Trip Report: “Now We Know” (SNP: White Oak Canyon-Stoney Man Mtn-Old Rag Sunrise Loop) (Dec. 2-3, 2023)

Eight of us sat in a circle eating our dinners and planning our future. We had just completed hiking up White Oak Canyon to Stoney Man Mountain with 2,800 feet of elevation gain only to give it all up down Nicholson Hollow Trail. The short day of only 11 miles meant a steady uphill and downhill. David (“Baseball”) planned the trip and, diabolical guy that he is, planned for us to effectively do it all again the next day; in the dark; up the rock scramble to Old Rag Mountain; at 4:30 a.m. to catch the sunrise. Oh, and a steady rain was predicted to start just after dinner into the morning with an expected 2 inches of rain. Naturally, a rain like that could eliminate any possible view from the peak of Old Rag, diminishing any rational justification for waking before 4:30 a.m. to see a sunrise. One cannot see a sunrise on a mountain enveloped in rainclouds. But, you never know . . . 

Someone—it may or may not have been me—suggested reconsidering the 4:30 a.m. rock scramble. Old Rag is tricky trek in the daylight when dry. It can be dangerous when the rocks are slippery from rain and vision is impaired by predawn darkness. The group embraced this proposal instantly. Pressing the theme, someone else further suggested waking later. Why wake before 4:30 a.m. for no reason? There would be nothing to see in the rain and, if we waited, we might even avoid getting wet.

Another hiker—again, possibly me—pointed out that it was possible that we’d climb above the clouds. This occasionally happens. The view from a mountain peak overlooking a fog covered valley is spectacular. Even in the dark I could see Mark (“Brightside”) roll his eyes. Employed by NASA, Brightside was bright enough to point out that the expected soaking rain usually involved clouds of much higher elevation than the peak of Old Rag. That was the opening I—or whatever hiker was talking—needed. “Did you say ‘usually’? So, there’s a chance?” NASA experts eschew absolutes, so Brightside would never claim a 0% chance. He conceded the point. “So, the only way for us to know for sure is to hike the thing! Who’s with me?”

The camp broke up into two camps. One group would do the sunrise hike at 4:30 a.m., albeit up the back side of Old Rag to avoid the scramble. The second group would hike at 7:00 a.m. and skip the spur trail to the peak. 

However, first we had to come up for names for the two “camps.” The sunrise seekers embraced military terms such as “the advance team.” We had a more difficult time naming the second group. Ultimately, we called them the “second wave.” Baseball immediately volunteered to lead the advance team. After all, he planned the trip with its promise of a sunrise on Old Rag. I said I’d go if at least one other person was going. Others said they’d see how they felt at 4:00 a.m. . . . 

As we enjoyed our dinners, the fellowship of each other, and the satisfying soreness and fatigue of a day well hiked, the temperature kept dropping. December evenings get cold very fast when one is not moving. So, after we made our morning plans, one hiker stood to burrow in a tent for the night. Everyone else rapidly followed.

As expected, it poured throughout the night. Being in the valley, in the cold, with a steady humid rain, the tent condensation conditions were prime. Warm and dry in my down quilt, I could feel a dampness on the walls of my tent and on the outside of my quilt from when it occasionally brushed those walls as I slept fitfully. Way too early in the morning, I heard footsteps on the wet leaves outside my tent. 

“Spider-Man, do you still want to do the sunrise hike?” It was Baseball. I detected a hopeful tone in his voice. I couldn’t tell if he was hopeful I’d say yes or no. “Is anyone else coming?” I asked. He replied, “Maddie said she’d come if we went.” “Ok. Let’s do it!” I said. “We’ll never know if we can hike above the clouds unless we go!” I started stuffing my quilt into its sack. “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Baseball replied. “It’s raining pretty hard.” He walked back to his tent as I thought to myself, ‘we’ll see . . .’ I manifested a scenic sunrise. Manifesting always works!

The three of us started hiking right on time at 4:30 a.m. It continued raining hard and I hiked with my TRDD (“tactical rain deflection device”); Maddie and Baseball just had raincoats. The hike was like most night hikes with a treadmill feel. Hiking by headlamp removes enough sensory cues to make one feel like walking without progress. However, our legs could certainly feel the elevation gain. At first, the trail was up a narrow path along a creek. We had to fight off the bushes brushing against us and ford the creek a few times. Our feet were already soaked by the rain, so we did not need to rock hop. However, out of habit, we hoped the rocks anyway.

After a time, we arrived at the junction to the peak of Old Rag. Disappointingly, it appeared blanketed by rainclouds. Baseball checked his watch and announced a new problem—time. The rain slowed us down enough to jeopardize us missing the sunrise by minutes. The combination of the likelihood of missing sunrise because of the rainclouds and, now, our late arrival, caused us to reopen discussions as to whether to summit. Ultimately, we decided to go for it for the stupid reason that we had nothing else to do. If we skipped the peak we’d arrive at the parking lot hours sooner than the “second wave.” Waiting in the rain at a parking lot for hours is miserable—just ask Scott.

Scott’s knee protested this hike the prior day to the degree it overcame his will. Logan pointed out a shortcut from where he could wait for us to later pick him up with the cars. He later reported that he liked the trip, but waiting in the Old Rag parking lot for us to pick him up was not his favorite part. However, his good nature hid his understandable frustration.

As to us “advance team” members, we did not have painful knees, and a long wait in the parking lot seemed much less pleasant than hiking. And, if we never summited we’d never know if we would get above the clouds. I became increasingly confident we would do so. And, if we hiked fast, I thought, we’d still make sunrise. We went for it.

Baseball took the lead. I tried to keep up with him and wasn’t too far behind, but never caught him. Maddie didn’t try for the exact sunrise. The climb was nothing like the rock scramble on the other side that attracts the crowds. However, in the dark and rain, it challenged us.

We summited with minutes to spare. It was amazing . . . 

Actually, I was wrong. There was nothing to see. Beyond the rocks of our perch on the summit there was a dark grey curtain. “Heh, heh,” I said shrugging my shoulders at Baseball and Maddie. “Well, I guess now we know.”

The wind against our rapidly cooling bodies no longer warmed from the climb was unpleasant. It continued raining. We ate a snack standing up before rapidly descending, which we did in silence just in time to meet the vanguard of the “second wave” at the trail junction. At least we didn’t have to wait for them at the parking lot! At the cars, we quickly stripped down into our traveling clothes and piled in for the drive home—stopping for a great breakfast in Culpeper on the way.

My last backpacking trip of 2023 is in the books. Even without a view, I loved the adventure. Thanks for a great year, DCUL! May 2024 be a great backpacking year for us with nothing but good weather and scenic sunrises!

— David O (“Spider-Man”)