I awake late in the afternoon, having slept all day despite not working last night. I’m recovering from my second bout with covid. I’m supposed to be heading out for a camping trip today, but I need to quarantine for two more days. At least I awake feeling refreshed, energized, and symptom free. I text my co-worker Amanda; she has to work tonight but is supposed to be meeting me to go camping tomorrow. “I’m feeling much better, and I think we can still go camping if we delay one day so I can finish quarantine.” She’s on board, so I proceed to pack and get ready for the trip.
August 5, 2022
Friday morning arrives and I cannot stay in this house one moment longer. Today is my last day of quarantine. My symptoms have resolved. I’m going stir crazy stuck indoors with no furniture or wifi. I decide that I can quarantine at a campground as well as I can quarantine from home. I have enough groceries in the house to not have to stop anywhere, and enough gas in my tank to avoid the gas station as well. I pick a remote campground in Monongahela National Forest where I’m certain I can avoid other people, and I strike out.
The campground is about 2 hours from Charleston. I arrive at Stuart Campground in the early evening and pay the nightly fee of $18 (my America the Beautiful Parks Pass gets me a discount). As I pull into my campsite, a light drizzle threatens to turn into a full-blown rain storm. I quickly hang my tarp and hammock and go about creating a dry space to cook dinner. Innovating, I back the 4Runner up to the picnic table at my site and, using a spare tarp attached to a nearby tree, I to create a shelter off the back hatch.
My camp cooking kit includes a simple Coleman single-burner stove and a soup pot I mostly use for boiling noodles. Noodles are what is on the menu tonight: I’m preparing a simple boxed pasta salad because it’s what I had in the cupboard at home. While my noodles are boiling, I use the time and the dry space under the tarp to organize the back of my car and feed Shooter. Sitting on my rear bumper eating dinner, I notice the rain is letting up. I’m chomping on a bite of pasta salad when I see sunshine beaming through the rhododendron that border my campsite, causing the mist still hanging in the air to glisten. I check the time: I’ve got 45 minutes until sunset.
While I was stuck at home for the prior 48 hours, I used the time to look up nearby hikes. As a result, I know there’s a firetower further up the forest service road I used to access this campground. I’m unsure how far it is, but I decide to take the chance. The low-hanging mist left behind by the afternoon rain shower is bound to create a dramatic sunset, and I can’t think of any better place to witness it than from the top of a firetower. I race sunset up the mountain, winding back and forth on the narrow gravel road until I reach the parking lot for Bickle Knob. The hike to the firetower is extremely short, only a few hundred yards. Shooter and I climb the steps to the viewing platform. The view is breathtaking, with layers of clouds and mountains unfolding across the horizon in all directions.
Most of the people who follow my blog and instagram know about my obsession with waterfalls, but what may be less obvious is that before waterfalls, I was obsessed with firetowers. My fascination with these stately structures began the day I laid eyes on my first one: Albert Mountain Firetower in Nantahala National Forest. It’s something about the way they stand watch over the forest, day and night, season after season, a monument to time and the forest fire lookouts who staffed them in their early days.
Bickle Knob Tower was built in 1933 by the Civilian Conservation Corps. Tower staffing was phased out by the 1970’s, and Bickle Knob’s cab was replaced with an observation platform. This tower got lucky in that regard; most of Monongahela National Forest’s towers have been torn down.
I stay on top of the tower, enjoying having it to myself, until the sun dips below the horizon, briefly lighting up the sky in shades of pink, red, and orange. Satisfied that I’ve witnessed a spectacular West Virginia sunset, I return to camp to settle into my hammock with a good book.
The following night, I’d return to Bickle Knob with Amanda (my co-worker). On our approach to the firetower, we discuss the history of fire lookouts and I’m explaining to Amanda how they were staffed. A male voice, coming from the direction of the tower, joins in the conversation. “My grandfather was one of them!” he proclaims while hanging from a climbing harness off the side of the tower. “He used to tell stories about his time here as a lookout.” The young man and his friend are practicing their belaying skills for an upcoming caving trip, and he explains that the tower is perfect for honing the skills they will need to descend into the caves, but he also comes here because he feels a connection to this place through his grandfather. What I wouldn’t give to get to talk to his grandfather and hear those stories.
Adventure Like A Girl 