Virginia State Parks Part II

Piedmont: Fall Line to Blue Ridge

Editor’s Note: This is the second part of our three-part series on Virginia State Parks. This month we explore the Piedmont, that in-between area of our state, flanked by coastal plain to the east and mountains to the west. We visit three of the state parks in this region of Virginia, each of them about an hour’s drive from Richmond, and then a municipal park in nearby Hanover County.

by Charles McGuigan 09.2020

COVID-19 changed our vacation plans this summer, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Rather than travelling great distances, we contented ourselves with rediscovering our own state and her public lands, which are quite expansive. Some 3.7 million acres, more than ten percent of Virginia, is public land. That includes everything from city parks like Bryan Park to National Park holdings like the vast wilderness encompassed by the George Washington and Thomas Jefferson National Forests, and, of course, public land trusts and the land preserved in perpetuity by The Nature Conservancy.

HIGH BRIDGE TRAIL STATE PARK

149 miles roundtrip

A couple years ago my son Charles and I first visited High Bridge Trail State Park. One of several linear parks in Virginia’s system, High Bridge Trail runs along a vacated railroad bed from Pamplin to Burkeville for a one-way distance of thirty-one miles. This off-road trail is paved with finely crushed limestone and has the slightest of grades, so it’s an easy ride.

We decide to pick up the trail in the heart of Farmville, a pleasant Piedmont town that is rich in history with a Main Street that is absolutely Kapraesque.  Not far from where we enter the trail near the old train depot is the Robert Russa Moton Museum (formerly Moton High School), which is well worth a visit; it inspires and it inform. This is the spot where a seminal battle in the war for American freedom was fought in 1951 when Black high students (children really) staged a strike. This gave birth to the student protests of the Civil Rights Movement, and laid the groundwork for one of the cases that would lead to Brown v. Board of Education which put an end to segregated schools, in theory at least.

Leaving the train depot, we quickly put the town behind us, and skirt rich farmland and cut through the heart of thick forests. Six miles later, we enter the centerpiece of the trail—a half-mile long bridge that spans the Appomattox River. It is the longest recreational bridge in Virginia, and one the longest in the entire country.    

Historic footnote: Half a mile east of the bridge there are earthen fortifications built by Confederates to protect the South Side Railroad, incorporated in the 1850s, from Union attacks. One of the last battles of the Civil War was fought here, and the last Union general to fall in that conflict died here. Two days after that battle near High Bridge, Lee surrendered to Grant at McLean House in nearby Appomattox Courthouse.

Halfway across the bridge we are suddenly forty feet above the tree tops. Charles and I pull off to the side and look at the mud-brown water of the Appomattox which snakes west through thick hardwood forests, and on the edge of it all we can see, almost like a mirage, a blue haze of mountains suspended above the intense greenery.

“That’s where we head next month,” Charles says. “The Blue Ridge Mountains.”

POCAHONTAS STATE PARK

47 miles roundtrip

A week later, we were hurtling down 195 to 76, then over to Iron Bridge Road, and finally along Beach Road in Chesterfield County. Here, on this two-lane country road, the speed limit dropped considerably, and we proceeded to our destination at a much slower pace. Moments later, suburbia gave way to Virginia countryside.

Less than half an hour from Bellevue, Pocahontas State Park is a world apart. For one thing, at more than 8,000 acres, it is an enormous park. And it embraces three separate lakes from the relatively large Swift Creek Lake at about 225 acres to the tiny Camp 7 Lake at seven acres, and the middling Beaver Lake at 24 acres.

Not far from the Visitor’s Center, stands a rustic clapboard structure painted in a dark olive green and sporting a single central chimney. This is the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) Museum, and near the entrance is a quote by an American leader who led the country out of economic collapse, reformed the banking industry, created safety nets for the poor and elderly, and then saved the entire world from tyranny.

