Rock Slides and Remembrance of Forest Primeval

This is the scene this morning at Mile Marker 44 on the Greenbrier River Trail. Two rockslides have partially blocked the trail. Caution should be exercised when passing this section of trail, particularly when raining. There are some huge rocks on the slope that are hanging on by a thread; it is a contest now between gravity and very tenuous holds on the slope. And of course, gravity will win. Rock Slides and Remembrance of Forest Primeval.

Bongo at rockslide and remebrance of forest primeval

I have noticed on this rockslide, as in previous ones, that large dead hemlocks tumble over bringing up their root ball with them starting a cascade of rock down and on to the trail. Erosion as a result of heavy rain only exacerbates the problem. This is an area with frequent problems.

Update of Watoga Logging Proposal

Well, Senate Bill 270 by all accounts is now dead. So at least for the moment Watoga will be spared from the plans to log her. Many of you expressed your opposition to this ill-conceived idea. Your comments were genuine and moving and you are to be commended for expressing your love for Watoga State Park.

Brian Hirt, a fan and frequent visitor to Watoga, expressed in this modification of a song by Gordon Lightfoot his sentiments about the need to preserve and protect all that is in, and within, Watoga State Park for all generations to come.

In reading his lyrics I can only request that he pick up his guitar and share it with the rest of us in song at his first opportunity.

Thanks Brian

There was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run. When the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun, long before the white man and long before the wheel. When the green dark forest was too silent to be real.

Rembrance of Forest Primeval

But time has no beginnings and history has no bounds. And to this verdant country they came from all around. They floated logs upon her waterways and timbered the forest’s tall, built the mines and the mills and the factories for the good of us all.
But then they looked back at the mountains and what did they see a barren landscape without any trees, with rivers overflowing with silt looking like a wasteland if you please.

Their minds were overflowing of the visions of their day but thankfully some looked into the future and saw places like Watoga so that today we too can walk in the green dark forests tall and imagine a time when the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun long before the white man and long before the wheel and when the railroads did not run.

Happy Hiking, at Watoga of course !

Ken Springer

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Thinking of stopping by woods on a snowy evening as Arrowhead and Jesse’s Cove were cleared of obstacles yesterday and today.   We cleaned limbs off of the Greenbrier River Trail from Watoga Crossing to Workman Road.

This will be the last trail report until early February.  I take this time each year to visit friends and family scattered about.  Before leaving I want to share one of my very favorite poems.  It is a wonderful poem by Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.  It has a particular significance to me.  When I was a young man a good many decades ago I lived on an old farm in the hills of southeastern Ohio.  I had an aged Quarter Horse named Lady who had lost her zest for speed and spunkiness some years earlier.  She was nonetheless steady and dependable.

There was a deep woods between my barn and a small village called Lore City. It was 2 miles on an old abandoned road that wove through the woods.  My custom on Sundays was to ride Lady to a small café.  It was run by two sisters in their 70s.  The café even had an old metal tie-up post out front.  One of the sisters was a bit grumpy and if you tried to change your order, even before she left your table, you were likely to get a slap on the back of your hand.  Her idiosyncrasies aside, she made the absolute best Swiss steak and mashed potatoes ever shoveled into a human mouth.  And this does not even take into account the wondrous variety of homemade pies proudly displayed in one of those old pie safes situated on the counter. We’re talking fruit pies as well as the cream styles mind you.  So a slight slap on the hand was a small price to pay for the sumptuous fare that awaited me.

Yes, my sweet memories are in part based on the food.  In addition, also because I made this weekly pilgrimage on Lady every month of the year. And I still fondly recall many rides through those quiet winter woods in the snow as Lady made her sure-footed way back to the warmth of her stall.

Stay warm, hike often and every time the mood strikes you !
Ken Springer

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy EveningStopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

By Robert Frost