71: Dragon Run Triathlon

 

C O L D W A T E R,  V A

It’s the hottest day of the year and I’m setting out on a ten-hour triathlon of sorts - kayaking three miles, hiking three miles, and driving three hours to visit one of Virginia’s three peninsulas.  This triumvirate will bring an up close, hands-and-boots on experience with the Chesapeake Bay’s most vital elixir.  Dragon Run Swamp is a pristine forty-mile watershed wending right down the center of the state’s Middle Peninsula and provides the Bay with water more pure than any other watershed in the entire five-state surrounding area. 

 

6:00 a.m.

 I forego coffee and the bladder challenge it brings to 55 year olds about to sit in a kayak for 3 hours.  I also program my GPS to forego tolls for the drive to the Friends of Dragon Run (FODR) kayak launch site.  No need to rush; the clock is in my favor.  I’m looking forward to the long sunrise ride east from Richmond into the coastal plain on this quiet and peaceful morning.   

 

 

In the 1970’s, a joint study by The Nature Conservancy (TNC) and the Smithsonian Institution discovered the vital significance of Dragon Run. Since then TNC has worked with partners like FODR and the Virginia Department of Forestry to protect nearly 9,000 acres surrounding the Dragon. Amplifying the purity is this simple fact: the Middle Peninsula remains largely undeveloped.  Farming and timbering are about the only industries on this sparsely populated peninsula which means the Dragon is a bit of a step back in time where modern life, congestion, and sprawl have been held off.  In fact, after the Scenic Rivers Act of 1970 was passed, Dragon Run was the first stream to be considered for this new designation but local landowners objected fearing it would bring a deluge of unwanted visitors. 

Essentially, this place is as it was more than one hundred years ago.  And it even feels as though Pocahontas might be hiding in its fringes. 

 

8:00 a.m.

 Ten minutes before arriving at the launch site, my phone rings.  It’s Janice Moore, President of the FODR wanting confirmation I’ll be arriving on time.  In today’s heat, a prompt start is essential so she’s making sure I’m on time.  It’s a first indication today’s float will be well-run, efficient, and well worth it.  I’ve been attempting this adventure for five years – canceled previously by weather, missed deadlines, and COVID - but now the long-anticipated time has finally arrived.  

 

 

East of West Point, the route gives way to country roads winding through corn and soy fields, and thinning even more as it wends through forest.  There’s a purity found in such places – the land uses are simple: farming, forest, and housing; all with clear margins especially so at this time of year when crops are plump.   In the golden light of early morning amid a glistening from last night’s condensation, the last bit of this sunrise drive has been delightful.  Eventually, the final turn to the kayak launch is onto a mile-long, sandy one-laner.

Before even shutting down the engine, a familiar face approaches.  Five years ago, Jeff Wright and I volunteered for TNC on an uninhabited barrier island.  It was hard labor; grunt work aimed at refurbishing an old Coast Guard building into a rudimentary education facility.  Afterward the reward was a peaceful evening with hearty dinner and drinks at TNC’s beautiful Brownsville residence - the stories got grander and grander as the night wore on.  Jeff is now Vice President of FODR.  He’s today’s float leader and apparently checked the roster and recognized my name.  It’s another sign that today’s float will be well-run.    

Next, Janice Moore comes up and introduces herself.  Even behind a mask, she’s graceful, personable, well-spoken and organized.  Easy to see why she’s been president of this important conservation organization for five years.  She explains all the pre-float duties.  I spend a few minutes picking out the best-fitting and most-stylish life preserver and then set the correct distance for the foot pegs in my kayak.  I also opt for an extra foam pad for my butt.  I’ll be sitting for several hours so the right peg settings and extra cushioning should minimize cramps… I hope.

 

8:45 a.m.

 In a group of ten, I’m fifth to launch.  Though just a kayaking rookie, I’m immediately comfortable and in control of the vessel while others struggle.  I’m confident there will be no tipping today; however, there will be wetness…cool drips of water falling off the oar hit my legs with each stroke.  In today’s heat though, that steady dripping will be welcomed.  

