In Pursuit of Wild Ponies

A musky, wild smell met my nostrils as a cooling breeze whispered over my face, carrying the distinct, equine aroma with it. That smell could only mean one of two things. Wild ponies were either somewhere nearby, or they had been recently. My eyes scanned the thick, sun-soaked foliage that surrounded me, searching for any irregularities in the landscape. Any movement that seemed incongruous with the soft swaying of leaves in the wind, any tamped section of shrubbery, would be a sign that the ponies were near. But nothing seemed the least bit out of place. I turned to Vince who was busy doing his own scan of our surroundings, but a soft shake of his head confirmed that he also hadn’t found anything.

We had arrived in Virginia’s Grayson Highlands State Park about thirty minutes ago, groggy from an overnight drive that was interrupted only by a few hours sleep in a rest stop. It was Independence Day, and we were using our long weekend to go hiking, climbing, and of course, search for the heard of wild ponies that resides in the hills below Mount Rogers, Virginia’s highest peak. The only problem was, it was now midday, and the afternoon had grown quite hot despite the park’s elevation making it cooler than the lowlands that surround it. Hot weather is not ideal for wildlife viewing. The ponies were most likely bedded down somewhere more shady, waiting for the afternoon heat to break.

So while we still kept ourselves on alert for any disturbances, we decided to use this first half day to do a couple of Grayson Highlands’ short hikes. We would be able to come back early the next morning to resume our pony search. In the meantime, we continued along the Rhododendron Trail, enjoying views of dazzling green mountains and the occasional pile of jagged boulders thrusting skyward from the mountainside.

It didn’t take us very long to complete the trail, and while we didn’t see any of the park’s famed ponies, I was able to temporarily quell my wildlife craving when we spotted some butterflies frantically feeding on a patch of wildflowers.

When we got back to our car at the trailhead, I consulted a park map I’d printed out to pick out another hike. We settled on the Cabin Creek Trail, a 1.9 mile loop with a waterfall. We started along the path, passing under a tangle of rhododendron bushes that formed a dark tunnel over the trail. I couldn’t help but feel delighted at the moody and mysterious aesthetic of the tunnel. It looked like an entrance to a fae realm, and walking through it put me in an intrepid mood.

We followed the trail through a lush forest until it met up with a rocky creek bed. From there, we climbed up a steep bit of rocky terrain, and eventually found ourselves at the foot of a little waterfall. Hot and sweaty from hiking in the heat, we immediately kicked off our shoes and waded into a frigid pool below the waterfall. There was no one else around, and the little hollow felt like our own private oasis. We climbed up alongside the waterfall and then looked down at it from above. Then we retreated back to the pool where languished on a large boulder for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet, and each other’s company.

As we lingered, I began to feel my energy draining out of me. My eyelids drooped and my limbs felt heavy; clearly I was feeling the effects of only getting car sleep the previous night. I have no trouble falling asleep in a vehicle, but I never seem to feel satisfactorily rested afterwards. So we made the decision to turn around and head back to the car. I think there is another waterfall that we missed somewhere along the creek, but in my state of exhaustion, I couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

The loop was more difficult on the way back, and by the time we arrived at the trailhead, all I wanted was dinner and a nap. We attempted one more hike, but I was simply too tired to keep moving, so we finally decided to call it a day and leave the park for now. Along the drive out however, we did stop at a sprawling scenic overlook, and at a trailhead where a grove of rhododendrons were in full bloom. In all of my years traveling to the American south for rock climbing and hiking, I have never managed to see the rhododendrons in bloom before this. Petals littered the ground around us, a few of them wafting down from the cotton candy blooms as we stood admiring the scene. It was lovely, and I was thrilled to finally catch the beautiful shrubs on bloom for once.

By the time we finally made it to our hotel in nearby Independence, Virginia (a very fitting place to spend the Fourth of July), we were feeling grubby and ravenous. We got cleaned up, and then went for dinner at a nearby restaurant. On our way out, our waitress told us we should make sure to stay up for the town’s firework show that night. She mentioned a couple of spots around town where people gathered to watch the fireworks, and one of them happened to be the parking lot of our hotel.

So, as dusk fell, we stepped out into the humid evening air to wait for the show. The remnants of a pink sunset lingered behind the surrounding hills, and a parking lot in the valley below us filled up with cars as people arrived to watch the show.

