The Raven and the Bear

High above the rocky brow of Stony Man Mountain, a raven glides, contemplating his world. It is a world of height and depth and distance, where slopes fall far below to soundless streams, and ridge follows ridge to a blue horizon. It is a world of sun, wind, clouds, rain, and snow, where the full benevolence and fury of nature are felt. And wherever he looks down, the raven sees the forest that mantles the mountains with a seamless green robe.

Beneath that leafy mantle, a bear ambles slowly along a stream, pausing now and then to sniff the air or turn a rock. His world is hidden, muted, secret, a place of ferns, moisture, growth and decay, where a million living things eat, are eaten, mate, die—quietly, almost invisibly. The force of sun, wind, and rain are damped by the green roof of this forest home, making beneath it a moderate place where living is a little easier.

As visitors to Shenandoah, we can enjoy both worlds. Along Skyline Drive and high foot trails, we can rejoice with the raven over the sweep and majesty of these mountains. Following paths down into the hollows, we can discover the quiet beauty and richness of the bear's world.

What makes the difference in these worlds—these extremes in mountain environments? The conditions of life in Shenandoah, as elsewhere, are created by elements of weather acting upon the earth's skeleton of rock and flesh of soil. In summer, the "livin'" is easy. The sun shines long enough and directly enough, and rain comes often enough, to allow green plants to grow in abundance and manufacture the food upon which all animals ultimately depend. But within this general adequacy there is much variation, caused by the whims of weather and the shape of the land. Spend a night on Hawksbill, highest mountain in the park, and you will appreciate the warmth of your sleeping bag. But take an afternoon walk along the western slopes and ridges and you will equally appreciate the water in your canteen, for here the sun bakes the earth, sucking moisture relentlessly from the soil. For relief, you can descend to a deep hollow, where the slopes cut off much of the sunlight and allow a wetter, cooler environment.

In winter, the sun shines for a shorter time and more obliquely, and the wind whips the leafless slopes, creating coldness that most life must escape through dormancy or migration. We can enjoy this cruel, though sometimes beautiful, season only by wrapping ourselves in our manmade cocoons. Again, the hollows moderate the impact of the elements, and you will find more life here than on the ridges.

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At all seasons, the heights receive more rain and snow than the hollows, since moisture condenses as it rises and cools. Often, this condensation envelops the ridges with clouds so thick you can scarcely see to drive through them, but sometimes cooler air in the lowlands reverses conditions, and the peaks emerge like islands from an ocean of cottony fog.

Variation in natural forces and mountain topography produces corresponding variety in that seemingly uniform forest that covers the Blue Ridge. From the giant hemlocks and yellow-poplars (tulip trees) along lower water-courses to the stunted oaks or drought-defying pines on ridge tops, Shenandoah's forests change with conditions. Within the forests, animal life reflects the variations in its home. Coursing down through the forests and leaping over greenstone ledges, streams make another sort of home. And wherever openings in the forest have been created, still different plant and animal life is found.

The variety we can discover in Shenandoah is enhanced if we consider time as well as space. For over centuries and millenia, climatic change, movements in the earth's crust, and more recently the hand of man have wrought immense changes in the appearance of the land and the forms of life that can survive here. In our minds we can see a procession of life—dinosaurs feeding among tree ferns, mastodons wandering below spruce-covered ridges, Indians setting fires to corral game, mountain folk hoeing hillside patches of corn. Much of white man's influence we can still read in the character of the forests. And change, as always, continues.

The free play of natural forces, making communities of plants and animals suited to their environments, can be seen and appreciated in all national parks. But Shenandoah, like the others, has its own special values. One is the story it tells us about men who lived here, about their successes and failures in living with the land. Another is an accident of geography—its nearness to the eastern urban swarm. In an hour and a half, people can drive from the crowds of Washington to the deep solitude of Shenandoah forests or the fresh heights along Skyline Drive. A few hours more can bring people from most of the east.

What fortune to have the worlds of raven and bear at the doorstep of Megalopolis!