 

 

Immediately upon setting out I sense the Dragon’s awe.  This place is special; other-worldly.  Not like any other place along the crowded east coast of the United States.  The width of the swamp and its unforgiving terrain are an impenetrable buffer.  In all directions, it’s pure pristinity. 

This float is less tree-covered than I was expecting.  As I’m baking in the sun I reach deep into the Dragon’s waters letting my hand dangle in the coolness.  I wipe my wet hand across the back of my neck to temporarily spread the cooling.  My bare wet legs are sizzling in the sun.  I should have applied sunblock, and now know why Jeff and the other crew are all wearing long pants and sleeves.  But if a little sunburn is the price to pay for this long-anticipated experience, send the bill: I’ll gladly pay.  

Launching in the middle of the pack has the advantage of closest proximity to Dr. Kevin Howe, our tours’ naturalist.  This allows clear listening of all the insightful knowledge he shares of the environment we’re floating through.  His delivery is clear and concise, and mixed in are senses of humor and quips with Jeff.  These two are good friends and excellent float leaders. 

 

 

10:15 a.m.

 Shortly after passing a massive Cypress Tree, we pull into the “Lunch Room”, a small cove out of the main channel.  We back our kayaks into the tall celery grass which anchors us in place allowing for a few minutes of shade, rehydration, and more natural history and stories from Kevin and Jeff. 

 

 

Virginia is about as far north as Cypress trees and their draping Spanish moss exist.  They’re mostly a southern tree, but here they predominate.  Majestic beasts; some more than 800 years old; and kind of interesting that in a world of amazingly detailed research and knowledge it’s still unclear what role their knees provide.  Cypress knees are a staple of creepy swamp scenes; those knobby protrusion poking out of the shallows.  What’s their purpose?  Oxygen or stability?  Natural historians like Kevin along with arborists worldwide are still trying to figure out that question.   

Cypress trees are also adept at managing water.  In spring, they take a big drink, soaking up as much as their trunk will hold preparing for summer’s heat and drought.  Come winter, they shed their water to avoid damage from freezing.  The cycling of water through these trees works as a filter to keep the Dragon clean. 

Atop one of the majestic beauties is a Bald Eagles’ nest out of which flies a fledgling as we pass under.  The nest is massive; bringing scale to just how large Bald Eagles are.  I watch the fledgling for several minutes as it swirls above this pristine paradise. 

Also atop the Cypress is a fern that’s been to outer space.  The Resurrection fern clings to Cypress branches for physical support.  But it’s the ferns ability to remain alive for extended periods without water that caught NASA’s interest.  The fern exhibits one of the most extreme forms of desiccation tolerance on earth, able to go 100 years without water. No wonder NASA scientists took it with them into the dryness of outer space.

Lessons in Cypress trees, Bald Eagles, and Resurrection ferns were just part of the natural history shared over this three-hour float. Unique facts rained on our group throughout on topics concerning whirligig beetles, beaver dams, pickerel weed, swamp rose, and of course the dozens of dragonflies brightly-colored and flittering about. 

When I signed up for this trip, I knew it would be more than just a float down a pristine waterway. Learning about the Dragon was the goal, and that goal was very amply attained today. 

  

11:45 a.m.

After disembarking, I re-engage with Janice again.  Among other post-float duties, she’s peddling FODR gear out of the back of a van.  Very nice shirts, mugs, hats, etc.  I opt for a long-sleeved tee so my next float will involve less sun-burning.  I round up the price to the nearest $10 and tell Janice to keep the change, gladly adding extra financial support to this fine organization dedicated to preserving such an awesome place.

 

 

Time to transition this triathlon to dry land... 

