Category: Unbound

I’ve been doing strength competitions for just about a year and a half, so I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. My current national ranking is second in the women’s amateur heavyweight division. That’s according to the Arnold Corporation, the governing body for Strongman and Strongwoman events. I’m 32 now, and I feel I have some time to reach my true potential. I have a master’s in social work, so my jobs keep me busy—as a clinician on Region Ten’s PACT (programs of assertive community treatment) team, and a part-time counselor at Tandem Friends School. But I make working out a priority—I have to, in order to compete.

My next meets are East Coast Most Powerful, in June, in Baltimore, and the North America National Championships, in West Palm Beach, in September.

Growing up here in Charlottesville, I was a tomboy and always strong when fighting with my guy friends. My idea of sports was mainstream—I played basketball, field hockey, and lacrosse in high school. I knew that lifting weights was necessary for conditioning, but I never realized that powerlifting, let alone strongman, was a sport.

I found out for sure in 2016, when I joined a local powerlifting gym, Primal Strength. I did a charity powerlifting meet that fall, and my first Strongman competition, Rumble in the Jungle, in July 2017. I won that one, and the next two, the same year. In my most recent competition, this past March, I placed fourth—that was the Arnold Amateur Strongwoman World Championships.

Each training cycle for a competition is 12 to 16 weeks long, so I feel like I’m cranking it out the entire time, five days a week. The goal is to reach maximum strength and meet the weight requirement, which is 180.5 pounds in my division.

I do not count calories, and focus on water and protein intake, and eating three meals and two snacks a day. It gives me the fuel I need to train. I also make sure to sleep eight hours a night, and icing and stretching are key to my recovery. I put my body through a lot of stress, so it needs a chance to heal. By stress, I mean, I can deadlift 480 pounds, bench press 195, and squat with 425 pounds on my back.

I still struggle to believe in my full potential. However, at the end of the day I love seeing how far I can push my body, as well as discovering self-love for my body. I’ve gained 40-ish pounds since I’ve been competing, which is difficult for a woman who was a lean, avid runner. So whenever I’m feeling down, I remind myself of what I’ve accomplished. I tell myself, “Monica, you pulled a truck that weights over 12,000 pounds. You’re amazing!”

When I’m competing it’s like going to another zone. Nothing is more exhilarating than going onto the floor with my training partner, Shaun, and knowing that we are among the few people of color—typically, the only people of color—able to compete at a high level in our sport. That alone pushes me to keep striving for my best.

Competing has taught me to be mentally tough. I used to always think that it was bullshit when people would say that it is more mental than anything. However, watching my growth and seeing me pushing numbers in competitions that I could not in training shows the power of the mind at play.

My advice to anyone who wants to get into this is just do it—what do you have to lose? You’re only going to become a better version of yourself mentally and physically.—Monica Johnson, as told to Joe Bargmann

When Devin Floyd and his team at the Center for Urban Habitats design gardens, they don’t just think about which plants will bloom in which season. Their approach is far more complex, encompassing the request that client David Wimberley made when he first hired them in 2014. “He came to us because he wanted to maximize the natural potential of his property to support wildlife,” Floyd says.

Supporting wildlife means supporting a whole food web, which starts with native plants, in particular species that form plant communities. Those communities, in turn, must be suited to the conditions where they’re planted—sun exposure, drainage, soil types. It goes, literally, as deep as the bedrock.

“The basic Piedmont Prairie occurs on greenstone bedrock,” says Floyd. “It’s really rich.”

In re-establishing a prairie plant community on Wimberley’s Park Street neighborhood property, CUH worked from lists of the indicator species for that ecosystem:  “Little bluestem, early goldenrod, butterfly milkweed, narrowleaf mountain mint, Indian grass, big bluestem, and more,” Floyd says. “It’s a really diverse assemblage—at least 100 species growing with those others.”

Beginning the project with a survey of the niche habitats on Wimberley’s land, CUH realized that it was looking at a wide variety, from upland forest (in the front yard, under a huge white ash tree) to prairie to wetlands.. Wimberley envisioned most of his half-acre being devoted to native gardens, which would absorb any stormwater. Characteristically, CUH did not take a conventional approach to this problem.

“You can handle a lot of stormwater if you dig a deep hole and fill it with rocks,” says Floyd. Instead, the team performed some shallow grading to create low spots where water could be absorbed by plants well-suited to that task: several different sedges, white turtlehead, cardinal flower, golden ragwort, swamp rose, winterberry, and wild indigo shrub.

