It’s a good thing we checked the map before driving down to the Grand Canyon yesterday. As far as the North Rim is concerned, winter isn’t over yet; the road to that entrance doesn’t open until May 14. I will not be able to visit the Grand Canyon on this trip. I guess I’ll just need to come back. Amy recommended October when the Aspens are all yellow.
For this trip, though, we pivoted in the high school parking lot. We decided to go in the opposite direction, to Bryce Canyon. Wow, what a landscape!
We hiked a 3 mile trail down to the bottom and back out again, and we had beautiful weather for it: short sleeve temperatures, sunshine, and a cool breeze under a bright blue sky.
On the way down, I stopped every few steps to take photographs. The hoodoo rock formations were so cool. I couldn’t get over them. Plus, I am a sucker for red rocks against the blue sky. Luckily, my friend did not get annoyed with my slow progress; she warned me that she would want to stop frequently to catch her breath on the way back up.
Thor’s Hammer
We took our time. We admired twisty trees. We marveled over geology. We talked about how this used to be an ocean, and that the rock is sedimentary — literally sediment that settled to the bottom of the sea. It cemented together in the pressure of its young days and by the minerals that crystalized together to give it structure. It is soft rock that eventually comes full circle and transforms back to sand.
Amy and I made lots of friends on the trail. We chatted with other folks resting in the shade — two friends from California, a couple from Italy, a father and son from North Carolina. I snapped photos of hiking partners with their cameras. We had a gorgeous day together outside in the fresh Utah air, laughing and talking about life and our kids and the nature of rocks.
Today, we pick up our friend in Vegas. On the way we’re going to stop at a place in Nevada called Valley of Fire, which may be the best ever name for a state park. I’m hopeful we can also hit a Mexican restaurant that I’ve been craving since I last came to Amy’s over a year ago.
Temperatures have stayed below freezing for multiple weeks. Most nights last week were in the single digits, with highs in the teens when the sun was up. My husband texted during the week, do you want to hike the Cascades Saturday morning? I want to see it after all this cold.
When we pulled up to the trailhead at 10 am, the thermometer still below freezing but at least in the 20s instead of the teens, the parking lot was full of cars. Everyone in town wants to see the frozen Cascades.
It snowed and sleeted here a couple of weeks ago, and plenty of people have hiked to the falls since. The trail was slippery and treacherous as a result. The snow was packed tight from all the footsteps, and we had to use hands, feet, and butts to make our way without breaking any bones or falling into the frigid stream. On several short descents, we got down to the ground and used the path like a slide. About a hundred times, I thought, I wish I had a hiking stick. That, and hand warmers.
But oh my God, was it worth it. I really struggle photographing snow, and I could barely manage my camera because my hands were ice cubes, so my photos don’t do it justice. And of course, pictures don’t capture the hollow percussive sound of the stream glooping against the crust of ice above it, or the glitter of sunlight on the snow when the trail broke out of the shadows. They don’t capture the sounds of the college kids’ laughter as they slid on sneakered feet and bowled icicles on the frozen pool at the base of the waterfall, or the smell of cold forest air along an icy mountain stream. But they do capture some of the pretty shapes created by shadows, water, ice, and snow.
Stream from above on a trail bridgeSo smooth!The first hint of sunlightStream under iceI love this rock and its shadowCool blueIce palaceOn the waterfall pool
Fall has arrived, and I am happy. We went south to North Carolina yesterday; the leaves are almost done here in Blacksburg, and we hadn’t gone for a single hike yet. We didn’t want to miss our chance to soak up the warm glow of a jewel toned forest.
We arrived at noon, which is much later than we typically hike, and the parking lot at Hanging Rock State Park was full. Cars circled at a crawl, rolling down windows to ask anyone on foot and near a parked car, “Are you leaving?” We joined the circling line, eventually found a spot, then got in another line to use the bathroom before heading to the trails.
Once we were in the forest, leaves crunched underfoot. My chest swelled with contentment as I listened to them scrape and scuttle. In a sunny spot near the lake, the air bloomed with the aroma of warm pine straw. I inhaled deeply to take in the scent. Here, the trail felt soft with the fallen needles of evergreens, now golden brown.
The light was strong and contrasty, and I wasn’t confident I’d be able to get any good photographs. It occurred to me that maybe black and white would work well in these conditions, so I had fun breaking out of my regular habits to try to look for light rather than color. Instead of looking for red maple leaves or golden beeches, I found myself examining stone instead, and how pretty it looked in the light.
The stone looked pretty in color, too, especially covered in lichen, coppery leaves, and golden November sun, or set against the colorful autumn treetops beneath it.
On our way down from one of the peaks, two outdoorsy college-aged women with braids down their backs passed us on their way up. They looked happy and healthy, one with her knee taped from athletic strain. In their wake, I smelled coconut, like summer at the beach. Like our daughter’s favorite sunscreen. My heart swelled again as I thought of her away in college in Florida, having fun with her friends, even if their activities are swimming and river-tubing instead of hiking.
The trails were more crowded than we’re used to — we forgot it’d be crowded midday, we’re so used to hiking right after the sun comes up and nobody is around — but I liked to see so many people out enjoying nature. I think I’ll go for another walk now while the sky is blue and a few remaining trees gleam ruby.
Fall leaves have peaked at the higher elevations here. Last weekend the mountains were soft pumpkin mounds with flecks of green. This weekend when my husband and I drove to a trailhead, the hillsides were rusty brown with flecks of burnt orange.
When we parked and started our hike to Angel’s Rest, though, the forest was a brilliant saffron.
