Jennifer's Birthday Paddle

To celebrate my friend Jen's milestone birthday a group of us decided to join her in paddling from Fletcher's Boathouse in DC down to Belle Haven Marina south of the Wilson Bridge. This 13 mile trip is not exactly "bucket list" material, but it's unusual to do the whole stretch at once (we chose to do a one way trip with a car shuttle return) and was a good choice given the vagaries of March weather and our beginning-of-season level of endurance. For better or for worse (and it really was a little of both) my car wasn't one of the ones being left at the Belle Haven end and so I was able to get a slightly later start and meet the group at Fletcher's.

Weather made the trip iffy until the last minute (thunderstorms in the forecast). I didn't get my stuff together until Saturday morning and so didn't really think through that I'd need my change of clothes at the Belle Haven end, where I wouldn't have my car. Fortunately I realized this in time and at the last second grabbed my clothes from the car, stuffed them into a Hefty bag and shoved them into the hatch of my kayak.Given the complexity of moving cars, boats and people around (Tom's logistal instructions were eleven steps long) it's remarkable that the group of nine of us was on the water by about 8:30.

The first section of this trip is a really pretty section of the Potomac. It seems so far removed from the city that it's always a shock to come around the bend of the river above Georgetown and see the buildings of Rosslyn and DC come into view. We didn't quite have the river to ourselves as fishermen were out in force, but it was still tranquil in the morning mist. As we approached Georgetown the river activity picked up: high knee racers from the Washington Canoe Club, a few other kayakers, and then the sculls. Lots and lots of sculls. I guess this is high season for crew teams and for a stretch down the river it was like being in a kayaking version of the old Frogger video game as our group repeatedly had to zigzig out of the way of the rowers, who generally assume they have the right of way over all craft and creatures.We followed the DC side of the river down to the Cherry Blossoms, where we rafted up for a few photos. Below Hains Point we crossed the river over to the Virginia side, crossing close enough to National Airport to watch the planes but staying far enough away to avoid the fumes. We made a brief pit stop at the Washington Sailing marina where no one look askance at a bunch of people in wet neoprene trooping over to the restrooms.

At this point the weather was starting to kick up a bit as forecast. The rain didn't bother us - we were dressed for the water - and the wind was at our backs, helping us along as we paddled past the soon-to-be-closed Mirant power plant, the Old Town Alexandria waterfront (where we saw the Sequoia, once the Presidential yacht), and finally under the Wilson Bridge. Once we were past the Wilson Bridge Belle Haven came into view and before we knew it we were pulling our boats up onto the carpeted launch ramp.Belle Haven is a crowded little dump of a marina (that is to say, it has character) and there was a group of teenagers just getting off the water from a volunteer river cleanup event as we arrived, plus at this point at was raining fairly hard and so there was lots of chaos as we loaded boats (four onto Brian's truck, two onto Bela's car, one onto Suzanne's car, plus two onto Nelson & Caroline's truck) and gear and ducked into the lovely restrooms to change. I had to keep a close eye on my Hefty bag to keep it from being carted away with the volunteer group's trash.

Once we had everything squared away we all piled into the cars and headed to a nearby Indian restaurant where we dug into the buffet lunch. Alas, we were split between two tables and so didn't get to stick a candle into a galub jamon and sing Happy Birthday to Jen.And here's where the bad part of not having had my car with me came into play. I had ridden over to the restaurant with Suzanne but forgot to move my Hefty bag to another car and so when she took off - she had to get back to Baltimore for an evening commitment - my paddling clothes went with her.

Yvonne, Tom, and I piled into Bela's car and eventually made it back to Fletcher's despite the fact that Bela (who lives in Annapolis and doesn't know the DC area that well) was receiving contradicting directions from Tom, Yvonne, his GPS and me. There we did a final swap of boats and gear, gave Jen her final birthday wishes and then all headed for home.

Now to begin thinking about what kind of similar trip I should plan for my similar upcoming milestone birthday, which is just months away ...

