white oak canyon & cedar run falls loop hike | snp

"This is the hike that never ends..." I sang to myself two miles into the 8 mile loop that is Cedar Run Falls and White Oak Canyon. I'd slept but a wink the night before, waking up shivering every few minutes in our tent at Matthew's Arm campground. As the sun rose, I blearily opened my eyes and found my arms, and Zan's arms, snug around Theo, nestled under the blankets between us. Apparently, I had fallen asleep at some point between the raging party that ended at 2am at the campsite next to ours and stumbling out of the tent to pee at 4am, and Theo had sought out warmth. I giggled at him, and us, and how ridiculously under-prepared we'd been for the weather, uncharacteristically cold for August in the Mid-Atlantic. 

We started on the blue-blazed Cedar Run trailhead at the parking lot off mile 45.5 on Skyline Drive. I'd done this hike as an out-and-back up White Oak Canyon three summers ago, and I remembered it being a strenuous climb with rewarding views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, dense woods for aeternity, and the show stopper - waterfalls and natural water slides galore. I'd never hiked on Cedar Run so this hike gave me an opportunity to see an even woodsier side of the loop, dotted with shaded areas, lush vegetation, multiple stream crossings, and a few waterfalls of its own. 

We opted to hike down Cedar Run (about 3 miles) and back up White Oak Falls (about 3 miles), with the hope that by the time we climbed the trail to the waterfalls, the sun would be out and bright, ready to warm and dry us after we played in the abundant swimming holes. 

At the end of mile 2, Zan and I emerged from the monotony of the woods - ever stunning as it is! - into an open, sunny vista showing off staggered boulders with a swimming hole nestled beneath. A 10-foot or so waterfall cascaded into the translucent, emerald pool. Another couple walked up at the same time, and the four of us shimmied and shivered, touching our toes into the ice-cold water and daring one another to be the first to ride the natural slide into the pool.

Zander went for it, and I cheered him on as loudly as if it were me out there in the freezing water. He picked up speed on the slide and burst into the pool with a splash that almost touched me, catching the scene with my phone on the adjacent rocks. It was numbingly cold, he said, but absolutely refreshing. I ultimately decided to wait until later in the day when things warmed up - a decision I ended up regretting. This small, untouched pool with the perfect slide turned out to be the best one we encountered all day.

At long last, with my knees shaking, and muscled I've evidently never exercised burning, the trail flattered out. We opted to take the mile-long fire road that connects Cedar Run to White Oak. The three mile ascent of White Oak Canyon has a whopping 2500 feet of elevation gain, and I've never been so happy to be out of breath climbing up. It's fascinating how climbing uphill and downhill work different muscles - Zan finds downhill to be much easier on his legs, while uphill feels like salvation - compared to downhill - for mine.

The climb to Lower Falls was my favorite of the entire hike the first time I did it and this time. Whereas Cedar Run is forested, vibrantly green, and the trail is made up of smaller rocks and dirt, White Oak is all boulders. Giant slabs of stone eroded and worn stand stoically in the water, which you follow all the way to the top. The view gets better with every foot of elevation, and I could picnic and wade from those giant boulders all day.

I skipped the swimming holes once we reached the LF. I kicked myself - I honestly think exhaustion got the better of me on this hike. It took all my adventurous spirit to simply make it through.

The climb to the Upper Falls felt easier for me this time around. It came sooner than I expected, and I rallied, wading and playing in the water, daring myself to get close enough to a snake sunning on a fallen tree branch to check out his colors and head shape (I never did muster that kind of courage!), and rock scrambling for fun.

From the UF, the trail continues upward... and further upward! Until when you're starting to freak out that you missed the fire road that takes you back to the Cedar Run parking lot, it finally appears. There is a great overlook within 1/4 of a mile from the fire road - you're on the right path if you stop there for a photo or two.

On a map, the fire road looked short. In reality, it's 1.5 miles or so. The terrain is easy compared to the rock scrambles and careful stepping on other parts of the hike, but it is almost entirely uphill. Zander turned into the spirit leader of the hike. He kept me moving, even when I was melodramatically certain I was going to nap right there on the trail for the next month or so.