Heavy rain overwhelmed the initial designs and plantings, with water draining into a pond on a neighboring property. “It’s a continuous landscape; there’s no hedge or fence,” says Floyd. “We got a contract to do plant-community restoration on that property as well. It’s a fairly big pond and it’s been there at least 150 years. Prior to that it was probably an upland swamp.” When he and his team found species lurking from that old community, they shepherded them. 

Five years into the project, the landscape hums with life and color. “Diversity in flora translates directly to diversity in insects,” says Floyd. “The sheer numbers of species of beetles, flies, bees, and butterflies is really high, and on the back of that come the predators—assassin bugs, jumping spiders. It trickles up very quickly. There’s bird, amphibian, and reptile diversity.” Wimberley has even photographed red foxes through his living-room windows.

“It is a much more subtle landscape than a traditional professionally landscaped yard,” Wimberley says. “It helps to have a real interest in the specific plants, the plant communities, the plant and animal interactions.”

Along the front of the property, the challenge is different: to plant a native garden that won’t rile the neighbors or earn Wimberley a citation under the city’s weed ordinance. Floyd and Wimberley have worked with city officials more than once to get penalties waived. “There are some hurdles to overcome,” Floyd says. “Insofar as truly supporting wildlife, it has to become easier for people to do. The definition of ‘weed’ within city code is a problem.”

“The idea that we can coexist with wildlife even in urban spaces is very plausible, and it can happen very quickly,” Floyd adds. “It just comes down to making room for nonhumans in an intentional way.”

“Go play outside!” is one of those phrases that pops out of parents’ mouths as though it comes from a deep well of universal wisdom. Along with eating your vegetables and not waking the baby, playing outside seems so obviously the right thing for kids to do. Once they cross the threshold into the great outdoors, though, what exactly will happen?

For my kids, playing outside can mean throwing a Frisbee in the side yard, riding scooters in the driveway, or scratching up the dirt in their little gardens with a kid-size rake. But it can also mean something more like a real adventure—fording the creek, climbing a steep mountainside, and trekking through the woods to a tipi village they constructed beside a big boulder.

We live in a rural spot with thousands of acres of forest outside the back door and a swift-moving creek along the edge of the property. Our house is 87 years old, and the generations who lived here before us dropped more than their share of glass and metal onto the land. Neighbors hunt in the fall. Poison ivy and ticks are rampant in the summer. In other words, there are plenty of dangers to worry about, and the further my kids venture from the house, the longer grows the list of things I might warn them about.

Little mishaps began early. I remember when our older daughter was just a baby, not yet walking, and we were sitting with her in the grass when we started noticing ants on her chubby legs. Quite a few ants! More and more ants! It turned out she’d been plopped down right on an anthill. She even had ants in her diaper.

Another time, she waded to the far side of the creek while I was helping her younger sister, then a toddler, on the near side. Suddenly she screamed a real scream and I looked up to see her face to face with a snake—which species, I never determined. They backed off from each other with no harm done.

I could go on—there was the time a tree fell near where she was playing, and the time a rattlesnake appeared on our deck in the midst of the kids and their friends, and all those tick bites and bruises—but the point is clear: Outside play, especially free play, is certainly more risky than a life of screens, books, and couches. It’s probably more risky than organized sports. Letting kids roam independently makes us parents confront our tolerance for that risk again and again.

My instincts tell me that the risk is well worth it. But sometimes it’s hard to listen to instincts above the roar of societal disapproval.  A well-meaning woman once warned me in a park that my kids were wading in the creek, and she clearly thought I was crazy when I didn’t immediately jump up to rescue them.

At times like those, I get backup from Richard Louv, author of Last Child in the Woods, who reminds us that there are different kinds of risk: “An indoor (or backseat) childhood does reduce some dangers to children; but other risks are heightened, including risks to physical and psychological health, risk to children’s concept and perception of community, risk to self-confidence and the ability to discern true danger.”

For me, the key has been to take the risks alongside my kids during their youngest years. We walk in the creek together, we scramble up steep slopes, we hike and climb trees. I want them to know weather and topography and their own bodies, so I’ve accompanied them on the journey as their guide and safety officer.

If you could listen to my thoughts during those adventures, you’d hear the sound of continual reckoning: “Should I warn her that rock she’s climbing is slippery? She seems pretty stable. Ack—she’s getting to the slickest part. Look at her toes gripping it, though. She’s a good climber. But if she fell…oh, never mind, she’s already at the top.” And then my voice, out loud: “Watch out for stinging nettles up there!”

