This backpacking experience reminded me of *The Ten Little Indians* or *And Then There Were None* by Agatha Christie. The party started out with nine and dwindled down to two, via unforeseen circumstances, last minute occurrences and weather related incidents. Our core group consisted of Judy Smoot, Debby Edmonds, Lim Lee and Susan Bly. We met up with Jack Slocumb and Ed on Sunday morning who had searched for us the previous day,the last of our Little Indians. After coordinating our car shuttle between the ending trailhead near Elkins and Parsons at the beginning trailhead, we loaded and checked our backpacks. Took some photos of our intrepid crew then headed down the trail to the Dry Fork cable bridge. This bridge reminds me of a similar, albeit longer swinging bridge at Ice Mountain, which is owned by the Nature Conservancy now. In the old days when it was a privately owned public park, as a child I loved to bounce up and down on that bridge, creating ripple effects. I/m sure my fellow hikers today would not appreciate that childish act, so I restrained myself. Dry Fork contains some interesting criss-cross patterns within the limestone floor of the creek.

The first section of trail before reaching the official wilderness boundary contains some interesting small cliffs, which echo the roar of Otter Creek below. Splashing in from the left are a couple of streams creating cascades of white and sound. We signed in at the wilderness boundary trail log and tramped on to our first campsite.

Twas a pleasant camp with plenty of time to socialize, enjoy a leisurely supper, and explore the surrounding area composed of stream, water filtering source and woods. Exploring a stream offers small and big delights in the form of stream creatures and pools of calm water between large boulders. My only small peeve about streamside camping is that it dampens the sound of birdcalls.

Our day of pleasant weather ended at midnight amidst flashes of lighting and rumbles of thunder. Two minutes after midnight the sky relinquished its hold upon the rains. The roar of the downpour drowned out the sound of Otter Creek. We were protected by the canopy of trees from the full onslaught. However, this was to become a portent storm for the morrow.

We awoke to the sound of wood thrushes and hermit thrushes and bluebirds amongst other velvet throated individuals of feathered finery. Some of the hermit thrushes of Otter Creek have developed a local dialect of two tones. Those who have hiked in the area know of whom I speak. Most intriguing. When I hear the hermit thrush I know that I have entered under a canopy of trees, far from habitation.

The midnight thunderstorm soaked Judy/s exposed backpack. 4 - 1 = 3. While eating breakfast, Debby reiterated her plans of leaving the group that she had made last evening because her son-in-law/s backpack was too heavy. 3 - 1 = 2. These were wise decisions made by these ladies to return to their cars.

It was down to the last little Indians, Lim and I. Who would outdo whom? After parting ways with Judy and Debby, Lim and I proceeded southwards along the Otter Creek trail. We stopped several times to exercise our arms while cutting small limbs and branches blocking the trail. A long lunch was spent along the creek side before proceeding on. This backpacking trip was intended to be leisurely, low mileage, low impact kind of days so today’s hike was a little over 5 miles total. When released from the mind numbing succession of steps over an extended length of trail, one can concentrate on one’s surroundings; stopping to enjoy the view, study the plants, take a breather, basically just be thankful that you are alive and able to enjoy such magnificent surroundings.

We crossed Otter Creek once before reaching our second campsite. This particular trail makes you cross Otter Creek three times along its entire length. We had no qualms with removing boots and replacing them with water shoes, as the water temps were just slightly chilly. The weather was simply perfect – not too hot and not too cold and not rainy. Baby bear would be pleased. Other points of interest along the trail were small waterfalls, gushing springs and feeder streams flowing into Otter Creek from the sides.

About the only qualm we had with the trail was the fact that portions of the bank are eroding away out from under the trail. The shaky footing over expanding crevasses tended to make us pack animals wary, relying more heavily upon our trekking poles for support. A misstep would lead to a quick dunk in the Creek below, without a safety measure of sufficiently deep means. One conk on a rock and you’re out. A misstep in any backpacking experience can lead to nasty consequences. Remember, your hiking partner probably does not want to carry both you and your backpack out of the wilderness.