But we did make it back to the car without me singing, "Yes, the hike goes on and on my friend..." well, not out loud at least. 

if you go...

trail map 

distance: 7.9-8.2 miles

elevation gain: 2500 feet

time: 5-7 hours, depending on how long you play in the water

good for: waterfalls, swimming holes, picnics

parking on skyline drive: hawksbill gap, mile 44.5

or start at the bottom of white oak canyon by parking on rt 600

trail guide hiking upward

trail guide local hikes 

slowing down for a bear crossing | shenandoah np

On Saturday morning of Zan's and my overnight camping trip in Shenandoah National Park, a black bear lazily crossed in front of our car, pausing to turn and look right at us, before climbing over the guard to the other side of the woods. In the 10 seconds that it happened, I sat in total shock and awe, taking in his narrow face and smaller-than-I-expected paws and the way he somehow lumbered both awkwardly and gracefully on all fours. I frantically unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed through the sun roof and fumbled with my camera, trying, hoping to capture this incredible moment and elusive, downright beautiful animal.

I didn't succeed very well in getting his picture, but he still lit up my day. I felt the same way on an overland safari in South Africa, day after day, coming so close to a lion, elephants and rhinos, magnificent animals so distant from our human existences, or mine at least, that the sight of one in the wild makes life feel expand and contract like the whole world is suddenly bigger and more intimate at once. There's something about seeing a wild animal in its natural habitat, whether it be a scary one like a bear can be or gentle as a giraffe, that makes me feel electric with life and as excitable as a dreamer and a child, connected to the world and nature in a way from which concrete and man-made isolates me.

like a slow fire burn

you pull me in close
you buckle my knees
i shake and i shiver just to feel you breathe
you trace my lines
stirring my soul
shoot sparks at the heart of the world and i watch it explode

you turn, turn, turn, turning me on
like a slow fire burn
i know that it's wrong
still i run, run, run... run right into you

matt nathanson with sugarland, run

I buried my hands deeper in the pocket of his sweatshirt. It fell down over my hips and thighs to nearly rest on my knees. I watched him add kindle to the fire and dip down low, crouched on his side, held up by his forearms, and blow softly into the flames. Sparks flew, and I wondered at the origin of the phrase, at the marvel of the man making fire. My whole body rested, melting into a chair at the campfire's edge, and there, too, sparks fluttered inside of me. A love that starts slow and clumsy, finds a heartbeat with passion, grows with compassion, like a slow fire burn.

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theo and the three bears | shenandoah sunset hike

"If I'm not at the overlook by 8:15, meet me back at the trail head," I said, glancing down at my phone to check the time - 7:35pm. I had 40 minutes to get just under 2 miles with 300-400 feet of elevation gain. It wouldn't be a difficult hike, but then, I'd never speed hiked before. (I wondered briefly if that could be a new Olympic Sport. Speed walking made the cut, after all...)

Theo and I were meeting Zander at Hogback Overlook, a short distance away from Matthew's Arm Campground in Shenandoah National Park. Our tent was upright and our campfire pit was begging to be blazing and roasting marshmallows. After setting up camp, we rushed over to the Traces trailhead to embark on a sunset hike.

Less than 100 feet up the trail, Zander tweaked his knee, and I convinced him to drive to the overlook, uncork a bottle of wine, and wait for Theo and me to hike there to watch the sun sink down over the Blue Ride Mountains. Reluctantly, he agreed - I'm sure more nervous to leave me to navigate directions than concerned about any danger befalling us.

He might have had reason to worry...

Theo and I picked up our pace and reached the first trail market (0.4 miles) in barely more than a handful of minutes. I reached for the trail map, realizing I had nowhere to reach - I hadn't brought anything with me but my phone. Theo looked at me quizzically, as if to say, "Weren't you the one that thought this through, Mom?" Good question, Theo. We had no flashlight and no map. I knew it was a simple hike - straight up Traces Trail with one turn on the Appalachian Trail. The sun was falling to my right side, so I assumed I would turn right on the AT to cross over Skyline Drive into Hogback Overlook. No big deal. We had this.

