PROLOGUE
It was Friday night, and the Green Ridge State Forest frogs were having the party of the year. Nothing shouts “mating season” like the first warm, drizzly evening of springtime. The loud disco music kept the crowd hopping as they all chanted in unison along with their favorite tunes. The alcohol was flowing—most enjoyed it by taking body shots, of course. (Frogs consume liquids through their skin through cutaneous hydration). A large banner read, “Amphi-Fest” in neon lights. It was wall-to-wall frogs. Among the crowd, a particularly eligible male frog impressed a couple of females by suddenly snatching a fly with his sticky gelatinous tongue while not taking each of his eyes off each one. (Frogs can look in different directions simultaneously due to their binocular dissociation). Suavely, he offered the choice morsel to the one in the cute skirt. She cooed appreciatively. A DJ in a smoky spotlight was manning the wheels of steel expertly. Everyone was enthralled—except one.
Kermit hopped around the crowd alone, smiling shyly among the gyrating crowd. He stopped next to two females who were chatting together and commented to the one closest to him, “nice party, huh?” The female just gaped at him and stuttered something about needing to find a friend. She mouthed to her companion, “OMG!” before they hopped off with their heads down giggling. Kermit sighed. It had always been this way for him. Females were not attracted to him. Yet all he wanted was to get a nice lily pad in the C&O Canal, marry a nice female, and happily raise tadpoles and froglets together. His goal seemed likely to go unfulfilled, however. His head dropped.
A friend saw Kermit looking down and approached him. After hearing Kermit’s distress, he suggested law school. Females love lawyers, he said! This resonated with Kermit. He perked up and resolved right then and there that he would do it. Not wanting to waste another moment, he left the loud party to start studying for the LSATs. He now had a plan. Hope. He hopped from Amphi-Fest into the darkness of the C&O Canal tow path as the sound of the music and singing faded in the distance.
So full of hope, Kermit never saw the three large bi-peds headed in his direction with sleek, ultra-lite backpacks. The last thing he saw was the unmistakable tread of the bottom of an Altra trail runner descending upon him from above. Then, nothing. It’s not easy being green.
——
DC UL rarely backpacks through the Green Ridge State Forest in Western Maryland. The last crew to do so completed the loop Michael M. (“Uturn”) mapped four years ago. Maryland lacks the wilderness panache of Virginia, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania. However, the Green Ridge SF is in Western Maryland, directly across the river from West Virginia and only a few miles from Pennsylvania. It is unfairly maligned. Five DC ULers sought to thru-hike the Green Ridge using the C&O Canal to close the loop.
David U (“Baseball”), Robert (“Art Vandelay”), and I (“Spider-Man”) began our adventure with a 7-mile night hike Friday after work. After pulling the permit and driving a 30-minute white knuckle drive down a dirt road to the Paw Paw Tunnel parking lot, we strapped on our packs, clicked on our headlamps, and began hiking on the C&O Canal in the light rain.
The hike along the tow path was easy and we hiked three-abreast, chatting. After a time, Art Vandelay checked his gps and stopped in his tracks. Something did not make sense. We were hiking southbound. The C&O Canal extends from Cumberland, Maryland south to Georgetown, D.C. Art Vandelay noticed the tow path mile markers were increasing, not decreasing as expected. I checked my gps track. It showed we were following the track, but I noticed the canal and Potomac River were on the wrong side of the tow path. I spent a lot of time on the C&O Canal around Great Falls and know for certain that when going south the mile marker numbers decrease, the canal is on my left side, and the river is on my right. After a brief discussion, we decided to just follow the gps track and hope for the best. It was already 9:00 p.m. and our intended campsite was 7 miles away. Even with most of that evening’s hike being on the flat, easy tow path, we’d get to camp after 11:00 p.m. We pressed on, continuing our conversation.
