Days 16 & 17 – Keyser to Canaan Valley, WV

For as long as I’ve been thinking about the American Discovery Trail, it seems like I’ve also been thinking about Dolly Sods, West Virginia. It’s the first genuine sliver of wilderness on the walk, but more significantly, it’s the highest point east of the Rockies, peaking around 4500 feet in elevation. It marks the Eastern Continental Divide, with water on the westside falling towards the Mississippi River and Gulf of Mexico, and eastside drops heading back from which I came, to the Chesapeake Bay.

Nearly every westbound ADT through-hiker has a dramatic experience here, shaped to a great degree by timing. Heavy snowfall is the norm around here in the winter, so walkers passing through in early-to-mid-March are susceptible to very challenging conditions. Ken and Marcia Powers ended up taking sanctuary in a campground outhouse before bailing on the official route and traveling around the sods. Others have been blasted by stinging flakes and slicing wind. I’ve been monitoring the forecasts compulsively over the last week, watching the likely conditions closely.

I felt good about my plan. I rolled out of bed in Keyser at 5:40, got everything packed and ready to go, then hustled downstairs for breakfast. By 6:20, I was out the door. The opening segment of the walk wouldn’t make the highlight reel; I followed Highway 220 out of town, in the dark, with trucks whipping past, and then stuck with it as it turned left, climbing steadily back over the ridge. This was the price paid for a detour into town. Nonetheless, the miles passed by quickly, as needed. This was going to be a long day. (As an aside, I’ll note here that ADT walkers who would like a resupply opp without going into Keyser could very easily turn right on highway 50 in Ridgeville, off of Knobley Rd, and walk 1.3 miles to the Knobley Farm Sport Shop, which has a selection of grocery items.)

Soon, I was back on Knobley Rd, which I had previously followed before Keyser, and which I would remain with for a good, long while. It’s a minor, rural highway, weaving through farms across undulating terrain. Road signs warned of Amish buggies on the highway and, sure enough, I encountered a few, even passing by a young mother in bright blue and white dress, who was tending to two young kids. If they were demure, the cows in this section were the complete opposite, often chasing me along the fenceline, as though they were guard dogs striving to find their inner bark.

After Keyser, I was looking at 54 miles without a resupply point, so I had more food than normal in my pack. Nonetheless, I also had an idea. I broke with the ADT when it turned right onto the Greenland Gap Rd and continued straight, eventually arriving in the small town of Maysville, which had a massive and shiny, new fire station and, more importantly for my purposes, Galen’s Country Store. The woman behind the counter was undeterred when I asked for a veggie hoagie, but then shocked that I was unfamiliar with longhorn cheese. Google tells me it’s a particular kind of Colby. Regardless, that was a damn, good sandwich. Amazingly, the detour added a negligible amount of distance to the walk, and I’m surprised it’s not the standard approach to this walk.

At this point, I had powered through 25 miles and the clock had only just passed 1:30pm, so I was feeling mighty satisfied. I figured I needed to cover about ten more miles, so I strolled onward at a more relaxed pace, climbing a couple miles up Highway 42 and then rejoining the ADT on Jordan Run Road. This was a lovely little walk, alongside the North Fork of the Lunice Creek as Dolly Sods, looming high ahead, gradually crept closer.

Eventually, I turned right and things got real, as the road to Dolly Sods shot uphill. I knew that there was a campground some ten miles ahead, but that was on top of the sods, and that seemed like a bad idea–I feel good about my gear, but no point in fully exposing myself to the elements above 4000 feet. I struck up a conversation with one guy who was working in his yard, but, friendly as he might have been, he was thoroughly disinterested in me camping in his field. He did drop an interesting nugget, though, noting that “your friend passed by about a half-hour ago.” I knew immediately who he had in mind–over the past few days, each of my hosts had mentioned meeting Jan, a walker on the ADT from the Netherlands. That gave me a spike of motivation–if Jan was climbing higher then I could, too! There aren’t many out here and the others that I know of are behind me, so I didn’t want to miss this opportunity.

So, I found my third or fourth wind and accelerated uphill, feet firing like pistons as I climbed higher. I saw one place that looked solid for camping and shook my head; I saw another that looked better and gave it a disparaging sneer. How dare it try to slow me down! I was in full-fledged hunting mode now, as the open farm country gave way to tree-lined inclines and the pavement yielded to gravel.

