I got up in the morning at around 8 and dressed as quick as possible in the cold cabin, thankful I had showered the night before. The sky outside was clear, but the wind still blew stiffly and the air was cold. Andra decided to stay in bed and read while I hiked down to Lewis Falls, which is near the Lodge. 

I drove the short distance to the trailhead by way of the corner store. Their electricity was out, so I had to forgo everything but a warm Coke. The trail to the falls was short, but very-well hidden. In fact, the people in front of me missed a turn, and I saw them again, much later, retracing their steps. The obscurity lay in the fact that the heavy winds during the night had knocked off 90% of the leaves that had clung to the tree branches. I followed the 3 or 4 switchbacks downhill, crossing Lewis Run on the way. A sign said “Contaminated Water. Do Not Drink. By order of Shenandoah National Park Superintendent”. I wondered what could have contaminated the water. The Lodge? As I approached, I could hear the roar of the falls. I crossed the creek by way of large moss-covered rocks just above the drop-off, and followed the path to a stone-lined balcony on the other side overlooking the stream of water. I lingered a few moments, and even began a descent down the steep wall to the bottom of the falls before deciding it was too steep and that self-extrication would be difficult if I proceeded. I hiked back up to the car, shedding almost all my warm-weather clothing on the way. Back at the cabin, Andra was dressed and packed. She had only to call to check on the dogs from the Lodge and we would be ready. She skipped out to do that while I loaded the car and checked out. I found her in the basement of the lodge by following small candles lining the stairs. She was talking in a dark phone booth by candlelight. The rock walls of the basement lit by flickering candlelight reminded me of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. She confirmed that our dogs and her workplace were fine. Shortly afterward, we drove down the road towards White Oak Canyon. I saw a sign for the Limberlost Trail, on which I had read stood the oldest Hemlock Trees in the state. I had to see it. We discovered that the trail was aptly named; at least the “lost” part of it was correct. In the wake of Hurricane Isabel, trees were down by the hundreds. Most of the trail was closed, which didn’t stop us from walking it, but would have prevented us from successfully suing the Park Service had a tree crushed one of us. Actually, I think that with the right lawyer, we could’ve pulled it off. I tried hard to imagine what strength of wind could do this, and failed. I’ve been in strong wind, but I’ve never seen wind that knocked over trees 4 feet in diameter. 

As we finished the hike, the air began to warm a little, and by the time we reached a trailhead for White Oak Canyon, it had warmed a little more. Things were looking up. We packed a bag of gear and set off down a fire road that intercepted the White Oak Canyon Trail just above the first falls. The road led downhill, through more beautiful forest with leaves of every color from green to purple. We played “name that tree” some more, and explored the nuance of leaf lobes between white oaks, bur oaks and chestnut oaks. That section of the trail went by rapidly, ending with the crossing of Robinson River just above the largest of the series of falls along the canyon. The map shows three main falls, but in reality, there are too many to count. The sun was fully out, and the temperature permitted short sleeve shirt use by then. The first waterfall we viewed from a rock plateau about 50 yards down river that was still level with the head of the falls. The water fell and tumbled over rocks for 80 feet, the highest drop in the park. The trail downhill followed a series of falls that were almost unseparated. One drop would pool only long enough to provide a spot from which another drop could fall. Some pools were quite large, and seemed perfect for wading and/or swimming. We sat on a large rock in the middle of a large pool watching the brook trout just inches below the surface. For two miles, the creek resembled a fish ladder, with a constant splashing of white water. We both lingered at every stop, and knew we had to keep moving but not really wanting to. Several other particularly large falls occur on this run, which has 3 of the highest 4 falls in the park, although I’m still unsure how they measure that.

As the downhill trail continued steeply, and the afternoon waned, Andra grew concerned that we wouldn’t make it back to the car by dark on the route I had planned. I confidently declared we would make it in plenty of time, although confidentially, I wasn’t so sure. We encountered a few people along the trail, but overall the visitation seemed very light for such a nice day. We almost walked right past the inconspicuous post that indicated the Cedar Run branch. Crossing the creek, near a flyfisherman, we set off westward through a thick and solid tulip tree canopy. This trail received less use, and many downed trees still crossed the trail. Away from the sound of the rushing water, the forest was conspicuously quiet in the shadow of the late afternoon sun. On this north-facing slope, the ferns grew thick, and moss lined every rock.