26: The Pinnacle of Biodiversity

Big Falls on the Big Cedar Creek, Russell County, Virginia

H O N A K E R,  V A

The Pinnacle Natural Area Preserve is an elusive place.  Located in one of America’s least populated counties in the heart of southwest Virginia, it’s about the furthest place in the state from my home.  You don’t drive past The Pinnacle or even Russell County on your way anywhere else.  The Pinnacle is hidden at the dead end of a gravel road in the middle of nowhere.  If you’re here, you must have planned it, which is exactly what I’ve done today. 

The Pinnacle long ago piqued my interest, and it’s been poking at my Travelling Jones ever since.  Shortly after I bought a topographic map of the state back in the ‘90s and got lost perusing its contour lines, I discovered this alluring place.  A little further research unveiled some enticing descriptions:

“… one of the most biodiverse areas in all of North America”

“… towering cliffs, sheer limestone ledges, and waterfalls”

“… a naturalist’s dream”

One of the preserve’s main attractions is the trail which follows Big Cedar Creek.  Along the way it passes Big Falls, an erosion-resistant sandstone ledge over which the unspoiled creek dramatically spills.  It’s a spectacular, though relatively low, waterfall.  The pool at the base of the falls contains a high concentration of freshwater mussels, one of the more prominent characteristics of this preserve.  The mussels serve to cleanse the water with impressive efficiency.  An isolated mountain stream far from a polluting public aerated as it tumbles over the falls, then cleansed by a bed of filtering mussels … the water here is some of the purest you’ll find.  

In this water too resides one of the coolest named critters on the books: the Cryptobranchus alleganiensis or more commonly the Hellbender.  Like The Pinnacle itself, Hellbenders are elusive, spending much of their time submerged under rocks.  Hellbenders are large too.  Here in the Big Cedar Creek, these slimy salamanders can grow as long as two feet, head to tail-tip. 

The trail follows the creek to its confluence with the Clinch River, the southwest-flowing Crown of the Mountain Empire and home to three forts once in the charge of Daniel Boone.  If such an historic and important water source was nearer to the population densities typical of the east coast, it would be a star just like the Potomac or Shenandoah.  There would be popular songs about her; festivals, stories and lore as well.  But the Clinch too is elusive; anonymous and isolated which, silver-lining-like, is exactly what fosters her biodiversity.

The preserve’s other attraction is its namesake – the four hundred foot tall dolomite spire thrusting skyward above the forest canopy.  The Pinnacle is a survivor through eons of groundwater and weather-driven erosion.  This towering peak sits sentinel-like right in the middle of this 800 acre preserve.

On the day of our arrival, Allison and I are expecting to have this elusive preserve to ourselves.  Not only because of its isolation, but also since we are here in the middle of the week in early spring – not the ideal visiting hours.  As we approach the end of the road though and enter the parking area, we have to fight for a spot in the nearly full lot.  The Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries (VDGIF) had just completed a trout release.  And like cattle drawn to a round bale in a winter field, all the fishermen in Russell County are streamside trying to fish those trout right back out. 

The unexpected crowd becomes a bigger problem once I realize my curvy wife’s outfit choice for this adventure.  Her bright and tight attire is surely going to catch the attention of the fishermen as we pass.  Despite the warm sunny day, I ask her to throw on a looser fitting, drabber-colored jacket until we get clear of the ogling fishermen.  Luckily, this preserve is located in Virginia, a state in which I’m a licensed, concealed-carry permitted gun owner, adding a little extra security in case the drabness doesn’t work. 

I resisted owning a gun for many years.  It seemed too harsh of a defense mechanism for when I’m out strolling along a beautiful trail. Often though, I’m alone in the woods – I love the free-thinking that the solitude fosters.  An isolated trail is an antidote to an otherwise socially engaged life.  Through the year though, I’ve been worn down by a series of wiser-advising outdoorsman convincing me that a firearm is the prudent thing to carry.  Still though, it just feels contradictory while strapped to my hip as I’m taking in the beauty of quiet place. 

The trail starts by crossing a cable suspension bridge.  No matter how old you are or how many times you’ve been across one, you still get child-like-excited by these bouncy, squeaky connectors.  Pausing halfway across places us directly above Big Cedar Creek; its crystal clear waters are immediately apparent.  Before this footbridge was built, a road followed the creek a mile further on to Big Falls.  In 1989 when this property was conveyed to The Nature Conservancy (TNC), that vehicular access was severed; meaning views of the falls are now only attained by the more thought provoking, anticipation-building foot travel. 

About the time we pass the last fishermen and think we’ve reached the solitude we were expecting at this preserve, we encounter VDGIF officer Eric Harrold.  He’s in a chatty mood, especially when I give him a thumbnail overview of the itinerary for my sabbatical.  He’s impressed with my plan and immediately snaps to action when I tell him my next stop is Buffalo Mountain.  He thinks part of the road may be washed out and begins making calls.  He sums us up well, referring to us as a “couple touring TNC dedicated properties”.  He even arranges a backup means of transportation for us – a guy simply known as Buffalo Jack who has the vehicle that can conquer road washouts.  Coming though Eric’s phone, Buffalo Jack sounds like a character, and even starts playfully flirting with Allison.  Somehow through that phone he must have seen that she removed her drab jacket. 

