pedantic nuthatch

I cut short yesterday's planned hike into Cedar Run and White Oak Canyons on the Blue Ridge, for a couple of reasons.

I started a little late on the drive out. It's a pleasant half-hour drive along 3-digit-numbered state roads from Sperryville to the trailheads along Weakley Hollow Road, where you'll find big horse farms, well-tended mobile homes, a couple of nifty-looking contemporaries, and some dumpy little cabins for rent. (Hmm, a cabin rental could be a nice way to spend a week. "Dumpy," by the way, is a good thing in Leta's book.) Route 231 is designated a state Byway, and at present is far enough from the city that it may retain that character for a while.

Then the parking area at the trailhead was temporarily full (note to oblivious self: small parking lots can fill up quickly on fine summer Sunday afternoons), so I parked a mile away at one of the Old Rag trailheads. (Of course some parking spaces had opened up by the time I hiked back down the road to my trailhead.)

So it was nearly 2:30 by the time I was on trail. As soon as I started climbing, I began sweating liberally, although I didn't otherwise feel like I was working that hard. On the other hand, I found myself not wanting to push on to the top and then feel rushed to make it back down the mountain before dark. The weather was definitely cloudier and muggier than I'd expected. So I found an unpeopled spot (a treasured rarity on the weekend) next to Cedar Run and facing Halfmile Cliff, ate too much trail mix, and read my book. I climbed a bit more (I reckon about a third of the way up the trail, 800 feet up from the trailhead), and then turned around and worked my way down. The footing on this trail is slick in a couple of spots, and so coming down is just as hard as going up.

I spent some time pursuing a mysterious tiny white butterfly, but all I was able to identify on this walk was the ubiquitous Silver-Spotted Skippers (Epargyreus clarus), so I didn't add any items to my miserably paltry butterfly list. I whistled at a pewee that didn't whistle back. I found a two-inch-long click beetle, an Eyed Elater (Alaus oculatus), with its get-back eyespots on its back. Borror and White write in the Peterson field guide:

Click beetles are named for their ability to click and jump. If one its turned onto its back, the head and prothorax are bent backward and then the body is suddenly straightened. This straightening produces an audible click and the beetle is propelled into the air. If it does not land right side up, the performance is continued until it does.

There is a linking trail connecting the Cedar Run and White Oak trails that slabs around the ridge separating them, and it's my idea of a nice gentle walk in the woods: soil and leaf litter for footing, hardwood canopy overhead, not a lot of traffic, and minimal elevation change.

I think I was wise to trust my instincts, because my left knee began to complain (why? I hadn't stressed it, so far as I know) during the last 400-foot climb back to the car.