I Go Chasing Waterfalls in Shenandoah National Park

For the first time, I’ve written a blog post that bears only a tangential relation to my fiction. But all of my major characters would have enjoyed my vacation destination, especially nature lovers Clare, Ésh, and David. And if you’ve read Sweet Medicine, you may be able to surmise that I have a fondness for mountain waterfalls, which were my primary goal on this trip. I grew up in Colorado, and I’d been missing the mountains. I decided to find an echo of Colorado in my current state of Virginia: I visited the Blue Ridge Mountains in Shenandoah National Park.

First, I had to choose which waterfalls. On the official Shenandoah National Park hiking difficulty scale, the Doyle’s River Falls Trail is rated as Moderate. I loved that there were two major waterfalls on one trail—particularly beautiful waterfalls in multiple cascades, judging by the pictures I could find online. It was also one of the shortest waterfall hikes in the park, although 3.3 miles is on the long end of my usual nature walk distance.

Only after I’d begun planning my trip around Doyle’s River Falls did I download the AllTrails app and see that most hikers rate the trail as Hard rather than Moderate. But all of the waterfall hikes in Shenandoah National Park are of Moderate difficulty or higher. I calculated the 1,189 foot elevation gain as twenty climbs to the top of my parking deck at work or about nine climbs up Independence Rock (featured in my Lost Saints and Sweet Medicine). I decided to proceed with Doyle’s River as a personal challenge. I’m not getting any younger.

I hoped I wasn’t making a mistake. None of my hikes around home have involved rocky conditions, so I didn’t even own hiking shoes till I purchased them for this trip. I chose Merrell’s Moab 3, and they served me well. I did develop a small blister on my left foot at the end of the second day, probably because I really need double-wide shoes. But overall, my feet ached less than I thought they would.

My first stop in the park was Loft Mountain Wayside, where I had my first blackberry dessert (for which the park is famous): a blackberry milkshake. As I was enjoying that, I realized I had neither WiFi nor cellular data in this part of the park. I was using Google Maps for navigation, and on my dashboard screen, I watched my car icon drive into a sea of featureless black! I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been anywhere without data, and I felt a bit like those early sailors afraid of falling off the edge of the Earth. I had to navigate the old-fashioned way: paper! Fortunately, there is only one major road in Shenandoah National Park, so I could simply head south on Skyline Drive and watch for the Doyle’s River Falls trailhead sign. Since the park’s maximum speed limit is 35 MPH, I wasn’t likely to miss it.

I will be forever grateful to the woman who came off the Doyle’s River Falls trail just before me and “paid it forward” by leaving the natural hiking staff left by a person before her. I haven’t done any steep hiking for years and did not own poles or a staff. After my hiking shoes purchase, I’d decided against another such investment. I would find my borrowed staff tremendously helpful for stabilization on this consistently steep and often rocky trail. 

The first thing I noticed at the trailhead was how narrow the trail was and how I couldn’t help but brush grasses. Immediately I feared ticks, and I was relieved I had bug spray and my tighter-at-the-ankles pants for protection. I managed not to pick up any miniscule vampires. I believe I also saw poison ivy beside the trail. 

In this wilderness of no cellular data, I was glad to have my offline AllTrails map, which assured me I was going the right way to the falls when the path crossed the Appalachian Trail and others. Next, I came upon a whole tree fallen across the path!

At last, I arrived at the first waterfall, which isn’t even the official Upper Doyle’s Falls—I could tell from the photos I’d found online.

The trail was getting really rocky now with boulders frequently in the earth beneath my feet.

Finally, I arrived at an overlook for the official Upper Doyle’s River Falls. I was delighted but already so tired I had to be careful not to wobble on this cliff while I took my photos.

I arrived at the base of the Upper Falls. Only later did I realize that most photos of the bottom portion of these falls include two major cascades. For me, the right lower side was barely a trickle. I suppose rocks, sediment, and fallen trees shift around, or perhaps the water levels simply weren’t high enough during my visit. I still found it gorgeous and well worth the trek. If I’d visited immediately after a rainstorm, I knew the trail would have been muddy and more slippery.

I could tell from others’ photos and videos that some hikers scrambled off-trail to the pool below these higher falls. I saw boulders covered in moss and spray. But alone in the wilderness, I decided not to risk slipping and twisting an ankle or worse. How in the world do hikers get rescued from such locations?

