As is the case with most things in my life that I seem to really enjoy, this was, ostensibly no different, in the fact that it had to come to an end. For years, I had hiked and climbed Old Rag Mountain pretty much at least once or twice a year, for the last eight or nine years; even the fact that I had moved to Georgia didn’t stop me from making trips up to Virginia to make time to climb my favorite trail.
Now I can’t say that I couldn’t see this coming, because it was pretty evident that it was already on its way, but with this last trip in the books, it’s pretty much a forlorn conclusion that Old Rag is pretty much intolerable these days, and that I’m going to have to start looking elsewhere to get my nature fixes. It’s such a shame too, because for years, an alternative has been searched for, only to be disappointed and pining for what Old Rag had to offer instead.
Basically, Old Rag’s downfall is the simple fact that the secret’s out – there really is no better place to hike. Now I haven’t scoured the entire Appalachian Trail, let alone the entire state of Virginia for an alternative, but I have sought out several alternatives that have resulted in nothing but disappointment and failure. But now, Old Rag has become the failure. People are all over the fucking trail now, and arriving earlier wouldn’t have really changed the fact. When we got out of the car, I was appalled to see a group of about 20 pre-pubescent boys clamoring out of SUVs, and heading up the trail. And then there was a gigantic van full of Mennonites who had intentions of clogging the paths further, that I demanded we hit the trail before they did.
Once we got on the trail, things didn’t get any better, either. In past years, I could always count on being able to completely cease any movement, and listen for the smallest sound, only to hear absolutely nothing but complete, utter silence. No planes, no car horns, and most importantly no other people. On this past trip, there were very few times when another group could not be seen with normal eyes, and there were always, always the sound of children or people speaking, yelling, or making other ear-grating sounds.
I felt like that episode of King of the Hill where Hank takes Bobby to this beautiful park or campground or something, only to be mortified when a bunch of hippies emerge from everywhere and turn the place into a beatnik-fest.
The largest group I’ve ever been with on this mountain has been four people. Let’s face it, when you bring more than that, you’re opening the door for having weak links and people prone to accidents, fatigue, or any other excuses/factors that put a dampening on the trip for others. I was witnessing gigantic groups of eight or more, and from all sorts of wakes of life. There was the band of college kids who were looking for their “me-in-nature” Facebook pictures to take, and blabbed about nonsensical garbage loudly, and had the one token black kid who was trying to show off his physical superiority by going ahead, coming back, before going ahead again from the rest of the group, repeatedly running into my party. Now I could probably do the trail in sagging jeans, Chuck Taylors, and women’s tube socks on my hands as easily as he could, but there gets a point where I’d rather not look like a total retard on a mountain.
There were also several groups of Bro Montanas, church groups, and the worst was, and it pains me to say this, the group of 25+ Korean hiking enthusiasts, whom when they passed you, it was like letting what appeared to be one or two people passing by, but suddenly turns into an entire Main Street Marching Parade.
This picture to the right is what my friends and I have dubbed “The Pinch,” which is probably the trickiest part of the entire mountain. It is indeed tricky for the first timer, but I’ve done this climb so many times, that I have my own intricate way that gets me through the tight squeeze plus low-leverage climbing point with minimal problems.
It’s also was the de-facto point in the trail where I decided that Old Rag was now dead to me, because upon arriving at the base of The Pinch, it was about a 15 minute wait before I had my “turn” to go through The Pinch, which I did in less than 30 seconds, and about another minute of assisting my friends as well as a complete stranger.
I understand that it’s not as simple for everyone as it is for me, but it really has me questioning the intelligence as well as the physical capabilities of the rest of the world when they require so much time to figure it out. I watched about four people struggle their way through the pinch, and not a single one of them did it unassisted.
But anyway, it’s not so much the waiting for people to figure it out that pissed me off, but instead, it was these three, Mid-Life Crisis “adventurers” who pretty much ruined it for me. You can kind of see them in the picture, the lead Tim Allen is the guy in the green cap, blue jacket, and red shirt, complete with exorbitant hiking gear, Chesapeake Knife and Tool walking stick, and the essential hydration packs that everyone seems to be wearing these days (I carry nothing but a bottle of Gatorade and my camera these days). Where there was already this monumental wait to go up through The Pinch, these pathetic middle-aged men saw it fit to essentially cut in line through the queue of people and bully their way down through The Pinch, causing more of a delay than there should have been. All while loudly showcasing the fact that they’ve been hiking and camping since they started on Skyline Drive, proving absolutely dick except for the fact that it confirms that at least one of them probably is equipped with a spade used to bury the shits they’re taking in the great outdoors.
Seriously, I took this picture here to show the ever-growing line of people waiting to get through The Pinch that was taking way longer than necessary, because of a bunch of middle-aged fucks. And this doesn’t do justice, since there were probably about eight other people not framed in the shot, and out of sight. Some people actually resorted to old go-around route that looks like it’s doable, only to be just enough dangerous for people to give up and wait for The Pinch. But then, two Spanish men who wear wearing militia jackets that looked like they had Nazi patches on their arms went all Batman style and put a rappelling line down the giant rock for those who wanted to climb their way up instead wait for The Pinch.
Anyway, we reached the summit, and basically to no surprise, anywhere that could possibly have a good view, was occupied by groups of people who were exhaustively resting their achy feet, feasting on questionable lunches, or just taking up space that I wouldn’t mind having. It culminated with a few minutes of forced resting, looking with discontent and disgust at all these people, and then relegating to the less fun, more physically demanding, and longer to boot Fire Trail back to the parking lot, so we wouldn’t be the same degenerates as the Wild Hogs.
As we got into the car, it pretty much became a unanimous decision, that Old Rag wasn’t happening again any time soon. Maybe one day, I’ll return, but after this experience, I’m not sure I want to, or I’ll be able to find the motivation to do such.
Yes, I’m aware of the fact that Old Rag is still a public property, and it really is a first-come, first-serve basis, but I just miss the days when nobody hiked Old Rag, and it was almost always a quiet, private little trail that only a few enthusiasts were ever aware of. Didn’t matter if it was cold as shit, or hot as balls, I could hike it, and feel accomplished afterward.
This is the parking lot of Old Rag when we were leaving. Seriously, I’ve seen minor league baseball games have parking lots more desolate than this one. And the scary part is that people were still arriving while we were leaving. Little did they realize how much waiting they had in store for them, and considering the time it took us thanks to all the hundreds of other hikers, the sun wasn’t likely to be around by the time they would finish.
Farewell, Old Rag Mountain. It’s been a great number of years, I’ve had, walking your worn paths, and your entertaining rock scramble. But it’s time for me to seek out my solitude elsewhere.