“I propose to create [the CCC] to be used in complex work, not interfering with normal employment and confining itself to forestry, the prevention of soil erosion, flood control, and similar projects,” wrote President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. “I call your attention to the fact that this type of work is of definite, practical value, not only through the prevention of great present financial loss but also as a means of creating future national wealth. This enterprise is an established part of our national policy. It will pay dividends to present and future generations.” Considering the mayhem that assaults our Republic on multiple fronts, we desperately need such a leader today, and come November, perhaps we will have one again.

There are a number of water features at this park including a fountain wet deck, three-foot and five-foot-deep leisure pools, an activity pool and two tubular water slides. These were all closed due to COVID-19, as was the CCC Museum.

But that was fine with us. Charles and I were here to take advantage of the more than 90 miles of trails that thread their way throughout the park. We rode a couple of the easier trails near the northern perimeter of the park, notably Ground Pine Path, but a number of the trails that we attempted were too challenging, and so instead we hiked.

My daughter Catherine Rose worked as a ranger here for two summers during college. What’s more, her mom lives not far from the park in nearby Brandermill, so Catherine knew just about everything there was to know about the park. She had given us some recommendations.

We ended up hiking along Beaver Lake, and walked out on the floating pier that leads to a floating observation deck, and there we watched ducks and geese and a lone great blue heron. Ringing the shoreline were lily pads in full bloom, hundreds, maybe thousands of them, each blossom yellowish white and translucent, and they laced the air with a citrus-like scent. We then spent a good half-hour on the stone spillway at the mouth of Beaver Lake. Here the air temperature drops by ten degrees and the steady sound of cascading water lulls like a lullaby. 

Through the woods we saw countless fence lizards and five-lined skinks, and three different varieties of toads, one the size of a deflated tennis ball, another smaller than a thumbnail. We biked one final trail—a three-mile section of Fendley Station Trail which inscribes the entire perimeter of the north section of the park.

We drove back to Richmond on the Old River Road, which pretty much hugs the south bank of the James River before connecting with Huguenot Trail.  As we wended our way along this two-lane country byway, Charles said, “I’ve never seen so many frogs and toads and lizards. More than any place we’ve ever been.”

POWHATAN STATE PARK

73 miles roundtrip

Our final Piedmont destination was Powhatan State Park. Although only about 1,500 acres, this park supports an abundance of ecosystems, and rests on what looks like a knee cap the James River, not far from the now-vacant Beaumont Juvenile Correctional Center.  

We began our explorations of this park along the Gold Dust Trail leading us to River Trail, which runs parallel to the James River along a steep bank. In these woods, which are predominantly gum, sycamore, oak and holly, there are massive vines which literally seem to strangle certain trees in the helix of their grasp. Some of them are Asiatic bittersweet, but many of them appear to be wild grapes.

Charles dismounted his bike and wrapped his fingers around one of the vines; his fingertips barely touching the heel of his palm. “They’re thick,” he said, then looked up. “And tall.”

We picked up Turkey Trail and made our way back to the car. While I secured the bikes on the rack, Charles broke out lunch. After eating we began a hike through the woods, enjoying the shade, but the trail soon opened up on broad fields that are planted in hog corn and sunflowers. Other portions of these fields are covered with wildflowers galore—unending clumps of passion flowers, sky-blue clouds of pussy foot, thick tangles of snow-white clematis that smells just like fresh cocoanut, and dense stands of Jerusalem artichoke that mimic the gold of the sun, which beat down on us like red-hot hammer.

These meadows vibrated with bees and hornets and wasps and butterflies. Charles discovered a tiny crater molded from the red clay beneath our feet. When we hunkered down over it we could see movement inside the small hole that was no more than the thickness of a pencil. We could see a silvery pulsing, and then a bumblebee erupted and was gone in an instant.

We couldn’t get enough of these fields, and though we had little water with us, we proceeded and the sun hammered us. Turns out we walked in a sort of figure eight several times over. When we got back to the car it was nearly five o-clock; we had started that hike at about one in the afternoon.

When we got in the car, Charles drank deep from his water bottle, wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“I love going on the road, staying away from society, and admiring nature,” my son said.

Thirty minutes later we were back home in “society”.