I always knew a time would come when they’d take off and explore on their own. And recently, that day arrived. They packed little backpacks and took off for that village on the mountainside they’d built, without us. My husband and I watched them go, feeling proud and unsettled all at once. The ongoing process of making peace with danger continues.

Also, we sent them out with walkie-talkies.

 

“Do you read me?”

To stay in touch with your kids if they trek out of sight, walkie-talkies can do the trick. Cheap models can be glitchy, so we recommend a step up. Rechargeable via a USB connection, Midland’s X-Talker T51VP3 claims a range up to 28 miles and comes with a three-year warranty. $49.99. Field & Stream, 5th Street Station

Earl Swift is the author of seven books, including the urgent and poignant Chesapeake Requiem: A Year with the Watermen of Vanishing Tangier Island. It was named a best book of 2018 by NPR, The Washington Post, Outside, Bloomberg, and Smithsonian, among others, and recently won a Reed Environmental Writing Award from the Southern Environmental Law Center.

Currently a Virginia Humanities fellow at UVA, Swift, 60, of Afton, is among America’s best nonfiction writers. During his 21-year tenure at The Virginian-Pilot, six of his stories were nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, as were two of his books (Chesapeake Requiem and Autobiography: A Classic Car, an Outlaw Motorhead, and 57 Years of the American Dream). He’s also been in the running for National Magazine Awards and (twice) for the National Book Award.

In the course of doing his job, he’s searched for missing soldiers in the jungles of Southeast Asia, kayaked the perimeter of the Chesapeake Bay, and spent three weeks canoeing and camping along the James river. He took time off to thru-hike the entire 2,190 miles of the Appalachian Trail—but ended up writing a story for Outside about pair of hikers he met along the way who were murdered in a camping shelter.

It’s tempting to draw a direct line from Mark Twain’s semi-autobiographical travelogues in Roughing It to Swift’s narrative nonfiction (in part because he’s originally from Missouri, where he started his journalism career at the St. Louis Globe-Democrat). In the digital age, when a lot of what qualifies as news feels either manufactured or regurgitated, Swift adheres to one of the first tenets of journalism: reporting on experience.

But Swift’s hunger for experience and “getting out of the building,” as he calls it, doesn’t just make him a great reporter. He is a role model for outdoor adventurers. As someone who hikes the AT almost every day, his familiarity with the trails and wildlife of the area is a valuable resource (Ed. note: loves deer, hates snakes, faced-down a bear). He also has a reverence for the natural world that is infectious and reminds us it’s not something we should take for granted.

Swift would cringe to read all of this about himself. He is humble, self-effacing, and pretty damn funny. We sat down with him recently in a Crozet coffee shop to talk about writing, hiking, and enjoying “achievable adventures” while they’re still out there for the taking.

Why do you choose to live in Afton?

The short answer is that I live a mile from the Appalachian Trail, and on most mornings I go up and hike. I also lived for 25 years on or near the water, in Hampton Roads, and felt very connected to it. My fiancé, Amy, and I often walk the sandy trails of First Landing State Park, near her home in Virginia Beach. But there’s something about the mountains that trumps my love of water. I am rebooted every day on the trail. Regardless of whatever problems I might be dealing with, when I get out there and take on a tough uphill it balances everything.

Being connected to the outdoors seems vitally important to you.

I’m not a churchy guy, but being out in the woods connects you to something bigger—and, of course, the ocean does the same thing. I don’t know whether it’s because of the perspective you have when you’re on a mountain, or the animals you run into at any given moment.

Such as?

Well, I never get tired of seeing deer. It’s always exciting to see a bear. But I don’t much like seeing rattlesnakes.

Bears don’t scare you?

We live in a very bear-y stretch of mountain here. Most of the time, they’re just plain fun to see—but they always demand respect. Three or four years ago, I was hiking with a friend and her 10-year-old son, Lincoln. We were on the Albright trail off the Blue Ridge Parkway. About 300 yards after setting out, I heard Lincoln say, “Oh, it’s a bear.” I turned to find that I’d walked right past a bear standing two feet away, on the edge of the trail—an adolescent, and not huge, but bigger than me. I did everything you’re supposed to—raised my hands over my head to make myself look bigger, and spoke to the bear in a firm and commanding voice. It couldn’t have cared less. We had a standoff for a long moment before I started yelling at it to get the hell out of there. Finally, it did, but very slowly. He was like, yeah I’ll leave, but on my own terms, and sauntered into the woods.

Did that put you off of hiking for awhile?

