Teens learning about Big Meadows in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This is the third installment of a series celebrating National Park Week.
I often hike alone. But occasionally, I enjoy sharing my love of nature with others.
The church I attend has a mentor/mentee program for youth. A friend and I each serve as mentors for two teenage boys. Knowing we all enjoy the outdoors, we took them for a day trip to Shenandoah National Park last summer. We had a riot.
These energetic young men enjoyed every aspect of the trip. They loved the hikes and the enthralling views. They also identified birds, flowers, and rocks and occasionally pestered one another. A pair of fawns grazing at the edge of Big Meadows startled us as we walked along the union of the meadow and the forest.
We rested on a rock outcropping overlooking the always lovely Shenandoah Valley. The boys loved scrambling over the ancient rock formation and resting in the warm sunshine, basking in all nature’s glory. Given our generational spans between teens and septuagenarians, I marveled at our common contentment.
But that, in part, is what national parks are for. People of all ages, races, religions, backgrounds, and interests feel at home in our nation’s beautiful national parks.
Our excursion was a perfect example of how to celebrate National Park Week.
The opportunity I had hoped for. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This is the second in a series celebrating National Park Week.
On the afternoon of May 23, 2018, I decided to finish my day in Shenandoah National Park by hiking the Rock Spring Cabin trail. According to the park map, the trail wasn’t long, and I was curious to see the cabin.
So, off I went, binoculars around my neck and camera across my shoulder. I soon reached the point where the trail joined the Appalachian Trail (AT), and I hiked on. I could hear birds chirping and singing all around me, but the lushness of the forest prevented me from seeing or photographing most of the birds.
As the AT wound west and north around a hillside, the Rock Creek Cabin trail veered left and down a fairly steep slope. I passed the hiker’s shelter, saw the spring gurgling from beneath giant boulders, and hiked back up the incline to the cabin owned by a local hiking club.
My fascination satisfied, I returned to the skinny dirt incline toward the AT. Just before I arrived at the iconic trail, a pair of Common Ravens croaked and chattered noisily overhead. Their deep-throated gurgling echoed through the dense landscape as they bounced from tree branch to tree branch in my direction.
Thinking I was the intruder who initiated the ravens’ commotion, I started down the trail at a slow pace. I didn’t want to disturb the birds any more than I already had.
The strange thing was, though, that they didn’t really seem to pay me any heed. They swooped lower to another tree ahead of me but continued their conversation.
So, I swallowed my ego and began to pay better attention to what was bothering the birds. A short distance down the AT, I discovered their concern. A young but large black bear was foraging on the lush, green forest floor.
I readied my camera and saw my chance. The bear was approaching a small cluster of trees that separated us. So, I quickened my pace to try to photograph this beautiful creature as it emerged from behind the trees.
I stood quietly on the trail for the bear to appear. I didn’t have to wait long. I aimed and clicked the camera just as the bear spotted me. That one simple noise sent the bear racing headlong down the hill and quickly out of sight.
I got one shot and only one shot of the bear. I was as happy as the bear was scared. I had my first photo of a bear in the wild.
That day, I learned an important lesson: Pay attention and use your senses to see all that a national park offers.
Hiking the Appalachian Trail in Shenandoah National Park. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
This is National Park Week in the United States. In celebration of our 63 beautiful national parks, this is the first of a series of photos I have taken in Shenandoah National Park.
Shenandoah National Park has a storied and somewhat troublesome history, given how farmers and their hired hands were removed from the park before it was developed starting in late 1935.
Though the land was rugged and steep in many places, over 2,000 folks lived, farmed, and worked on the 198,000 acres that became the first national park in the eastern part of the U.S. Landowners were paid an assessed rate for their property, which the federal government purchased via eminent domain.
Of course, many of the people were tenants who cared for the land, while the property owners lived in the Shenandoah Valley or elsewhere. The tenants received nothing for their inconvenience. Consequently, some of their descendants still have grudges against the government.