Yogic Hiking Meetup #1

I am leery of Meetup groups. For one thing, they tend to skew towards a young demographic. For another, whatever their stated purpose, many of them seem to have an undercurrent of being singles groups. Two new groups popped up recently, each of which explicitly countered at least one of these concerns and which therefore caught my interest. One is an outdoor activities group for "experienced life veterans", that is to say, middle-aged people. That group had a bike ride this weekend. My family forgot that I had signed up for this event and scheduled me to do other things at the same time - notably, to pick David up from his SAT (no worries - family comes first). So, I'll have to defer until later to report on this Meetup.

Great Falls

The second group is called "Mindful Yogi Hikers" and hosts events which combine yoga, meditation, and hiking - exactly my cup of chai tea. The organizer of the group is a guy my age, married with three kids, so I figured at worst there'd be at least one other person my age there. I also figured he wasn't out to create a singles vibe.

Today was the first Mindful Yogic Hike, on the Billy Goat Trail at Great Falls, MD. I can't believe I had never done this hike before. What a great trail - lots of fun rock scrambles, and a better view of the falls than on the Virginia side. A whole bunch of people signed up, but only five of us showed - the rest probably dissuaded by the coolness of the morning combined with an early start on Daylight Savings morning. The attendees included the organizer (Fred), me, and three women ranging in age from 30-ish to 40-ish: two Asian women who were both very quiet and one woman who seemed to have lived in every country in the world. As I figured, with the exception of the organizer the group was indeed younger, but it didn't really matter: we were all shared the bond of being hikers and yogis.

After a quick detour to the falls overlook we hit Billy Goat Section A. This trail, while not as strenuous as Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park (the best known rock scramble hike in the area), is nicely challenging. We stopped a couple of times along the way to contemplate the scenery - mindfully, of course. As with my recent West Virgina trip, the day warmed up and we shed layers at each stop. At the first stop I traded in my fleece hat for a ball cap. At the second I packed away my jacket and gloves. By our third break we were all hiking naked.

Shells

Just kidding. This isn't the Naked Yogic Libertine Hiking Meetup (note to self: Google "Naked Yogic Libertine Meetups").

As we headed back we ran into more and more people on the trails. The park had a feeling of joyful rebirth, filled as it was with people emerging from winter hibernation to enjoy a warm early spring afternoon. When our group returned to the parking area we all got out our yoga mats and did a quick practice - some sun salutations, tree pose among the trees, and so on. Then we sat and meditated a bit. Slowly the group members melted away to their other commitments. I was the last person there besides Fred: the experience of sitting in the sunshine, looking out over the river was one which was hard to leave. Finally I hit the road for home, feeling like I had just spent half a day totally removed from my regular life. Part of it was the new location, part the new people. I returned home better prepared to face the (unfortunately abundant) stresses of my everyday life. Namaste.

NOVAGO Winter Event

Last weekend I had a choice: attend the kayaker group planning meeting or go to the NOVAGO (geocaching) winter event with Ted. I'm starting to get a little wistful about Ted's imminent departure for college; there won't be too many more of these chances to do little outings together. So ... I opted for Ted and NOVAGO.

It was a cold February morning. We arrived at Burke Lake Park to find the event well underway. The funny thing is that everyone was crammed into a too small pavilion. It was like a rush hour subway train. I think people were huddled in there to get a little protection from the cold, not that a picnic shelter provides much in that regard.

Part of the event was a geocaching bike ride around the lake. My bike isn't capable of handling dirt trails, but fortunately we have a free el cheapo mountain bike which came free when we adopted our lizard Cooper (long story). So, after schmoozing with the cachers for a while Ted and I set out with some others. He and I had previously hiked the trail around Burke Lake and had found all the caches, but things change over time - there were a lot of new caches to be found. I had a blast bombing along the trail (I think I need to get a mountain bike). Unfortunately, not long into our ride Ted got a flat tire, bringing our caching run to an end. Thanks to a suggestion from one of our party, Ted didn't walk all the way back. Instead, he made for a nearby park exit and waited by the road while I rode back and got the car.

