Secret Vistas – 
By Glynn Wilson – 

LOFT MOUNTAIN, SHENANDOAH NATIONAL PARK, Va. (Sunday, July 12, 2020) — In this summer of our discontent, with the coronavirus still spreading into every corner of the world and the economy teetering on the brink of collapse, it is hard to totally escape the anxiety and stress of it all, even in a remote mountain campground off the grid.

While sitting comfortably in a camp chair in one of the most beautiful places in the Eastern United States sipping a cup of Kenyan coffee with water warmed on a small camp fire, surrounded by lush vegetation teaming with rabbits, birds and other wildlife, I look out warily at every camper who strolls by. Where are they from, I wonder? Could they be a carrier?

When pulling into the campground Sunday night after crewing for a friend who traversed Skyline Drive on a 61 mile bike ride, I longed for the cool seclusion of a night and morning in the Loft Mountain Campground. I never got a chance to camp here in 2014 or 2015, when I first took to the road and the woods in a media camper van.

I stayed in Mathews Arm campground near Front Royal on the last weekend it was open in October, 2014, and it was a party. There were college students smoking weed, dropping acid, drinking good beer and having fun, and I saved a group from a bad encounter with a large skunk about 5:30 on the morning on the final day.

After exploring the national park in that first trip in 2014, I researched and wrote a story about climate change coming to Shenandoah.

The next year I was lucky enough to be picked as a volunteer campground host in Big Meadows, the largest campground in the center of the park, in the spring and summer of 2015 and had some amazing experiences.

And I got the opportunity to camp in the Lewis Mountain Campground, the first African American campground in a national park. I looked at Loft Mountain and checked out the spectacular sunset view from the amphitheater, but never stayed over night.

So I was anxious to experience Loft Mountain, and I’m now convinced it’s the best campground in the park. It’s the newest campground. More of the sites are close to level, and they are surrounded by large buffer patches of natural vegetation between sites.

Shhhh… Don’t tell anybody else, because we don’t want to overrun the place. It is less known to tourists and so less crowded than the more populated areas closer to Washington, D.C., although the bikers seem to like it more, maybe for that reason. Fewer people. Less traffic.

By embedding in the campground, I was able to scout out the most coveted sites, mainly along the A loop on the western rim of the mountain by the Appalachian Trail. I met a nice couple from Charlotte, North Carolina on a rocky overlook at sunset, and we talked about the location as their favorite place to camp out.

As the sun went down off in the distance, we talked about the special nature of the city of Charlotte (I’m still researching a story about that). We talked a little about state and national politics, and of course the coronavirus came up in the conversation. We remained more than six feet apart, even as other campers came scurrying along the trail to get a glimpse of the view.

Off in the distance a fiddle player in one campsite etched out a somber tune, which echoed in my head as I laid down for the night. I wonder who will write the definitive anthem of this cataclysmic time?

When I woke up Sunday morning, it was in a bit of a fit. Since there are no electrical hookups in this campground, and I had not filled up the propane tank or packed the generator on this short trip, I had not made a firm plan for morning coffee. But I remembered the backup filter stored with the coffee cups. All I needed was a small fire and some fresh Shenandoah water.

There were a few partially burned logs in the fire pit, so I got out the hatchet and cut them into smaller pieces. Within minutes the coffee was hot, so I got out the camera and took a few pictures of some birds and the eastern cottontail rabbits hopping around and chasing each other in and out of the lush vegetation in between camp sites.

I forget about the problems in the wider world, at least for a few minutes.

About an hour before checkout time, I made my way down to the Wayside camp store — yes still run by the private concessioner Delaware North — and paid $1.75 in quarters for a five minute cold shower. A young woman from Connecticut rested in the shade with a large backpack, so I figured she was a through hiker taking a break from the AT. I struck up a conversation with “Snickers” — nobody uses their real name on the trail — and picked up some intel on what it’s like out there in the year of the coronavirus. She said the trail had not been crowded coming up from the south.

“There are not many of us,” she said. “It’s gotten easier now that some things are starting to open up.”

She munched on a bag of Doritos sitting on a bench by the bathrooms.

I cleaned up and slowly headed south out of the park through Rock Fish Gap, still looking right and left for an elusive black bear sighting. We never saw one on this trip, and a ranger in Loft Mountain said they had not seen one in two weeks.

It was only a five and a half hour drive back to Marion, North Carolina, so I know I will be back, probably in a few weeks.

If things work out and we survive this pandemic, Loft Mountain would be an ideal place to spend about 14 days in July and August every summer. At 3,000 feet above sea level, it is cool at night and in the morning, so a camper can get by without air conditioning. And at only $7.50 a night with the senior discount, the price can’t be beat in any state park or private campground.

On my next trip in August I will get the propane system working again, however, and pack the generator and WiFi booster. The cell phone connection and WiFi situation is still iffy in the park, but it is better than it was five years ago. You can find one or two bars here and there, and I may be able to get a campsite in view of the office, where the rangers and volunteers do have access to a WiFi router now.

Back to the real world in North Carolina, there is an election to deal with in Alabama, and another three and a half months of a presidential brouhaha to endure. See you on the other side. You will find me in a garden.

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