We park deep in the backwoods of Nelson County, Virginia, on the shoulder of a one-lane gravel road. My wife and I dip around a locked metal gate and follow the grassy service route up a steep hillside lined with towering tulip poplars and white oaks. There’s no one else in this corner of Lesesne State Forest. Only the sounds of our muffled footsteps, the chitter of songbirds, and the breathy cool of an early-autumn breeze in the treetops break the silence.
The road eventually crests the hill and, after a long flat stretch, we’re treated to half-mile-off views of lazy, cotton ball clouds drifting over 4,000-ish-foot peaks in the George Washington National Forest’s Three Ridges Wilderness Area. With a little bushwhacking, we could easily hop on the Appalachian Trail (AT) or the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Distracted by the eye candy, I slip on what feels like a squishy ball of turf and nearly roll an ankle. I start to curse, but my anger morphs to glee as I spot a pair of spiny, fist-sized chestnut burs buried in the shin-deep grass…