We took advantage of the Indian summer weather two Sundays ago to continue our explorations. We started on the canal towpath near Sangamore Road in Bethesda and immediately encountered the surprising Sycamore Island Club, a throw back to the turn of the century - the 19th, that is. The two acre island is a private community organization founded in the 1880s. Club members reach the island by boat or a hand-drawn ferry (see here). The island is loaded with stored canoes. I'm thinking of joining if they'll have me.
We headed south past Little Falls and the pumping station. There are numerous islands on the route. In the channel between the Maryland shore and the first island south of the pumping station is a kayak slalom course. Unlike ski or bike slalom courses, where the poles are set in the ground, this was set up with poles that were attached at the top to a matrix of criss-crossed wires. An ingenious solution to the problem of flooding. Maybe next summer I'll bring my kayak down and try it.
I've mentioned the dearth of wildlife along the towpath before. Today surprised me. I'm not sure whether it's the cooler weather or the fewer humans invading the woods, but there seemed to be more wildlife. We saw our first pair of deer, a large doe and a yearling buck with antlers still downy. There were also throngs of wood thrushes fluttering in and out of the bushes and a half dozen ducks in slow pools of the Potomac. Black squirrels, too, chattering at us from the tree branches.
Our interest was piqued at Lock 6 when we noticed a sign saying that visitors could stay there overnight. It turns out that the Park Service has rehabbed three of the old lockhouses - 6, 22 and 49 - and rents them by the night. For a mere $125, you and a bunch of friends can live like a lockkeeper of old, albeit with a modern kitchen and AC. If you prefer la vida rustica, you can stay at Lockhouse 49 with a portable hotplate and a nearby portable toilet. Tough choice, but I'm not sure I can talk my friends into trying 49.
This past Sunday was a different season. The leaves are all gone and the feel of winter was definitely in the air. We hiked the section of the canal from Brickyard Rd. in Potomac to Lock 8 in Cabin John, about four miles. For the first time since we started the blog, we had a guest join us. Our friend Chris Abraham, social media guru and pizza gourmand,rambled along, drawn by the promise of beer and jazz at the Irish Inn in Glen Echo if he survived.
These hikes are a tonic for the soul and help clear the brain. Walking with Chris was delightful, as the conversation ranged from law to social media to unicorns and beyond. We discovered the park at Cabin John - not sure how we'd missed that all our lives - and ran into what appeared to be a meeting of the Corsican-American society devoted to playing petanque (or whatever they call boules in Corsica). We decided that the ship basin at David W. Taylor must be at least 1/3 mile long. There were more deer and some of the most beautiful emerald-headed ducks I've ever seen. The wood thrushes were still noisy.
Chris survived. It was long past dark by the time we left the Irish Inn. Frost was crystalizing on the roof of the car. Welcome to winter.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
11.2 Route 29 Revisited
By coincidence, I continued my exploration of Virginia on the Monday after Halloween by driving down Route 29 almost from the Potomac River to Danville, just 3 miles north of the Virginia/North Carolina border.
Technically, I wasn’t near the fall line, which south of DC runs 50 to 100 miles east of 29, roughly parallel with US 95. Route 29 takes a more southwesterly track. Between DC and Charlottesville, the route is wide open, with gently rolling hills and farms (many now turned into commercial and residential developments) on both sides. The peakettes (“peaks” seems too grandiose) of the Blue Ridge are visible ten or fifteen miles to the west. The trees had noticeably more leaves than around DC.
Route 29 does have a water connection. South of Charlottesville, Route 29 is like a roller coaster, going up and down between follows the old Indian trails that paralleled the eastern edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains. You can see from a topo map that Route 29 practically “spoons” the eastern folds of the Blue Ridge highland. At several points, it crosses rivers where the water flows out of the highland into the still hilly but less steep Piedmont region. At these crossings, the power of the water led to the development of towns, just as the need to shift goods from one form of transportation to another led to the development of towns along the fall line. The biggest of those towns is Lynchburg, the home of Jerry Fallwell and Liberty University.
During my time in Danville, I did some quick research on my phone. It turns out Danville was a Southern rail center in the Civil War, and the Danville & Richmond Railroad was the key supply line for the Confederate capital throughout the war. For a few days after the Union’s capture of Richmond and Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, Danville was the last capital of the Confederacy. Now, it is a down on its luck former mill town with a lot of retirees from “up north.”
For me, all of this matters less than the fact that the D&R was the “Danville train” in the classic Band song “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” And that the “Stoneman” whose cavalry is bemoaned in the song was a real Union general who later became governor of California. So Levon Helm’s lyrics were rooted in history. My hat’s off to him for creating a masterpiece.
