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Between Sperryville and Madison along Route 231,
you'll find one of the most beautiful stretches of roadway in the entire
Commonwealth of Virginia. Wonderful views of the eastern slopes of
Shenandoah National Park's Blue Ridge Mountains change with each curve
along this designated state Scenic By-Way.
Whenever traveling south from my home in Winchester -
whether it's to Charlottesville, Lynchburg, or even Richmond - I often go
out of my way to fit this 18-mile stretch of secondary highway into my
route. Beauty abounds everywhere along this drive, but the crown jewel is
the magnificent view from Etlan of the 3,268-foot height of Old Rag
Mountain.
For years, the summit of Old Rag has beckoned. Every
time I've driven past Etlan, I've nearly run off the road staring up at
the exposed granite peaks, imagining myself looking eastward over
Virginia's Piedmont or westward to views of Robertson Mountain and White
Oak Canyon. The usual excuse of not having enough time had kept me from
answering Old Rag's beckoning call until one day last January when
temperatures soared to 65 degrees causing the spontaneous use of vacation
time for some much deserved self indulgence.
My goal for that precious day away from my office was
simple and selfish. I wanted Virginia's most popular summit all to myself
- to stand alone at the top. To accomplish this goal called for an early
start.
I left Winchester under clear, star-filled skies and
reached Route 231 just as the first touches of morning light began
coloring the eastern horizon. About 8 miles south of Sperryville, a simple
brown sign pointed the way to the Old Rag trailhead at Weakley Hollow. At
that early hour, I found the overflow parking area completely empty except
for a few stray dogs. Further on, where the trail began, there was another
small parking area. This too was empty - just what I was hoping for. To
minimize the chance of some other later-arriving summiter cutting into my
time alone at the top, I set off at a vigorous pace.
As the elevation changed, so did my surroundings. At
the trailhead, there was abundant evidence of last fall's fires. Charred
tree stumps were everywhere, and in the early dim light had the uncanny
resemblance of black bear. Though bears are fairly dormant in winter, I
knew that the warm weather may have drawn them out. Deciphering whether
the dark stumps were actually bears or not kept me alert as I headed up
the trail. As I progressed higher, there were fewer and fewer charred
stumps to consider; however, increasing amounts of snow and ice made the
placement of my footsteps a cautious endeavor.
Emerging from the woods onto the exposed summit
peaks, I was rewarded with surprising calm and warmth. The early morning
sun had already been hard at work radiating heat deep into the jumbled
granite boulders. For the most part, there was no wind - just calm, quiet
solitude. Occasionally though, 60 second blasts of 40 mile an hour wind
would rush up and over the peak causing me to widen my stance, hold onto
my hat, and wait it out. As soon as the blasts subsided, calm and warmth
returned.
For more than an hour, alone at the top, I reveled in
the beauty of this wonderful mountain, the astonishing views it afforded,
and the entrancing thoughts it inspired. My enjoyment of the summit on
this spectacular winter's day far exceeded any of the fantasies I'd had
over the years while driving by in the valley below.
When I finally spotted a fellow solo hiker coming up
the trail, the spell was broken. It was time for me to leave. I didn't
want to share the summit, nor did I want to intrude upon anyone else's
experience at the top. I had accomplished my goal. I had answered the call
and had my time alone at the top.
During my descent, at one of the lesser summits, I
was greeted by two friendly dogs - the same dogs I had seen at the
overflow parking lot. Maybe the beauty of the day drew these two dogs to
the summit as well... or maybe they had a plan.
One of the two eagerly followed me all the way back
down to the parking area where I was parked. As a reward, I gave my
traveling companion my uneaten lunch. I suspect the dog had done this
before: accompany a hiker down the mountain and then extort whatever food
it could with its pitiful eyes. I had had a plentiful morning and was glad
to give up my lunch. Besides, this gave me the opportunity to answer
another of Route 231's beckoning calls: lunch at the Appetite Repair shop
in Sperryville. |
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Click on photos to
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A view of Old Rag Mountain
Another view of Old Rag Mountain, different lighting
Charred trees along the walk
One of the stray dogs
Trail sign
Trail markers
Ah, alone at the top at last. |