Night settled over the valley as we waited. And waited. And waited. The fireworks, which were supposed to start at nine, still hadn’t begun by ten thirty, and I was fading fast. Finally I decided I couldn’t hold out any longer, and we retired to our room where we started preparing for bed. That’s when we heard the first BANG of a firework, followed by a cascading crackle. We rushed back out to the parking lot, and enjoyed the colorful display until the massive grand finale signaled that we could finally go to bed and get some real sleep.

On my insistence, we rose early the next morning. I wanted to be back at Grayson Highlands as soon as the park opened for the day, to have the best possible chance at finding wild ponies. Our plan was to return to the Rhododendron Trail, and hike until it met up with the Appalachian Trail, searching for ponies along the way. Once we got to the Appalachian Trail and national land, we would continue on to summit Mount Rogers before hiking back down to our car. There was a thunderstorm forecasted for noon that day, and we hoped to be nearly done with the nine mile hike before then. We definitely didn’t want to be stuck on top of the mountain if a storm was rolling in, so we planned to keep a close eye on the weather and turn around early if necessary.

With all of this in mind, I was in an anxious mood as we set off along the same trail we’d taken yesterday afternoon. A strong breeze jostled the trees around us, an omen of the forthcoming storm, but the trail was still bathed in morning sunshine. We hiked uphill until we reached a flat meadow. This was where we’d attempted to find the ponies yesterday, and today there were still no ponies in sight.

I pursed my lips as my eyes scanned the meadow, hoping for any clues that they might be nearby. Just as I feel disappointment setting in, a shrill whinny pierced the quiet morning air. Vince and I looked at each other excitedly, and then squinted in the direction the noise had come from.

Off the trail a ways, we could see the curious face of a small pony eyeing us from behind a tree.

I took a few careful steps forward, and peered further into the scrubby underbrush. As I shifted my position, more ponies came into view. They lounged and grazed in a field of tall grasses, so well-hidden that they’d been completely shrouded when we were searching for them from just a slightly different angle. Now that we’d spotted them, we could see that there was a herd of twenty or so ponies relaxing in the breezy weather. There were even several playful foals tottering alongside their mothers.

I was overjoyed that we’d actually found the herd, and we slowly crept a bit closer to get a better look. We were careful not to startle them or to get too close, we just found ourselves a better opening through the trees to watch them as the wind played with their shaggy manes.

The story of how the wild ponies came to roam the hills of Grayson Highlands and Mt. Rogers National Recreation Area is an interesting one. The land that now hosts the parks was once clearcut farmland, but before the farms were there, the mountains were densely forested. When the forest was cleared, the landscape was transformed into grassy, alpine meadows with sprawling views. After the land was designated for recreation, the forest service introduced the ponies so that their grazing would maintain the grassy, alpine balds. Now there are about ten to fifteen herds of ponies living and grazing on the state and national land. The herds are managed by the Wilburn Ridge Pony Association, who round them up each year to auction off young stallions. This practice keeps the pony population under control.

There are signs all over Grayson Highlands that warn visitors against feeding the ponies in an effort to keep them wild. It quickly became apparent that not all visitors stick to those guidelines. Vince and I were the first ones on the trail that morning, and while it was just the two of us there, the ponies ignored us and went about their pony activities. But when another group of people arrived, and started feeding them carrots, the ponies suddenly took an interest in us as well. They clearly thought we might have food to offer them as well, and suddenly we were surrounded by curious, three-foot-tall ponies who had no qualms about nibbling on our clothes and bags in their pursuit of treats.

This was equal parts adorable and unsettling. While the ponies were mostly docile, especially the foals, a couple of them got into kicking matches with each other just a few feet away from where Vince and I were standing. The ponies may have been small, but I had no interest in being on the business end of a set of hooves. It was difficult to weave our way out of the crowd because there were ponies surrounding us on all sides, but we eventually able to cautiously pick our way back to the outskirts of the herd.

The ponies were simply too riled up for our liking, which was probably for the best since we still had to hike about eight and half miles before the storm hit. So we took our last looks at the petite ponies, and then continued along the path until it met up with the Appalachian Trail on federal land.