Not at all. Hiking is pretty much my gym. The AT is so close to my house that I just go from Rockfish Gap either north or south, usually south. There’s a five-mile stretch that leads down to the Wolf Shelter and throws a little of everything at you. It’s a good interval workout. And right [about] now, in early spring, it’s beautiful. There’s nothing between you and this incredible view of the Rockfish Valley. You can go with earbuds in and not worry about listening for a rattle, and just cruise. Once summer comes and the snakes arrive, I leave the earbuds at home.

I thru-hiked the trail in 1990 and have very fond memories of lots of places in Virginia that I would like to get back to—and eventually will.

I heard you found a plane-crash site near the AT.

I didn’t discover it, but I did get to it. It was an old radial-engine Marine Corps trainer that had been flying to Nashville from the East Coast. It lost oil pressure over the Blue Ridge. The guys bailed out and both survived. The wreckage is about 600 feet off the AT at the bottom of a steep decline. I knew it was on the south side of Humpback, probably on the flank that faces east. That’s a big mountain, but after a lot of bushwhacking I found the plane, in big identifiable pieces. It’s work to get to it, and even more work to get back out—you almost have to go hand-over-hand. Along the way I found a lot of other stuff too. Weird poems written on boulders—it was little creepy, a little Blair Witch-y.

What’s the most extreme situation you’ve been in?

You mean, when I was sure I was gonna die? There are a lot of competitors for that. The Pilot once sent me around the Chesapeake Bay in a kayak for six weeks, and I was filing stories as I went. One night I camped on this tiny spit of sand called Honeymoon Island, about a quarter mile from land. I pitched my tent, an aluminum-frame North Face Bullfrog. I was settling down for the night when I heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. Five minutes later, there’s another snarl of thunder, and this one’s close. I felt the ground tremble. And then, suddenly, the tent is slammed by this gale-force wind and flips over. The storm brought lightning that hit so close I would actually leave the ground. In an aluminum-frame tent with the nearest taller object a quarter mile away, it seemed impossible that I wasn’t going to get struck by lightning. It was 25 minutes of sustained terror.

Why do put yourself in these extreme situations and write about them?

Nothing I do is that extreme. I mean, there are people who do crazier things. Mountain climbers? That is some bat-shit crazy stuff.

Okay, but you seem to gravitate to writing about people in extreme situations, like the Tangier watermen. Why is it important to know about these people and these environments?

Most of it is not by design, or maybe it is and I’m just not aware of it. I’m an extremely geeky guy. The kind of story that interests me isn’t necessarily a life-or-death struggle to survive. Those elements pop up along the way. It’s not like I go looking for them.

For example, I was on Tangier when the Henrietta C. went down and Eddie Jacks [Charnock] drowned, so it was clear that would be part of the book and probably also a magazine story. I met my book deadline in October 2017. In November, I went back to Tangier and re-reported the Henrietta C. sinking for Outside. I liked the way the magazine story turned out so much that I pulled Chapter 22 out of the book and substituted it with much of what I’d written for the magazine. Had I not been there, I’m not sure I would have written about it.

So, adventure finds you?

Oh no, I can see the headline now. Don’t do that to me! [laughs] The key is to leave the building. If you leave the building—if you project yourself into the world—stuff will happen, and you’ll have things to write about.

You’ve had this moment of being the expert on Tangier Island, which is slowly being engulfed because of sea-level rise. It strikes me as a very important story for our time.

Unfortunately, it’s one of those stories that people won’t realize how important it is until the wider implications of climate change become all too apparent. Tangier is the proverbial canary in a coal mine. It’s just the first of hundreds, if not thousands, of towns that will face the same fate. And not long from now. We’ll live long enough to see it begin, and our kids will live plenty long enough to see this at its worst.

The importance of Tangier is not that it’s a town of 460, or even that it has a lifestyle that sets it apart from any other place in America. It’s that it’s the first of many. And how we respond will inform what we do the next time and the time after that.

It’s analogous to this French parable: There’s a pond with a lily pad on it the size of a silver dollar, and every day the lily pad doubles in size. After 30 days, the lily pad covers the entire surface of the pond. And the parable asks, on what day did the lily pad cover only half the pond? The answer is, on the 29th day.

That’s where we are. That’s why I think Tangier is important. It’s a wake-up call. It should be, anyway.

Circling back to you in the outdoors, and adventure. Looking at your work, those seem to be focal points. But you claim they’re not.

I would not necessarily qualify myself as an environmental writer, though it’s certainly one of my passions. But I try to stay resolutely general assignment and not get pigeonholed. Journey on the James is, on the one hand, an adventure memoir, but on the other hand it’s a history book—much of it about the French and Indian War—masquerading as an adventure memoir. It’s a very different book from Chesapeake Requiem, which is not on its face an adventure story, although being there, I guess you could argue, was an adventure.

