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Low Water

Low Water

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Plants are parched. Streams are struggling. Some might say it’s time to water. I say … it’s time to cross a creek on stepping stones.

I was thinking of a stretch of the Cross County Trail close to my house (though not close enough to walk to, of course), which has thwarted me before because of an almost submerged stone crossing. 

Yesterday the water level was low enough to make the crossing easy. And that single detail opened up a world of forest and creek and pasture. Plus one of my favorite sections of the trail, which skirts a bamboo-fringed pond.

Just as low tide reveals a wealth of sea life, shells and sand dollars, low water offers up paths for trekking, vistas for gazing. In other words, possibilities.

The Wild Side

The Wild Side

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Yesterday I found the trail I was looking for. It was tucked away in a corner of the county that adjoins the Fairfax County Parkway and its monolithic soundproof walls. 

The path featured several fair-weather stream crossings, but nothing that could scoot below or hang above all that parkway asphalt, as impassable as a raging river. 

There was a tunnel under a lesser road, though, a dark enclosure that paralleled a stream. I took that — despite the warning.

Sometimes you have to walk on the wild side.  Even in the suburbs. 

 

From Hillock to Hammock

From Hillock to Hammock

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Yesterday I hiked off in search of a trail I’d heard about over the weekend. It was a path I thought I knew, but after reaching it, I quickly discovered it was just a short cut-through route. 

A waste of time? Not really. One good thing about living somewhere a while is knowing approximately where you are, even when you’re turned around. 

I knew that if I backtracked up a little hillock I would find a street that connected me with an entire trail system, one that would take me home.

Ninety minutes later, I was relaxing in the hammock. 

Open Windows

Open Windows

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The wind has changed, the humidity has dropped, and I’m about to take a walk in a long-sleeved t-shirt.  I may even pull my hands up into the sleeves.

Our September heat wave looks to be at least temporarily in abeyance. 

The best part: open windows. 

On the Road Again

On the Road Again

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The last time I strolled any distance was on the streets of Edinburgh. Covid has kept me down and given my feet something they’ve been wanting for months — a break. 

But the break is over, feet. You’re on the line again, or, more to the point, you’re on the road again. This morning I woke up early and strong enough to tackle the neighborhood loop. 

Yes, it will be 101 today, but at 7 a.m. it was a comfortable. 73. I walked and walked.

It felt terrific.

(Pedestrians on the Royal Mile.)

Half a Bag

Half a Bag

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Adventurous Scots who love to walk enjoy what they call “bagging a munro.” A munro is any peak over 3,000 feet. According to Sir Hugh Munro (1856-1919), there are 283 of them.

And according to the Visit Scotland website, there are more than 6,000 people who’ve hiked them all.

Today we got almost halfway up the tallest Munro — Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the British Isles. It was raining when we started but soon cleared up. This was good for many reasons, including the fact that the rocks in our path had dried out when we made our way down, making them slightly less slippery. 

We certainly didn’t bag a Munro today. But we almost half-bagged one. 

West Highland Way

West Highland Way

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The West Highland Way is a 95-mile walking path that runs through some of the most spectacular scenery on the planet. We walked eight miles of it today.

Along the way, we met fellow travelers: a young woman from Germany who raved about the distillery in Oban (where we head tomorrow), a family whose members hail from Canada and Holland but who originally came from Scotland, a couple who lives only 90 minutes away from us in West Virginia but who came here to hike the entire trail … and many more folks. 

Foot travel invites friendships and confidences. It’s the original mode of transportation, and as you might expect, I think it’s the best. 

A Single Step

A Single Step

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I live close enough to Dulles Airport that I can hear the planes taking off and landing, especially, I’m sorry to say, when windy or stormy weather requires the use of another runway. 

Until recently, though, the only way to reach the airport was by taxi or by wrangling a ride from a friend or relative. But that has changed recently. Now you can take Metro to Dulles … provided, of course, you can reach Metro. 

Which is how we came up with this crazy scheme: Today, we’ll embark on this journey of (more than) a thousand miles with a single step. We’ll walk out of the house and trek about 15 minutes to a bus stop, where we’ll board a bus that will take us to Metro, which will take us to the airport.

It seems an appropriate way to begin a trip that will rely almost solely on public transportation. But around here, it will seem pretty crazy. And that’s what makes it fun.

Rosy Glow

Rosy Glow

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There are stands of ancient hemlocks in New Germany State Park, an oasis of green trails and lofty heights. A cathedral of a forest.

And then… there are the streams, and the late day sunlight slanting on them.

In some spots the light struck the creek at such an angle that it gave the water a strange, rosy glow, as if it were blushing or bleeding. As if it were lit from within.
Vacation Loop

Vacation Loop

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The sign says “End County Maintenance,” another way of saying “No Outlet.” But from the beginning I was intrigued by a break in the fence, a parting of the trees.

Last year I discovered it, and this year I’ve enjoyed it: a cut-through path, one that connects our street to the main drag of this neighborhood. 

The cut-through has created a loop walk where I thought there was none. And I’ve been strolling it this week whenever I can. 

(Not the loop walk but part of a detour, which is a vacation loop of its own.)