Technically, I wasn’t near the fall line, which south of DC runs 50 to 100 miles east of 29, roughly parallel with US 95. Route 29 takes a more southwesterly track. Between DC and Charlottesville, the route is wide open, with gently rolling hills and farms (many now turned into commercial and residential developments) on both sides. The peakettes (“peaks” seems too grandiose) of the Blue Ridge are visible ten or fifteen miles to the west. The trees had noticeably more leaves than around DC.
Route 29 does have a water connection. South of Charlottesville, Route 29 is like a roller coaster, going up and down between follows the old Indian trails that paralleled the eastern edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains. You can see from a topo map that Route 29 practically “spoons” the eastern folds of the Blue Ridge highland. At several points, it crosses rivers where the water flows out of the highland into the still hilly but less steep Piedmont region. At these crossings, the power of the water led to the development of towns, just as the need to shift goods from one form of transportation to another led to the development of towns along the fall line. The biggest of those towns is Lynchburg, the home of Jerry Fallwell and Liberty University.
During my time in Danville, I did some quick research on my phone. It turns out Danville was a Southern rail center in the Civil War, and the Danville & Richmond Railroad was the key supply line for the Confederate capital throughout the war. For a few days after the Union’s capture of Richmond and Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, Danville was the last capital of the Confederacy. Now, it is a down on its luck former mill town with a lot of retirees from “up north.”
For me, all of this matters less than the fact that the D&R was the “Danville train” in the classic Band song “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” And that the “Stoneman” whose cavalry is bemoaned in the song was a real Union general who later became governor of California. So Levon Helm’s lyrics were rooted in history. My hat’s off to him for creating a masterpiece.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
A Marylander Crosses to Virginia
Mary and I continued our exploration of the Potomac fall line on Halloween. This time we crossed the river to Great Falls Park in Virginia. I’ve lived in the DC area most of my life, but I’d never been to the Virginia side of the falls. It was a revelation.
We hoped to find the trees at the peak of their color. No such luck. The winds in last week’s storms blew half the leaves off the trees. Those left were basic muddy brown/yellows – or muted shades of mustard, ochre and russet if you’re feeling poetic. There were no brilliant yellows or reds like you see in New England.
From the VA side, there is a much better view of Mather Gorge, where the Potomac narrows and cuts through the Appalachian Piedmont into the Atlantic coastal plain. The cliffs are higher and more vertical on the VA side, which is why rock climbers are common. A tall wooden pole (see photo) shows the high water mark for numerous damaging floods over the last century. My first reaction was surprise, because the markers are eighty or a hundred feet above the river level. A nearby plaque provided the explanation: the volume of water in the river at flood stage is so great that it can’t fit through the narrow gorge. The water backs up and spreads out at the head of the gorge, like a funnel that fills too fast and overflows.
Sunday the river level was low and several families had climbed down the cliff to scamper on the rocks at the downstream end of the falls. The current below those rocks was still fast and swirling. A single misstep and any of the kids (or their parents) would have fallen in and been swept downstream. No wonder so many people drown in the Potomac around Great Falls every year. What were the parents thinking?
The highlight of the trip was exploring the Great Falls stretch of the abandoned Patowmack Canal. This was George Washington’s pet project and actually pre-dated the C&O Canal on the Maryland side. I’ve seen many canals and locks in my time, but none nearly as steep as the last three locks on the Patowmack. They rise perhaps 70 feet in a distance of no more than a couple hundred yards. The builders used black powder to enlarge a natural cleft in the cliff. It’s an impressive achievement by any measure. I just wonder how practical it was. The locks only fit one boat, and must have taken a long time to traverse that last few hundred yards.
We hoped to find the trees at the peak of their color. No such luck. The winds in last week’s storms blew half the leaves off the trees. Those left were basic muddy brown/yellows – or muted shades of mustard, ochre and russet if you’re feeling poetic. There were no brilliant yellows or reds like you see in New England.
From the VA side, there is a much better view of Mather Gorge, where the Potomac narrows and cuts through the Appalachian Piedmont into the Atlantic coastal plain. The cliffs are higher and more vertical on the VA side, which is why rock climbers are common. A tall wooden pole (see photo) shows the high water mark for numerous damaging floods over the last century. My first reaction was surprise, because the markers are eighty or a hundred feet above the river level. A nearby plaque provided the explanation: the volume of water in the river at flood stage is so great that it can’t fit through the narrow gorge. The water backs up and spreads out at the head of the gorge, like a funnel that fills too fast and overflows.
Sunday the river level was low and several families had climbed down the cliff to scamper on the rocks at the downstream end of the falls. The current below those rocks was still fast and swirling. A single misstep and any of the kids (or their parents) would have fallen in and been swept downstream. No wonder so many people drown in the Potomac around Great Falls every year. What were the parents thinking?