Just down the road from the kayak launch is a trailhead of sorts - an old logging road that’s likely overgrown. This path will offer a taste of Dragon Run State Forest.  This is a subtle state forest.  No welcome centers, entrance fees or signage; it’s just a mosaic of disjointed parcels resembling a half-finished puzzle.  The puzzle piece I’ll be exploring is west of Coldwater in an extra-isolated area of the mosaic. 

TNC’s fingerprints are all over this state forest.  In 2008, they transferred 1,800 acres to the Virginia Department of Forestry, establishing Dragon Run State Forest. Since then, additional tracts totaling over 4,000 acres have been added.  The state forest allows for a blend of sound forestry operations as well as public recreation.  Unlike other conservation organizations, TNC is willing to work with industry to find reasonable coexistences like they’ve done here in this state forest. 

  

12:45 p.m.

 I park at the intersection of John Hancock and Coldwater Roads and begin questioning this hike.  Typically, I start hikes at first light; not the peak of midday heat.  It’s blazing and I’m heading down an overgrown trail leading to the middle of nowhere… wonder how this is gonna work out?

 

The trail starts out fairly clear; in fact, had I had four-wheel drive, I could have driven a little further in.   But foot travel is a better means anyway for experiencing a forest.  After half a mile, the trail turns and degrades considerably.  It’s nearly impassable even on foot – heavily overgrown and, I’m sure, a tick breeding ground. Nonetheless, an overgrown sign continues to welcome foot travelers and I wade into the insectitude. 

 

After bushwhacking a while, I spot a clearing in the tree canopy ahead.  From map reading last night, I knew this path would eventually intersect water’s edge, albeit potentially just a trickle in the midst of summer.  I trudge now with added vigor, motivated by an attraction to water, especially so on this very warm day.  When I spot the glistening I slow down knowing the best way to approach water is quietly to avoid spooking life also attracted to water.  But at midday, its siesta time and I spot only a few Ebony Jewelwing and Eastern Pondhawk dragonflies – beautiful little critters that aren’t skittish.  I watch up close as they flit about the streams’ edge.

The siesta only amplifies the silence of this place.  Other than a very infrequent overhead plane and a spattering of mostly-dormant midday birdsong, all that’s left is the breeze whistling gently through the canopy.  I’m cushioned not just from noises, but from just about everything else - a place of ultimate social-distancing.  I’ve trained all my life for social-distancing; perfecting the search for secluded places where solitude brings the recharge introverts need.  Here at the end of Coldwater Trail is a champion social distancing spot. 

The isolation found at the end of Coldwater Trail is the perfect memory to take from Dragon Run State Forest.  Preserving places such as this through cooperative efforts from TNC, FODR, and the department of forestry have far-reaching impacts.  Broadly, it serves as the Chesapeake Bay’s vital elixir, but personally it offers folks like me social distance, deep solitude and an opportunity to experience the environment Pocahontas once roamed.  

 

2:15 p.m.

 I’ve got another mile to go and I’m down to the very last sip of the third water bottle I brought with me.  Foregoing coffee this morning put me in a hydration deficit right from the start this morning.  After a morning kayaking and an afternoon of bushwhacking, my thoughts are fancying a fourth water bottle and air conditioning. 

 

 

I knowingly set out to explore this property during the hottest time of day.  It has been quite a workout trudging in the heat along the overgrown trail after already having kayaked three miles.  But it’s the physical stress of such exploits that motivates me to stay fit – to eat right, to exercise and sleep well.  There’s an innate satisfaction that comes from physical effort.  Tired, thirsty, bloodied, hungry, putrid, sun-burned, and achy… all welcomed adjectives to describe the end of this stout, triathlon adventure. 

 

4:00 p.m.

 I’ve been driving for over an hour with the air conditioner blowing at maximum.  A super-sized drink has been emptied.  It’s taken a while but I’m finally starting to feel a deep core cool down about the time I arrive home.  Time now to hit the shower as a final step in the cooling process… and surely to wash off a few ticks that have hopped aboard for the ride.