For many, many years I considered Shenandoah National Park to be the setting of one of the worst experiences of my life. It was a Boy Scouts camping trip, and more specifically a canoeing trip. We set out early on a Saturday with all of our camping gear in a fleet of canoes, and were to camp overnight by the side of the river before proceeding again the next day to the pull-out point. I remember every single thing as having gone disastrously. By definition I was a young teen at the time, and therefore judged others much more harshly, a dire trait to have when it seemed that everyone else was so much worse at canoeing than I was. I recollect spending nearly every moment of the canoeing feeling only like I was being held back and forced to wait as less fluvial Troopmates made their way down the meanders. I also got partnered with the least-skilled canoeist of the group, a situation I should have treated with much more kindness but in the moment made him only the target of my ire. When it came nearly time to camp, we at first passed up one camping spot in favor of looking for something a little farther down river. In my memory this original camping spot has become so picture-perfect it glowed. Instead, we didn’t actually manage to stop until we were desperate, which left us perched on a cramped and brambly bankside. When it began to rain that evening and into the night we were little better positioned than if we had just camped in the river itself. A soggy dinner was followed by news from my tentmates that I was to be kicked out of the tent (I did have a single-person tent but we had agreed previously to consolidate), news that would have been more amenable had it not come in the middle of a downpour with no room left to pitch my lodgings. After some negotiations I spent the night “sleeping” on top of their bags, each hard pack of Magic the Gathering cards poking into my back. The next day when the trip was finally over, I was so filled with adrenaline from my anger I was shaking. We had managed to survive the trip but it was not so for the tent I had brought, a gift from my grandmother, which had disappeared along with my dignity. It was a terrible trip.
It was not until my super amazing wife and I were doing some planning for a weekend getaway that I discovered the location of my ire was in fact Shenandoah River State Park, meaning I had been mistakenly maligning the national park this whole time. Shenandoah National Park, turns out, is very nearly the opposite of a river valley, what with its central feature being a road stretched along a mountain ridge. Eager for some time nestled among trees but lacking any camping gear, we had booked one of the Lewis Mountain Cabins.
Although Shenandoah is really very close to where we live, we began our relaxation early by taking our sweet time in arriving. We first swung by the lovely and relatively expansive Needles in the Haymarket yarn store, just because it was there. This was followed by a stop at the Buckland Farm Market, which notably did not have the donkeys the pictures of the place seemed to promise, but where we nonetheless got fry pies and salad dressing. By early afternoon we were pulling into Front Royal for antiquing and lunch. Front Royal also has the excellent Royal Oak Bookshop, with the extremely friendly Sunny the bookstore cat. The shop also sold these gorgeously wrapped book sets that come with tea and stickers and honey sticks and the sort, which are obviously assembled with love. It’s a must-visit for anyone passing through Front Royal.
Finally entering the park at its northern entrance, we proceeded directly to the Dickey Ridge Visitor Center to get some hiking recommendations. The very nice ranger there had a shirt that said both “Americorps” and “Scientists in the Park” on it, and she recommended hiking on up to Compton Peak. There are two destinations on that trail, one being some basalt columns and the other being the actual peak. I thought the basalt columns would be cool so that was a pull for this trail. We proceeded directly to the trail head and got going and it was an immensely enjoyable hike. Most of the trail was pretty pleasant, though the bit down to the basalt got a little steep. We admired that and tried to imagine a landscape covered in lava before going to the other end of this trail excursion, up to the peak itself where we were treated to spectacular views. As we were standing there a little kid came bounding up ahead of his family and was audibly impressed with what he could see. But not too impressed; as we were heading out he declared that while the views were good they were “not worth the hike.” Can’t please everybody.
From here we did the activity that the park was really designed for, which is drive on down it while gawking at the views. Tell you what though man. The park speed limit is 35. This isn’t a highway or even a normal road. The park makes kind of a big deal about how, if you’re in a hurry, you should just come back when you have more time. Even if you don’t want to admire the views, you shouldn’t be driving fast anyways, as there are hikers by the side of the road and the park is made of blind bends. Yet there I was in cruise control, so I know I was going 35, and people were on my butt. One guy tried to use an overlook as a passing lane, which is about the most dangerous way to drive in the park I can think of. At the next overlook I pulled over and let him pass before he did anything even more crazy. However, most of the time it was a very pleasant driving experience, with us spending the time spotting deer and in one case turkeys.
Eventually we arrived at our cabin. It was way past check-in time, and we were a little worried we’d be stranded for the evening, but they had kindly left out the keys for us. We hadn’t brought anything to eat, so from here zoomed on back to Big Meadows Lodge and its food hall. There we had a lovely dinner and admired the sunset over the Appalachians.
