The Grand Finale--Part 2: Big Rocky Row (VA)

Number 60!  Big Rocky Row:  So it was a year ago, in honor of one of those milestone birthday things, that I promised to treat myself to sixty new summits, as in hiking up them all before my next birthday. I would post the details and photos in this blog. My burgeoning throng of readers, now having burgeoned to about two or three family members, the occasional friend and Fuji the Cat, all of whom, except the Fooj, have been gripping the undersides of their seats for weeks now, in total anticipation of the climactic blog entry documenting the Sixty Summit finale. I could hear the murmuring from three thousand miles away. Is he going to make it? Gasp. Has anyone ever done this before? Gasp. Is he out of his mind? Gasp.

James River and A.T. bridge (right).

It was with that trembling sense of mass, unmitigated anticipation and a deep desire to not disappoint my devoted fans, especially the cat, that I parked the car on February 1st at the Big Rocky Row trailhead just above the frozen James River, filled my lungs with fresh mountain air and yodeled. Okay, I didn’t yodel, but maybe I should have. The mountains were brightly lit up, they even smelled mountainly, and the day was warming up nicely. Plus I’d already summited Tar Jacket Ridge that morning (see below). Was I in the mood or what. It was a fantastic day and I was pretty much giddy the whole time. A raft of cars at the trailhead hinted that I would have some company on the trail, perhaps even someone to boast to about my big adventure and the finality of my finale. I slung on my pack, grabbed the trekking sticks and marched past the A.T. sign.

Easy climbing led to a minor ridge, then a creek crossing and a trailside shelter and campsite, before the well maintained path began to climb more deliberately into the higher ground of the George Washington National Forest. Higher up, a couple of dozen switchbacks almost gave me a sense of hiking in the Cascades back in Washington State. The mountains here also feel more like mountains than does the Blue Ridge farther north and east. Shenandoah, as pretty as it is, is mostly comprised of long ridges with relatively even tops, interrupted by rocky highpoints and wooded knobs, and interspersed with interesting drainages that often hide waterfalls. Nice. But in the more southwesterly parts of Virginia, and beyond in western North Carolina, the mountains indeed feel more like mountains and are not so linear. The forest is a little different there as well, with more pine and spruce to green things up in the winter. But I know little about these parts. I’ve yet to even make it over to the Great Smokies, an eastern mountain mecca I’ve been dying to visit.

I passed a few other hikers as the trail led up to the base of cliffs (Fuller Rocks) and zig-zagged up stone steps to the ridge crest, also called Little Rocky Row. This is the scenic climax of the hike and I took a few minutes to soak it in. The James River laid a sinuous course far below with the sun reflecting brightly off the ice. To the northeast, the true summit, my #60, rose another 500 feet. I continued on to the top, then ceremoniously slowed for the final few steps. Two guys were there ahead of me and were kind enough to take my picture as I straddled two rocks that formed the highest terra firma I could see. They agreed that the rocks under my boots contained the mountain’s most altitudinous molecules, whereupon we conjointly certified the completion of my quest. They congratulated me and seemed even a little impressed with the thin-haired guy humping up the trail with sticks.

Miles (RT):  8.4 miles; elevation gain: 2,200 feet
Cumulative mileage and gain:  286.4 miles / 71,650 feet

Summit in the distance. Almost there.

The last 50 yards.

Done.

 

Epilogue

What a great feeling. To set a goal, in this case a reasonably achievable one, and then, well, achieve it. But in the end, all it was was me out doing what I like to do. Hiking. A lot. Seeing new places. Moving upward in boots and looking back down. Meeting other trailsters. Though I would have enjoyed more company on the trail (it was great having Kris along when she could join me), the lonelier hikes were always satisfyingly self-indulging. Scenic and scintillating. Oxygenating. Life-enriching. I think I’ll do more of it.

In the end, there were about 286 miles walked, 71,650 feet climbed, logged over a period of 252 days, or one summit every 4.2 days. When you average it all out, it ain’t that much—under five miles per summit and about 1,200 feet gained. So I’d have to rate it someplace between a sub-Olympian speedwalk and a drunken stroll around the neighborhood, probably more toward the latter.

That said, it was kinda special stepping up on those last two rocks at Big Rocky Row—a great hike to end on. I’ll have to go back again with Kris so we can linger longer. The only downside of this particular trip to the mountain was that we already had tickets to the Banff Mountain Film Festival at 6 pm that night at the National Geographic auditorium in DC, which meant I nearly had to trot down the mountain and drive like a maniac to get back in time. Happily, Kris held a seat for me and I slunk into my chair a couple minutes into the first film. I had to smile when one of the later films was about a guy who did 35 rock climbs to celebrate his 35^th birthday. Now, how silly is that?