I am hiking alone down Doyles River Trail.  There had been three other cars in the trailhead parking lot when I started.  I have seen three other groups of people laboring back uphill to their cars.  So, I may be the only one on this trail this afternoon.

                My objective is the Upper Doyles River Falls and Lower Doyles River Falls.  The other groups are returning from however far down they had gone.  They were complaining about how hard it was coming uphill, but did not say if they saw both falls or just the Upper Falls, or neither.  I have never seen either falls before.

                These pesky Blue Ridge Mountains always put the waterfalls well down the mountain, not on top.  I cruise along at a comfortable pace of about two miles per hour.  Gravity is my hiking companion for now.  I pass the side trail to Doyle River Cabin.  I wonder why the map shows Doyles (no apostrophe) River, but Doyle River (no ‘s’) Cabin.  That side trail marks the first half mile of my hike.  The next landmark will be at one mile where this trail crosses Browns (that’s right, no apostrophe on Browns)  Gap Fire Road.     

                Suddenly, punctuation is no longer important to me, it is in fact trivial to what my ears have just recognized.  The sounds were coming from my right, down in the ravine that probably is the beginnings of Doyles (no apostr.... Wait! That is not important right now) River.  There are too many thick bushes and trees to see all the way down into the wash, but the sounds are unmistakable. 

                I hear large rocks in a small amount of water being turned over.  Then I hear bark being torn off logs and being tossed about.  Something strong is searching for grubs in the decaying wood and aquatic life in the stream.  In Shenandoah National Park, the something strong that eats those things is the American Black Bear.

 

Sketch by Bob Kuhns Black Bear Searching for Insects & Grubs under Bark                  I do not have bear bells on my pack.  Should I follow the recommended action of letting the bear know I am here by making some noise? Or is it smarter to continue quietly (in waffle-stomper hiking boots) down the trail so the bear does not know I am here?  Perhaps it will just keep on grubbin’.  So I keep on truckin’. (note there are many uses for the apostrophe.) 

                The sounds of a bear foraging in the drainage continue to reach my ears, but fade behind me as I go.  By the time I cross the fire road, I feel safer.  I am now three tenths of a mile from the Upper Falls.  No sounds of mass destruction can be heard anymore.                  Even though I am feeling safe, I find that every little sound pulls my attention to it.

                The trail crosses the creek (officially a river, actually a trickle today) and I look carefully up and down stream as I rock-hop across.  I see no bears.

                Further on, the trail bends sharply around a large vertical rock outcrop.  As I approach the corner, I can’t see around the blind turn.  I hold my hand out wide to the side, as if to warn of my approach, or as if I could see any bears just around the corner with my extended hand.  No Bears.

 

Sketch by Bob Kuhns Warning Bears  

                The silliness of my hand maneuver sinks in and I mentally relax.  Every black bear I have seen in the backcountry has been running away from me as soon as it saw me.  My wildlife encounters on this hike are probably just going to be the usual suspects: birds and chipmunks, and squirrels! Oh My!

                I stop to look at a small four foot high waterfall and decide it is not the Upper Falls.  The sound of cascading water further on confirms this.  The trail passes the top of the Upper Falls without much of a view, then switch-backs down the cliff to near the base.  A side trail leads down from the main trail, but I elect to continue down to the Lower Falls first.  That is another third of a mile further down the mountain. 

                As I near the Lower Falls, the trail swings wide away from the river to work its way around the cliff that causes the falls.  On the way, it makes another of those blind turns around a rock outcrop.  I stick my hand out ...  No bears.

                After crossing over a rock formation, the trail bends hard left in a hairpin turn, with plenty of visibility, and little chance of surprising a bear.  As I make the turn, glancing far ahead, the lower falls comes into view. Suddenly a single step from my boot, a beautiful snake with three yellow stripes running the full length of its body slithers rapidly away from me and into the low green plant cover at the trail’s edge.

 

Sketch by Bob Kuhns Ribbon Snake

                The snake is gone before I can react, so I miss the opportunity to take a photo.  I stop and wait for a moment to see if the snake will come back out and pose for my camera.  I know it won’t, but I hopefully wait a minute, and then forge on.

                The trail gives nice views of the Lower Falls, but only offers a very steep bushwhack as full access to the base of the falls.  So I study my topographic map to verify how far I have come down the mountain, and therefore how far I have to go back up.  Gravity will be my hiking nemesis for the rest of the hike.

                Per my PATC Map # 11, the parking lot at the trailhead is at 2900 feet elevation.  The base of the lower falls appears to be at 1800 feet, indicating that I have an eleven-dang-hundred foot climb outa here.  That is roughly equivalent to a one hundred-ten story building.  The lying info sign at the trailhead says it is only 850 feet elevation change.

                I turn back up the trail after photographing the lower falls from the trail.  I am a mile and a half from my car and 1100 feet.  The walk down has been easy; the walk back up will be hard.  I have planned for that, with plenty of water and energy snacks in my pack.

                On my way back toward the Upper Falls, I pause at the site of the snake sighting.  I know it was a ribbon snake, harmless to humans, so I hope for another encounter...  No snake!

                I continue uphill and meet a nice couple from Chicago who are headed down.  We discuss the merits of the Upper vs. The Lower Falls and how much further they have to go to reach the lower falls.  They are from Chicago.  They look full of energy, having come down the mile and a half or so.  Chicago is flat except where there are elevators, so I also do not mention the trivials of bears, snakes, or worst of all uphill.

                We part toward different falls, me going to the Upper Falls where they have already stopped on the way down.  I take the side trail down to the base of the Upper Falls and am rewarded with a beautiful configuration of white veils of water draped over rocks in several parallel paths.  The hike was worth it to see this great spot.  There is even a convenient sitting rock near the base.  I take many pictures, losing track of time.  When I head back up the side trail to the main trail, I don’t know if the Chicago folks are ahead of or behind me. 

                At the stream crossing, I look for bears.  When I cross the fire road, I look for bears.  As I enter the area where I heard the telltale sounds of a bear foraging, I listened and looked for bears.  I keep going until I am well past the area of suspicion.  No bears.

                Suddenly the constant uphill catches up with me.  I have not stopped since I left the Upper Falls, and I am breathing heavily.  My heart is pounding.  But this time last year I would have had to stop to rest long ago.  I was in poorly conditioned shape and 25 pounds heavier then. 

                It is time to stop -- rest -- have a drink of water -- eat a granola bar.  Up ahead is a perfect sitting rock beside the trail, so I push on another hundred feet along the trail, the set down on that wonderful rock.  “This rock is almost comfortable.”

                In just a few moments, my breathing returns to normal, my pulse drops from 120 to 60 beats per minute.  The view of the forest is beautiful from this rock.  I am looking down the stretch of trail I have just climbed, and it looks steep from here.  It makes me proud to know how quickly I traversed it.  

                As I undress a granola bar and devour it, two figures come into view well down the trail.  It is the Chicago folks, laboring up the steep hill.  As they approach, she is complaining about the hill.  So I offer to give up my perfect sitting rock and she accepts.  We converse about the wonders of nature around us, but they are disappointed in the less than spectacular water falls here.  They have hiked in the Superior National Forest and the water falls there had a lot more water in them.  I mention the concept of a watershed.  These falls are less than a half mile from the ridge and drain only a few square miles of land.  The falls in the Superior National Forest probably drain hundreds of square miles of watershed.  They express enlightenment.

                We finish the hike to the trailhead together.  They had learned some things from me about Shenandoah National Park and I want to hike Superior National Forest.  I wonder if Superior has bears.

 

                                -- Bob Kuhns