The Blue Ridge Mountains

By Charles Houston

Earlier this month I wrote this story about my memories of the Blue Ridge for the Friends of the Blue Ridge Mountain’s newsletter. FBRM is a great conservation group with an arrow-like mission: protecting the Blue Ridge in our region. I couldn’t talk about trekking the Appalachian Trail since I haven’t and won’t, nor about walking trails through its forests or photographing newts. There is historical and geologic research aplenty, so those topics were out. That left two subjects: Writing about protecting the crests and slopes of the mountains through zoning, or simply recalling my memories of the mountain range. Being a new member of the County’s Zoning Ordinance Committee, saving these mountains will be a priority and I’ll let you know what transpires. That left one subject – my memories of the Blue Ridge, but along much of its length, not just the section that’s the backdrop for Loudoun County. Here’s what I wrote:

My Blue Ridge

“We in western Loudoun look towards the sunset and see the Blue Ridge Mountains forming the county’s western border. Pretty, but provincial and possessive. As they say, think big.

For me, that means thinking of my life decades ago. As a child and until college days, my family decamped every summer to friends’ houses at a preserve of some 3,000 acres atop Georgia’s Blue Ridge. Fleeing unending days of 100+ degrees in Augusta, Georgia was a relief. It was an annual time for adults to kick back, tell stories and drink Bloody Marys. We kids had it even better – there were scores of us, canoeing in the big lake, fishing for brim, diving off a twenty-foot tower into frigid mountain water and playing endless sets of tennis. Later, childish play gave way to adolescent (and teen) focus on the opposite sex.

Getting there was half the fun, from the first trip to the last. Snaking roads along mountains meant fabulous views of plains and farms, and especially vistas of ridge after ridge of the mountain range. As flatlanders we knew we were getting closer to heaven.

Several summers were spent at a boys’ camp in the Blue Ridge along the South and North Carolina line. I remember its coolness, but even though we were near the top of Cedar Mountain, the counselors had us focused inward on swimming, learning to shoot a .22 rifle and for some reason, making lanyards. The camp highlight was tackling Sliding Rock, sitting on our backsides and letting the cold water race us to a swimming hole some sixty feet away. My shorts were shredded.

I followed the Blue Ridge to college, spent in Lexington in the Shenandoah Valley. We’d often take dates and blankets to the Blue Ridge Parkway and watch the sun set over the Alleghanies to the west. Mystical times, but chill set in quickly at that elevation so sunset-viewing soon gave in to fraternity life back in town.

Flash forward some thirty years and I’m in Virginia with the Blue Ridge in sight every day. I’ve often said that Loudoun is the best location in the country, given its proximity to bay and mountains, history and metropoles. We’ve found that it’s also a great jumping off place for short excursions. Skyline Drive is an obvious one we’ve done several times, most recently with a friend from near Middleburg. We were exercising sports cars but the 35-mph speed limit boredom quickly gave way to gawking happily from overlook to overlook, eastward to farms and villages, and westward across the Shenandoah to the Alleghanies. These were special sights, looking down at the endless valley and outward to high ridges to the west.

Closer to home is Bears Den and standing atop its huge boulders, taking in the vast scenery and perhaps dreaming. A bit further and to the north, right on the Mason-Dixon Line is Pen Mar Overlook. A spur of the Blue Ridge carries the Appalachian Trail to a scene similar to Bears Den. The panorama is of rich farmlands in Pennsylvania, carefully tended and prosperous looking. They stretch endlessly and remind us that man can touch the earth gently.

Not so gentle was our downhill drive from the top of the Blue Ridge to its bottom, down near Tazewell in southwest Virginia. The 30-mile stretch of road is called “the Back of the Dragon” (with its own Wikipedia page.) It depends on how you count them, but there are somewhere between 260 and 438 turns, almost all of them cambered hairpins. The camber, or banking, means that one can take the curve at higher speeds, but few dare. It was a blast, as was a shorter downhill stretch closer to home, leaving Skyline Drive downwards towards Luray. We will definitely do that again.

The Blue Ridge are among the oldest mountains on earth, conveying softness. We see them every day from our front porch. As the sun sets, there’s a glow over the Blue Ridge. Often the entire western sky is golden. Other times there’s a narrowing sliver of red, marking the sun’s final descent over the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

Charles Houston developed office buildings in Atlanta, and has lived in Paeonian Springs for over 20 years.