Then the wildlife interrupted us. The frogs were chirping louder and louder. It was the loudest wildlife sound I ever heard. Crickets? This was much louder. Cicadas? Not even close. A train passed us on nearby tracks, much quieter than the frogs. We had to shout at each other to communicate. I covered my ears, tucking my trekking poles under an armpit. I considered stopping to pull ear plugs from my pack. Baseball recorded the loud frog din on his cell phone because he couldn’t believe the noise. It was maddening. I commented, “it sounds like the frogs are having an epic disco party.” Art Vandelay asked, “do you think all frogs like disco?” “Yes, I replied, “I think most of them do.” Then, we saw the frogs variously on the tow path, their beady eyes staring at us. They were everywhere. We also saw occasional newts scurrying diagonally across the tow path as if they were drunk. “These frogs and newts must be having one hell of a party!” I shouted. We walked faster.
Eventually, we left the loudest part of the frogs, and the noise began easing as we walked. We began seeing fewer frogs, who we assumed were done for the night and returning home. I spotted one frog in my headlamp beam. He was all alone, hopping on the tow path near Art Vandelay. “Watch out!” I said to Art, but he did not hear me. He stepped on the frog not even knowing he did so. Having never gone to law school, the frog never had the chance to learn about “due process.” Of course, he became an expert on “eww process.” (Is anyone still reading this?)
Eventually, we reached the junction with the Long Pond trail, the beginning of the Green Ridge SF. After the easy hiking on the C&O Canal, we had a mile to hike along and through a stream. In the dark, the trail was very difficult to follow. None of us wanted to get our feet wet so close to our destination for the evening, so we did our best rock hopping. It didn’t work; we got wet feet.
We spotted our friend, Mark (“Brightside”) in the Appalachian Trail-style shelter on a hill above the trail. His headlamp caused the entire interior of the shelter to glow invitingly. The fifth member of our group, John (“The Invisible Man”) was arriving separately and had not yet done so, but we expected him within the hour. We saved him a spot in the shelter and all quickly fell asleep.
We awoke early Saturday morning surprised not to see the Invisible Man. Without any cell signal, there was no way to connect with him. We packed up and decided to take on the climb ahead of us thinking we’d get a signal on the top of the mountain to communicate with him. We did. Unfortunately, the Invisible Man could not find the shelter. In the dark he passed it. Tired, he hiked back down to a flat spot near the canal to set up his tent in the rain. We texted each other and he reported he’d meet us at the Saturday night campsite. We would not see him until after we reached that campsite.
Despite the name of the forest “Green Ridge,” we were rarely on a ridge. The trail generally followed picturesque streams. However, the trail constantly crossed the streams. There were easily 50 crossings. Brightside tried to keep his feet dry with creative rock hopping. Baseball, Art Vandelay, and I did not even try. The weather was comfortable and as we constantly crossed the water it cooled our feet pleasantly. Brightside soon learned he was fighting a losing battle. There were too many crossings and too few rocks to hop. He gave up protecting his dry feet with a frown.
After miles and miles of hiking along and through the streams, we saw a sign pointing toward Pennsylvania. We headed on Deep Run/Big Run trail to continue through the park. However, I soon thought we’d taken the wrong turn and were in Pennsylvania because the trail took a dramatic turn. Pennsylvania-style, the trail began extremely steep climbs without switchbacks. After having been lulled into the feeling this would be an easy trail, the change jarred us. However, the mountain was relatively small, and the climbs were challenging but short.
As we struggled up the climbs, I introduced my friends to my “Severance” theory to backpacking based on the popular Apple TV series of the same name. The premise of “Severance” is that a company in the near future protects its trade secrets by requiring employees to undergo a medical “severance procedure.” By implanting a device in the brains of employees, the company severs their consciousness. When in the office they have no recollection of their lives outside the office, and when outside the office they have no recollection of their lives inside. They refer to their separate personalities as “innies” when in the office, and “outies” when outside the office. All backpackers know the experience. When we sign up for a backpacking trip, our “outies” are lying on a couch, sipping a beer, and casually clicking the RSVP “yes” button on a backpacking trip posting when it pops up. A 7-mile night hike in the rain starting at 9:00 p.m. after work on Friday? Sure! A 20-mile day sloshing through creeks? Why not? Twelve miles on the C&O Canal? It’s easy walking! Only an “outie” would sign up for something like this. Meanwhile, our “innies” are the ones huffing and puffing up vertical climbs in the heat of the day and hiking 21 miles with wet feet. Then, when the trip is over, our “outies” are the ones enjoying brunch while congratulating each other with “that wasn’t so bad” bravado. Backpackers don’t need to watch Severance, we live it. It is the only explanation for why so many DC ULers hike the miserable Massanutten Trail again and again. It’s our darn “outies!”
