Just Like Nothing (else) on Earth: Furnace Mountain Road

 By Tim Jon

You know, at the time of this writing, I’ve lived in Loudoun County, Virginia for almost a quarter of a century, and I still encounter surprising, unexpected experiences in places into which I’ve previously never ventured; there were a lot of those kinds of moments as I made my way (by means of all-wheel-drive) up the narrow, twisting little (as in, little more than one lane!) gravel corridor bearing the County Number 665 – otherwise known as Furnace Mountain Road. 

I’d completely overlooked this hitherto undiscovered gem in my local travels and travails; it corkscrews up the side of the Catoctin Range Peak of the same name – just on our side of the Potomac River, a literal stone’s throw from Point of Rocks Bridge on the way to Maryland. 

I arrived at the northern end of the dirt road (in winter, think “Ski Slope”) before the sun had made its way high enough to shed any real light into the deep woods, so I parked in a little run-off area barely off the turn from Lovettsville Road as it intersects with Route 15 up by the County Line. 

Things were very quiet and hushed along the hillside as I waited for that specific pink glow in the sky that would tell me to start moving, and watching for anything of interest: now, out here, on a mountainside, that could mean a striking landscape, a vivid silhouette, a deer (or two, or ten) making way to bed, or even a black bear possibly looking for trouble. And I encountered an array of all, but the last on that list. 

I also drove past, at crawl speed (I’d wager that the only traffic jams up here would result from a tree fallen across the road), a scattering of unique human habitations: some – historic log cabins, stone mansions, indeterminate shacks, farmsteads, and just about everything in between. And lots of woods. 

Now, I know I’ve already mentioned the incline factor, but, even after getting (somewhat) used to delivering mail up on the summit of the Blue Ridge, I could feel my skin crawl as I drove up Furnace Mountain Road; I kept my eye on what seemed like a vertical wall on my left – the uphill side – and, even more daunting – the abrupt drop-off on my right – which led who-knows-where – just down. 

I kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel, and passed up many an opportunity for creative photography, just to keep moving through this gauntlet of “verticality”: road, trees, hill, you name it, it was either up or down. 

And, to clarify, this was no drive-up Pike’s Peak or Denali or anything – Furnace Mountain would barely be considered a foothill out in the Rockies of the American West; with the primitive roadway I encountered (driving it for the first time, at dawn’s first light) it was as lengthy and steep and uncivilized as I could have wished. 

After I’d thought (for about the seventeenth time) that the uphill drive would never end, the road flattened out for a meter or two, and then we were over the highest portion (of the road, anyway – never got near the top of the Mountain itself) and heading downhill, back to some flat, treeless country where
maybe I could see more than about 50 feet through the thick woods. Which it did; the gravel road – after some turning and twisting on the descent) became something approaching a horizontal surface, and I found myself driving along what could be described as bottomland – at least compared with the ridge I’d recently visited. 

And then I came upon the intersection with Taylorstown Road (and of course, that’s another story – that of the Downey Mill Ruins) and my adventure with Furnace Mountain was over – for that morning. 

And what of the furnaces? Well, I recall reading about the name stemming from some historic iron ovens at the base of the peak – apparently dating back to the 18^th century; my scant records tell me that the early construction of our nations’ capital used metals extracted from iron ore, which in turn came from none other than the hero of today’s story – good, old Furnace Mountain. I’m sure there’s more to the tale, and I never did see those mythical furnaces themselves, but that leaves further adventures for another day. Always good to leave them wanting more…