Changing Pace: The Maryland Hikes
March-June, 2020, Quarantine
A few days after we returned to freezing Brooklyn from Kauai, Nick and I were bundled up, walking from the subway to his apartment after work. I remember our conversation as we passed the hospital on DeKalb and hurried into his doorway from the cold. I lamented that my system felt shocked by the return to the harsh city pace and the commute to my 9–5 job in Midtown. Nick had a more positive outlook about the future, as he was excited to hit the road again for work in just a few days. He had a few months of touring lined up between March and July, and was ready to make some consistent money on the road as a guitar tech to various bands. “It’s going to be good,” he said.
And very quickly, it was not.
Within a week, his upcoming tours were cancelled and my office was shut down because a case of the Coronavirus had penetrated the building. We had heard whispers of the virus on the last days of our trip, most notably a text from my mom: It’s going to be a pandemic. I’m stocking up on cat litter and diet coke. And right she was. The world around us felt like it was shutting down. Groceries disappeared from my virtual cart before I could complete an online order. We were scared to take the subway, so we took long walks to and from each other’s apartments to feed our cats. As it was happening we realized it was not sustainable. On St. Patrick’s Day, my dad picked us up from Nick’s apartment. We had packed what we thought was enough for a few weeks, thinking we would be back to New York in no time. I write this over seven months later, with so much changed.
Moving in with my parents for an undetermined amount of time with my boyfriend was uncomfortable, challenging, and in some ways, really nice. It presented the rare opportunity to pause and break the cycle of the many routines and habits of our lives in Brooklyn as individuals, and as a new couple. To take a second to stop the momentum of our busy lives, gather our thoughts, get our finances in order and figure out what we wanted the next step in our lives to be. All while a worldwide pandemic ripped through Nick’s career and the global economy, and we learned to live with a new fear of getting sick or putting loved ones in danger by running out to the grocery store.
We were then and remain grateful for the way my parents opened up their home to us and our cats. But it was disorienting being in my family home with no end date and so much out of our control. And so, we took as much time as we could to get outside and into the woods. Here are a few of the Maryland hikes that kept us sane as the months passed from March to June:
- Great Falls, Virginia: River Trail Loop (5 miles, out and back or loop trail. Rock scrambles with some climbing. Easy elevation gain)
Great Falls National Park River Loop Trail is a well maintained route which borders cliffs offering breathtaking views of the Potomac River rapids. We explored little coves off the beaten path, and examined overgrown remnants of dams and foundations of buildings built centuries before. Across the river, we saw hikers traversing the Maryland side of the park along the ridges and steep cliffs of the more rigorous Billy Goat Trail.
We hiked the River Trail twice in March but it seemed that everyone in the DMV area had the same idea of getting outside and into nature, so we sought out less trafficked trails in the coming weeks.
2. Rock Creek Park, Washington D.C. (Bethesda, Maryland — Washington, D.C., 32 miles. We traversed probably 10 of them)
All Trails reveals the many loops and routes in the winding web of Rock Creek Park, which connects suburban Maryland with the District of Columbia via two main trails: The Western Ridge Trail and The Valley Trail. Our experience was that these trails were busy with hikers, runners, and bikers who all seemed to know where they were going despite scarce markings and landmarks. We wandered in search of the quietest paths, only to find ourselves within view of neighborhood cul de sacs or the busy Beach Drive. Civilization was just a little too close to feel the true sense of escapism we craved, but it was a nice way to spend an afternoon.
3. Sugarloaf Mountain, Dickerson, Maryland (We took the blue trail to the yellow trail for a 7–9 mile hike. The half mile climb to the peak consists of steep stone steps.)
Sugarloaf Mountain is a Candy Mountain. I hummed a tune I forgot I knew on the drive down I-270. As I mentioned, my childhood was spent skipping around the glossy halls of Montgomery Mall rather than kicking up dirt in the woods, but I have a very specific memory of singing that tune in the backseat of our family’s minivan while on the way to a mountain that felt like it was many hours away.