Vince and I tried to move fast as we pushed uphill. We scrambled up tall boulder steps, following the Appalachian Trails iconic white blazes. Along the way we passed through stunning alpine vistas, and eventually started to find dried out cow patties alongside the path. You wouldn’t think that a cow patty would be a major source of excitement, but I animately pointed them out to Vince whenever I found them. They were evidence of another awesome animal that is known to roam the hills of Mt. Rogers National Recreation Area, and we soon encountered another herd of ponies grazing alongside some absolutely massive Texas Longhorns.

We first spotted them from atop a hill, but soon the trail weaved down to an idyllic alpine bald, passing right next to the herd. I vaguely registered that this was the most beautiful landscape we’d encountered yet, but my mind was more focused on a pair of ponies that were trotting in our direction than on the scenery. A foal was determinedly headed our way, following under the watchful eye of a stocky stallion.

The foal wasn’t the least bit deterred when we held out empty hands to show we didn’t have any treats for it. Instead it made due with nibbling at my t-shirt and my belt bag. All the while, the stallion stood behind it, as though he were were making sure Vince and I didn’t try to do anything untoward.

It was hard to pry myself away from the foal, both because of how cute it was, and because it seemed determined to follow me around and hover within arms reach. But I did eventually manage to put some distance between us so that I could get a better look at the majestic longhorns through my zoom lens. With me out of the picture, the ponies latched onto Vince. I could hear him politely asking them to back off as I focused in on the steers.

Unlike the ponies, the longhorns are owned by local ranchers who set them loose to free range in the park during the summer months. The steers and the ponies get along well, and can often bee seen grazing together like this.

I was beyond excited to have found not one, but two herds of ponies so far, and seeing the longhorn steers meant that my main goal for the day had been met. I was still eager to complete the hike to the top of Mt. Rogers, but now if the weather turned us around, I would still feel completely satisfied with our day.

We spent a bit more time watching the herd. Ponies rolled in the lush grass near the trail, and longhorns ambled through the field. The foal and a mare nuzzled each other before it got into a playful fight with the stallion. My favorite pony from this herd was a dappled one with a shaggy, dark mane. She reminded me of a member of a punk band from the early 2000’s, and Vince and I affectionately nicknamed her “Goth Pony.”

Dark clouds built in the sky above us as we watched the herd, and all-too-soon I knew it was time to keep moving. We sped across the bald until we reached a rocky outcropping where I looked back to get one last glance at the now distant ponies and steer. Green hills rose from the landscape that surrounded us, and I couldn’t imagine a more idyllic place for the animals to roam free.

With the wildlife behind us, we made good time, passing over boulders and through a small cave before our surroundings gradually changed from rocky grasslands, to scraggly forest. Twisted trees lined the trail on either side when we came upon a campsite. Once again, I heard the ponies before I saw them. Loud snorts and hoofbeats emanated from the site, and when the trees gave way to a small clearing with a fire pit in the middle, we saw a third herd of ponies.

Another foal immediately approached us to look for treats while the rest of the herd couldn’t be bothered to even glance up from grazing to look at us.

I snapped a few photos and filmed a bit of video of the ponies, but they were so intent on grazing that I wasn’t getting any interesting footage. But just as I was nearly ready to pack up and keep hiking, the thunderous sound of hoofbeats broke the quiet atmosphere. The sound was coming from the forest, and it was getting louder and closer with every passing second. Vince and I high tailed it back to the trail to get out the way of a trio of stampeding ponies.

They were clearly agitated as they stormed through the campsite, and disappeared back into the forest on the other side. We’d lost sight of them, but we knew they were still nearby because every ten seconds or so, one of them would let out a piercing, high pitched screech. Vince and I crept along the trail, keeping an eye out for them s owe could give them a wide berth. We soon caught sight of them again, and they reared and kicked at each other a few times, letting out more heinous screams before galloping deeper into the forest and out of sight.

When they were gone I realized my heart was racing from a surge of adrenaline, which I gladly used to fuel the next several minutes of the hike. The most spectacular views were behind us now. It was time to tackle a somewhat monotonous uphill slog to the highest point in Virginia.

We hurried through the rest of the trail, stopping only for water breaks since the day had grown quite warm. Eventually we reached a forest that felt older than the one we’d already passed through. The trees were taller and the ground was covered in moss and ferns instead of smaller shrubs. I knew this meant we were nearing the summit.