The Appalachian Trail was 0.8 miles ahead, and it was already almost 7:45. I ran through the worst case scenarios: we had no reception, but if something major happened, I could make an emergency call. I could use my phone as a flashlight if we were forced to turn around to meet Zan at the trail head. I could yell really, really loudly, and hope my voice carried through the trees? Scratch that one.

With my mind full of what-ifs and how-would-I-handle's, I almost tripped over Theo, haunches raised, blocking the trail with one paw in the woods. He emitted a low growl, and I stopped to listen. I called his name, trying to calm him down - he goes nuts after squirrels and rabbits and anything that moves. But this was different - he usually chases animals, but in this instance he was completely still, hunkered down, eyes trained in one direction. I followed his gaze until my eyes rested on three black bears running on all fours in the distance.

I thought I'd gone crazy. I'd never seen a bear - not even ONCE - in the wild, and I've hiked in Shenandoah numerous times and worked for two summers in the San Bernardino Mountains in California - bear country if there ever was one. They had to be dogs? Another animal? But my eyes weren't lying. Their shoulders were too broad to be any other animal, and they were coated in thick, black fur. These were bears. Fascinated, I watched them run off; likely, they heard and smelled Theo and me and ran right away.

We continued on the trail, and I became even more concerned about the time. Even so, I couldn't help but stop for a second to admire and snap a few photos of the golden light angling through the trees, creating geometrical patterns and prisms on the forest floor.

Theo and I reached the Appalachian Trail trailhead soon after, and I confidently led us to the right, certain the overlook would be a short distance ahead. I gave Theo a quick high paw - we were going to make it! Another couple of hundred feet up the trail, Theo bounded up huge boulders on our right side. I followed him up to a trail overlook with an open, clear view of the sun setting directly in front of us. I admired the layers of the mountains, and the way the sun's fading light shone in between them.

Minutes before deadline, Theo and I emerged from the trail onto Skyline Drive. I saw an overlook sign and bounded closer to it. Rattlesnake Overlook. Where was Hogback? I had no idea where we were. 

I still didn't have enough cell service. Without a flash light or a map, I was nervous to retrace our steps on the trail in the fast approaching nightfall. I navigated Theo to the overlook and tried to flag down a car - hopefully someone could point us in right direction. I waved frantically to the first car I saw. As it slowed down and pulled over, Zander and I locked eyes, and our silence spoke volumes, something along the lines of, "Holy shit, thank god it's you!"

Zan had turned around right at 8:15 to head back to the trail head per our plan. I should have turned left at the Appalachian. Thankfully he needed to go around Skyline drive to the right, passing me on the way back to Matthew's Arm. He, too, had grown nervous and was immensely relieved to find us on the road.

I was only a mile or so away from the trail head on Skyline Drive and a little more to the campground, but hiking solo at sunset proved to be an adventure, bears and all. Next time, I'll bring a map and a flashlight. But man, that sunset was worth it.

hiking overall run falls in shenandoah national park

Within the first mile, the rain came. It dripped on us slowly and steadily as we checked our steps on the open trail. A few hundred yards ahead, panting from the gradual incline, we entered a tree cover. The forest spread out around and over us. The trail rested damp and soft beneath us, pulling our shoes in and resisting our steps up. I heard the rain, soft and whispering, landing gently on leaves and rolling down their crooked edges before landing on my hair, my shoulders, my shoes. I tilted my face toward the branches above, spotting only slivers of the sky far beyond. I stuck my tongue out like a kid in a snow storm, and watched the trajectory of a raindrop before it landed squarely in my mouth. Theo shook himself off, stuck his tongue out, too, and ran again ahead of us, looking back only as if to say, "Aren't you coming, Mom?"

Overall Run Falls holds the title of the tallest waterfall in Shenandoah National Park. Like the majority of Shenandoah's waterfalls, you reach it by hiking down. Depending on where you start, the trail clocks in between 4.8 - 6.5 miles roundtrip. It can be done as an out and back or a loop hike. I always prefer loops so that's the option we chose. The first several miles vacillate between gradual decline and steep decline, with the final .5 mile to the falls themselves being a series of rock stairs and very steep decline. Zander and I joked, well, this'll be fun to climb back up. But really - it kind of was. That's twisted, right?