Nevertheless, Shenandoah National Park is a popular place to visit since millions of people live within a day’s drive. Plus, the Appalachian Trail (AT) stretches 101 miles through the park, drawing day and overnight hikers. The AT weaves along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains, crossing the Skyline Drive several times.
I enjoy day hikes in the park, which often involve hiking sections of the AT to spur trails that lead to waterfalls, rigorous climbs, and scenic overlooks. I especially appreciate the flora and fauna that I encounter.
This photo, taken in late May 2018, represents the lusciousness of the park’s greenery, from ground cover to towering trees. The photo was not altered to enhance the green.
Tomorrow, I’ll post what I saw to the left of where this photo was taken.
On the first full day of spring, I experienced a couple of lifetime firsts. In the nation’s capital, nature’s beauty thrilled me. Hours later, on the way home, it dismayed me.
The morning could not have gone better despite the heavy rush hour traffic. I had arrived at the Tidal Basin later than planned. Still, the crowds admiring the cherry blooms in peak bloom were much smaller than anticipated.
Cherry blossoms around the Tidal Basin, with the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in the foreground and the Lincoln Memorial in the background. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I trekked the arch from the Jefferson Memorial to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial for over two hours, shooting photos of the beautiful trees with monuments in the background. As I walked and captured the iconic scenes seen on calendars in my youth, everyone I met was friendly.
People attired formally for wedding and graduation portraits, while others dressed as they pleased. Middle-aged folks in casuals while walking their dogs, youth in shorts and funny hats, and joggers in flashy running outfits. Me? Blue jeans, a comfy hoodie, and hiking shoes proved sufficient.
Funny hats.A formal gown.Engaged?Along the Tidal Basin.Taking it all in.
When clouds rolled in shortly before noon, I headed home. The farther west I drove on I-66, the windier it got. I knew the National Weather Service had posted a Red Flag Warning for extreme fire weather in northern Virginia, but I somehow missed the High Wind Warning in my excitement to capture my first blossom shots.
When I turned south off the interstate, I sensed trouble lay ahead. Strong winds scattered tree limbs, big and small, across the two-lane highway. I proceeded cautiously, primarily when trees lined both sides of the roadway.
I love the picturesque country route that parallels Shenandoah National Park to the east and the meandering South Fork of the Shenandoah River to the west. But with debris from the gusting winds on the roadway, I concentrated on driving.
I crested a hill north of the picturesque town of Luray, and my heart quickened. Though I was alone, I issued an audible “Uh-oh!” A haze of smoke blew toward the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Having been a volunteer firefighter in Ohio for 27 years, I instinctively knew what that meant: wildfires. Smoke surrounded the touristy town. I stopped west of the village to get photos of the billowing smoke. Smokey pillars to my north, east, and west billowed from multiple wildfires. The Shenandoah Valley was on fire!
A wildfire north of Luray.
A second fire near Luray.
The fire west of Luray that I would drive by.
In my years of firefighting, we had woods and grass fires in Ohio, but nothing to this extent. Farm fields and pastures helped contain those brush fires even on windy days. Now, wind gusts of 60 miles per hour only worsened the situation.
When I shot the photo of the smoke in the west at the base of Massanutten Mountain, I had no idea I would drive right beside the fire. But that’s what happened.
Through the blankets of swirling smoke, an ambulance raced ahead of me. It soon stopped at the fire’s seat. A fire engine with a handful of volunteers stood within feet of the burning forest.
With no cell phone service, I stopped to report a developing fire I had spotted. A young firefighter glanced at a photo I had taken of the small fire at the top of the mountain northeast of their location. I wanted to ensure the fire had been reported since there was no cell phone service. The young man replied, “I think it has been reported.” His lackadaisical response told me the poor guy was already overwhelmed by the unfolding calamity.
The fire truck was barely visible through the thick smoke. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
A sudden wind gust enveloped us with thick, acrid smoke. The fire truck, which was only 30 feet away, had vanished. Common sense told me to get out of their way.
