Dolly Sods West Virginia - Wild and Wonderful - Part 2

Continued from Part 1

Jagman and Uncle Milty Journey

An enjoyable part of this trip was that it was only going to be a one-nighter.  So we could carry heavy luxury items with abandon.  In this case - beer.  Flyrod had a six pack of cans and I was carrying a six pack of cans (chilled in cold freezer packs).  The palpable anticipation of a cold beer at a campsite adds so much to the journey to get there.  No powdery Gatorades or, yuck, more water, was going to be as enjoyable as the beer.  Plus we had one of my famous trail dinners to consume - Chicken, Summer Sausage and Orzo pasta - no freeze dried junk is my motto.  And some dinner rolls.  Even Flavor Flav had a flask of Irish Whiskey and four of the coolest glow in the dark shot glasses.  It was going to be a great night.

So as Flyrod and Flavor Flav setoff in search of campsites, Uncle Milty and I took off across the alpine tundra to check out the high meadows of the Sods.  We were not disappointed.  The terminus for Red Creek trail (TR514) was at a high point (Blackbird Knob) so Uncle Milty and I would head down toward the Left Fork of Red Creek then back up to the far side of the Sods.  It was beautiful.

From the above photos, the topography of the terrain was evident.  The elevation changes were slight but still made you remember that you had excessive weight in the backpack for necessities.  The gentle downward slope was heading toward the Left Fork of Red Creek.  Then we would head back up to the ridge at the top of the photo.  This ridge happened to be the upper limit of Timberline Ski Resort.  On the other side of that ridge was a steep drop to Canaan valley below.  In a few months we would be back for some good skiing.

Uncle Milty surveying the crossing

Left Fork Red Creek - aptly named - the tannin in the water makes it look red like tea

I deliberately went ahead in selfish hopes of capturing a splashdown - denied 😞

Left Fork Red Creek - heading South

Up from the creek

Alpine at its best.

Heading to the ridge

When Uncle Milty and I arrived near the Breathed Mountain trail head, we started encountering more people.  I think they came over the ridge from Timberline resort.  The hikers that stood out the most, we these two young women we caught up to who were walking their dog.  Uncle Milty and I started what we thought was harmless conversation.  "Oh how far you hiking?  What is your dog's name?  Where are you from?"  For whatever reason they did not like us.  Maybe this is taught to women in the West Virginia school system, if you ever encounter men in the mountains, do your best to distance yourself from them.  Lie to them.  Tell them you are waiting for your pro-wrestler husband, or maybe your boyfriend visiting from Louisiana who wrestles alligators for a living.  Just do something.  Don't provide their libertine brains with any tidbits they can latch onto for courtly love.  So Uncle Milty and I were abruptly told that they decided to hike in the opposite direction - away from us.  Hey, no problem, have a nice day.   Ten minutes later, when Uncle Milty and I were taking a break before heading down Breathed Mountain, these two caught up to us again.  We felt so dirty and creepy.  😏

Adjoining trail

Cinnamon Ferns

Mountain Laurel (Kalmia Latifolia)

A Bog!!!  Sphagnum!! Uncle Milty gets first dance.

Stand of trees on Breathed Mountain trail

Uncle Milty and I made it back down the trail to Red Creek Trail and were anxious to get to camp and unwind.  We were getting a bit tired and wanted some down time with some beer before dinner.  On the surface it would be a simple ten minute hike back up the trail to find the camp, but therein lies the problem.

The trouble with men, when they get away from the women that raised them from a child (their wives), is that they revert back to being a child at the first opportunity.  Not a child in the sense of a sudden collapse of self-sufficiency, maybe for some, but more in the sense of being like a rather sophisticated child, perhaps an elite private school kid who has also spent time in Montessori - so he can think freely sometimes and get in trouble.  He now knows some big words, can legally buy bounteous amounts of alcohol, and has some boastful, albeit suspect, stories to tell about the women in his past life (Not the two-minute grocery store rodeo arcade with the wife).  Additionally, things like spitting, farting, bathroom humor and cussing, like, well like a ten year old, is obligingly celebrated by the others.  Think William Golding’s - Lords of the Flies – only now book-ended by the weekend.  With this in mind, the approach to marking the trail indicating the direction Uncle Milty and I should turn for camp, was a sophisticated one, to wit, a magnum sized condom filled with water (I hope) and hung from a tree.  Perhaps erected, if you excuse the pun, to point in the direction we should travel.  I can only think that the purchase of the “magnum” was either an optimistic inspiration of genetic grandeur, or the large box purchased at Costco was a huge fail akin to buying a large cowboy hat that falls down to your shoulders; there were many leftovers in the box that now needed to be re-purposed.

Continued...Part 3