Several minutes later, the trail leveled off, and it was clear that there was no further elevation to be gained. There was no view save for the trees that still towered above our heads, but we found a geological survey marker that indicated this was indeed the summit. We sat down next to the marker and pulled some trail mix out of our bags for lunch at an elevation of 5,729 feet above sea level.

Now we had really achieved all of our goals for the day. The only things left to do was complete the return hike to our car before the storm finally hit. Thankfully, a glance at the weather report on my phone showed that it should hold off for a couple extra hours.

We made good time, retracing our steps down from the summit. Along the trail, we saw ponies and longhorns bedded down in the shade of the forest, hiding from the afternoon heat. They sky had opened up to let in some dappled sunshine when we reached the alpine bald where we’d found our second herd of ponies. The scene looked even more beautiful than before, so we took a break to admire the landscape and take a few photos.

Eventually we moved on, and in time we found ourselves back at the trailhead. It felt like ages had passed since we set off hiking that morning. We’d seen so much awe-inspiring scenery and wildlife, it was hard to believe it had only taken half of the day.

As luck would have it, the thunderstorm finally hit just as we embarked on the drive back to Independence, and it was a severe one. Later that night we would learn of flash flooding throughout the area as we spent a relaxing evening hiding from the rain back at the hotel. Being forced to rest for the night had its advantages though, because our plans for the final day of our short trip would be even more physically demanding.

The storm had passed by the next morning, and we woke up with the sun. It was already humid, and getting warm by the time we had packed up backpacks filled with climbing gear and hit the road. Our destination was Stone Mountain State Park, which was just across the state line in North Carolina. I’d had my day of chasing ponies through the hills, and now it was Vince’s day to tackle a four pitch trad climb.

We pulled into the parking lot of the Stone Mountain Loop trail where we saw one other pair of climbers gearing up for the day. Since we already had our gear arranged neatly, all we had to do was throw on our backpacks and start hiking. Within minutes we were on the trail, which wound through a damp forest with a creek running through it. The route Vince had picked for us to climb is very popular, so we were in a rush to get to the wall, but we did stop to look at an eastern box turtle that we found alongside the trail.

Before long, we were squinting up at the gargantuan silhouette of Stone Mountain, which was severely backlit in the morning light. As such, I couldn’t make out many details, but rather saw a huge, shadowed dome shape rising from the forest. The mountain, which is made of granite and protrudes 600 feet above the surrounding landscape, almost looked like it was melting. It’s gray color was streaked with vertical lines that seemed to be dripping down its smooth, rounded surface, strengthening the illusion.

We approached a kiosk at the entrance to the climbing area, and filled out a permit to climb the Great Arch, a three pitch, 5.5 trad climb that follows along a prominent dihedral all the way to the summit of the mountain. To reach the Great Arch, we would have to first climb up a single pitch route called Entrance Crack. There was already another pair starting the route when we arrived at the base of Stone Mountain, so we got in line and started unpacking and organizing all of the gear we would need for the climb.

By the time we were ready, the other climbers had finished Entrance Crack and were headed up to the first pitch of the Great Arch, so Vince tied into our rope and began climbing. I haven’t been climbing in ages, and don’t have the same level of confidence I had a few years ago, so Vince had agreed to lead all four pitches of the climb, a gesture I was very grateful for. He got through the route quickly, and set up a belay for me to follow, and I retrieved all of the gear he’d placed on my way up. I did have to stem off of a tree to get through the route’s crux, a move that any climbing purist would surely deride. But hey, I hadn’t come to this climb thinking I was going to impress anybody.

Soon I was standing on a wide ledge alongside Vince. From there we coiled up the rope, and walked along the ledge to where the obvious dihedral arched upward to meet the sky. I craned my neck upward at the feature we were about to climb. I looked awesome. And intimidating.

The other pair of climbers were attempting the second pitch of the Great Arch by now, and it looked like they were having problems. Within a few minutes, they called down to let us know they were going give up and rappel back down. Vince and I waited at the base of the route and when they joined us on the ledge, they warned us that the second pitch was still wet from last night’s storm.