What started out as a planned 6.5 mile hike turned into an a nearly 8.5 mile hike. We went the wrong way and ended up here in Fern Gully. All in all, it was a pretty detour.

Zander recently saved a baby bird in my backyard. In the middle of an intense game of fetch with Theo, he yelled out to me inside, asking me to quickly bring him gloves. I tossed him a pair, scared he found a dead... or alive snake (it's always snakes with me). I watched him sprint to the edge of the yard, gently reach down and ever so carefully lift something up. He stood listening for several moments, his head cocking from side to side. A cacophony of chirps hit my ears at the same time they did his. The birds grew increasingly louder until Zan figured out from which direction they came. He walked that way and set the baby bird in his gloved palms on the grass above the rock wall at the edge of the yard.

He saved another baby bird on our hike. This time he spotted it on the trail and asked me to move Theo out of the way. His sniffing scared the poor thing. Zan put the little guy in the palm of his hand and waited again to hear his parents cry out. I hope they both made it home safe. And this tangential story is just one of the billion reasons I love that man.

We backtracked a mile and found the correct turnoff for Overall Run Falls. Within that mile, the indecisive skies finally chose sunshine, and the temperature rose 10 degrees in the next hour. The sun shone, light filtered through the trees, and by the time we reached the falls, we wished we could swim in them.

After 2+ miles hiking down and crossing a few streams, we arrived at the lower falls. There are two waterfalls on the Overall Run Falls trail - the lower and upper. When you near the falls, a trail sign point you in the right direction. At that point, the lower falls is within .2-.3 miles. Hike down another .2-.3 to see the Overall Run.

 

I handed Theo's leash and my water bottle to Zander and walked toward the rock cliff at Overall Run Falls. At the edge, I folded down until I was on all fours. Finding natural handholds, and gauging the distance from the cliff edge to the rock platform immediately underneath, I slowly descended. It was only a span of 10 feet, at most, but it felt like 40 in that moment. A small rush of adrenaline ran through me. Maybe this is a hint of what it's like to rock climb. I squatted down on the ledge, shrubbery poking at my biceps and thighs and took picture and after picture, trying to capture the falls and the mountains beyond. I thought briefly about jumping - the pool beneath the falls was right there! I could see it! Beneath 100 feet of rocks! I climbed back up, Zan let out a deep breath, Theo licked me hello, and we unpacked our picnic lunch, eating with a view.

Trail directions and tips 
 
PARK: Matthew's Arm Campground - the overflow lot

TRAIL DIRECTIONS: Take the blue-blazed Traces Trailhead in the overflow parking lot for .6 miles to the Tuscarora-Overall Run trail intersection. Make a left on this trail. (We made a right, and that will take you to Hogback Overlook - you can also start your hike here, if you prefer. It's at mile marker 21.1.) Until this point, the hike is wooded, and dense with a gradual incline. The falls are 2.8 miles away once you veer onto Tuscarora-Overall Run trail. You begin to descend into the valley at this point. At 1.1 miles, you'll come to another trail intersection for Matthews Arms. Continue straight/right to reach the falls. At 2.7 miles, you'll reach another intersection - again, continue straight. The falls are .5 miles at this point. The trail veers steeply downhill; there are wooden steps for a section. At .2 miles on the left is the lower falls. Continue another .2-.3 miles down to see the large falls on your left.

Hike back up the way you came. After you ascend the .5 miles back up and reach the trail intersection, head right toward Matthew's Arm. At the second intersection in another 2 miles, head left for Matthew's Arm. Before the second intersection is a fast-moving stream and small falls (when there's water). Turn right at the final intersection back onto Traces Trail and retrace your steps .6 mile to the parking lot.

TIPS: The falls are best after a heavy rain or in the spring. In the summer months, the falls run dry. The view is spectacular year round. Winter months, when the water has frozen, is also a good time to see the falls.

RATING: We loved the falls and the view, and the woods were pretty for a while. I'm glad we hiked it and saw the tallest falls, but I'm not gunning to do it again. I give it a 6 out of 10. 