On the way home we stopped at the shopping center where I used to stop for a snack on my way to class when I was in the doctoral program at GMU. The bagel place where I used to stop is long gone, but another deli has taken its place. We had a nice lunch together - matzoh ball soup (a rarity in Virginia) for me, and a burger for Ted. We also stumbled upon a Boy Scout store in the same shopping center, which was heaven for Ted. A nice outing.

One small step

Yesterday was the fiftieth anniversary of the first American manned space flight. This morning I went for a run. I jogged across the field at Bluemont park in the flat early morning light. The brown winter grass was covered with frost. No one else was around; the only sound was my feet crunching the ground. It felt very much like taking a jog on another planet. If a local park can feel this otherworldly, what must the real experience of being in space be like?

The Virginian Canaan, 2012

Canaan Valley is a place of mixed signals. On the one hand, it gives off a feeling that its best times, the boom times of coal extraction and timber harvesting, are behind it. Driving along one sees tumbledown shacks and dilapidated mobile homes, and many of the storefronts in the towns of Thomas and Davis stand empty. The area’s amazing natural beauty has, however, given it a second wind as a mountain resort town, though when bad luck hits – like this year’s snowless winter – that wind dies down to an asthmatic breeze. Still, the towns offer an enticing mix of mountain bike shops, art galleries, small inns, antiques, and funky restaurants. The proprietors tend to be outdoorsy types themselves, more friendly to visitors than mountain-folk stereotypes would lead you to expect. It was this post-coal mountain paradise that served, as usual, as the destination for my kayaking friends’ annual ski trip.

Except this year the ski trip wasn’t a ski trip. It’s been an almost snowless winter up in Canaan, and so the days leading up to the trip were filled with a flurry of emails about alternate activities – all involving the outdoors, food, alcohol, and relaxation. No one was concerned that the lack of snow would hinder our good time.


Thursday night: I arrive after the long drive out from Tysons Corner, including a few death-defying moments on the twisties of the West Virginia roads. We’ve rented a bunch of rooms at the Bright Morning Inn, plus Doc’s Guest House behind it. I drop off my bags in my room and head across to Doc’s. Nelson & Caroline, Dave & Cyndi, Rob and Peter 1 are already there. They give me grief because I’m still dressed for work (hey, I took off the tie). I retreat to my room to change, pick up a veggie burrito from Hellbender Burritos across the street, then return to hang out.

Friday: The day’s plan is to hike the Canyon Rim trail. But first there’s a kind of leisurely breakfast at the inn. I remember the waitress from last year. She’s a college student who works there on the weekends. She’s majoring in nutrition – a funny major for someone who spends her weekends serving huge plates of bacon and eggs, French toast, and breakfast burritos.

By morning our group had grown by two people: we added Mike & Allison. I had met Allison at kayaking rolling sessions but hadn’t met Mike before. The group did the Canyon Rim Trail as a loop hike, covering maybe eight miles on a mix of trails and forest roads. The weather was amazing for February – crisp, but warm enough that we all had our jackets off. The trail was squishy and muddy in spots with melted precipitation, but not too bad. As we hiked the edges of the trail I passed along Teddy’s admonition about Leave No Trace Hiking – that you really should stick to the trail, no matter how gloppy, to avoid mucking up and widening the edges (thereby leaving a trace, or not leaving no trace - whatever). In response I got a lot of shrugs.



Lunch along the Canyon Rim Trail

The trail had some nice features: a tall observation tower to climb, a couple of nice canyon views. We paused for a lunch break at one of the canyon views. At my instigation we paused to try and find a geocache, but despite climbing up higher on the rocks than I really felt comfortable with, we were not successful in finding it. At the end of our hike we stopped off to gawk up close at the gigantic wind turbines of a local wind farm.