It’s experiential.

It’s deep immersion. If there is a common denominator in my stories, it’s that.

There’s also a thread about having these places available to you, that these things are there for the taking.

That’s an interesting point, because none of these are experiences are beyond the means—physical or financial—of most people who read about them. Going on the James River in a canoe is not exactly like going to the river of no return. I’m no Teddy Roosevelt, and I did it. It’s an achievable adventure. And people are really attracted to that kind of thing. And also because, I’m chicken. I’m not looking to kill myself. I want to live a long and boring life.

 

Swift’s tips for surviving achievable adventures

The author says his side gig as a salesperson at Great Outdoor Provision Co. in the Barracks Road Shopping Center “gives me a chance to talk to people who are about to have adventures and give them advice.” Here it is, in a nutshell.

“Bring water. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in the Humpback Rocks’ parking lot and seen people heading up there, and they’re not carrying water. Every time I see someone doing that, especially if it’s an older person, I’ll say, ‘You know, you need to rethink this.’ Just because the sign says ‘40-minute walk to the rocks’ doesn’t mean it’s going to be a garden stroll. Do not be fooled by that sign. You need water. You need lots of water.”

“Never wear cotton while hiking. Cotton will kill you. Cotton absorbs eight times its weight in liquid. If it gets wet it takes forever to dry out. And it will suck the heat out of you fast. If you’ve spent a sweaty day climbing to an overlook, and a wind’s blowing, it might be 60 degrees but if you’re wearing a soaked cotton T-shirt, you are a prime candidate for freezing to death. There are probably more people who freeze to death in that kind of weather than in bone-cracking cold. If you go hypothermic and you’re a mile up the mountain, you’re in serious trouble.”

“Wear wool or polyester, instead. You might think wool would be too hot in the summer. Not true. A light merino wool T-shirt will keep you cooler than cotton in summer, and warmer in winter.”

“Always pack a waterproof shell, even if it’s sunny. It’ll protect you from the deadly effects of wind when you’re sweaty and tired.”

“Wear wool socks year-round. There is no reason for anybody to wear cotton socks at any point in their entire lives. Wool socks wick sweat. When you wear them your shoes will never stink. You will not get blisters to the degree that you do with cotton socks. We spent generations trying to come up with a man-made fabric that could replicate what wool does, but we’ve never quite managed to do it. Wool is the miracle fabric.”

“Bring sunblock, wear a hat, and bring bug spray. I still think DEET might be unparalleled in its effectiveness, even if you can hear your chromosomes snapping as you slather it on. But last summer I experimented with picaridin. It smells a lot better. It seems to be effective against ticks and mosquitoes. And it won’t eat away at your gear the way DEET does. So, I think I may be capable of change, even with my strong opinions. I’m doing a slow turn.”

If you think that the end of summer means it’s time to put away the hiking boots, think again. Fall and winter in Virginia are fantastic seasons to walk in the woods—for 15 minutes or a whole day. It’s easier to see the mountains we live among when the trees aren’t fully in leaf, and we promise: Even if it’s chilly outside, once you get to hiking, you’ll feel warm.

Our area is loaded with hiking opportunities. Though the obvious destinations—Shenandoah National Park and the Blue Ridge Parkway—offer many wonderful trails, you can get your fix much closer to town. We’ve tried to list something for everyone, from the hardcore to the stroller- bound to the hiking-averse. Here are 14 of our favorite hikes in and around Charlottesville.

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Best low-key, no-travel hike: Secluded Farm

If you’re in Charlottesville and you just need to get outside NOW, you can do no better than to take the quick drive to Kemper Park—that’s just after the turn onto Route 53 toward Monticello—and hike the trails at Secluded Farm. Maintained by the Thomas Jefferson Foundation, the trails are so easily accessible it’s hard to believe they deliver such a middle-of-nowhere-in-Albemarle feeling. But it’s true. All you have to do is walk to the right from the Kemper Park parking area and you’ll enter a network of beautiful trails through woods and meadows.

You have your choice here: a couple miles of climbing the mountainside, or something more like a mellow stroll. Our favorite, because it’s a little unusual, is to follow the meadow trails to where big, stately oaks stand alone on an open hillside—a really sublime place for a picnic, a sketching session, or a talk with a friend.