Around 3:00 we arrived at Moore Run and our camping site for the night. This left ample time to explore Moore Run and Otter Creek before dark at 9:00. While setting up camp a husky darted through our camp while his owner stayed on the trail. Somehow he detached himself from his master and decided to take us on as new acquaintances. I suppose he wanted a change of pace. One person stayed at camp at all times, guarding the food cache from both hungry eyes and mouth. When it was Lim/s turn to stand camp duty, I went exploring up Moore Run for a ways viewing the various cascades, boulders, pools, cliffs and dense rhododendron copses along the banks. Deciding to come back downstream a different way, I spied a break in the foliage and followed the remains of an old logging road. This led through pine needle carpeted open areas and around rhododendron bushes. Following my instincts, I ended up exactly where I thought I might…right behind my tent.

While Lim went to explore the nearby falls on Otter Creek and to rinse off the day’s sweat, I “played camp” and sawed up a bunch of fallen dead branches. When I was a child, I used to make camps in the woods next to our house, creating rooms with branches and clearing out space. That’s how I felt this evening except for the fact that I was doing the real thing. How exciting to fulfill a childhood dream. The husky curled up near my tent and took a nap, waiting for his master to come looking for him.

Our camp contained two antique items of interest. The first was an iron door from some type of object; perhaps a small wood stove or a coal furnace door on a train. The second item was more distinct. It was the identifiable conical shape of a train smokestack. The forest has certainly changed character over the past 150 years. I am glad it is in its present condition.

After Lim returned we had supper under the watchful and hopeful eye of the husky. We knew that if we offered even one mouthful to the hungry canine soul, we might have a friend for a longer period of time than originally anticipated. We ignored the milk chocolate eyes and tried to pawn him off on passers by. A couple with two dogs passed by and I had to help untangle “our” dog from his too friendly advances on the others. During the process, his collar came undone. One had to persuade him gently to get it back on. I know from past experience with a Husky/German Shepherd I used to own (God rest his “soul”) that one should never get between two sniffing dogs or try to put something over their heads. Thank goodness all came to a peaceful end and “our” husky was led back to our camp intact.

After supper I tried taking him for a walk upstream a small piece, attempting to lose him, hoping he would find the scent of his master and take up the chase. That was not to be. He stuck right with me, being my guardian angel as I explored some interesting smooth rock ledges in the Creek. The flat slabs of rock reminded me of a formation in the Subway - a trail in a canyon following a stream in Zion National Park. The rock slabs feel quite smooth under one/s feet. I picked my way up stream a bit until the slabs petered out.

Then I headed back downstream to look at the waterfall. The waterfall contains some potholes, which were created by trapped rocks running round and round creating an even larger hole. I took a few photos and basically lounged. Back at camp the husky was growing restless, probably being driven by hunger. The next hikers he saw pass by, he decided to follow in hopes of finding his master. We didn/t see him again and so assume that master and dog were reunited.

As the day drew closer to an end, we decided to burn the accumulated wood in the fire ring and the branches we had gathered previously. Our pyromania would not be satiated because of the previous nights/ downpour. So we were reduced to sitting on stone chairs, gazing up into the vaulted ceiling of leaves in the cathedral of trees above, listening to the rushing of water and the evensong of birds. Sleep called us shortly afterwards.

Woke up to another day in West Virginia/s paradise. The wood thrushes were in full song again. After a leisurely breakfast, we pulled out of camp at 8:00. My sleep has been light because of the unusual surface of the ground and uncomfortable positions of hips and shoulders. Not a thorough sleep. Plus, a small rodent of some sort was walking lightly across the exposed ground sheet in front of my tent, right next to my ear. I had to shake the tent on two occasions to make it go away. Considering that this is a well-used campsite, the rodent population is probably above normal. *Welcome to Rodent Resort, your Camper/s Emporium.*

This morning/s hike was less on the leisurely side as we both had long drives home ahead of us. We did manage to stop for a few moments at a couple of waterfalls for photos and regular gazing and to make two stream crossings. Stopped for a snack break or two. Along the way we encountered Jack Slocumb and his hiking partner, persons we were to have met up with yesterday. Due to misconceptions and perceptions our paths did not cross until today. We did finish the hike with them so all was not in vain. I took time to whack a few branches, step carefully amongst the soggy railroad tracks and study the etymological life on the rhododendron flowers. The mountain laurels were giving a last hurrah before retiring for the year.

Amidst distant rumbles of thunder, we eventually exited the wilderness at 12:30, just in time to avoid the first drops of rain. Otter Creek is a place I know that I will visit again and again. In spite of its growing popularity, one can still find solitude if you look closely. I am very thankful that God allowed us to spend some time in a corner of paradise placed in Wild, Wonderful West Virginia.