Annapolis Rocks, MD (1700')

About two weeks ago, on the recommendation of SummitPost's Eastern States Climber's Peak List, I ventured north to central Maryland to hike Annapolis Rocks. I had never heard of the Rocks before, but if they'd made it onto that list--in the company of Katahdin, the Presidential Range, and Old Rag Mountain, among others--I figured they must be worth seeing. Even if they were in Maryland.

Remember this map? The Supreme Court just heard a case over whether these districts are unconstitutionally gerrymandered... for reals.

But what the Rocks lack in elevation, at a measly 1700', they make up for in accessibility. They lie just off the Appalachian Trail on the slopes of South Mountain (a long, flat-topped ridge much like the Massanuttens in Virginia), about two and a half miles north of I-70. East of the mountain, farm country descends to the growing exurb of Frederick, MD; to the west, steep slopes look out upon the Cumberland Valley, northern neighbor to the Shenandoah. In other words, the country seemed fairly familiar to me, right down to the white-haired farmer waving at my car as it passed through the village of Wolfsville.

My original plan had been to approach the Rocks from the north, starting about six miles up the AT at the next road crossing, and make a full-day hike of them. However, I wound up starting late (though not late enough to avoid the tail end of the Beltway's morning rush hour) and arrived around 11 at the trailhead--well, at the mountain gap where Google Maps had claimed there was a trailhead. I didn't see a thing as I drove by.

Highpoint #23: Mt. Mansfield, VT (4395')

Although I slept for over ten hours that night, I was still tired the next morning. Fifteen-mile hikes do that to you, I suppose. As I stretched my aching legs, I wondered if hiking the four highest Northeastern high points back-to-back-to-back-to-back was really the best idea. What's more, the weather up on Mt. Mansfield was slated to be just as grim--though less windy--as Marcy was yesterday. Perhaps I ought to have taken a rest day... but this motel was already breaking my budget, and my reservation at Katahdin wouldn't budge.

And so I decided to drive to Mansfield, at least, and see how the weather looked (and how my legs felt) when I got there. The trail up Mt. Mansfield was less than half the length of Marcy’s (only 6.6 miles round-trip), so I figured I could manage it even in slightly-suboptimal conditions. If all was good, I'd climb; if not, I'd camp nearby and wait it out.

After a lovely 45-minute drive through the Vermont countryside, I arrived at the logically named Underhill State Park and paid the $4 day-use fee. As I assembled my gear in the parking lot, a pack of  local college kids drove in and (noisily) started up the trail. I waited a moment, so as not to start right on their tail, then headed up myself.

My journey to Mansfield's summit, the highest of both Vermont and the Green Mountain chain to which it belongs, began on the Eagles Cut trail.

Highpoint #13: Driskill Mountain, LA (535')

Just like my drive up the length of Alabama the previous day, the drive down the length of Mississippi was long, hot, flat, and tedious. The few miles I spent on the Natchez Trace Parkway after leaving Tishomingo were nice enough--the road's meandering, recreational nature reminded me of the Blue Ridge Parkway back home, only without the mountains. But I swear that I-55 from Batesville to Jackson is so monotonous that they've built artificial hills into the median to force traffic to turn around them every once in a while--either that or I got stuck in a time loop while driving past the one real hill in central Mississippi.

I turned west at Jackson and crossed the state's eponymous river shortly thereafter at Vicksburg. The Mighty Mississippi, they call it, but I've gotta say it passed pretty quickly at 60 miles per hour. I would have stopped for a picture, but there weren't any pull-outs or exits. Don't worry, you'll get some later when I cross back over.

If Mississippi was flat, Louisiana was flatter. I-20 ran straight as an arrow through mile-wide fields, obstructed only by road work. The one thing that state had going for it was its gas prices. I refilled at some tiny town east of Monroe for $1.90/gallon, the cheapest fuel I saw all trip.

It was decidedly late in the afternoon by the time I finally arrived at Mt. Zion Presbyterian Church in Bienville, LA. No, I hadn't had a sudden crisis of conscience, nor had I given in to the local Biblemania (on a Friday evening?). Its parking lot serves as the trailhead for Driskill Mountain, the third-lowest state high point in the Union (topping only Delaware and Florida).