Friday night brought the arrival of the rest of the group: Jen and Suzanne, Leslie and Mark (kayak racer friends of Cyndi’s), Peter 2 and Gina. Friday also brought our great group feast. First, at Cyndi’s direction, lots of people had brought cheese for a cheese tasting. We had so, so much cheese: gouda, goat, buffalo mozzarella, manchego, cheddar, and more. The quantity of cheese became something of a running joke for the rest of the weekend. After a more than ample wine and cheese course we moved onto the main dinner – Gina’s much anticipated quinoa loaf, with chicken for the carnivores. And more wine. And salad. And cheese. Desserts included a hazelnut torte I had brought from the Heidelberg bakery, cookies, and pie. Sated, we all just hung out. Conversation turned, as always, to trips taken, trips planned, and outdoor gear. I’m generally a little bit on the sidelines of these conversations; I simply don’t take as many trips as many of these childless or empty nester folks. However, the array of scotches on hand, both single malt and blends, gave me an opportunity to describe Teddy & my Scotland trip from this past summer.



I was the only one without a roommate (this was by choice) and as the evening wound down I was happy to retire to the warmth and privacy of my little inn room.
 

Jen, Suzanne, Peter and me at Lindy Point



Saturday: Saturday we split up into sub-groups; you just can't get 15 people to agree on any one activity, and no one really expected that we would. Frankly, the amorphous splitting and re-joining of subsets of people over the weekend is part of the fun. Some folks wanted to downhill ski (possible, barely, at Timberline, where they make snow). Some wanted to go to Timberline to use its gym and pool. Others, including me, wanted to do more hiking. Those of us staying on the inn side started the day with another generous breakfast served to us by our nutritionist waitress. Peter 1, as always, had a fully worked out nutritional plan – he was ordering a breakfast with a mix of proteins and carbs to give him sustained energy, but planned to go for the French Toast the following day when he wouldn’t need as deep an energy store. As we all set out there was a vague plan for everyone to meet up at the Timberline ice skating rink at 2 PM, subject to whatever else was going on. My sub-group did not make it to the rink.





Along the Dobbin House Trail



As is their wont, Peter 2 and Gina and Allison and Mike went their separate ways. The weather forecast threatened cold rain and snow, so Suzanne, Jen, the well-nourished Peter 1 and I headed for Blackwater Falls State Park – a place where we could get in a good hike, but which wasn;t very remote and so was an easy place from which to retreat if the weather turned bad. We set out to hike the Dobbin House Trail and wound up taking some side trails which took us out of the park into the national forest land. A very pretty area, with wild rhododendrons and mountain laurels, and the characteristic high meadows. A lot of this land was clear cut a century ago; the amazing beauty we see today is actually relatively new forest. We hiked down to some small falls along the Blackwater River. After we finished our Dobbin House loop we also did the short Gentle Trail, and walked to Lindy Point to see the awesome view of Blackwater Canyon there. The Lindy Point trail is 0.4 miles each way. The bushes on either side of the trail are thick enough that it would be pretty much impossible to wander off the trail. Still, it was incredibly heavily blazed – Peter counted fifty two blazes along the trail. That’s a blaze every forty two feet, perhaps little bit of overkill. Finally, we drove back to the lodge with the intention of walking down to Blackwater Falls overlook but it had started snowing and the park rangers had closed the long wooden stairway which leads down to the falls. Peter went down anyway while the more law-abiding members of the group checked out the falls from up top and read about how a 19th century travel writer, under the pseudonym Porte Crayon, had been the first to write about this area as a “Virginian Canaan”.

By the time we left the falls it was snowing fairly heavily and so we decided it was time to head back to town. We figured we’d stop in Thomas to get a warm drink. Along Thomas’ single thriving block we detoured into a couple of stores before finally making into the Purple Fiddle for our beverages. First, an accordion in the window of an antique store caught my eye. I went in and played it. There was lots of other cool stuff in the store too – Jen wound up buying a decorative glass window. Then we went into the Mountain Crafts gallery. Finally, made it to the Purple Fiddle, a local live music venue and hangout joint. At 3:30 in the afternoon it had a mellow vibe, though things almost immediately picked up with the arrival of a wedding party – a couple was getting married at the Fiddle! Bride and Groom, guests, cake, minister, musicians (the opening act for the evening’s performance). We decided to finish our drinks and high-tail it out before the ceremony got under way, since we figured it would be rude to walk out during the wedding and we didn’t want to get trapped there. We got back to Doc’s to find Gina and Peter 2 had already gotten home and laid out the day’s cheese supply. More cheese consumption and hanging out ensued while the various sub-groups gradually trickled back home.