The highlight of the trip was exploring the Great Falls stretch of the abandoned Patowmack Canal. This was George Washington’s pet project and actually pre-dated the C&O Canal on the Maryland side. I’ve seen many canals and locks in my time, but none nearly as steep as the last three locks on the Patowmack. They rise perhaps 70 feet in a distance of no more than a couple hundred yards. The builders used black powder to enlarge a natural cleft in the cliff. It’s an impressive achievement by any measure. I just wonder how practical it was. The locks only fit one boat, and must have taken a long time to traverse that last few hundred yards.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Mary and I played hooky today and returned to Great Falls Park. Only four days since our last excursion, but fall has advanced. The trees have much more yellow than on Sunday, but still few oranges or reds. Poison ivy and a five-leafed vine I don't recognize (but no doubt should) seem to be the only reds this year. Probably the summer drought is muting the autumnal palette.
We hike south to Widewater, near Old Angler's Inn. The Sunday throngs are gone. Few people about, and most are either running or biking. A couple of fishermen with rods tucked into backpacks are strolling the towpath; not sure where they'll fish, since the canal at Widewater is down about four feet from normal level because of a breached levee.
It's serenely quiet. The loudest sound is a steady northwest wind that ripples the canal's surface and creates the illusion of flowing water. The usual cacophony of cawing crows or nattering jays is missing. In fact, there are surprisingly few animals to be seen. At first, just a half dozen silent hawks riding the thermals rising off the water and the rocks. Then a magnificent eagle joins them, and they scatter, except for one brave hawk who seems to play tag with the eagle in the thermals. After they disappear over the treeline, eleven mallards come in for a foot-first landing that could have been choreographed for a National Geographic special.
The sun is setting so we traipse back to the park overlook. Two kayakers paddle back and forth at the top of the falls, trying to select a route through the rapids. They appear to give up, backpaddling toward the Virginia shore and vanishing behind a boulder. But two minutes later they suddenly pop up several hundred yards downriver, in front of a cliff, and we realize that there's another river channel, hidden by a 70 foot tall rock outcropping. They survived. We head for the parking lot.
We hike south to Widewater, near Old Angler's Inn. The Sunday throngs are gone. Few people about, and most are either running or biking. A couple of fishermen with rods tucked into backpacks are strolling the towpath; not sure where they'll fish, since the canal at Widewater is down about four feet from normal level because of a breached levee.
It's serenely quiet. The loudest sound is a steady northwest wind that ripples the canal's surface and creates the illusion of flowing water. The usual cacophony of cawing crows or nattering jays is missing. In fact, there are surprisingly few animals to be seen. At first, just a half dozen silent hawks riding the thermals rising off the water and the rocks. Then a magnificent eagle joins them, and they scatter, except for one brave hawk who seems to play tag with the eagle in the thermals. After they disappear over the treeline, eleven mallards come in for a foot-first landing that could have been choreographed for a National Geographic special.
The sun is setting so we traipse back to the park overlook. Two kayakers paddle back and forth at the top of the falls, trying to select a route through the rapids. They appear to give up, backpaddling toward the Virginia shore and vanishing behind a boulder. But two minutes later they suddenly pop up several hundred yards downriver, in front of a cliff, and we realize that there's another river channel, hidden by a 70 foot tall rock outcropping. They survived. We head for the parking lot.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
10.0 Lock 18
This blog is an experiment. It's easy to forget in the hustle and bustle of urban life how beautiful the DC area really is. We're going to try to photograph and write about that beauty at least one a month over the next year.
The inspiration was the visit Mary and I made today to Great Falls National Historical Park on the C&O Canal. It was a stunning fall day, with the sky a cloudless azure, the temperature in the low 70s and the the leaves still ten days or so from their color peak.
We walked south on the C&O Canal towpath from Lock 20 to the overlook, then down to Lock 15 and back (http://www.nps.gov/choh/planyourvisit/upload/chohmap.pdf). The hike has magnificent views of the gorge carved through the bedrock by the Potomac River. You're only 12 or 13 miles from the White House, but you could as easily be on the fall line in a river in Down East Maine or upstate New York. Deer peered from the hillside and a half dozen hawks circled in the thermals created by the sun-heated cliffs and boulders.
I'm not sure why, but the kayakers who usually train on that section of the river weren't out today. We weren't alone, though. It was the weekend, so we shared the C&O Canal towpath with literally hundreds of other nature lovers.
The day's human highlight was a fortyish woman in a trendily ripped sweat shirt (Is it just me or is the '80's Flashdance look making a comeback?). She was trying to train a long-haired chestnut dog the size of a canister vacuum that looked like a cross between Old Yeller and a Pomeranian. The dog was naturally distracted by the dozens of people walking by. Nonetheless, the owner kept calling to her, "Beyonce', come here. Sit, Beyonce', sit."
Makes me want to visit on weekdays, when it's just the flora and fauna and us. Which reminds me - if there's not a Google Goggles for plants, I need to check the app store to see if there's an electronic version of A Field Guide to Trees and Shrubs.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)