Shenandoah-Ing

Cool, yet creepy.

Hello! I’m feeling alive and very full of exclamation points! Not to state the obvious, but we survived our trip to Shenandoah! Hurrah!

I went into the weekend feeling 40/60 about bears: 40% hoping to see one, 60% terrified I would. Well, turns out I needn’t have considered it. No bears in sight! In fact, we had to strain to see much of anything at all. For most of our visit, the park was covered in some of the thickest fog I’ve ever seen, giving the heavy woods an otherworldly feel. It was one of the creepiest, yet prettiest things I’ve ever beheld (or sort of beheld). 

I’m clearly still feeling my way through the whole “nature” thing. I’m in awe of it and inspired by it, yet, to put it frankly, I’m terrified of it at the same time. After our trip to Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks last year, we knew we had to see more. Shenandoah is an easy drive from our Philadelphia home base, is supposed to be amazing to see in the fall, and has an interesting history.

---

Authorized in 1926 and finally established in 1935, Shenandoah was once home to hundreds of residents who lived deep in her hills and valleys and eked out their existence in less than ideal circumstances. Whatever your feelings about their quality of life, it certainly gives one pause to think about the government forcibly removing people from their land in order to create a national park. Today, structures—like homesites and barns—are still visible on some trails, as are the cemeteries where these people laid their loved ones to rest.  

Fog creeping in...

We started our first day at the top of the park, winding our way down the 105-mile Skyline Drive through the steady drizzle, pulling into scenic overlooks (which were, in fact, sometimes very scenic and sometimes a total white fogout), and stopping to check out trails. Check out, being the operative phrase. Every time we disembarked from the car and made it about 100 yards into the woods I’d start to sweat profusely and turn around, peering through the fog looking for Crazy Gun-Totin’ Cletus and his trusty sidekick Hungry Bear. The fog and rain were definitely playing tricks with my already susceptible mind. We rode on for hours, stopped for a damp picnic lunch, and continued testing a number of trails. At one point I ran tearing back to the car because I swore I heard a bear growl ferociously. George calmly explained it was an airplane overhead. Whatever, still scary. I clearly needed to sleep all this nature off. 

Guys. The woods are scary.

After a cozy night in Staunton, Va., we headed back up through the park the next day, with me determined to get at least one legitimate hike in. Back at the top of the park sits the Dickey Ridge Trail, with a loop that leads down an old road to the abandoned Snead family barn. We were walking along, me breathing heavily, listening intently to every cracking twig in the woods, convinced I was gonna make it the whole way to the barn. Then, out of the fog, about 10 feet in front of us, we saw the outline of a man. I was so pleased that it wasn’t a bear, that I almost missed the look of horror on George’s face, who was clearly convinced we’d run into the ghost of Old Man Snead. 

High-tailing it away from the Snead Barn.

It was, of course, a Park Ranger, who said a friendly hello and wished us a nice walk. We made it about 10 more minutes—the barn was probably right in front of us but we couldn’t see it for the fog—and I gave up. Listen: I made it about 10 more minutes than I thought I would. Score one for Alix!

I’m already planning next year’s trip to the Smokies in my head. This time, I might make it a mile before giving up. Here’s to second chances!