Saffron forestGolden leaf litter
As we moved up the mountainside, we passed through glades filled with lobed oak leaves the color of copper, or oval, veined leaves the color of parchment. There was one glade where the light and leaf litter blushed the soft color of pink lady apples. Some leaves were glossy, some were matte, some were papery, some were leathery. Many were speckled like bird eggs. We even saw witch hazel flowers, which I didn’t realize stuck around through the entire summer; the flowers appear in spring, then I guess are hidden by leaves all summer, and then when the leaves drop in fall, the flowers are still there.
Pretty leaves along the way
The volume of leaves on the ground was stunning. Millions of them. At times the drifts of leaves were shin deep. All of these leaves making food for the trees and air for us to breathe. They are miraculous to me.
Rustle rustle
At the top of the climb is where the bulk of the brown leaves were. We sat on a rock and watched leaves drift the long fall into the valley.
Burnt orange and gold hillsAngel’s rest
On the way back down, we shuffled our feet through the piles of leaves to maintain contact with the earth and keep from slipping. The forest was filled with rustling sounds, not just from us, but from squirrels and chipmunks foraging in the leaf litter, and from wind blowing through the treetops.
Treetops touching sunlight
Near the bottom, we passed through a glade that still had some green in it, and then at the very end, I saw two beautiful soft pink treelets that were the perfect end to what will likely be one of our last hikes of the season with colorful leaves.
We’re having a beautiful autumn this year. The trees are changing slowly, and brilliantly, and are hanging on to their leaves. Maybe we had more rain this summer than usual. Whatever the reason, I’m drinking it in. My husband and I hiked to a bald mountaintop yesterday, a place on the Appalachian Trail called the Rice Fields.
From the moment we stepped out of the car onto the gravel road at the trailhead, we knew we were in for a treat.
At the trail head
I gasped a lot on this hike. Every few steps, I stopped to photograph leaves. The forest was like being in an outdoor gem garden filled with rubies and citrines, topaz and emeralds.
October 22 Rice Fields hikeSassafras leaf (I think)Oak?Maybe tulip poplarMaple leaf
At some point I realized I wasn’t going to be able to photograph every beautiful leaf, but it took me a while.
I need to learn my leavesRockfallAt the Rice Field
My husband and I woke without an alarm yesterday morning, ate a quick breakfast, and got in the car to drive the two hours to Grayson Highlands where we would hike Mt. Rogers. As I packed my daypack, he told me it would be in the 40s and really windy. I grabbed a couple of extra long sleeved shirts to choose from, along with ear warmers and gloves. But mostly I was excited to bring my camera; I remembered this hike being stunning.
We arrived at 10am to blue skies and fierce wind — wind so strong that flags stood straight out and snapped and cracked in it, that trees whipped sideways, and that it ripped the door out of my hand when I opened it to get out of the car. I could hardly close the door against the wind. I had underestimated the weather and did not bring my wind breaker even though my husband told me it would be cold and windy. I feared I would be miserable the whole time.
I put on every layer I brought, and we got moving to keep warm. As soon as we started hiking, I was warm enough despite the cutting wind. It helped that the day was glorious. On our way to the state park, we drove through rolling hills planted with Christmas tree farms, and wound our way through mountain s-curves as gold leaves fluttered to the ground.
We hiked through a tunnel of Rhododendron and I could see my breath. I brushed up against a fir and smelled Christmas trees. The trail was lively with backpackers coming off the mountain after camping the night, bundled warm against the biting chill.
The vistas were spectacular, just like they were last time we hiked this trail ten years ago. Last time we hiked was in June, when fresh spring greens and pinks were emerging. This time, we saw yellows and oranges and brilliant reds mixed in with the evergreen of the firs. The brilliant reds were so intense, they were almost florescent in their redness. It turns out they were not leaves, but clusters of shining berries.
We passed over exposed meadows broken up by giant boulders, then down into glens filled with firs and rhododendrons and ferns and moss. We passed through a rocky notch that opened into a golden glade where the the forest floor was covered in fallen yellow leaves and the October light slanted through the trees.
The light all day was glorious. At one point I thought I had my amber-lensed sunglasses on, but I did not. I hadn’t even brought them. I just wore my regular glasses. Everything had a golden glow.
When we were out on exposed balds, the wind was so sharp and cold it made my eyes water. We hiked fast, though, and that kept me warm. We passed backpacking campsites that smelled of damp forest morning, nylon tents, and campfire. Smoke twirled up from the ground. We heard the zip of tents opening and the murmur of morning voices.
When we got into the fir forest near the top of Mt. Rogers, the crowd was absent. We’d been following the white blazes of the Appalachian Trail all day, but the trail to the top of the mountain was a spur trail, and we only saw a couple of other people on it. Unlike most summit hikes around here, the culmination of this trail wasn’t a view; it was a boulder, the highest point in Virginia, in an evergreen forest that felt primeval. The forest looked ancient with its moss covered stumps, moss covered tree falls, mossy trail and stones and tree trunks. The ground was wet and everything dripped; the mountaintop was often in the clouds, and not much light seeped through the dense fir needles to dry it out after being drenched in mist.
When we emerged from the forest, the light was warm and bathed the mountains in its amber glow, but I struggled all day to capture it. For once I hardly cared because the hike itself made me fall ecstatically in love with the world at least three times because I was so overwhelmed by the beauty. This is hands down my favorite trail I’ve ever hiked. I want to hike it again and again. I didn’t need photos to capture the light, I just enjoyed it.
But then, near the end, when I figured I just wasn’t going to get any shots I was excited about, I saw a pile of brown leaves on a stone in the dappled forest light. One textured leaf was spotlighted by the October sun. And I got it.
Butterfly Mind 