A LONGER VERSION: Combining Overall Run with Beecher Ridge from Hiking Upward

And now... more pictures.

cooling off at glen manor vineyards

 

We passed the entrance the first time. The winding road led us around another bend before we found a turnoff to head back the way we came. Only one car drove behind us, and we hadn't seen another one in a few miles. The Blue Ridge Mountains rose and fell in the near distance, and the sun blazed in all its mid-afternoon glory. 

This time through the small town of Front Royal, we spotted the sign, and turned onto the gravel driveway. I noticed an advisory posted at the entrance prohibits buses and groups larger than six. As the SUV bumped along, I pulled hand wipes out of my bag and scrubbed my face, my arms, and my neck. Zander came to a stop in front of a remodeled, small modern wooden lodge. 

I reached for baby wipes in my bag, and scrubbed my face, neck, and arms. As I stepped out of the car, I stopped to kick mud off the bottoms of my shoes as best I could. 

"We look okay to be at a winery, right?" I asked. 

 

The staff at Glen Manor Vineyards didn't mind our trail clothes or sweaty faces. They welcomed us in and asked us where we'd been hiking. We talked shop about our favorite trails in Shenandoah, and they sold us on a few nearby with deep swimming holes. Then we got down to wine tasting business.  

Named for the "glen," or sloping mountain foothills in which the vineyard sits, the small winery grows a handful of grape varietals on site. The weather and harvest determines the wines they make and sell each season. It's a small, family-owned and run winery that rarely carries more than four wines at any given time. 

On our visit a few weeks ago, the tasting menu included four vintages: 2012 Rose, 2011 Cabernet Franc, 2011 Vin Rouge, and the 2012 Petit Manseng. Missing from the list is Glen Manor's most popular wine, their Sauvignon Blanc. The owners explained that last season was abnormally dry, negatively impacting the grapes. They do hope to release a limited number of bottles later in the season. 

We enjoyed each of the four wines. In particular, I liked the careful, thoughtful descriptions of the wines themselves. As someone still relatively new to wine tasting and developing my palate and vernacular, a detailed description helps guide me through the tasting. When I diverge from their description, that's okay, too, but I appreciate the nudge in the right direction.

The Rose is a balance of light and refreshing with a medium-weight, long finish. The Petit Manseng surprised us the most. It smells of tropical fruit - pineapple, guava, and mango - and though it has a sweetness throughout, it's crisp enough to warrant being labeled off-dry. While it's still too sweet for me to drink regularly, it pairs perfectly with a hot summer day after a long hike. 

We ordered a glass each and purchased a bottle of all four wines we tasted. We made ourselves at home on their patio to enjoy the fruits of our labor. I could sit all day in a setting like that, looking out over vines and mountains, sipping on a glass of cold, crisp wine. Couldn't you? 

The winery itself is sparse but beautiful. Come for the wines and stay for the company, scenery, and staff. 

if you go...

Glen Manor Winery Fort Royal, Virginia

No food for purchase, but picnics are encouraged

Fido (cough, Theo!) is allowed but must be leashed

wine info and vintages

Tasting fee: $7

old rag mountain | shenandoah national park

I did two crazy things while hiking Old Rag this weekend:

1. I threw a temper tantrum near the peak.


2. I ran the last mile.

Forget the first one, forever. (Let's never talk about it again, mmmk?) But did you read #2? I ran the last mile of the 9 mile hike that is Old Rag. As Liz Lemon would say, "I want to go to there!"

Wait. Wrong catchphrase.

"WHAT THE WHAT?!" There it is.

I can only claim temporary insanity (Zan would beg to differ on the "temporary." See: crazy thing #1 that I did).

So here's what happened...

Zan and I had reached the assumed summit and were starving and half-dead, ready to set up camp for lunch. We’d managed the 5 mile ascent without breaking off our limbs. We’d traversed the uneven terrain and navigated the extensive class 3 rock scrambling section leading to the top. We’d done all that without collapsing even once (there was that one rock that I hallucinated to be a bed, but that’s neither here nor there). We scrambled to the tip-top of a super duper high rock and took in the 360 degree view. For 20 seconds.

Snap.



Snap.