We arrived at our campsite after having completed our thru-hiked of the Green Ridge State Forest on the Long Pond trail and walked up to our intended campsite along the C&O Canal at Devil’s Alley. A “hiker/biker” campsite, it featured a handpump well for water, a privy, a picnic table, and fire pit. Three southern guys were already at the campsite and made it their own. It was clear they did not want to share. Their fishing poles, tackle boxes, and various camping gear covered the picnic table in a disorganized mess. Their chairs surrounded the fire pit. We set up our tents on a grassy plot downwind from the smoke of their fire and made dinner on the ground. We had hiked 21 miles.
Soon, the Invisible Man strode into camp. He joined in for dinner and conversation before we all called for an early night. It would not be a peaceful evening.
I awoke to the sound of a radio. It was 9:00 p.m. Grrrr. Our neighbors were the rowdy types, I thought. However, as I shook off the sleep, I realized there was no radio. They were singing in barber shop quartette-style harmony. They sounded good—at first. However, they were clearly practicing and kept singing the same stanza repeatedly. Falling back asleep was hard. I stayed awake much, much longer than desired. I kept hoping they’d stop. They knew there were five tents of people next to them trying to sleep. I eventually fell asleep again before they stopped.
Sunday morning, I hesitated to shout a traditional DC UL wake-up call. I initially didn’t want to wake our neighbors. But then I thought of a funny wake-up call that I thought they’d appreciate. I shouted, “Good morning, DC UL! We cannot sing, but we can hike in five-part harmony!” We packed quickly. We had agreed to start hiking at 6:30 a.m. with a goal to score a “10 before 10”—ten miles before 10:00 a.m. The Invisible Man started even earlier, which caused the remaining four of us to scratch our heads. The Invisible Man hiked alone all Friday night and all Saturday day. After only spending a few hours with us Saturday night, he was now purposefully hiking alone on Sunday. This is why we started calling him “the Invisible Man.”
We spent the entire day Sunday hiking on the C&O Canal tow path. They were easy miles, and we scored our 10 before 10 a half hour early. When I mentioned how we could have woken that morning at 6:00 a.m. rather than 5:30 a.m., Brightside shot me a look of disgust.
Brightside tried to explain to me the paradox of hiking southbound with the Potomac River and Canal on the wrong side of the tow path. He showed me a map of western Maryland and pointed out how the river changes directions as it meanders. However, this did not explain how the mile markers would increase rather than decrease. I later learned that we were headed toward Cumberland when going southbound, not to Georgetown as I assumed. Brightside couldn’t have been clearer; it just had not yet clicked for me. The paradox resolved, we hiked onward into the sunrise.
The highlight Sunday was the hike through the Paw Paw Tunnel—a mile long tunnel blasted through a mountain. With headlamps for our only light, we walked as if on a treadmill. The light at the end of the tunnel appeared to remain far away no matter how long we walked.
After closing the loop at our parked cars, all of us drove to Charlette’s Café in Berkley Springs, WV for breakfast–except for the Invisible Man, of course. He chose to remain invisible as he opted to get a head start on his long drive home to Charlottesville. He really missed out. The Café was one of the best breakfast stops I’ve had after a hike.
Over breakfast we all agreed the Green Ridge SF loop was more challenging than it appeared on paper. The climbs were challenging as was the night hike. While it looked easy, we learned it’s not easy being green. Just ask poor Kermit the Frog. And, don’t tell my “innie.”
–Spider-Man (David O)
Note: Robert has not accepted the trail name “Art Vandelay” yet. I’ve used it for this Trip Report on a one-time trial basis. It is based on Seinfeld. When the character George pretends to be an architect, he goes by that name. Robert is an architect by trade who pretends to be a marine biologist. John has not accepted the trail name “the Invisible Man.” However, he really should.
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