Mt. Rogers

 12/01/25

It's wintertime. Chilly weather, strange lighting, cloudy skies, fleeting daylight. The pace of life has slowed, drifting along at a leisurely pace, conserving precious energy until the warmer weather returns in spring. Laziness is key. Without it, nothing would survive. 

And that's why I slept in until 10am, waking from a long slumber with no goals in mind for the day. But I felt that I had to do something with my time on this earth; couldn't just loaf around in the house and rot all day long. So I got the idea to go and check out Mt. Rogers in Virginia, asking my Mom if she'd like to join me. She agreed, and we set out around 10:30.

It would take us almost 2 hours just to get to the trailhead, but that was of no issue. Like I mentioned earlier, winter is a time of leisure, and so we drove up the road without hurry, enjoying a slow, curvy, easygoing ride through the country. Up Highway 91, through the tiny towns of Hunter and Winner. Vacant buildings, old and worn, cracked streets, no one about. All around us, bordering the road, stood hundreds and hundreds of densely packed trees. Every one of them was bare, a forest of brown and grey skeletons stretching as far as the eye could see. The ridge line of some low-lying mountains looked just like a patchy beard on the face of a hillbilly, a sight that can only be seen when the trees are completely bare. In the summer, this whole place will take on a drastically different look. But as of now, it shall remain patchy and bare, the forest silent and gray, taking it easy as the temps just keep getting colder and colder.

Up a mountain, down a mountain, into the town of Shady Valley. The country store at the crossroads with Highway 421 was super busy, its parking lot filled with an astounding three cars. And we drove right on by, continuing down the road, wondering how and why we missed the valley's famous "Cranberry  Festival" that occurs every October. 

After passing through the tiny town, we soon entered a forest, driving along a narrow road next to a rushing creek. The walls soon rose above us, and we found ourselves driving through a canyon, the rocks on the sides of the road dripping with icicles. We rounded a corner and came upon a huge wall of crumbly rock, the road cutting a circular hole straight through it. I later found out that this feature, called Backbone Rock, is known as "The World's Shortest Tunnel." And I can see why; the whole thing is no more than 20ft long. Pretty dang short tunnel. Once you're in...you're out. 

It wasn't long after passing through Backbone Rock when we crossed the border into Virginia and entered the sleepy town of Damascus. Why this town is named as such I do not know. Personally, I couldn't see any correlation with the famed city of Arabia at all; no mosques, palaces, citadels or shrines of any kind. Perhaps the kitchen knives in the local Damascus Diner use the famed steel for which the Syrian capital is known. Who's to say. We drove straight through town, barely anyone out walking around in the chilly late-morning weather. 

We turned left onto Highway 58 and then ascended through the mountains, driving through a canyon with tall trees and rushing water. The scenery had begun to change; evergreen pines joined the mix of bald trees, and the rushing water and the crumbly rocks reminded me of western Montana. On we went, driving through this beautiful place, passing by several deer hunters camped out in various pullouts along the side of the road.

Eventually, we left the 58 and drove through Konnarock, a tiny mountain community so unassuming you wouldn't even know you were driving through it unless you payed close attention. We made a right onto Whitetop road, quickly gaining elevation through the mountains until we reached our destination: Elk Garden trailhead. 

Deer hunters occupied most of the parking lot, perhaps gathering there as a sort of meet-up before the big hunt. We got out of the car, stretched our legs, and then crossed the road to begin our hike up the mountain. To the west rose Whitetop Mountain, a heavily forested bump whose summit can be accessed by a well-graded dirt road. To the northeast rose a smaller bump, behind which, obscured from view, lay Mt. Rogers. We passed through a gate, walking through a wide open Appalachian Bald, the wind icy and frigid. We immediately began to ascend the small bump, noticing a lone pony munching in the distance. 

Mt. Rogers came into view once we surmounted the bump, appearing as a gentle mound of earth carpeted with barren trees and a green hat of evergreens covering its summit. In the distance a brown pony darted off into the woods, running like mad. This was the second of many ponies we'd see during the course of the hike; apparently the area around Mt. Rogers is home to a herd of wild ponies, a fact we were not privy too until after we returned home. Thinking they belonged to a rancher, we enjoyed observing them nonetheless. Ponies, wild or not, are always interesting to see. 

We walked down the small bump, entering the trees and escaping the wind. We passed a fence and entered the Lewis Fork Wilderness, the surrounding foliage bare and cold as ever. Through the spindly branches appeared views to the northwest, rolling mountains, bumpy ridges, all of it quite scenic. Every now and then, as we made our way up the trail, we'd make acquaintance with frozen features of various sorts, whether it be several small icicles, a dusting of snow, or just a big ol' wall of ice with water flowing visibly underneath from some unknown spring. We pressed on, taking lots of pictures of the ice and trees, the early afternoon winter lighting making it seem much later than it actually was. 

