C&O Canal: Antietam Creek to Snyders Landing (January)

The new year brings a change in venue on the C&O towpath. For now, I leave the more isolated parts of the trail to go downstream and work my way through some of the more crowded areas. The area around Antietam Creek and the towns of Sharpsburg, Maryland and Shepherdstown, West Virginia are replete with monuments and stories about the Civil War. Signs indicated where armies form both sides forded the Potomac. While interesting, and historically important, my interest lies in the beauty of this area. The river makes four distinct and sharp bends between Shepherdstown and Falling Water, creating small jutting peninsulas of West Virginia.

Antietam Aqueduct

Walking on the first day of the year, I am greeted by many more people than I have seen in the past couple of months on the trail. When I waked across the path of the Antietam Aqueduct, constructed in 1834, four women were riding horses were traversing the bed of the canal. One woman blissfully shouted, “Happy New Years!” I responded in kind, but my response slightly alarmed one of the horses, because from his perspective I was overhead. The rider gave the chestnut-colored horse a gentle stroke and told the other riders that he was not accustomed to seeing someone “up there.”

The trail was teeming with people, I think, trying to fulfill their annual resolutions, created in the hope of changing habits or opening a new chapter. The cycles of our world provide a chance for reflection and reconsideration. My decision to change location on the trail periodically is, in part, a function of an artificial calendar about when a new cycle begins. But it is a useful opportunity to keep myself engaged and provide new perspectives.

Norfork Southern Railroad Trestle a Shepherdstown

Walking the towpath provides good lessons about patience and fortitude. Undertaking this 184-mile trail cannot be done in a single day. Accepting that is important; there is no quick solution or easy fix, it is a process. Walking the C&O is an enjoyment. I have a goal, and I am motivated to complete that goal; however, there should be time to enjoy. Watching a rather large woman struggling to run past me, I think about this. Her path to weight loss and good health takes time and patience, it will not be accomplished in a couple of days, or even a month. 

I found myself following a couple, who were older than I, for about a mile. Although my pace was faster than theirs, I kept a distance of about 100 yards between us by photographing birds and admiring the river and trees. As we neared Shepherdstown, I glanced up just in time to see the woman slip in mud, and then fall. The man somewhat startled turn and said, “What did you do?” My first inclination was to rush ahead and help. But as the woman tried, and successfully, regained her feet, I decided not to add to any embarrassment. A few moments later the couple photographed themselves in front of the Shepherdstown sign, her dirty pants were the only visible injury. The incident leads me to consider how vulnerable we are to random accidents. A fall like this can have devastating consequences. No longer can I, or most of my peers, assume that we will recover from a major injury. It is something that I do not like to think about. An injury resulting from a fall leaves open the possibility of an incomplete recovery, which would be a devastating prognosis.

The towpath just upstream from Shepherdstown

A talk show on the radio argued that by January 7, the pretense for New Years’ resolutions had faded. A cold, early January Monday meant that people who I would see would be dedicated walkers and explorers. Perhaps because it is close to Shepherdstown, the trail is well used here. There is good evidence to suggest this, including a forgotten tennis ball lost by a friendly dog.

As I drove to my second walk of the month, a talk show on the radio argued that by January 7, the pretense for New Years’ resolutions had faded. A cold, early January Monday meant that people who I would see would be dedicated walkers and explorers. Perhaps because it is close to Shepherdstown, the trail is well used in this section of the towpath. There is good evidence to suggest this, including a forgotten tennis ball lost by a no doubt friendly dog. 

My favorite type of bird is the woodpecker, which I take great joy in watching and photography. Because it is skittish and elusive, I find it particularly challenging to photograph pileated woodpeckers. January and February seem to be the best months to do so, especially because the lack of foliage in the woods makes the bird easier to spot. As I reached MM74, I stopped to retie my bootlace. As I was bent over, I heard the distinctive cry of a pileated and minimized my motions so as not to scare it. As I scanned the sycamore tree from which the call emanated, I spotted a pair of woodpeckers after a while: A male, high in the tree tops, surrounded by small branches, making a shot that was in focus virtually impossible. Meanwhile, closer to the ground a female, who was backlit, was digging for insects on a dead branch. She periodically poked her head around the corner as if to invite me to a game of hide and seek. Actually she was trying to determine if I were a danger, while the male continuously warned that I was.

I stood and watched for over ten minutes, trying to maneuver to achieve better lighting and for one of the birds to uncover well enough to get a good shot. A woman with her dog walked by, the look on her face suggested that her initial reaction was that I was off the trail to relieve myself. I tried to wait patiently, yet of all the days this was the one when I was scheduled to meet someone for lunch. But before I did, I wanted to walk a mile further on the trail before returning to Shepherdstown. After several mediocre shots, reluctantly, I continued to make my way to MM75.

As I approached MM74 again on my return trip, I scanned the trees for the birds. About a tenth of a mile past the mile marker, I again her the familiar cry. This time I had a better sightline, but the long lens and reduced light of an overcast day meant that the photographs were dark, grainy and not very sharp. I was running late; I took passable photographs and continued. Then, a half-a-mile farther, I heard yet another cry; two more pileateds flitted around below me this time. The lighting was good, and their colors showed well. The male fussed so much that a blue heron, which I had not seen, scuttled from the river bank behind me. Within a few minutes, the pair would dart off again, leaving me with a series of unsatisfying photographs. 

