Old Orchards

I left Pearisburg, VA on Tuesday morning, April 26th. After about a mile I discovered how Pearisburg got its name. On a hill above the New River, which runs by the town, there is an old cemetery, complete with a tall flagpole and an American flag. There was no vehicle access to the cemetery, so people must walk up to maintain it. I noticed an impressive grave, partially surrounded by a brick wall. Thanks to the Daughters of the American Revolution, a bronze plaque explained that this was the grave of George Pearis, a Revolutionary War captain who was from this area.

After crossing the sizable New River on a long bridge, the trail meandered past a stream before heading uphill.

A sign by the stream warned not to drink from it. A short distance later the trail skirted a large landfill operation. That explained the sign. In general, the smaller the stream and the higher the elevation, the cleaner the water. Ideally, you only want to draw water above all roads and habitations. It's usually, but not always, possible to do that on the trail. I was thankful for the sign.

The trail quickly moved to higher elevations, as it always does after passing through a town, and ran along the West Virginia border for much of the day. I came across an old apple orchard on a hilltop, with thousands of stones placed in neat piles when the orchard was cleared of stones generations ago.  A few apple trees remained, not having succumbed to the native trees yet. They were all fully bloomed with white blossoms, and the din of busy bees could be heard.

The border marker between Virginia and West Virginia.

The next day, after a very steep climb, I came upon another abandoned hilltop apple orchard. This one was much larger than the first, extending for more than a quarter mile. Dozens - perhaps a hundred - neat piles of stones periodically dotted the old grove. Each pile was between 3 to 5 feet high. The remaining trees were also in full bloom and I considered myself fortunate to be passing through during the brief period when they flower.

The clearing of these orchards must have taken many thousands of hours of labor. With the lush valleys below, I wondered why previous generations would have put so much effort into developing difficult to access hilltop apple orchards. Then it dawned on me; for a sizable portion of US history, from the colonial era to the late 19th century, apples were a cash crop. They were occasionally eaten of course, but their real value was in their fermented juice. Apple jack, or hard cider, was by far the most popular adult beverage of the day, not supplanted by beer for quite some time. Now I understood why people would have put so much effort into these orchards; it was good old American free enterprise at work.

On Wednesday, I was walking up a long, steep hill in the early evening to the top of Brush Mountain, where I camped. Thousands of fat, healthy centipedes, averaging about two to three inches long, were everywhere on the trail. Perhaps it was mating season. I did my best to avoid stepping on them, not always successfully.

I mentioned before about seeing animals eyes at night when looking at them with my headlamp in "spotlight" mode, which I use when walking the trail at night. I've seen many more pairs of eyes since then, including one animal that was spooked by me and climbed 15 feet up the nearest tree. It was too dark to see what it was, maybe a raccoon or opossum. Speaking of opossums, I was talking to the proprietor of a gas station/convenience store I stopped into last week and he informed me that opossums love to eat blood-engorged tics. I like opossums for that alone.

There are spiders everywhere on the trail, on the ground and suspended in air from their webs. When hiking at night their eyes glisten a bright green when you shine a headlamp on them. They look like two tiny, glistening emeralds. You can't walk more than 20 feet at night it seems without encountering a pair of spider eyes. It's really pretty cool. I've met some other hikers who do some night hiking and are fascinated by what you can see at night. Others want nothing to do with it.

I've been encountering many more deer on the trail than before, both during the day and at night. I also came across a painted turtle, a few snakes, and some bright orange salamanders.

On Thursday I was following the trail down from a rocky ridge. Sometimes I become complacent about making sure I am following the white blazes, since the trail is so well-worn in most places that your eyes just follow the path. On the way down from the ridge the trail became incredibly steep and rocky, almost dangerous. I slipped and fell at least once before realizing that I hadn't seen a white blaze in a while. I checked Google Maps and discovered that I was about a quarter mile off trail. I vectored back, making a mental note to be more observant of the white blazes. They are there for a reason.

I walked past McAfee Knob early in the morning on Friday. It's an iconic point on the trail where people get their pictures taken standing on a jutting rock high above an expansive valley with their best Lewis & Clark poses. It was foggy and drizzly when another hiker and I were there, so no view was to be had. However, a few hours and a few miles down the trail were the spectacular Tinker Cliffs, where the trail meanders along the age of a cliff for half a mile. Sometimes it ran too close for my comfort. The fog had lifted by then and I took a few pictures.

Tinker Cliffs.

Late in the afternoon on Friday I approached the town of Daleville, VA, my next stop. It had been a 95 mile walk from Pearisburg and I was more than ready for a rest. Within a quarter mile of the trail head I came across three guys who offered some "trail magic." They were all hikers, but were taking a day off. One of them was from the area, so they had a cooler full of beer and chocolate cookies for their fellow hikers. Besides the local guy (trail name "Four More Years"), they were an electrical engineer from the Czech Republic (trail name "Checkmate"), and a guy from Nova Scotia (trail name "Nova"). We chatted for a while when a guy from Shropshire County, England showed up. He was surprised that I not only knew where Shropshire was, but spent a week there on a family vacation. Small world.

I'm at mile 727, almost a third of the way done. My trail-runners were shot, so I hit the local outfitter today (Saturday) and bought a new pair. They were very comfortable on the walk back to the motel, so I'm optimistic. Shoes, as you can imagine, are the most important gear items in my inventory.

I'm most of the way through Virginia now, and I must say that it is a beautiful state. I'm looking forward to Shenandoah National Park, where the trail begins to level out a little, but I have about 150 more miles of steep climbs and descents before then.