As we continue talking with Eric, we find out he’s a biologist, falconer, expert birder, and naturalist.  He knows Wil Orndorff and my college roommate Mike Pinder (another VDGIF cohort).  He dispels the rumor that mountain lions roam these hills.  He’s a wealth of knowledge, and happy to share it.  He makes the very short list of people I’ve encountered in my life that I imagine are completely self-actualized - lovers of what they do and finders of complete contentment with their lives.  His enthusiasm for his work shined brightly. 

With Buffalo Jack’s phone number in hand, we say goodbye to Eric.  We reach Big Falls, have them to ourselves, and our cameras go crazy.  I squat poolside and easily pick out a handful of mussels just to get a feel for these biological imperatives.  A little further on, we stop for a view of The Pinnacle. It’s here that you begin to feel the real diversity of this property.  The enticing descriptions I had read through the years about this place are right.  So many natural features compacted into a mere 800 acres – scenic overlooks, protruding rock formations, beds of mussels, idyllic streams, and roaring waterfalls.

When the trail ends, we’re at the confluence of the Big Cedar Creek and the Clinch River.  It’s pristinely impressive.  Clear water abounds.  I turn to Allison and speak of my views on conservation. 

I’m a reasonable conservationist, aware of the importance of a balanced world in which man and nature respectfully coexist.  Most people though live grossly unaware of the need for such balance.  Getting out to places like The Pinnacle, even if just a few times in your life, brings that balance a little more into focus and makes us look up from our technology, self-centeredness, and other frivolous diversions that have become so prevalent in this world. 

“It’s difficult to view the world outside our human context.  Staying alive and paying the bills both require our attention squarely fixed on our own business.  Little encourages us to pause and look around, much less question the end goal of all our busyness.  Unfortunately, we might be missing something important – to our happiness and to our survival.”

From the Introduction of The Sacred Earth by Jason Gardner

We humans are ill-equipped in our skin to deal with the environment.  We are not covered in water repellent fur or a layer of blubber, and so we build shelters using the earth’s resources to keep us dry, safe, and warm.  We cut down trees, dam rivers, mine petroleum, extract hydrogen, and plow fields.  These are the necessary things we must do to live on this planet.  So when I see a bulldozer clearing land for a new home, road, or a grocery store, I don’t necessarily view this as an irresponsible damaging act of violence against the environment.  It is a fairly natural process, similar to a beaver building a lodge.  We humans aren’t equipped to survive by building a nest of twigs.

Nonetheless, conserving the earth’s resources is always the right thing to do.  Building a house, road, or grocery should only be done when necessary.  Put simply, if you don’t need it, don’t use it.  And establishing habits that are mindful of the earth’s resources is a very personal way we can all contribute.  For instance, by recycling and remaining cognizant of the good that its doing helps keeps environmental awareness in our consciousness.   That’s basic, mindful conservation to me.  As American author Nancy Newhall so plainly puts it, “Conservation is humanity caring for the future.”

In places like Arizona, where I’ll be in a few weeks, conservation garners a bit more public awareness.  Surrounded by desert, it’s easy to advocate for the conservation of water and other natural resources.   The importance of summer’s life-giving monsoons comes up regularly in conversations.  In a part of the world not particularly hospitable to human habitation, an awareness of the thin thread that holds it all together is not as taken for granted as in other areas.   Here at The Pinnacle (and along the entire eastern half of America) water and other natural resources abound.  It’s harder to sell the need for conservation when so much is close at hand.  And unfortunately, that makes extolling “if you don’t need it, don’t use it” a challenge.  

On our return, a half mile from the parking lot we fall into a traveling slot on the trail behind a slow moving pair of fishers hauling out their loads.  We slow our pace to keep a reasonable gap between them.  I don’t want to pass them, giving these guys an up close chance to ogle Allison’s backside.  They know we are behind them and slow their pace, seemingly enticing us to pass.  But we don’t. 

In the parking lot, they’re lollygagging and looking over at us more than seems reasonable.  I’m uncomfortable with their glances and decide it’s time to display a little machismo.  I’m not shy about letting them see what’s on my hip.  Standing by my open trunk as I secure my firearm, I unload by de-clipping and racking loudly as I check for stray ammunitions.  At other places I’ve been carrying, I’ve always stayed very discreet when unloading and securing my firearm, but not here in front of a gathering of Deliverance-type men. 

The Pinnacle and its alluring elusiveness have been welcomed to the club.  Other members include some of the finest places I’ve ever visited – Emerald Lake in Colorado, White Point on Cape Breton, the Tallgrass Prairie in Kansas, and Thingvelir in Iceland to name a few.  When I begin to list the very best hikes in my life, this four mile round trip to the Clinch and back through pristine and ever-changing landscapes will be one of the first candidates that come to mind.

I used to think that there were a limited number of members that could join the club – places that were the ultimate height of natural beauty.  But such places have suddenly become easier to find.  Has beauty been flattened?  Am I wearing rose tinted glasses?  The most likely reason is maturity and a more holistic view of life which have me seeing things I may have overlooked or under-appreciated in my younger years.  Or perhaps my involvement in The Nature Conservancy has fostered an awareness of the depths of beauty that can be found in such places as The Pinnacle.  The deeper I look, the more beauty I see. 

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