I could hear the roaring water of my destination. After a hairpin turn, I reached another overlook and peered down to a second major set of cascades that were thinner but even higher than the Upper Falls. Exhausted, I sat down precariously on a boulder on this cliff. I examined the somehow even more winding, steep, and rocky trail ahead, which didn’t seem to wend any closer to Lower Falls. I decided this would be my furthest point before trekking back. 

As I panted, drank, rested, snacked, and marvelled, I watched a little fairy of a bird flitting around the Lower Falls. It was black and orange but not an oriole—not any bird I’d identified before. From its size and shape, I guessed it was a warbler. I was right about that, and I looked it up later. This was a male American redstart, who had spent the winter in Central or South America. Not only his coloration but also his behavior made him distinctive. The black-and-orange warbler flitted from branch to branch like popcorn in a popper, and he kept showing off. He kept fluffing up his wings and fanning out his tail like he was declaring: “Look at me! Aren’t I stunning?”

It also felt like the redstart was taunting me a little. How quickly and easily he could alight on the fallen trees in the midst of the falls, while I ached and panted from the closest I would ever get on the cliff above. As he bowed forward, the bird’s tail was more at an upward angle than vertical, but he displayed like a miniature peacock. I wondered if this was courting behavior and I simply couldn’t see the female bird. Later, I learned that redstarts are insectivores, and they’re thought to fan their tails to startle their prey. The insects move and reveal themselves so that the little warblers can dive in and devour them. The redstart’s feeding behavior just happens to be entertaining to certain humans as well.

To paraphrase Shakespeare, I screwed my courage to the sticking place, stood up on aching legs, and began the slog back up 1,189 feet to Skyline Drive. Doyle’s River was all tree cover, and I wanted to arrive at another trail for a view of the sunset. 

On the return journey, I stopped at the Upper Falls again to rest and snack and dip my toes in the water. I’d thought ahead and brought a small towel to dry off my feet afterwards. I should have brought a spare pair of socks as well because I managed to lose my balance while removing my shoes and step in the mud. I also nearly lost an unopened bag of mini rice cakes to the rapids below the falls, but I was able to grab them just in time.

During my descent, I’d passed several people coming back up the trail, but for the most part, I was alone my entire hike. At the waterfalls, I was glad for the undisturbed contemplation.

After several rests on the ascent, I made it back to the trailhead! I was just in time to drive to the next trail to watch the sunset. On the way, I spotted a restroom sign and immediately pulled off Skyline Drive. After three and a half hours at Doyle’s River, listening to all that roaring water, I was grateful in spite of the fact that this was a pit toilet.

I hurried on to Blackrock Summit Trail, where I learned that on the official hiking difficulty scale, Easiest does not mean easy. The middle of this trail involves stepping between boulders.

This also wasn’t quite the perfect sunset spot I’d hoped for since there’s another, close mountain blocking some of your western view. I think the nearby Dundo Outlook might be better for sunset vistas. It was nevertheless enchanting to see the rolling, treed hills all around me, watch the sky turn pink, and watch the lights come on in the Shenandoah Valley. 

I found a boulder to sit on and opened my dinner. It was the same as lunch, which I’d eaten at a picnic table at Loft Mountain Wayside: a cheese tortellini salad I’d made the day before. I’d examined the map and realized that on Day One, I wouldn’t be near any food worth the park’s high prices (apart from the blackberry milkshake). Packing both lunch and dinner also allowed me the maximum amount of daylight time for hiking. When you have a sleep disorder and literally sleep till noon, every sunlit minute is precious. 

Since I stayed at Blackrock Summit till the colors faded from the sky, I hiked back to my car in the dark using a headlamp. I saw several American giant millipedes on the trail. These may be alarming if you’re not familiar with them, but they’re harmless to humans and really quite pretty with their red and navy stripes. 

Not far south of Blackrock Summit on Skyline Drive, I spotted something that made my Shenandoah high complete: a black bear! Unlike the other animals that would scurry off the road or peer at me warily from the shoulders when I caught them in my headlights, this bear held his ground and stared at me in challenge, with an attitude that demanded: “What are you doing in my park?” Rapt and glad I was safe in my car, I waited patiently till the bear meandered off the road.

Before I reached the southernmost park gate, my headlights also caught several deer, four raccoons, and a skunk. If they attempted to cross in front of me, I gave them all the right of way. I was thrilled to watch them.

I stopped at an overlook to admire the stars. So little light pollution! So many more stars to see! I heard a bird calling that I later identified as a whip-poor-will. How funny that they’re so well-camouflaged yet so loud.