I took two photos, circling and cheerily announced, “Ready for my sammie!” and began the slow, painful descent to a sitting position, before I realized no one was listening. I think a few kind tree branches leaned in, lending a leafy ear. Zan was 20 feet ahead, hiking onward.

I called out. “Zan! (Zan! Zan!)” I yelled three times to create my own cool mountain peak echo.

“Where ya goin’?” I was casual, cool, laser eyes locked into the back of his pack, that held my sammie.

Grunt. Gruntgrunt.

Yes, I nodded. Sure, I see. He saw a higher peak that way (point). This isn’t the summit.

I grunted back.

“I don’t WANNA go. THIS is the summit. UGHHH SAMMIE GIVE ME SAMMIE.” Grunt. Grunt.

(Our communication talents are unique and should not be tried at home.)

He had the sammies, and so what could I do? I gave a reverential salute to my perfect peak and the breeze hugged me in return. We scrambled, climbed, scraped hands, skipped rocks, held on to branches, scooted through crevices...





...and finally arrived where Zan had grunted and pointed – to the “summit over there.” It was an astounding… clump of barren, brown trees obscuring the view on all sides.****



I HRMPHD, loudly, in his direction.

Zan HRMPHD back.

We HRMPHD and HRMPHD.

Two hikers passed us, probably thinking, “By golly, those two need a sammie.” That’s what I was thinking.

You know that point when you’re too tired to see the solution that’s right in front of you? We were so ungodly far beyond that point.

He grunted.

I grunted.

I broke off a branch and threw it.

He tore off the tree trunk and chucked it over the edge.

We beat our chests.

I cried.

He cried.

We slept standing.

We woke still furious.

We sighed.

I finally regained enough energy to properly stomp my foot.

I whined. “I just need a hug.” (And a damn sammie on a beautiful overlook, but I kept that to myself, in the name of compromise and conflict resolution. I truly handled the argument like a totally sane adult.)

We hugged.

I checked the time.

4.5 minutes had passed.

We walked back 50 yards, and alas, a perfect picnic peak shone bright and glimmering in the afternoon sun and we had a wonderful, quiet picnic... and then I played like a 4-year-old on the rocks and made Zander take 100 photos of me doing so.





Ahem, where was I?

Oh right, the time I ran a mile on a 9 mile hike (I thought we promised to never talk about that other thing?!).

We reached the fire road, finally, oh god, after Zan had destroyed his tendonitis plagued knees, and my body could not take one more single step downwards (seriously, I’d rather climb up than down any day any time any where – YOU NAME THE PLACE). The fire road is 2.5 miles. It’s the longest 2.5 miles of anyone’s life, or at least the lives of people who are not in spectacular shape and are very tired after summiting Old Rag.

This is the road that never ends... yes, it goes on and on my friends!

I made it through the first 1.5 miles without too much of a problem (except for a desperate need to pee that ended in a trail crouch - high five to all women!). We reached the trail head, were in the home stretch, had only a mile to go, and the damn fire road, it had the nerve to veer downhill. I don’t know what came over me. It was too much to place one foot in front of the other, baby step like, so I slowly picked up my pace until I was jogging.

It felt so much better to jog downhill than to walk. So I kept jogging.

And when the land flattened out, I kept jogging.

And when the trail turned into the paved road leading the way to the parking lot, I didn’t stop running.

A man walking his dog, white beard and all (does Santa have a mountain home in Lurray, Virginia?), laughed as I ran past. “Didn’t get enough of a workout on Old Rag?!”

I kept running, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

Then I was at the parking lot, and then I was at the car, and then, I fell down beneath a tree and fell asleep for 100 hours.

Okay, that happened 3 hours later at 7pm at my house.

But I did take weird photos of myself, in my deathlike state, post 8 mile hike, post 1 mile run.



Zan caught up after walking like a sane person, looked at me lying pathetically immobile on the ground, shook his head and said, “You’re crazy, and I love you.”



 ****I’d like to note that no matter what Zan says, we did not find the true peak 10 minutes after our lunch, and there was certainly not a sign leading that way, and it was definitely not an even higher, better view-affording outlook with picnic spots. NO MATTER WHAT ZAN SAYS.