I headed up the mountainside on the winding U.S. route. When I reached the New Market gap, I turned right onto a narrow mountain lane. I was familiar with this area, having walked Storybook Trail a mile north several times.
I hustled up the half-mile trail as best a 76-year-old could. When I reached the overlook, the scene below shocked me. The fire raged on, doubling in size in that short time. This was no storybook tale. Days later, officials pronounced the fire contained, with 6,200 acres burned.
I took a few photos and a brief video of the raging fire. When it jumped the highway, I hurried back to the car.
The view from the overlook.A series of photos showing how quickly the fire spread.When the fire jumped the road.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
A state trooper had closed the main road. He instructed vehicles to return west down the mountain, and I followed them. But once in the Valley, smoke from several more fires burning forests west of I-81 filled the air. No wonder no help was coming for the firefighters I had seen. All area departments were busy with their own difficult blazes.
As I crossed the county line, hazy smoke also filtered the afternoon sun in Rockingham County. Multiple fires burned. Fortunately, firefighters kept most of them to a few acres.
But two wildfires, both on the eastern slope of the Allegheny Mountains in the western sections of the county, burned relentlessly. In a remote section of the county, the biggest one forced several residents to evacuate their rural homes.
I detoured to one fire a few miles west of my home to take photos. Like the other fires, this one was also on a steep, forested mountainside. After a couple of shots, I turned the vehicle towards home.
The wildfire closest to our home.
In my adrenaline rush from seeing all these fires, I didn’t notice how smokey I smelled. When I exited my car at home, my wife was waiting at the door.
“You reek of smoke,” she exclaimed as I approached her. She was used to the smell from my past firefighting days.
I quickly summarized the paradoxical events of the strange day: the excitement at viewing the lovely cherry blossoms, the joy of interacting with the international mix of friendly folks at the Tidal Basin, and, of course, the fires.
My wife of 53 years kindly listened to my encounters, then said, “Once a firefighter, always a firefighter.”
A reflective sunset in the eastern sky in Rockingham Co., Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
No two sunsets are alike. That should be no startling revelation. Each sunset has its unique evolution, however. Some last just seconds with only a hint of orange, while others splash the western sky with a painter’s palette’s worth of colors.
Sometimes, a sunset defies both stereotypes and logic. That’s when a photographer’s fun begins.
Our home in Virginia’s verdant Shenandoah Valley faces north. Consequently, I need to check the western sky well before dusk for the ingredients for a decent sunset. If I spot puffy clouds hovering over the Allegheny Mountains, I get ready to head west.
I often gather my camera gear and drive a few miles southwest to a ridge overlooking a fertile valley dotted with Old Order Mennonite farms. Only the Dry River splits the gently rolling farm fields. Its tree-lined banks make its southward path easy to spot.
A favorite photo location for a mountain view is the aptly named Pleasant View Old Order Mennonite Church. Look west from its grounds, and the aged, rolling ridgeline of the Allegheny Mountains endlessly fills the horizon. Look east, and Massanutten Mountain dominates the landscape, with the Blue Ridge Mountains 40 miles beyond.
The western view.The view north.Massanutten Mountain to the east.
Please click the photos from the church to enlarge them.
There are no guarantees with sunsets, of course. Atmospheric conditions play good cop bad cop with the sunsets’ outcomes. I’ve been fooled and disappointed too many times to have high expectations. I set out with the joy of simply being able to witness whatever develops.
As a septuagenarian, I have learned to be patient with sunsets. I have headed home long after sunset’s time had expired, only to see a blooming garden of pastels fill the western horizon in the rearview mirror. So, even if the initial stages of the evening glow are less than spectacular, I persevere. Too often, I leave disappointed. Still, my time wasn’t wasted. I enjoyed the fresh air and American Robins and Eastern Bluebirds singing as they settled into their nighttime roosting positions.
Such was the case recently when I spied a patchwork of clouds hovering over the Alleghenies. When I arrived at the old church, the sun was nearly hidden behind those old, weathered peaks. Still, I snapped a few shots and then moved lower into the valley to hopefully catch a colorful reflection in a roadside farm pond or the Dry River, which had plenty of running water from recent rains.
