Excerpt from “Memories with Larry”
Old Rag and Points West, Camping Trips to Virginia and West Virginia in the Spitfire:
In preparation for our long drive to Old Rag Mountain in the Shenandoah, we bought dried snacks, cheese, crackers, jerky, and nuts for our journey; packing it and all of our other gear into the daypacks the night before. Then the next day I got up with the Sun, threw the pack in the Spitfire, and drove over to pick up Larry. We hightailed it up route 211 west to Sperryville. Old Rag stood as a spur off the east side of the looming ridge of Shenandoah National Park, and Skyline Drive. For some reason, I recall going past Amissville (west of Warrenton), where we zoomed past the Lom-Bar-Dy cottages. It must have been a sports bar/restaurant, with cabins. I always thought it was a sports bar because Vince Lombardy was the coach of the Redskins for the longest time. Anyhow, it seems like I saw it dozens of times, it was a landmark on the trip; whether we were on our way to Old Rag, or points further west, like Spruce Knob. The only place we typically stopped was Sperryville General Store, where we would pick up a few more snacks before turning down Rt. 321 towards Old Rag, or Robertson Mountain. One time we picked up a hitchhiker, a mouse, in the Spitfire. The mouse had climbed in while we were in the store. We saw it scramble behind a seat when we left the store, but never found it; and I'm sure it must have been greatly confused when it leapt out that night and found itself in a strange place, far from it's commissary in Sperryville!
On the narrow but smooth asphalt road road to Old Rag from Sperryville, there was a sharp bump of a hill, and I pushed down on the pedal to go as fast as I could, and we would soar weightless for a second or two as we passed over the crest of the hill. It was thrilling, not to mention dangerous; but we were young and invincible! Soon after this we found the turnoff onto the gravel road towards Old Rag. We parked on the side of the steep dirt road (there was no parking lot then), leaving just enough room for other hikers cars to pass. There were never more than a few cars parked there. These days, a day pass is required to take the hike, and the number of hikers allowed per day is 800! When we took this hike in the mid '70s, we might see one other pair of hikers for the whole day.
We'd grab our packs out of the boot, and look for the trail sign on the south side of the road which announced “Old Rag Summit”. We eagerly commenced the rough, steep hike to the top; a 2,500 foot climb up to the open, rocky crest, a rarity in this area of thick forests, of the 3,284 foot mountain that we loved so much. The trail gets increasingly rough as one approaches the top. At one point, there is a split boulder the size of a house, with a stairway up the middle of it carved meticulously into the rocks by someone long ago. This was the only major “improvement” I can recall on the trail at the time. The summit area consists of a huge, granite platform covered with a jumble of large granite outcroppings you can scramble around on, or just sit on to enjoy the view. Once we got there, Larry would break out a trusty spliff that he always brought along for such moments. After passing it and the bottle of red wine back and forth for a while, we'd scramble around the top of Old Rag, exploring the billion year old granite outcrops which provided spectacular views of the surrounding mountains and farmland. To two lovers of the mountains, it was like having a huge playground all to ourselves!
We eventually settled down for lunch, which consisted of a little red wax encased oval of Maybud Smoked Edam cheese, some Wasa crackers, beef jerky, a bottle of red wine, an apple, my “healthfood cookies”, and whatever else we thought to bring along. The utensil consisted of my Buck Folding Hunter knife, and Larry's sheath knife. After the feast, we'd stretch out for a bit to talk, relax, and gaze out over the panoramic view of valley and mountains.
Other than a few more roads, and significantly more haze, the valley below, seen from the top of Old Rag, probably looks much the same as it did over 160 years ago. Looking down from the top these days, I could almost imagine seeing General George Armstrong Custer's Michigan Cavalry Brigade riding hard on its way through the fields in the distance far below, on their way to attack J.E.B. Stewart's Confederates in Culpepper Court House; but back then I was oblivious to the history that this area is steeped in.
After we'd had enough of scrambling around exploring the top, we'd search for the opening in the rocks on the northwest corner of the summit, and pass down through it to start the long hike down the back side of the mountain towards the Weakley Hollow fire road below. The Saddle Trail that descends from the top is narrow, steep, and rocky at first, winding through the mixed hardwood and pine forest. The path then mellows out close to the fire road. We stepped gingerly through the shallow stream, Brokenback Run, to get across to the fire road. An actual footbridge, and an overnight shelter are there now.
The fire road is enveloped on both sides by thick forest; which runs alongside a swift flowing stream. Getting pretty late in the day by now, we were pooped, and one day we got the idea to skip instead of walk for the last few miles down the fire road, Though it might sound strange, or frivolous, that we skipped our way back, we did it for a very practical reason: After hiking, climbing, and playing for 6
miles at that point, we could use slightly different muscles than walking, so we felt like we were rejuvenated. The fire road had a pretty steep downhill slope at that point, and we took as huge leaps as we could manage with each skip. We flew about 6 feet per leap when we really got going, and the last few miles of the hike rushed by, even though we were close to exhausted by the time we got back to the car. At times, it literally felt like we were flying down the fire road; such was the energy of youth! We adopted this skipping method each time we came down the steep fire road from that day forth. And, after this ten mile hike, we still had the 2 hour drive home to Hyattsville! Talk about a long day!
One time, we brought Kathy with us, and had our usual great time laughing and scrambling up the mountain. By the time of that trip, I had retired the Spitfire, and we had driven all the way to Old Rag in my ancient 1950 Ford F1 Pickup. When we arrived back at the truck at the end of the day exhausted, we found one of the tires flat, and we had no spare! Feeling crestfallen, Larry and I walked down the fire road a bit, wondering what the hell we would do, while Kathy sat in despair in the old truck waiting for whatever we came up with. Luckily, we soon came upon a run down house with an old man on the front porch. There were still old timers there in those days. He was friendly, and lent us a pump. Since it was a slow leak, we managed to pump it up, stopped to thank the old feller, and fired up the truck for the trip home.
... continued in "Memories with Larry"