Length: Variable

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Best hike for people who hate hiking: Loft Mountain Loop

If you’re in Shenandoah National Park and there’s someone in your group who, ahem, isn’t exactly longing to walk in the woods, the Loft Mountain Loop is a good compromise. It’s easy—part of it’s even paved—yet not so short that you’ll feel disappointed when it’s over. It includes a great view and a stretch on the Appalachian Trail (in case your reluctant trekker might enjoy claiming, when back in civilization, to have “hiked the AT”). And best of all, it’s one of the few hikes anywhere that passes an ice cream stand.

As a loop, Loft Mountain avoids the we’ve-been-here-before boredom of out-and-back hikes. Starting at the Loft Mountain Wayside, hike along the Frazier Discovery Trail (which passes under a large rock overhang). The big, southwest-facing view comes about halfway through the hike, and—perhaps even more to the point—it’s the Loft Mountain camp store where you can grab some sweet treats. Keep on munching as you complete the loop on a trail that parallels the campground road.

Length: 2.7 mile loop

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Best hike to a swimming hole: Blue Hole at Sugar Hollow

Untrammeled wilderness this is not: Sugar Hollow is one of the most popular destinations for Charlottesville-based hikers, and for good reason. It might not be the place to find solitude—you’ll almost certainly have company on this trail—but if you don’t mind other humans, you’ll be enchanted by Blue Hole. But first you have to get there. Park at the end of Sugar Hollow Road and head to the left, toward the South Fork of the Moormans River. The trail immediately crosses the river (wear water shoes!) and, on the other side, you’ll find the wide, well-traveled path you seek. Don’t take the trail that soon dives down to the left. Keep following the river as the trail skirts the mountainside; after one more stream crossing, you’ll find yourself gently climbing toward the swimming hole.

Actually, it’s a series of swimming holes; you’ll know you’re there when you see big bare cliffs jutting out above you on the left. Check out the rope swing above the big hole—in years past, there used to be a much more bodacious one—and climb around behind the waterfall to find the smaller, more private swimming spots. The whole landscape is a study in the action of water on rock: lovely and refreshing.

Length: 3 miles out and back

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Best hike for strollers: Saunders-Monticello Trail

New parents who have been used to running and hiking in their lives B.C. (that’s Before Children) will be longing to get the blood moving. But strollers can be awkward at city street corners and hazardous on country roads, so a smooth, well-maintained trail—that’s also very close to town—is a real boon. Park the minivan at Kemper Park, off Route 53, and avail yourself of the Saunders/Monticello Trail.

Part crushed gravel and part elevated wooden boardwalk, this trail is beautifully designed and maintained, and wide enough for several strollers to travel abreast. It climbs the little mountain in two miles of graceful curves that, while not taking you deep into the heart of the wilderness, do offer lovely wooded surroundings and a good workout. If you do the whole trail, you’ll wind up at the Monticello visitors’ center—a nice place to get a snack or even hit the gift shop.

Length: 4 miles out and back

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Best hike to show off the area to guests: Humpback Rocks

Yes, if you’re a veteran Charlottesville hiker you may already be sick of this hike. But your visitors aren’t. For newbies, it hardly gets better than this—an easy drive from town; a hike with a stellar, camera-ready endpoint; and an iconic Parkway experience. And there’s more than one way to skin this cat: If you want the short but steep version, you follow the blue blazes and the madding crowds, and huff and puff your way one mile to the top. If you want the longer, gentler version, take the AT instead and you’ll probably have a mite more solitude on the trail (2.7 miles one way).

The rocks themselves, of course, are a thrill—they offer a big view and the opportunity to climb about, cautiously or daringly as your temperament allows. Even better, you can combine the Humpback hike with any number of nearby attractions: the recreated mountain farm just across the Parkway; bluegrass concerts on summer and fall Sundays at that same farm; or any of the breweries, distilleries and wineries along Route 151 in Nelson County. It pretty much adds up to the perfect outside-of-Charlottesville day.

Length: 2 or 5.4 miles out and back

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Best hike near water: Walnut Creek Park

It may not look like much when you’re pulling into the entrance from Old Lynchburg Road, but Walnut Creek Park is not some dinky little patch of land. There’s a 45-acre lake in there! And nearly 500 acres of land to explore! As for hiking, you’ll probably have to visit more than once to experience all 15 miles of trails in this park.

The Walnut Creek trails are well-mapped and maintained, and form a dense network that you could combine in any number of ways. But for an easy-to-navigate hike that samples the best of the park, try leaving your car in the first parking lot and starting off over the little footbridge toward Luke’s Loop. Keep the lake on your left, hook up with Wilkins Way, and just stay on it as it skirts the shore, then climbs the mountain to the park’s highest elevations before looping back to the starting point (5.1 miles altogether). Another, shorter option: the two-mile Blue Wheel trail, which starts from the second parking lot and gives you lots of lake time, too.