Carolina Wren

After adventures like this, I think about Dick Davenport, a character from the Doonesbury comic strip, who famously died photographing a Bachman’s warbler, a small yellow bird that became extinct sometime during the 1980s. I was an avid reader of the comic during high school and college, even purchasing several collections in books, which I read and reread. Davenport’s dying thought upon snapping the picture was that he had achieve immortality by photographing the now probably extinct bird. I have no such pretense, I am photographing fairly common birds, in highly populated areas. It is a hobby, like a collection, that gets me out in the woods for a little exercise. My photographs are a test of skill and patience; I have little hope of publication and do not suggest that there any greatness be attached. At the same time, I understand how exhilarating it must be to photograph the extremely rare.

After my walk, Lonce picked me up at the parking lot for lunch in Shepherdstown. He had moved here a few years prior and really likes the charm of the small college town. Because I had yet to visit, Lonce gave me a quick tour before lunch at a local taqueria. It was a popular local place, with great food and specialized service. The young gentleman taking our order knew Lonce by name and they conversed about local events and happenings.

In American society it is rare for males to sit down, with no business agenda, and have a chat. Lonce and I share a profession and many similar interests, and our conversation turned to books and articles, food and entertainment. The communal gathering for meals is an important aspect of human interaction. Each culture has specific customs and traditions when dining together. It is a chance to convey stories or seek advice, which are necessary to a well-rounded life. But like many things in our hyper-connected world, the simple gathering of people for meals is increasingly rare. Sometimes I must explain to students while traveling in Europe that having meals alone in from of a television is not acceptable. In many places the act of eating is essentially communal. Even our propensity to have lunch at our desks, prioritizes work over people, especially our colleagues.

My last walk of the month was on the final day of the longest federal shutdown. It was my fourth foray into a national park during the shutdown. In addition to the C&O towpath, I had also taken an afternoon walk through the battlefield at Gettysburg. Each time I walked in a national park during the shutdown, I experienced some pangs of guilt. Although there are many of us who will use the parks responsibly, it is disheartening to learn how many will not. The disturbing stories that emerged from National Parks during the government shutdown of overuse, off-roading, and, in particular, the destruction of rare Joshua trees at Joshua Tree National Park led me to question if citizens at large can be trusted with the responsibility of our common heritage. Have we come to a point where individual consumption, through the destruction of unique beauty and wilderness, is considered to be more important that our collective enjoyment? Is it necessary that natural treasures must be guarded for all from the overuse and carelessness of a few? This is why we have rangers, but the incidents seem to indicate that increased vigilance is necessary. It pains me to consider the callous disregard of nature and collective property.

I love to photograph trees set against the twilight of a winter’s day. In the winter, the light is diffuse and interesting, there are no leaves so we can see the intricacies of branches highlighted against a twilight sky. Lone trees create excellent photographs, call the viewer’s attention to the subject of an individual tree. Yet trees are part of a collective. Peter Wohlleben has argued that trees are able to communicate to one another. They show signs of intelligence; if a tree is bitten by a deer, it will send poison to the area to deter the deer from continued nibbling. If it is pruned by humans, it will send healing chemicals to where it has been cut. It appears that trees have memory, because they are able to remember long term droughts, adjusting their intake so to retain enough water in future years. It is remarkable for these majestic plants have such capabilities. Most trees have lifespans that exceed humans; a way of knowing and learning that is completely unknown from ours. Wohlleben’s work reminds me of one of my favorite animated films, Rooted (2011), which follows the lives, interaction, and love of two trees.

Although trees are majestic and awe-inspiring, a forest is not just about trees. It is the interaction of several species of plants and animals, water and weather. If we plant a field of trees that will be harvested sometime relatively soon for lumber, it is not a forest. It is the same as planting a field of corn, or wheat, to be harvested for our food supply. It is for commercial use, not a forest.

The walk, on a late Friday afternoon, was very quiet. The wind was still. Puddles of water on the trail were frozen. The river was quite high. It has been difficult to maintain my Zen approach when, while driving to the towpath, a colleague replied all to sixty people passing along erroneous information causing a minor uproar. There are things to distract us. I see another pileated woodpecker, and surprised to espy a black squirrel, an uncommon sight in this region of the country. I am always surprised by what is left on the trail. Today, after a week of the maximum temperature still not reaching freezing, I happened upon a size 44 winter coat, frozen stiff laying beside the trail. Half a mile farther away, a lone winter glove.

I finished my walk by going the third of a mile beyond Snyders Landing to MM77. I met an older couple who were walking an even more elderly dog as the sunlight faded behind the hills and trees of the West Virginia side of the river. I finished the remainder of my walk with the couple walking back to my car parked at the landing, chatting about the weather and other trivial things. We exchanged where we lived, and what we did. When I confessed my profession, the man offered one a standard reply I often get, something along the lines of, “This must be an interesting time to teach…” We confronted with the comment, I usually respond that international relations is a growth field: it is not going away anytime soon. They politely laughed at my little joke and wished me well. The woman called to me, “We hope to see you on the trail again soon!”