The western glow perfectly silhouetted the lines of trees along the river banks. I stopped my vehicle by the cemetery of a historic country church. As I exited my car, my eyes were drawn southeast. I was stunned. The beautiful blues and pinks of a prized sunset flooded the eastern sky. I snapped away from different angles as quickly as possible, knowing the colorful array before me wouldn’t last long.
My first view of the reflective sunset in the east. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Had I not stopped for a photo looking west, I would have missed the glorious beauty as far as I could see north to south. As a photographer, it always pays to look over your shoulder before putting away your camera. Satisfied with the many eastern-facing shots, I turned to the tree line and got my intended but less colorful photos.
The view southeast.The view east.The view northeastAn Old Order Mennonite school south of the church.
Then, I remembered Slab Road, a quarter of a mile away. Rural road names in Virginia are about as practical as they come. Instead of a bridge over the Dry River, the highway department poured a narrow two-lane cement surface over the riverbed since the river was indeed dry more often than wet.
I stopped short of the river and quickly exited to catch the last light of the day reflecting on the water dammed up by the slab. The scene was breathtaking but not nearly as dramatic as the sunset reflected against the eastern clouds over Shenandoah National Park.
The Dry River flows over Slab Road. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
A milk truck with a shiny, 3,000-gallon stainless steel tank forged through the running water over the slab. I followed, hoping to capture one more decent landscape shot. But my prime time was up, and I came away with a bland photo of a farmstead with powerlines running through the sky.
Nevertheless, the evolution of this sunset couldn’t have played out better. My heart overflowed with joy and gratitude for a beautiful ending to another precious day on earth.
The tree line that marks the Dry River. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Swartzentruber Amish sled riding at recess in Wayne Co., Ohio.
There is “snow” better way to enjoy the January cold than sledriding. These Swartzentruber Amish students certainly enjoyed their afternoon recess gliding down a slippery hillside near their one-room schoolhouse.
After attending a meeting in Kidron, Ohio, 11 years ago, I decided to take some back roads home. It had snowed a few inches overnight, but the clouds had moved out by afternoon. The clear sky’s bright sun warmed the cold January day.
This scene came into view as I rounded a bend on a narrow township road. I knew I had to get a photo of these Amish schoolchildren sledding at recess. I also knew that I had to be discreet since I always tried to honor the Amish position of no photography.
I secured one photo undetected before moving on. The joyous laughter of the happy scholars made the satisfaction of this photo all the more enjoyable.
As much as I enjoy all the various decorations for Christmas, minus the blowup Santas, I prefer Mother Nature’s glorious winter kaleidoscopes. Even in the dull, dormant winter season, nature offers color displays everywhere. We need to be observant to catch them.
I marvel at the artistry of winter landscapes, with their deep russets and the ubiquitous varieties of browns and grays in meadows of wild grasses and the depths of forests. Where the two meet, prickly reddish briars of last summer’s wild red and black raspberries and shoots of wiry bittersweet color the demarcation.
Even on the coldest December day, the play between shadows and sun on the eastern slopes of the Allegheny Mountains warms my soul. I’m a sucker for the simple, everyday flickers of hope and joy that are there for our enjoyment. Consequently, sunrises and sunsets elevate my spirits the most, especially around the holidays. I learned to watch for any opportunity to photograph the sun rising and setting.
So, as the sun sets at the end of 2023, here is my favorite from this crazy, emotion-driven year.
I chose this photo not because of its spectacular colors but because the image represents all the geographic qualities of where we live in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The picture was taken in mid-November after the harvest.
Agriculture is prominent in Rockingham County, the second-largest county in Virginia. It’s the state’s largest poultry producer, and farmers grow hay, corn and soybeans. Livestock and dairy farms are also prevalent. The fence leads your eye to several farms pictured across this landscape.
Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that the sun is setting behind the Allegheny Mountains, which mark the boundary between Virginia and West Virginia in western Rockingham County.