I was glad of my choice of Airbnb, which allowed me to check in late. It was conveniently located in Afton, just outside Rockfish Gap at the southern terminus of Skyline Drive. The roads between the park and my bed were steep and winding and reminded me happily of Colorado. I enjoyed my clawfoot bathtub and rainshower.

I managed to rise at 11 o’clock the next day and made a beeline for the Spottswood Dining Room at Big Meadows, the southernmost major park restaurant, before it closed at 2:30 pm. Well, I did some “hovering” during that beeline. It was difficult not to stop at every overlook. 

I was able to sit outside at the Spottswood. I should have brought my hat and sunscreen, but I loved the view. A Game Burger with a mix of meats (Venison, Bison, Duck, Boar) is an odd concept to me, but it sounded more interesting than beef. I thought the patty was perfectly seasoned, including the Blackberry Tomato Jam. The blackberry lemonade was also delicious.

I moseyed on over to the Big Meadows Visitor Center, where I bought a magnet to commemorate my Doyle’s River Falls hike. In the museum, it made me angry and broke my heart to realize that when Shenandoah National Park opened in the 1930s, it was segregated. Because heaven forbid that Black people should enjoy the beauty of nature in the proximity of White people.

I consulted with a park ranger to ensure that my next waterfall hike would be easier: Dark Hollow Falls, basically just across Skyline Drive from the Visitors Center. 

Easy, it was not. Granted, I was already exhausted from hiking Doyle’s River the previous day and not getting much sleep in a strange bed. Again, most of the trail was rocks, and I had to carefully choose each step.

Still, the Dark Hollow Falls trail is wide for the most part, so you don’t really have to worry about picking up ticks or avoiding poison ivy unless you go off-trail. I did so once: to get closer to mountain laurel shrubs in glorious bloom. They cheered me, since they’re my favorite wildflower and the mountain laurel in the southern part of the park had already faded. 

I was pleasantly surprised by two other things. Firstly, I’d read reviews of Dark Hollow Falls that complained about the crowds. One person even compared them to a line at Disneyland! On a Wednesday afternoon in early June, I passed many other people on the trail (or technically, they passed me) but I was often alone. I even had several minutes of solitude at the falls themselves. Secondly, you follow the stream (colorfully named Hogcamp Branch) most of the way, on which there are many rapids and smaller cascades to enjoy as you hike and rest. There are also lots of boulders along the trail that serve as convenient seats. 

Overall, Dark Hollow Falls was my favorite of my three hikes in Shenandoah National Park. The falls are massive and showy in a way the Doyle’s River Falls are not: taller, wider, and more complex, with cascades descending terraces of rock that seem to be dramatically sculpted for that very purpose. I certainly don’t regret hiking both trails, but I’m glad I saved Dark Hollows for last.

Slowly, I made it back to the trailhead. My next stop was the Pollock Dining Room at Skyland, which was a disappointment. I’d timed my arrival to watch the sunset while having dinner. I saw several open tables outside, and I got excited. I waited at the hostess station for several minutes before someone showed up. She informed me that there was no server for the outside tables, and the only way I could sit there was to order my food to go. “Then I’ll do that,” I said. But this really soured my dining experience. Instead of a leisurely dinner with tableware and a server, I was eating a $30 trout entree from styrofoam with a flimsy plastic fork. I completely forgot I’d meant to order a cup of Brunswick stew (which I love) before my entree. I also had to go back inside to place a second order for my blackberry dessert so the ice cream wouldn’t melt while I was eating my trout. In this process, I had to wait several more minutes for another server to notice me waiting at the host stand, and I literally missed the sun dipping below the horizon. I also lost my original table. The blackberry cobbler was dumped into a to-go cup instead of a proper container, and it was too sour. At least the blackberry ice cream was still good. I suppose these are the perils of visiting on a less-crowded day.

I drove the northernmost section of the park at dusk and after dark. I admired the stars again and heard another whip-poor-will. I saw several more deer and six more raccoons. In one stretch of Skyline Drive, a raccoon was crossing right and a deer was crossing left two yards behind him. Like a real-life Disney movie! At the last overlook before leaving the park, I spotted an opossum. On either side of the exit gate, deer grazed in safety. 

I emerged into Front Royal, urban sprawl and stoplights, and felt immediate culture shock–even though I’d been in the park for only a day and a half. I passed an opossum smashed flat in the middle of the highway. I grieved, but the memory of his free cousin cheered me. It is so important to protect wild places and wild animals. Now, more than ever. Their ancestors were here first. On this, my characters and I agree completely.