The Virginia Creeper Trail is a rails-to-trails project in southwest Virginia that attracts visitors from around the world.  Mark and I joined up with a couple of friends last weekend to enjoy the gentle downhill ride from Whitetop to Damascus.  Although this stretch (the most popular part of the trail) is 17 miles long, it was easy enough even for me --- and I haven't been on a bike in over a decade.

For $25 apiece, we rented a bike and were driven to the top of the hill, making the day very simple and worry-free.  We chose The Bike Station a bit at random since there are five other outfitters in Damascus and all of them have comparable prices.  It turns out that The Bike Station is run by a trio of very pleasant brothers, and we're glad we stumbled upon them. 

I picked one brother's brain while he ferried us uphill, learning that 95% of the visitors to the Creeper Trail are non-locals, and that those of us who like to avoid crowds should shun July, August, and October.  In fact, he said that the weekend we chose was one of the slowest ones in a long while, which made me happy.  The Creeper Trail is extremely family friendly, and I'd say that half of the other bikers had kids along for the ride.

Unlike everyone else, we took it slow and kept our brakes on a lot of the way rather than zipping along at the speed of gravity.  (We certainly didn't have to pedal, except for a bit at the very end.)  Even so, I felt like the scenery was whizzing past way too quickly.  The upper parts of the trail pass through northern hardwood forest and the lower parts through cove hardwood forest, following a beautiful creek for most of the distance.  Old railroad trestles come at regular intervals, giving beautiful views, some from 70 feet in the air.  We stopped a few times just to soak in the scenery.

It seemed like we had barely been on the trail at all before we reached Green Cove Station.  We had to explore the old train station, though we passed on the modern candy being sold behind the counter.  Historic medicines lined the shelves, and one of our friends noticed a bottle of mercury (not for sale) --- clearly, the station dated back to snake oil salesman days.  In the back room, old timey farming utensils caught my eye, including this scythe with grain basket.  I have to admit, though, that some of the old tools looked like they came out of my barn --- surely they weren't all that old.

Two thirds of the way from Whitetop to Damascus, we stopped at the only restaurant along the trail --- the Creeper Trail Cafe in Taylor's Valley.  The Cafe is a basic hamburger joint, but Mark and I shared the most food-like options on the menu and really enjoyed them --- cream of broccoli soup and a chicken salad sandwich.  Servings are large, so I highly recommend the route of picking a soup and sandwich and sharing --- our friends ordered a meal apiece and had to throw a third of each one away to make room for the world famous chocolate cake.  The cake was a beauty --- three stories high --- and was quite tasty, although Mark thought it didn't quite live up to the hype.  During the shuttle ride up, our driver quipped that the Creeper Trail is the only biking trip on which you'll gain weight, due to the "fat free" chocolate cake.

We wouldn't change a thing about our trip down the trail, but next time we might choose to pack a lunch and stop along the creek for a picnic.  We had fun clambering around on the rocks, and could certainly have stayed longer at several spots along the trail.  In fact, I could easily have spent a couple more hours along the Creeper Trail, even though I suspect that no one else lollygagged around for anything like the 5 hours it took us to travel 17 downhill miles.

Want to visit the trail?  The best place to start planning your trip is the online Virginia Creeper Trail Guide.  Stop by their website to see a list of outfitters, to download trail maps, and more.

Nearest towns: Coeburn, Norton, Dungannon, Nickelsville

High Knob's feet are coated with lush cove hardwood forest that transforms into high elevation northern hardwood forest near the peak.  To find the rarest plants, start at the top and work your way down on the Chief Benge Scout Trail.

If you get lost in the forest, you can sometimes find your way home with a simple piece of information --- moss likes to grow on the north sides of trees.  The reason lies with the sun, which is not directly overhead here in the northern hemisphere.  Instead, the sun stays over in the south side of the sky, with the result that the north sides of trees tend to get a lot more shade than the south sides.  Mosses like shade, thus they live on the north sides of trees.  Actually, mosses like the east sides of trees too since that side just gets morning sun and tends to stay damp.  South and west sides of trees are usually too hot and dry for mosses to survive.

You can experience a larger example of the same phenomenon by walking up the Cliff Trail then back down the Marlene Path.  Winding up the Cliff Trail, on the east side of Sugar Hill, you will see plenty of mosses.  You will also see cove hardwood forest, a plant community that thrives on damp.  The Cliff Trail is shaded for most of the day by Sugar Hill, so water tends to stay put rather than evaporating away.

