats and body counts. Another
writer describes the large wood stove as a very particular woman,
liking her logs hard, dry and fast. Green wood need not apply.
Day
Three is lazy. I head down the Jerry's Run Trail with the idea of
hiking to Hardscrabble Knob via Ramsey's Draft. Jerry's Run is high
and crossings are tricky. Ramsey's Draft is even higher. I'm not
willing to make the crossings so I return to the cabin and bathe in
one of the nearby pools. Get bitten in a most uncomfortable place.
Cut wood to replace what I've used. The trip has been great one.
I'm completely at leisure and the world is very far away and means
little to me at this place. Late afternoon sun filters patches
across the clearing. Jerry's Run is rushing strongly and birds are
singing. The beauty of this place is entrancing. All around I see
the inevitability of nature at work. Mighty trees felled by
onrushing waters. Generations of fallen timber gather moss in steep
ravines. Mosses, lichens, ferns and fungi grow everywhere, swaddling
the ground in a carpet of green. A shattered tree, about three and a
half feet in diameter, lies across the Jerry's Run Trail broke upon
impact, its splintered pieces still intertwined. This place feels
eternal.
Day
Four is departure day. I pack reluctantly. Who wants to leave a
paradise like this? The morning begins with drizzle which ends
before I set out. Only takes an hour and a half to reach the car.
My pack is considerably lighter than coming in but I am carrying out
a lot of excess food. Drive into Monterey, a small town nestled in
the ridges of the Alleghenies. The town has a genuine air of
antiquity--well preserved with its old buildings still in use. A
statue of a Confederate soldier stands in the town square, the first
one I've ever seen outfitted with a bolt action rifle.
