Time for what we now consider our yearly backpacking trip. Kid and I-- and my husband, driving a separate car-- set off for northwestern Maryland to drop off our car at the endpoint of the three-day hike, the McMahon's Mill access near Hagerstown. As we approached down the narrow lane to the gravel parking lot and turned off the radio, we could suddenly hear that my car was making a new, deep, terrifying noise-- a sort of mechanical whalesong-- every time I braked. For an assortment of other reasons, it was already quite late in the morning, and also Sunday: no time to go looking for a mechanic. We left the car in the lot. It remained in the back of my mind for the next 50 hours.
We piled our packs into my husband's even older car and drove to the start point, a place where the Appalachian Trail intersects the C&O just south of Harper's Ferry. It was a nice day for a walk: 70s, dry, not too sunny. There were seemingly hundreds of people on bicycles.
We piled our packs into my husband's even older car and drove to the start point, a place where the Appalachian Trail intersects the C&O just south of Harper's Ferry. It was a nice day for a walk: 70s, dry, not too sunny. There were seemingly hundreds of people on bicycles.
This was, I learned, because we were so near Harper's Ferry, and Harper's Ferry was crawling with tourists. We heard many languages as we crossed the picturesque railroad bridge into West Virginia to visit briefly and use the restroom-- so many languages that it reminded me of being a tourist in Italy just a couple of weeks before. I hadn't realized Harper's Ferry would be such a major attraction.
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Did my kid want an ice cream in Harper's Ferry? No, they did not. They just wanted to get the hell out of there.
It took very little walking north along the trail past Harper's Ferry to leave all the people and bicycles behind. Suddenly we were mostly alone.
It took very little walking north along the trail past Harper's Ferry to leave all the people and bicycles behind. Suddenly we were mostly alone.
We saw a lot of small critters and some larger animals: a really impressive profusion of caterpillars and millipedes, plenty of deer including fawns, at least two bald eagles, green and blue herons, the usual turtles, frogs and toads. No owls this year. Maybe that's a June thing. None of the deer wanted to have their pictures taken.
  I thought this was probably a luna moth caterpillar, but it's not. It's a Regal Moth. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Citheronia_regalis  |  I take this same exact photo every time we go hiking.  Whaaat?  |
This section of the trail was also chock-full of neat caves carved into the hillside on our right. We were too scared to hang out in any of them.
Our first day of hiking involved a fairly steady push, as we didn't get started until about noon, and had 11.5 miles to go before camping. At least we had a campsite reserved at the Antietam battlefield campground, which is not technically part of the C&O Canal trail but is right alongside it. There are 20 campsites lined up all in a row along the riverbank: only two were occupied, plus the campground manager's RV turned out to be right across the road from the site I'd reserved. All night long a bright, extremely safe streetlight shone directly onto our tent. I felt quite secure but it was difficult to sleep. Also, we got cold.
 Drinking tea. |  |
Warming cold hands.
The next morning, the mist rose from the river and everywhere else.
Eventually it cleared up and became a beautiful, perfect day.
As you can see, the only other tent in the campground sprouted up right next to ours overnight.
Our second day of hiking was really laid-back. We only had 9.5 miles to go and reached our planned camping spot around 3:30.
A couple of features along the way--
We'd been hoping, sometime during that second day, to stop in a town-- or in a hiker/biker store that I'd read about-- and buy some cups of non-instant coffee or snacks. However, the towns were a good mile off the trail-- not worth the extra travel on such a short hike, though I'm sure they would seem like a treat on a longer one-- and the hiker/biker store turned out to be only open on weekends. Alas.
After we pitched our tent at the Horseshoe Bend hiker/biker campsite (mile 79.2), literally only 3 other people passed by for the entire remainder of the day. We were completely alone. Kid was tired and went inside the tent for most of the afternoon, leaving me to read at the picnic table. When it was dark that night, it was really, really dark. This time, we knew it would get cold, so we battened down our tent cover right away, and went to sleep wearing fleeces, jackets, and socks. Much better.
After we pitched our tent at the Horseshoe Bend hiker/biker campsite (mile 79.2), literally only 3 other people passed by for the entire remainder of the day. We were completely alone. Kid was tired and went inside the tent for most of the afternoon, leaving me to read at the picnic table. When it was dark that night, it was really, really dark. This time, we knew it would get cold, so we battened down our tent cover right away, and went to sleep wearing fleeces, jackets, and socks. Much better.
The next morning (the last morning), I had (thankfully) just enough time to boil water for coffee before it started to drizzle. Kid and I retreated to the tent, drinking coffee, eating a cold breakfast instead of the oatmeal I'd planned, and reading books. It was nice. We waited for the rain to stop, but it didn't; instead it got steadier. Around 9:30 we gave up and went out in the rain to break camp.
Wearing windbreakers, with our rain covers over our packs, we hiked away into the rain.
Wearing windbreakers, with our rain covers over our packs, we hiked away into the rain.
We learned something about rain: it makes you hike much faster. Because there is no appeal to stopping: sit on a wet rock? Get chilled instead of keeping warm by moving? We hiked the whole 9 miles out to my car by 1:30, stopping just once to use the bathroom, snacking a little out of our pockets. It was not bad as long as you kept moving. And, by this third day, we were developing a rhythm. We could probably have hiked twice as far by nightfall; but we didn't need to.
A dam in the rain.
The final mile was beautiful, but did not lend itself to photography. The usual trail-between-trees emerged out onto the cliffside by the river, where a concrete path had been constructed. Wildflowers ranged down the bank towards the water, and I saw a hummingbird coming from that direction. An eagle was soaring back and forth over the great curve in the river. All too soon we reached McMahon's Mill:
...at which point we climbed into the dry haven of the car, pushed back the seats, and ate lunch. There were a bunch of people meeting in the parking lot in the rain, pointing at things up the hillside. Eventually they all drove away in their separate official vehicles. It seemed to be a consultation about the environmental impact of some proposed construction.
When we had recovered sufficiently, kid researched the best auto repair shop in Hagerstown and we took our Subaru over to Dave's Corner, where Dave's delightful son Devin fixed my brakes within an hour and a half while we drank coffee and ate cheese puffs and donut holes from the Sheetz across the street. For some reason, although we were chilly, we continued to sit outside while our car was repaired. (It had stopped raining.) Some kind of switch had flipped. We no longer wanted to be indoors.
Two weeks later, I've been indoors all day.
When we had recovered sufficiently, kid researched the best auto repair shop in Hagerstown and we took our Subaru over to Dave's Corner, where Dave's delightful son Devin fixed my brakes within an hour and a half while we drank coffee and ate cheese puffs and donut holes from the Sheetz across the street. For some reason, although we were chilly, we continued to sit outside while our car was repaired. (It had stopped raining.) Some kind of switch had flipped. We no longer wanted to be indoors.
Two weeks later, I've been indoors all day.
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