Fishing under the first quarter moon during the Georgetown Glow holiday lighting.
My wife and I recently enjoyed a few days in Washington, D.C., with our family. It was the first holiday gathering with everyone present since we moved from Ohio to Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
When visiting our nation’s capital, expect to walk. Yes, the Metro network of trains and buses gets you to the general area of where you want to be. But walking gets you exactly where you need to go. And together, our family walked and walked.
That enabled me to do some fun street photography, although I couldn’t linger long if I wanted to keep up with the others. So, I took photos as efficiently as possible.
I was impressed by the collage of architectural styles, often standing on the same city block. The following photos are a few of my favorites, from monuments to residences to embassies to commercial buildings.
On DuPont Circle.Beautiful in brick.The Washington Monument at dusk.The U.S. Capitol building at the golden hour.The White House from Lafayette Square.The U.S. Supreme Court.The U.S. Botanic Garden at the U.S. Botanic Garden.Lafayette Square.A bookstore in DuPont Circle.On DuPont Circle.Stunning brick.The lighting of Georgetown Glow.I failed to visit this museum.Brunch.Foggy Bottom Metro stop.The U.S. Capitol building, east entrance.The Library of Congress.The U.S. Capitol.The U.S. Capitol at the U.S. Botanic Gardens.The Lincoln Memorial at the U.S. Botanic Gardens.The Mexican Embassy.On New Hampshire Ave.The Egyptian Embassy.A curious grandson.The Call Your Mother Deli.
As you can see, Washington, D.C., is a photographer’s paradise for street photography.
A view of the snow-covered West Virginia mountains.
My wife and I spent a wonderful long weekend visiting family and friends in Ohio. With a powerful cold front sweeping across the country, I suspected our return trip might be dicey since we had to travel through several mountain ranges to return to our home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
To avoid slippery roads, we waited until the warnings and advisories for heavy snow expired before setting out. That still gave us time to arrive home before dark as long as the roads were clear. Fortunately, they were.
The snow appeared as soon as we began to climb in elevation east of Morgantown, West Virginia. The tall, dark, barren trees sprouted from a light snow covering. The beauty would only increase as we progressed southeast.
A snowy scene near Oakland, Maryland.
The highways in Maryland traverse mountains that appear all scrunched together. The effect is that you are riding across the mountaintops without ever descending into deep valleys. There, the storm had frosted entire woodlots with powdered sugar. Inches of snow stuck to the tree branches and trunks and covered the forest floor and adjoining farm fields. It was gorgeous.
I stopped several times for photos. However, we saw numerous scenes without a safe place to pull over. Those images will have to remain pleasant memories.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
Since I couldn’t stop along the narrow, winding state route, I chose several county roads for photos. I didn’t have to go far. It was like we had driven into a black-and-white movie from the 1950s. Forboding dark clouds enhance that effect.
We continued our trek south and east into West Virginia. The snowy, panoramic landscape became wide open once we hit Corridor H, U.S. 48. We took advantage of highway overlooks for thrilling shots.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
In Maryland and West Virginia, giant windmills swooped their massive blades round and round. Despite their distance from us, the noise shocked me when I exited the vehicle for photos.
The valleys became more expansive, and the mountains steeper as we continued east. As the National Weather Service predicted, areas above 2.000 feet in elevation received the heaviest snow. The lowland had little to no snow at all.
A sunlit mountainside near Baker, West Virginia.
The farther east we traveled, the more frequent the breaks in clouds, which allowed the late afternoon sun to break through. The contrast between the sunlit and shadowed snow created lovely shade and color contrasts.
As we entered our beloved Shenandoah Valley, snow had all but disappeared. Only the higher ridges remained white. The morning photos of friends on social media showed the comeliness of the snowfall in the valley, with the snow-covered old-age mountains as a beautiful backdrop.
Still, we were happy to have seen the snowy sights and thankful for cleared highways, and to be home.
Cattle grazed beneath the snow-covered Allegheny Mountains near Lost City, West Virginia.
Roadkill Crossing 
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