As a little girl, I expected its peaks to be covered in gumdrops and candy canes with snowcaps of whipped cream. Revisiting Sugarloaf Mountain as an adult, the 20-minute ascent up stone steps to the popular peaks was even more fun on a warm spring afternoon in April than I remember as a kid. Probably because my expectations did not involve visions of candy lined landscapes.
We took pictures at the top but decided to depart the busy peaks for the longer loop of the quiet Yellow Trail, which took us through the woods for over 6 miles. It was a breath of fresh air — the view from a beautiful peak and a long walk in the woods mostly undisturbed by other evening hikers.
4. Cunningham Falls State Park (We took the 6.5 mile loop of Catocin Furnace Trail to the Lower Trail Loop which lead to the falls. It was a moderate hike with or without closed toe shoes)
My 95- year old grandmother had a hard time believing that I now was “quite the hiker” as she put it. She suggested that we take a drive out to the falls at Cunningham Falls State Park. “I was there some time ago, but I remember it being just marvelous.” As with most things, she was correct. On a steamy morning in late June, we drove nearly two hours into rural western Maryland into this state park to embark on a loop hike which we read would lead us to the waterfall. When we arrived, Nick went to grab his trailrunners from the back of the car and realized that he had left them by the door of my parents’ home in our rush to get going. And so he was stuck with his flip flops.
Not to be deterred, he flipped and flopped along the trail and all of its rocks and inclines with little complaint and only one stubbed toe — a moment when I was pleased that I had thought to put a small first aid kit in my hiking bag, and a reminder that it should always be there. The falls were a popular destination for a reason and a welcomed sight after a long hike. We jumped the fence of the pedestrian overlook to get onto the falls themselves (along with many other rulebreakers). We climbed the boulders to a pool of runoff and dipped our feet in the crisp river water. We then trekked another two miles to a lake in the center of the state park and had a little beachy afternoon before hiking back the 4 miles to our car. It was probably the best hike of our time in Maryland and I called my grandmother the next day to tell her that it was still “quite marvelous”.
5. Northwest Branch/Anacostia River Watershed Trail (21 miles. Nothing fancy. Familiar. Necessary.) This was our backyard trail. Our trail that we walked again and again… During my lunch break from work, after work, on the weekends. With my parents’ dog, Callie, or by ourselves, together or separate. When we just needed to get out of the house, or we couldn’t think of anywhere else to go because the neighborhood and the world felt like a bubble… this is where we would go. Descending from a neighbor’s yard down a hill, we intersected with a portion of this 21-mile path that runs through suburban Maryland. It’s nothing terribly scenic or technical, but we grew to love it. We watched the leaves change from the mossy green in the spring, to the vibrant overgrowth of summer. Some days it looked like a fairy forest. Others it looked like a monotone backdrop of a horror movie scene. Some days, the humidity and mosquitos made it totally miserable. Other times, the sun through the trees was so beautiful it was easy to forget where we were.
We crossed a giant fallen tree over the Anacostia River to get to the other side of the path instead of crossing the street. We spent hours on this trail, sitting on rocks, walking the dog, jogging in our trail runners. We had long conversations and good conversations and hard conversations about the state of the world, how we were feeling, and where we wanted to live if New York didn’t seem right anymore, which it didn’t. On one Saturday in May, I half-kiddingly urged Nick to consider other places than Hawaii. We started brainstorming about where we wanted to go if we could go anywhere. And of that long list, a shorter one of where we could picture ourselves building a fulfilling life. One thing was for sure, we felt the best when we were in nature. Where could we be in nature as much as possible? Tension slipped away as we descended into the trees and got some distance and some silence. On the other side of the anxiety of the unknown that silence gave us time to feel, there was perspective and with perspective came possibility. We thought about LA. Portland. Austin. There were reasons why each of them wasn’t the right fit. And then I mentioned Denver and we paused.
