New River Gorge National Park
At the beginning of December, we took a road trip to New River Gorge National Park in southern West Virginia.
This corner of the United States had never been on my radar until moments before we decided to go. We wanted to fit in one last vacation for the year and went looking for something new to us that was within driving distance. I was worried we’d end up regretting this trip for one reason or another, but I’m really glad we went. It was basically four consecutive days of good scenery, friendly people and pleasant surprises.
Compared to other nature park areas we’ve been to, New River Gorge felt like a place for human beings to have fun. It had a sporty vibe, with a heavy focus on whitewater rafting and rock climbing. Our cabin was on a resort that sold various adventure packages: rafting, ziplining, ATVs, paintball and other forms of hooliganism.
On one of our hikes, we encountered a bunch of rock climbing bros packing up their gear near the edge of a cliff. It turned out the cliff was the summit of the wall they’d just climbed. They pointed out the white marks on the wall where their hands had left behind climbing chalk. One of them showed us a video on his phone of him reaching the top. That was pretty awesome. I wished we’d gotten there five minutes earlier.
We stuck to hiking, but having all these other activities in the background still created a unique feeling. It’s always inspiring whenever I see other people out there doing something, whether they’re photographers, bird watchers, metal detectorists, runners, bikers, hikers, whatever. There was a lot of that feeling on this trip. It felt like everyone was really into some specific thing, and whatever that thing was, this was a really good area for it.
Nobody really knows why the New River is called the New River. Ironically, it may actually be one of the oldest rivers in the world, possibly older than the surrounding mountains, though this claim is debatable and might just be a marketing gimmick.
The centerpiece of the national park is the New River Gorge Bridge, the “longest steel span in the western hemisphere” at 3,030 feet long, crossing 876 feet above the river. For a sense of the bridge’s significance, here’s a snippet of history I found taped to a wall:
The bridge was more than just a bridge; it symbolized unity. This bridge brought together communities, which though only separated by miles, were hours away. This bridge meant families and friends could be closer to one another. For the community of Fayetteville, the construction of this great feat of engineering, along with the massive equipment, crowds of out of towners, and the national media attention, was a big deal.
We occasionally caught glimpses of the bridge on our hikes around the gorge. It is indeed an impressive sight. It’s not much to drive across, though; it basically looks like you’re driving on a normal road.
The Bridge Walk
One of the main things to do in the national park is the Bridge Walk: a guided tour across a catwalk underneath the New River Gorge Bridge.
The Bridge Walk was probably my favorite thing we did in West Virginia, mostly because our guide was so delightful – one of the truest characters we’ve met while traveling.
To set the scene, the main town near the bridge is Fayetteville, a small town of fewer than 3,000. It was a quiet morning at the tour office. It was just the two of us, the tour guide, and one local woman he was on a first-name basis with, so the atmosphere was pretty casual, with lots of latitude for conversation. That seemed to suit the guide. He would freely bring up whatever came to his mind — the Grateful Dead, a local family of sausage makers, the ups and downs of life in West Virginia, his younger days as a globe-trotting raft bum — and then cut himself off mid-sentence whenever he needed to explain the next thing on the tour. He had an infectious enthusiasm for the area and seemed able to talk at length about anything you could potentially do there. He could tell us what was on the other sides of hills surrounding the bridge, how recently a cluster of homes perched above the river had been built, the whole course the New River across the country took as it merged with other rivers and eventually reached the Gulf of Mexico. This guy, even more than the bridge, was worth the money.
Minus the guide, the tour itself was just decent. It’s awesome to walk under the bridge and look at the huge drop below you, but it was maybe not as exciting as I expected. It’s a great, big view down into the gorge, but I got pretty desensitized to the “wow” factor of it all by the time we were halfway across, and a decent amount of the crossing was humdrum. I might have been distracted by the conversation.
The saga of the tour guide continued even after the tour was over. The next morning, we were back in downtown Fayetteville at Lost Appalachia Trading Company (nice-looking merch; free festive hot chocolate!). We got chatting with a guy who worked there and mentioned we’d done the Bridge Walk. He immediately name-dropped our guide and asked if he’d been the one leading our tour. We said yes, a bit astonished and wondering where this was going. Apparently, since our tour group had been so small, the guide had texted this guy and invited him onto the tour, but he was busy and declined — and then we bumped into him. And that’s when I knew we had been in West Virginia too long.
“Why are you leaving?”
Later that night in Fayetteville, we had one final taste of small town pleasantry at a tiny brewery called Bridge Brew Works.
When we got there, it felt like we were pulling up to somebody’s place out in the woods in the best way possible. It basically amounted to a semi-outdoor beer stand, with picnic tables, space heaters and plastic sheets to keep out the wind. There were just a few cars were parked in the gravel lot, and somebody’s dog wandered out through the plastic sheets to greet us.
As we sipped our beers, a few more people showed up, all of whom seemed to know the owners and each other. One brought cake. Little by little it felt like this seemingly public place was evolving into a birthday party we’d somehow crashed. But it was fine! Nobody made us feel out of place.
Eventually our glasses were empty and it was time for us to go. But they weren’t going to let us get away with walking out. One of the bartenders shouted: “Was it something we said? Why are you leaving?” I paused, trying to figure out if I’d actually offended him. There was a strangely convincing note of hurt in his voice. I’d never thought of this situation before, having to account for why I’m leaving somebody’s bar; I expect to turn and walk out and never think about the bartender again or write about them on the internet. I almost felt obligated to order another beer, but the other bartender turned to him and explained that we had a long drive ahead of us, and they both gave us a friendly goodbye.
The whole thing was weirdly, memorably nice.
A few more random things
These books:
This military history fact, courtesy of the Confederate States of America:
On our hikes we kept finding ladders leading ominously down. I think they led to the starting points of climbing routes?
I absolutely loved our cabin. I had a lot of fun in the loft.
I like what’s going on at the Cathedral Cafe in Fayetteville. It’s inside an old church, and that’s not even their best gimmick.
The best thing is that they sell a gloriously ugly plastic mug that people bring along on adventures and take photos with. The mug invites you to send your “mugshots” to the Hotmail address printed along the bottom, and the cafe hangs them on the wall.
I didn’t take a picture of the one with a naked lady holding the mug — go there and find it yourself.
Leaving West Virginia
Shortly before we left West Virginia, we realized the state had precisely one “lighthouse,” the Summersville Lake Lighthouse, and it wasn’t far out of the way. I’ve already written about our stop there.
Then it was back through Charleston.
The very last thing before we crossed back into Ohio was a frenzied pit stop in Point Pleasant, home of the Mothman. Mainly, we both needed to use a bathroom, but it also afforded us an opportunity to see the Mothman statue, which we otherwise didn’t plan to squeeze in. For some reason I don’t recall, we decided to see the statue first before using the bathroom, and as we’re walking toward it, not only do we have to pee, but it was also freezing cold and the street was teeming with kids ringing bells and collecting money. It was all a bit bewildering. We snapped our Mothman picture and got out of there.
We spent the night in Ohio on our way back to Michigan. We took the opportunity to stay in the city of Logan and do some hikes at Hocking Hills State Park, which people have been enthusiastically recommending to us for years. I’ll be writing another post about that.