Length: Variable

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Best hike for a workout: Crabtree Falls

You’ll be craving a workout by the time you step out of the car—Crabtree Falls is over an hour from Charlottesville. (Make a nice loop of it: Drive the Parkway from Rockfish Gap to the trailhead on Route 56, then return on Route 151 through Nelson County.) Stretch your quads in the parking lot and then hit the trail.  Right away, you’ll get a great view of a section of Crabtree Falls. Enjoy it, but know this is only the beginning—the trail keeps climbing for nearly two steep miles, up switchbacks, steps, and wooden walkways, and passing several other great waterfall viewing spots on the way to the top.

There’s no way to view Crabtree Falls all at once; it’s just too big. In fact, it’s said to be the highest vertical-drop cascading waterfall east of the Mississippi, falling 1,200 feet through five major cascades and many smaller ones. You hike alongside it, not to it. And, of course, it’s magnificent.

The final viewpoint is actually above the top of the falls, where you gaze out at the Tye River valley. From here, if your legs aren’t jelly, an optional add-on is to continue another 1.2 miles to Crabtree Meadows. Or just start back down toward your car, working a whole other muscle group on the way.

Length: 4 miles out and back

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Best hike for birding: Ivy Creek Natural Area

It’s not only that the Ivy Creek Natural Area includes different kinds of habitats in its 215 acres, from meadows to forests to shoreline, each of which attracts particular kinds of birds. It’s that ICNA is also the best place near Charlottesville to connect with the naturalist community here, by joining a bird walk or other educational event. There are lots of folks around here who know their birds (not to mention their trees, wildflowers, etc.), and Ivy Creek is where they—like warblers, geese, and wild turkey—gather.

Bring your binoculars and join the monthly first Saturday bird walk with the Monticello Bird Club; you’ll learn a lot from the experts in the crowd. Sometimes there are other special bird-related events, like an evening nighthawk migration watch, and even the monthly plant walks are likely to include some information about birds and other wildlife. For solo hiking, 7.1 miles of trails offer lots of options; the red and orange trails linked together will give you an overview of many different environments and likely offer an encounter with at least a few of the more than 150 species that have been spotted here.

The more often you visit, the more you’ll begin to spot and appreciate birds in this beautiful, beloved preserve.

Length: Variable

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Best hike for families: Blackrock Summit

If it’s the kids’ first time taking a real, official hike, this is a great choice for an outing with a high chance of success. It’s only a mile long, with an option to add another .6 miles if things are going well. And it doesn’t require a big climb—but it does reward hikers with big views from a summit.

From the Blackrock Summit parking area, near mile 85 on Skyline Drive, follow the Appalachian Trail to the bouldery summit and gaze upon mountains to the north. You can either continue around the boulders for another set of views to the south, or—for a slightly longer hike—turn right to find the Blackrock Spur Trail, which leads through a boulder field and takes a little more muscle, with 445 feet of elevation gain.

Like all hikes in Shenandoah National Park, Blackrock can be found on a small map available at the entrance kiosk to the park, where you can also pick up a Junior Ranger booklet with lots of kids’ activities. This hike is also an official Kids in Parks TRACK Trail, meaning there’s a special brochure for kids available at the trailhead and the opportunity to log the hike online for free prizes.

Length: 1 or 1.6 mile loop

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Best evening hike: Turk Mountain

Why is Turk Mountain a great choice for an after-work or sunset hike? One, it’s not too far from Charlottesville—just zip out to the Shenandoah National Park entrance on I-64, and drive about 10 lovely miles on Skyline Drive to the Turk Gap parking spot. Two, it delivers more of a workout than you might expect for its length. Three, it culminates in a spectacular view to the west.

Pick up the Appalachian Trail on the west side of Skyline Drive and follow it south for .2 miles. The Turk Mountain trail then splits off to the right, moseying downhill to a gentle saddle before beginning to climb. Soon you’ll realize you’re going to earn the “summit” mentioned on the trail marker. The climb gets steeper and steeper until it suddenly veers sharply to the right as you crest the peak. Keep hopping along the pinkish-white chunks of rock until you emerge at the top of a big slope, strewn with talus for many feet below you. From here you’ll be able to see all the way across the Shenandoah Valley to the Alleghenies. Watch your step, have a seat, and break out that dinner you were smart enough to pack.