Wet rock can make a climb much more challenging and dangerous, so I asked Vince if he wanted to go back down as well. Since the risk of leading the climb was his, the decision to call it quits belonged to him too. He said that he still wanted to give it a try, and if it was too sketchy, we’d turn around. So he re-racked all of the gear I’d collected on my way up the first route, and once again began climbing.

It turned out that the dihedral looked far more intimidating than it actually was. Vince flew up the route, and before I knew it, I was following. It was a very easy climb, and all I had to do was repeat the exact same move over and over until I met up with Vince at a hanging belay.

While the first pitch had been technically easy, it had taken the energy out of me to keep on using the exact same muscles over and over again. The sun had also emerged from behind the mountain and now beat down on us unrelentingly. I felt like my insides were slowly cooking on our giant, granite frying pan. So I took some time to catch my breath as Vince readied himself for the second pitch. I gasped for air, and drank some water as I looked back down at a dizzying view of the first pitch. Already we seemed to be impossibly high up, and we still had two more pitches to go.

I felt very nervous for Vince as he started up pitch two. The slick spot was about halfway up, and I worried that he might get himself into some trouble if he attempted it. He took his time on this section of the climb. The wet part did stress him out, and it didn’t help that a group of people that had gathered in the field below were yelling up at the mountain to try to get our attention. The granite wall acted as an echo chamber, and we could hear every word they said, including when they were speaking at a normal volume. They clearly meant no harm, but it made it more difficult for Vince to concentrate and for us to communicate with each other.

In the end he did take a minor fall, but kept climbing and made it up to the next set of anchors to belay me. I had a harder time with this pitch too, but not because of the water. On top rope, the wet rock was no big deal, but I managed to psych myself out by glancing down halfway through the pitch. Suddenly I felt nauseous and dizzy and I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds to regain my nerve. Then I pulled it together and kept climbing, once again repeating the exact same move over and over. I could already tell exactly which muscles were going to be sore the next day.

After we were through the second pitch, we knew we could make it to the top. Pitch three tapers off and becomes much less steep. Vince scampered through the last steep section, and then practically walked up the second half of the pitch. When I followed him on top rope, I did walk up half of it, then sat down next to him at the last set of anchors to celebrate the end of a really cool climb.

Once we’d caught our breath, we walked up the remaining slope to the summit of Stone Mountain, where we took refuge under the shade of a tree while we switched out from climbing gear to hiking gear. It felt amazing to get out of my burning hot, rubber climbing shoes, and put on my floppy hat for shade. It also felt amazing to take in the view from the summit. Stone Mountain looked even cooler from the top than it had from the ground.

There is a hiking trail that goes to the summit of Stone Mountain, so rather than rappelling all the way back down, we went for the hike. This way we avoided a ton of unnecessary hassle, and got so see more of the mountain’s unique landscape on the descent. Waves of granite rippled under our feet at we walked, looking almost like liquid that had been frozen in time.

We ran out of water on the way down, and we both felt shaky, dehydrated, and hungry, but we also couldn’t stop talking about how awesome the climb had been. Scaling such a huge route felt like a major accomplishment even it was an easy climb. It was definitely the biggest wall either of us have ever climbed, and we both thought it was one of our most fun climbs ever.

Sweaty, sore, and tired, we finally arrived back at the car where we chugged water, and snacked on carrots and hummus. I wasn’t really in the mood move any more that day, but I managed to rally so we could enjoy one more hike in the state park before we left. My only condition was it had to be to a waterfall, so we selected Stone Mountain Falls, and gingerly hiked downhill on sore feet until we found the top of a tall waterfall tumbling over the side of a cliff.

From there, we descended down a steep staircase to the base of the waterfall, and got to wade in its cool, refreshing water. This felt amazing after baking on the hot wall all morning with no shade to protect us from the harsh sun.

We splashed around in the pool under the falls for about an hour before deciding to hike back uphill and drive back to Independence.  The next morning, we would embark on the long drive to Michigan. Fortunately our weekend had been worth the 1200 mile round-trip journey. We’d each gotten our one perfect day, and we’d really enjoyed each other’s picks as well. It was a lot of fun to explore a destination that is somewhat closer to home than our usual trip, and to get back in the mood for road tripping in the U.S. We would need to muster more of that enthusiasm later in the month when we undertook a road trip through the Pacific Northwest!