When you crest the hill and start back down the west side, the forest subtly changes as drought-tolerant oaks and hickories replace the water-loving Tulip-Trees and basswoods.  Here, the hillside is pummeled with near constant sun, so rainwater quickly dries up and leaves the ground parched.  The oak-hickory community you walk through on the Marlene Path is the most common plant community in the eastern United States, covering much of the landscape both east and west of the Appalachian Mountains.  As you can see at Sugar Hill, the oak-hickory community is also common in the mountains where it tends to stay on the south and west sides of hills and on dry ridgetops.

One word of warning, though, before you head out into the woods with only the moss to guide you.  In our hollers, I have often seen moss growing all the way around the trees.  The preponderance of moss on the north sides of trees is probably a nugget of knowledge best pulled out at cocktail parties --- when in the woods, I carry a compass and map.

Scientific Name: Laportea canadensis
Family: Urticaceae (Nettle Family)
Habitat: Rich woods
Blooms: July to August

I have always had a soft spot in my heart for coves --- the abrupt stream valleys you find in these parts where the sun barely reaches the bottom on winter days.  Salamanders and rare plants share my fondness, and I have spent many long hours poking around in deep, damp hollers in search of both. 

Unfortunately, nettles love coves too.  Some nettles are harmless --- the translucent stems and short stature of Clearweed are a common sight in cool, shady woods.  But the two stinging species quickly block their less caustic relatives from your mind.

Wood Nettles can be found in just about any cove in our region.  Their coarsely toothed leaves and inconspicuous flowers mark them as nettles.  Meanwhile, the leaves alternating up their stems distinguish them from our other stinging species --- the aptly named Stinging Nettle.

When I first heard that the Stinging Nettle was introduced from Europe, I was intrigued.  Why would anyone carry a plant across the Atlantic Ocean that sets your skin tingling with pain?  Dipping into several books on wild edible and medicinal plants, I quickly discovered that Stinging Nettles make a delicious cooked green and can be used to cure arthritis.  Some sources suggest that Wood Nettles can be used in a similar manner.  Be sure to cook well, though, to deactivate the sting!

Jack-in-the-Pulpit’s unusually shaped flowers are even more unusual on the inside.  Unlike most plants whose flowers house both male parts and female parts, Jack-in-the-Pulpit flowers are either male or female.  In case that sounds too simple, let me hasten to add that the plants do not stick to the gender they were born with.

After a few seasons of growth as a young plant, a Jack-in-the-Pulpit has stored enough strength in its roots to put forth a flower.  His first flower is nearly always male, tucked down under a single leaf.  In this phase of his life, the plant has a chance of passing on his genes by pollinating nearby female plants without too much outlay of energy --- pollen is relatively “cheap” to produce.

In nature, females nearly always spend more resources reproducing than males do.  Female animals have to nourish the young growing inside them for days or months, or at least spend the energy to build big eggs full of nutrients.  Similarly, female plants have to pour their resources into producing fats and proteins to give their seeds a chance to grow.  So it is no wonder the young Jack-in-the-Pulpit chose to start his reproductive career as a male.  A single grain of pollen could net the plant an offspring without all of the muss and fuss of making seeds and berries.

Another year, or maybe several, pass now.  Our Jack-in-the-Pulpit may spend some more time as a male as he builds up energy in his roots, or he might even skip blooming that year. 

Finally, he crosses some invisible divide and “decides” to change his gender.  Out come two leaves with a female flower nestled down between them.  The plant then pours her energy into producing a showy spike of red berries, rich enough to tempt passing animals into carrying them to new spots in the forest.  She has not only passed on her genes but has also sent her children out into the world to colonize foreign lands.

In some cases, our Jack-in-the-Pulpit may remain a female for many years.  But if a droughty summer lowers her reserves or a passing hiker transplants her into his poor-soiled garden, she quickly reverts to her masculine side.  The next year, only one leaf appears and the flower inside is male again.  Back and forth, the plant changes its gender, ready to cope with environmental catastrophes or take advantage of the rich harvest from a good year.  With such a flexible lifestyle, it is no wonder Jack-in-the-Pulpit has managed to survive in our forests for 65 million years.

Trilliums (and the rest of the plants discussed later in this section) are not quite ephemerals because they hold onto their leaves well into the summer.  But they are not conventional herbs either, which grow throughout the year.  These plants tend to be bigger and showier than the ephemerals, and they also tend to bloom just a little later since they are not forced to do all of their photosynthesizing in a six week period before the canopy closes above them.  Every year I wait in fond anticipation for the first tiny Carolina Spring-Beauty flowers, then am gladdened again a few weeks later when the trilliums bloom.