Length: 2.2 miles out and back

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Best day-trip hike: Old Rag

This one’s a classic for its challenging nature—it’s 9.1 miles long, gains 2,417 feet of elevation and requires some rock scrambling near the top—and because Old Rag is an iconic peak. Though it’s located within Shenandoah National Park borders, it’s accessed from Route 231 in Sperryville rather than from Skyline Drive. You’re gonna be climbing.

Old Rag takes more planning than most hikes, due to its length, popularity (try for a weekday when the parking lot may be less likely to fill up), and difficulty. Be safe.

The hike begins with a couple of miles of climbing on a wooded trail, and once it emerges onto the ridgetop, you’ll be following blue blazes as you scramble and shimmy over a mile and a half of granite boulders. This is fun but, of course, it can be dangerous in the wrong weather or for those who aren’t prepared. After appreciating a 360-degree view from the summit of Old Rag, you’ll travel four miles down the Saddle Trail and a fire road to return to your car. (A tip for the crowd-averse: Other routes to the Old Rag summit exist, and may offer somewhat more solitude—at least until you reach the top.)

The Park Service recommends budgeting about seven to eight hours for the classic loop hike. Finish up by late afternoon and you can celebrate your accomplishment with a nice dinner in Sperryville.

Length: 9.1 mile loop

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Best all-day hike: Riprap

Here’s a Shenandoah hike that’ll let you know you’re alive. It’s less about reaching some amazing destination than enjoying the journey—though there are some highlights sprinkled throughout the route. These include a 50-foot-wide swimming hole, the viewpoint called Chimney Rock, a 20-foot waterfall, and—to please the technically minded hiker—several stream crossings.

At 9.8 miles and 2,365-foot elevation gain, Riprap is listed by the Park Service as “very strenuous,” and it’s recommended that you allow about eight hours to complete it—though you’ll find plenty of hikers posting up their sub-four-hour times. You’ll also see lots of different online opinions on the best direction to hike—you can start with a steep descent down the Wildcat Ridge Trail, then hike up to Chimney Rock and finish on the relatively easy AT; or do it all in reverse, ending with a steep climb. In either direction, this is a great way to spend the better part of a day communing with the incomparable Blue Ridge, and with your own cardiovascular system.

Length: 9.8 mile loop

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Best romantic hike: White Rock Falls

This hike lets you converse easily with your sweetie (it’s not very strenuous), and it could hardly be more picturesque. You park at the Slacks Overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway and walk north a very short distance along the road. The trail dives off to the right into a lovely forest full of mountain laurel and leads down to a couple of creek crossings, where rhododendrons lean over little pools and waterfalls. Then you’ll leave the creek and climb to a rocky overlook, the trail’s one big view, and a good place to rest and canoodle.

A short time later, after some mild switchbacking, you arrive at the waterfall: a tall, enclosed bowl, with water pouring down in two different places. Enjoy the shallow swimming hole, seek out a cozy niche in the rock faces, and enjoy this spot—a magical private room within the forest.

Length: 2.2 miles out and back

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Best urban hike: Rivanna Trail

Is there any contest? The Rivanna Trail, at nearly 20 miles long, is truly an awesome urban resource. It’s not pristine, it promises no elevated breathtaking view, and it brings you closer to the city rather than providing an escape from it—and these are all the reasons why we love it. The Rivanna Trail is an intimate engagement with the city, serving as a reminder that nature is everywhere, not just out in the wilderness.

Read the online, section-by-section description of the trail (see rivannatrails.org) and you’ll realize that as it circumnavigates Charlottesville, the trail offers many different kinds of experiences. You can walk on pavement along the Rivanna River from Riverview Park. You can creep through a culvert under the 250 Bypass. You can rock-scramble along Moore’s Creek on your way to Woolen Mills. The trail visits some of the lonelier, timeworn parts of the city and puts you face-to-face with its most heavily trafficked arteries.

One favorite section we’ll recommend: the just-shy-of-two-mile stretch between Fontaine Avenue and Ivy Road. This is mostly wooded, a great place to run or hike, and yet true to the urban-fringe spirit of the Rivanna Trail, a major road passes by, just beyond the trees.

Length: Variable

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A note on fees

All the hikes listed here are free, except for those in Shenandoah National Park, Walnut Creek Park, and at Crabtree Falls.

Shenandoah costs $30 per vehicle, and the $55 annual pass is well worth it if you live nearby.

Walnut Creek Park charges $3 for adults and $2 for kids if you’re a county resident, or $4.50 adults and $3 for kids for non-county residents. These fees only apply between Memorial Day and Labor Day, however.

At Crabtree Falls, you must pay a $3 user fee at the trailhead.