A backpacker walked down the trail, followed by two day hikers dressed in synthetic long sleeves and trail running vests. And then came a lone deer hunter, orange vest, rifle, and a belt full of bullets, who wished us well and informed us that it was very beautiful out today. He was the last person we met; after that, we had the whole rest of the trail to ourselves, save for a small group of backpackers we saw off in the distance at the junction with the summit trail and a lone photographer taking pictures in the twilight near the end of our hike.

We made it to Deep Gap, a flat area that had plenty of space to set up a tent. From there it was mostly uphill all the way to the summit of Mt. Rogers. We followed the trail as it skirted around the mountain to the south, slowly gaining elevation through the spindly trees. And then we'd go down, out of the spindly trees, into a forest mixed with ferns, pines, and the like. Ice covered much of the trail, requiring much diligence and careful footing. We eventually reached a low point, and then started gaining elevation once again, ascending through a dense forest of bare deciduous trees and evergreen pines. It didn't feel as though we were in southwestern Virginia; walking through these woods, it was as though we had been transported hundreds of miles north. Like the drive out of Damascus, this section of forest reminded me of places much farther away, like Washington state and northwestern Montana. But then the illusion was broken; the trees mostly disappeared, and we were back in an open expanse with views stretching out to the south and east, the gentle rolling slopes of the Appalachians reminding us that yes, we were indeed still in the south. 

And we continued up the trail, reaching a junction, taking the left path that would lead us to the summit. As we climbed, we once again entered the land of trees, finally having made it to the "green hat" of evergreens we'd seen earlier. It was freezin' under those trees, our breath visible in the air, the dirt under our feet hard as granite. Everything was silent and frigid; nothing moved, the ferns and moss frozen stiff, the trees like stone. All of the rocks were covered in a slick coating of ice, requiring us to take our time lest we risk a slip and fall. Finally, after about 2½ hours, we made it to the forested summit. 

Mt. Rogers summit

No views, but that was ok. I'd learned that Mt. Rogers is home to a unique environment of spruce-fir forest only found in a few other places in Southern Appalachia. Sitting underneath their canopy, it was nice to just relax and enjoy their quiet company. And quiet is was; nothing but the sound of our own voices could be heard in the chilly air. We spent no more than ten minutes on the summit, most of that time spent drinking icy water and eating cold granola bars. And then we had enough of just sitting around and began the descent back to the car. With the fading daylight, it would only get colder. 

We walked down the trail, moving much faster this time. Down, down, down, out of the evergreens, back to the open expanse, into the mixed forest. We stopped at one point, leaving the trail to gain access to a bald. We left the forest and took a break on the cold, brown grass, sipping more frigid water and enjoying the views to the south. Down below, at a saddle or sorts, we could see two ponies munching away. My mom tried calling them over, but this did not work. She only managed to get their attention, have them walk just a little closer, and then lose interest and continue with their munching. Meanwhile, I spent the time trying to make out the hazy mountains in the distance, attempting to put names to the various bumps and knobs I could see on the horizon. This too did not work. They were just rolling mountains to me, wild and unknown. 

We packed up shop and hit the trail, moving at a decent pace back to Deep Gap and beyond. We reached the fence, now leaving the Lewis Fork Wilderness. The trees vanished and we were soon back to the bald, the nearly-full moon shining bright in the fading daylight. We ascended the small bump, the parking lot now visible. No more deer hunters; they had long since gone to who knows where. We saw a person off to the side taking pictures of the twilight, trying their best to get the best shot possible. And then we descended the bump, my mom taking videos of a lone pony eating dinner in the distance, the last one we'd see that day. And then we left the trail, crossed the road, and hopped in the car, turning the heater on full blast and driving out of there just as the last rays of sunlight crested the horizon. 

We retraced out steps, driving through Konnarock, Damascus, and Backbone Rock, the canvas tents of the deer hunters set up on the side of the road pouring smoke into the night. Down the road, off into Shady Valley, the country store parking lot now filled with five cars instead of three. We drove on, winding up and down the curvy roads, driving through the dark of the countryside and into the lights of civilization. Dinner that night was ordered from Cootie Brown's. And that about sums up the day. Though we got a late start, everything worked out just fine. The long drive, the beautiful countryside, the quiet forest—all of it was excellent; much better than spending the day cooped up indoors.