The hillside above Oxbow Lake is so full of trilliums in April and May that I find it hard to have eyes for anything else.  At first, the sea of three-petaled white blooms above three-parted leaves seems to be made up of interchangeable units, until I peer a little closer and notice that these trilliums are not all the same.  Most are the common Big White Trillium that can be found in nearly any forest around these parts, but here and there Purple Trilliums are interspersed.  The latter species often sports a purple flower in other parts of the region, but in southwest Virginia a white variety is more common, making Purple Trillium hard to distinguish from its more common cousin.  The differences are subtle --- a purple ovary in the center of the Purple Trillium flower, smaller, more leathery petals, less voluptuous leaves.  The beginning botanist can sharpen his eyes by teasing apart the trillium species on the east slope of Sugar Hill.

Just as descendants of the Arcto-Tertiary forest are well-represented in the canopy of the cove hardwood forest, they are widespread on the forest floor as well.  Wood Anemone and Sharp-lobed Hepatica are two examples of plants with close relatives found both here and in Asia, but nowhere in between --- signs of an Arcto-Tertiary ancestor.  In fact, the majority of the herbs on the floor of the cove hardwood forest show one of two related patterns, both of which are shared by herbs in China and (scientists believe) in the ancient Arcto-Tertiary forest. 

One pattern consists of perennial plants like trilliums and Jack-in-the-Pulpit that send up a bloom and leaves in the spring, then linger in the shade of the forest canopy for the rest of the year, putting out no new growth.  Instead, these plants are sucking up what little light comes their way and turning it into energy to store in their roots and feed next year’s blooms and leaves.

The other pattern is even more distinctive, enough so that this category of plants has been given its own name.  The early spring ephemerals bloom even earlier in the spring than the trilliums, some in late March when the days are still cold and only flies are out and about to act as pollinators.  Most --- like the toothworts, Rue Anemone, and Spring-Beauty --- have white or pale pink flowers to attract these generalist pollinators.

After blooming, the ephemerals quickly unfurl leaves and soak up late winter sun before the trees above them wake up.  Then the ephemerals' leaves fade away just as quickly.  By May, most of the early spring ephemerals are long gone, except for the roots nestled in the leaf litter that have stored enough energy to repeat the cycle next year.  Their tiny seeds have been carried away by ants to germinate a few feet from the parent --- small wonder that these species take so long to recolonize a forest after it has been clearcut.  Although once widespread in cove hardwood forests, the masses of early spring ephemerals found at Sugar Hill are now becoming the exception rather than the rule.

Tennessee Chickweed is one of the species that is rare in Virginia primarily because it has a limited range.  In the Commonwealth, it has only been found in Russell, Scott, Washington, Smyth, and Botetourt counties, and it has a similarly spotty distribution in the mountain counties of neighboring states.

In each case, Tennessee Chickweed prefers mature cove hardwood forests and can be found scattered amid other spring flowers, though the plant seems to bloom less often than its neighbors.  In fact, instead of carefully measuring petals and leaves when faced with an unknown large chickweed, I usually look for the presence of blooms ---  if more than one bloom is visible on every fifth plant, the species is unlikely to be Tennessee Chickweed.

The remnants of the Arcto-Tertiary forest, both here and in China, have made for two of the most diverse temperate regions of the world.  Within our local remnant, the Clinch River watershed stands out as a “biodiversity hotspot”, meaning that the watershed contains more types of plants and animals than can be found anywhere else in the continental U.S.  These waters flowing past Sugar Hill contain more mussel species than can be found in all of Europe and China combined.  Scientists also marvel over the varying colors and species of millipedes, the diversity of snail life, and the stunning variety of plants in our area.  On Sugar Hill itself, a survey of just the herbaceous understory plants (the small plants on the forest floor) turned up 155 species. 

Where does one start when exploring this astonishing diversity?  As a youngster beginning to learn about the Appalachian forest, I was lucky enough to spend a few days following in the footsteps of the noted local naturalist Arthur Smith.  Only years later did I discover how well known Arthur was in the region --- at the time, I was tempted out in the field by the extra chocolate bar he liked to bring along to share as part of our lunch.  In addition to feeding my sweet tooth, he simplified the world in a way that made sense, showing me how to gauge an area’s overall diversity by keeping an eye on the ferns.  Arthur explained that places with a large number of different fern species tend to have a higher diversity of other kinds of life --- more wildflowers, more salamanders, more trees.

First he taught me to watch out for our most common ferns --- Christmas Fern with its simple leaflets shaped like stockings and Ebony Spleenwort with its shiny black stem.  On moist, shady hillsides, the divided fronds of Maidenhair Ferns are likely to arch delicately over the leaf litter.  Rattlesnake Fern is considered an indicator species for Ginseng and can be found in the moist coves where that species once grew before overcollection nearly wiped it off the map.  Drier, more open woods are often home to Hay-scented Ferns, so named for the grassy odor that wafts up from their lacy fronds when brushed by a passing pant leg.