And then, suddenly, there was Jan. It was almost disappointing–I’d thought he must be farther ahead, but I dismissed that thought and marched closer. With enthusiasm, I greeted him, noting at this point that he was mostly propped up by his walking stick. He was struggling a bit with the elevation and understandably so–between his home country and the first part of the ADT, this may have been the first serious climb he had encountered in months! I find that when people are in that position, they can swing one of two ways. Sometimes, they are grateful for the attention and chattering of a companion, as it can help distract them from discomfort. Other times, though, the last thing they want is a witness to their ordeal, nor do they want to have to devote an iota of energy to socializing. With Jan, it seemed the latter, as his responses reeked of a polite brush-off. I wished him well and carried on.

I shook my head at myself, for putting myself in nearly the exact position I had wanted to avoid. I wasn’t on top of Dolly Sods yet, but I’d covered a lot of ground, and I knew it was moving ever closer. However, trees flanked the dirt road and sharp hills offered no viable camping spots. But then, like a miracle, I passed through a few primitive sites, each with nice areas to pitch a tent, decent tree cover, and fire pits with sittable logs and rocks. Practically paradise.

More than an hour later, I saw Jan turn the corner down the road from me. I never saw him pass by, so I assumed he settled into the first campsite and crashed quickly. This morning, though, I was stunned to pass his tent, along the roadside just before the summit. I still don’t know how he got past me!

Despite some concerns about what today’s weather might bring, it was partly clear when I broke camp and the bivy was mostly dry. Indeed, by the end of the first ascent it was warm enough that I had removed my beanie and was even having second thoughts about the hoody. I had expected many things about Dolly Sods, but one thing I certainly did not anticipate was that I would complete it in a short-sleeve shirt, and yet that’s exactly what happened.

The sun broke the horizon dramatically just as I arrived atop Dolly Sods, and before long it had vanquished most of the clouds. I saw an easy stroll in front of me, and despite initial plans to stop in Canaan Valley, 13 miles onward, part of me was motivated to push ahead an additional eight miles, given the beautiful day.

And then I entered the sods proper. When the signs say that there is no dry ground in Dolly Sods, well, one should trust them! Despite the greatest possible weather for making this crossing during this time of year, the trail was little more than a glorified creekbed, with marshy ground surrounding fairly evenly distributed stones. For the next six miles, progress was slow and deliberate, hopping from one rock to the next, and occasionally biting the bullet and pushing straight through the bog. The trail itself was difficult (for me, at least) to track early on, and on several occasions I found myself astray, pushing through waterlogged branches before realizing with a quick GPS check that I had screwed up again. No big concern, other than the World War II era undischarged ordinance that still lurks in places in the sods, left over from testing in the 1940s. Still in one piece, I backtracked to the trail and pushed onward.

I hate waterproof shoes, but I wore a pair for this opening leg of the trip with Dolly Sods in mind, and after a couple of miles I was feeling vindicated by the choice. The muck could squish and squelch around my feet as much as it liked, but my feet were smug within their gore tex cocoons. And then I hit the big creek crossing. Despite lower-than-normal water levels, the ford was being crested in many places, and the rocks were not entirely stable. Suddenly envious of Jan’s walking stick, I crossed tentatively, wobbling through one near miss and then opting to step lower, into the water, to find better purchase. It worked–I crossed without further mischance–but that six-inch water depth meant a sudden baptism for my toes. Nonetheless, if that was the only price paid to Dolly Sods, then I have to consider it a bargain.

Eventually, I transitioned to the old public road, which was still a stream bed, and then on to a proper gravel track, winding its way downhill into the Canaan Valley. By the time I reached the lodge, I had abandoned all consideration of carrying on; the 16 miles that I walked today took 6.5 hours–a good pace for Dolly Sods, but well below my typical flow. Indeed, today had no flow. It was a careful, systematic navigation through the hills focused largely on keeping my ankles in mint condition. Mission accomplished.

As I type this in the lodge, the lone guest in a massive resort area that has been crippled by the near-complete lack of snowfall this year, I can’t help but feel that I am playing the ADT in Easy Mode. Barely any rain! Temperatures consistently in the 60s of late, and twice breaking 70! Sunshine over Dolly Sods! I don’t think one could hope to have better conditions than I have encountered.

And yet, there is the accompanying recognition of the downsides. The wildfire risk in Maryland in March. The devastation of the skiing industry in West Virginia. The almost certain problems sure to come for agriculture and wildfire risk in this area in the summer ahead. The very same weather developments that have brought me endless pleasure on this walk bode poorly for almost everyone else around me. And I may pay my share of those costs as well, as the calendar moves onward.