Dinner Saturday night led to another splintering into sub-groups. Some folks ate in, buying groceries at the nearby “Stop and Shave” (really the “Shop and Save”) market. Jen, Peter 1, Suzanne, Allison, Mike and I went to the Italian place up the street. Having had my fill of cheese, I skipped the pizza and went instead for the pasta putanesca. According to the menu, the recipe was graciously provided by Manganaro’s in New York City, a place I know well, as it was one near my father’s office and was among his favorite lunch spots.

After dinner we regrouped again. Some people went to the Purple Fiddle to catch the show. Others caught some different music: I had brought my accordion, and the Bright Morning Inn had a piano (in tune!) in the common room. Jen had brought her guitar and some music books. The two of us proceeded to make earnest attempts to play a number of songs, sounding good on some while completely butchering the rest. Fortunately someone had thought to bring over one of the bottles of scotch from Doc’s, which improved the audience’s enjoyment of our quasi-music-making.

Sunday: We awoke to a change in seasons: overnight the snowfall hadn’t been heavy, but a couple of inches and a drop of temperature had taken us from fall into winter. After an early breakfast at the inn (Peter 1 indeed ordered the banana French toast; still full from the previous day, I downshifted to yogurt parfait and wheat toast) the day’s hiking sub-group (Nelson & Caroline, Peter 1, Jen, Suzanne, Leslie and me) headed for a trail just outside of town (past the Stop and Shave) which had been recommended by our innkeeper Susan and which had been hiked by Gina and Peter 2 the previous day. We had originally planned to do a short out-and-back hike but we enjoyed being in the woods in the snow so much we carried on and made a loop out of it for a total of about five miles. By the time we made it back it was the tail end of lunchtime and we were hungry!

Trees and snow

In addition, some of us were missing Whitegrass – the local cross-country ski area and home of an endearingly shabby ski lodge, an endearingly shabby staff, and some of the world’s greatest soup, so after loading up our stuff we said some goodbyes (some people were staying into Monday, others of us were getting on the road) and headed over there to eat lunch and browse the ski shop. Whitegrass looked strange in its almost snowless state; like a recently shorn sheep. The parking lot was nearly empty and more of their business was coming from the restaurant than from skiers. They weren’t serving their mind-boggling curried lentil soup, but the Mediterranean chickpea was a happy substitute.

Finally, a cup of coffee in hand, I hit the road, taking the southern route through Seneca rocks and heading home. Yes, there had been very little snow, but that didn’t detract one bit from a marvelous weekend.

More pictures here

Beauty in the Strangest Places

This morning I went out back to get some firewood. Along the way I noticed a ring of ice crystals inside a piece of PVC pipe I have stuck into the vegetable bed (I use it to support a cold frame). I grabbed my camera and took this photo.

Paddling with Orion

The Potomac is only about a third of a mile wide at Memorial Bridge, but at night it seems much wider. This part Thursday Peter, Moulton and I took advantage of some unseasonably warm weather to do an Ice Pirates paddle. As we paddled down dead center in the river, the cars on the Virginia side were far enough away to be no more than a hushed drone. To our left, the monuments shone as always. They appeared large until I looked up. There, revealed through an opening in the clouds, was the constellation Orion, dwarfing the rest of the scene. Orion is, of course, a fixture in the winter sky, but somehow its (his?) enormous presence seemed particularly striking this evening out over the relative darkness and open expanse of the river. The rest of the paddle home on the calm river was graced by his presence.