Other ferns are less widespread, each with its own microhabitat.  On Sugar Hill, the limestone cliffs house Walking Fern, named for its habit of rooting a new fern at the end of its attenuated, arrowhead-shaped frond.  Bulblet Bladder Fern also thrives on limestone where it reproduces by dropping little bulblets from the underside of its fronds.  Each bulblet will sprout tiny new leaves and grow into a daughter fern.  Meanwhile, drier limestone cliffs on the western side of the hill are home to Purple-stemmed Cliff-Brake, an unusual fern with asymmetrical fronds, and Wall-Rue.  Finally, Goldie’s Wood Fern and Narrow-leaved Glade Fern thrive in habitats similar to those enjoyed by Maidenhair and Rattlesnake Ferns.

Eleven fern species have been found so far at Sugar Hill, a large number for a preserve so small.  Just as you can measure an area’s overall diversity by counting its fern species, you can also get an idea for what drives that diversity.  Varying habitats abound on Sugar Hill, each with its own array of plants and animals.  Ancient heritage and a varied terrain are two of the factors that make Sugar Hill a treasure trove of Appalachian nature.

Scientific Name: Viola canadensis
Family: Violaceae (Violet Family)
Habitat: Rich woods
Blooms: April to July

Although much of the forest covering Sugar Hill is clearly cove hardwood forest, a few signs indicate that the community is transitional between cove hardwoods and northern hardwoods.  The latter plant community is relatively similar to the cove hardwood community, but here in the central Appalachians is found at higher elevations.  Sugar Maple, Beech, and Yellow Birch dominate northern hardwood forests, although many cove hardwood species can be found intermixed.  One county west, High Knob clearly rises up into the northern hardwood forest, which may explain why some northern hardwood species can be found at Sugar Hill.

Canada Violet is one of those northern hardwood species.  The careful botanist will find five violet species scattered across Sugar Hill, but Canada Violet is the biggest and boldest, with large white petals that are brushed with purple on their backs.  Canada Violet is a perfect example of a species that is uncommon in Virginia but well known in other parts of the country.  The northern hardwood forest and its associated species coat the majority of New England and the Great Lakes States, and Canada Violet is widespread in parts of the continent from which it draws its name.

Sixty million years ago, dinosaurs had recently disappeared from the earth and mammals were just starting to take their place. The vast Arcto-Tertiary forest coated the northern latitudes of North America, Europe, and Asia with broadleaf deciduous trees much like the ones you see around you today. Beech, chestnut, elm, alder, birch, hornbeam, aspen, walnut, hazel, sweetgum, sequoia, and ginkgo shared the canopy.

Just like in our current Appalachian forests, the trees of the Arcto-Tertiary forest turned brilliant shades of yellow, orange, and red before dropping their leaves in the winter. And in early spring before the leaves returned, herbaceous perennials on the forest floor burst into bloom, only to fade away as the trees regained their leaves.

This rich forest depended on a warm, humid climate and before long its range began to contract. Two or three million years ago, the glaciers of the first ice age drove the plants of the Arcto-Tertiary forest south. The glaciers melted then re-formed time after time. In Europe, the Arcto-Tertiary forest was battered up against the east-to-west aligned Alps until most plants perished. Much of North America and Asia had turned into grasslands as the climate dried, so on these continents the forest became restricted to a couple of mountain ranges --- those in eastern North America and those in eastern China.

In these two refuges, the forest survived by migrating north and south as the climate warmed and cooled. The mountains provided protected nooks and crannies --- high elevation ridges where cool-loving species could grow during warm spells and sheltered valleys where warm-loving species could grow during ice ages. Here in North America, the Arcto-Tertiary forest eventually became limited to a little tract of mountain land spanning eastern Tennessee, eastern Kentucky, southwestern Virginia, and southern West Virginia.

After the glaciers finally receded, plants from the Appalachian refuge began to reforest the surrounding areas. Birches, beeches, and maples spread north into New England. Oaks and chestnuts were carried south and east by squirrels and Blue Jays while other oaks and elms ventured west into the drier prairies. But nearly every species retained a foothold here, making up the diverse cove hardwood forest.

Unlike other forest types that are named by their dominant trees --- oak-hickory and beech-maple, for example --- the cove hardwood forest is distinguished by its lack of dominant trees. Instead, dozens of species can be found growing side by side, many of them closely related to the trees that grew here 65 million years ago. Some of these trees, such as the Tulip-tree (also known as Yellow Poplar or Tulip Poplar), have relatives in only one other part of the world --- the mountains of eastern China. When I walk the northern leg of the Loop Trail, I inevitably get lost in my imagination, journeying over continents and through millions of years back to the Arcto-Tertiary forest that once dominated the northern hemisphere.