Memories of Eagle’s Nest

By: Pam DeVier

Twenty-nine years ago, I took my first breath of mountain air. I was just an infant, being held in my parent’s arms at the edge of the Blackwater Canyon. The year was 1969 and times were very different for my family and West Virginia.

My father was born in a small town in the mountains and as he has always said to me, "You can take the man out of the mountains, but you can never take the mountains out of the man." This has been so true in the case of my family. Circumstances in his life took him to Baltimore, where he met my mother and made a home that my sister and I would eventually grace. But every year when the days got shorter, the nights got cooler and the colors of autumn splashed the land he would return to the mountains. Brushing aside worries of money, time and hassle, he would gather up his family for the journey to West Virginia.

I was just a pre-school child, a tomboy with a wild spirit for adventure..... Greed and power had not reared their ugly head into my innocent life. I also did not know that our destination was really called Lindy’s Point, and would become one of the great preservation struggles in the history of the state.

My earliest memories of the Blackwater region are still vivid. I remember my sister and I dangerously frolicking on the rocks in the great river, while my mother fretted, warning us "not to go out too far." We would chase our big collie dog through the crunching leaves to unknown destinations. There was the first deer, the first raccoon, then the first bear! One year in late October we woke up glowing with the excitement of a Christmas morning; for overnight the season’s first snow had silently blanketed the mountains. Some days we would just sit quietly by the fire, where I would write childish poems and stories. Many of our adventures remain frozen in pictures -- my grandparents, who are now gone, at Dolly Sods; my godmother at Seneca Rocks. Even when my sister and I started school, we would get special permission every year to miss a week in the fall. The reason given -- educational vacation. And it was education. I learned about the people and history of West Virginia. But most of all I learned about the land, from Spruce Knob to Cranberry Glades to the namesake hemlocks of the Blackwater. Looking back I probably learned more about life from my weeks in the mountains than all my days in classes.

However, one memory stands out above all the rest -- our hikes to Eagle’s Nest. I was just a pre-school child, a tomboy with a wild spirit for adventure. I did not yet know the difference between a State Park and a National Forest. I could not yet read a topographical map. To me it was all just the great wilderness of West Virginia. I did not understand the politics of land ownership and land use management. Greed and power had not reared their ugly head into my innocent life. I also did not know that our destination was really called Lindy’s Point, and would become one of the great preservation struggles in the history of the state. All I knew was that I was on the most exhilarating adventure. My father would take us deep into the forest to a secret trail that, of course, in my mind, only my dad knew. We would wind through trees, over rocks and finally along the edge of a mountain to an overlook of unparalleled beauty. And we would sit for hours, dreaming and watching the raptors soar with the wind. So originated the family’s name for this place that spurred the imagination of a child -- Eagle’s Nest. For I was the young heroine, standing high above the river to save my great love. Some years the canyon would still be green with just a hint of frost in the air. Other years, only bare skeletons shivered along the mountainsides. However, some years were perfect -- an old Master oil painting of brilliant reds, yellows and oranges.

But the child grew up. Sixteen years passed -- a teenager. Then twenty-one years passed -- an adult of sorts. There were new adventures with new company -- Otter Creek Wilderness, North Fork Mountain, and Seneca Creek Backcountry. Backpacking was now an inseparable part of my life. But it would take a life-changing personal tragedy to begin to understand that I could not continue to recreate in the lands I loved so much without putting an effort towards preservation. As I saw the trees dying along the ridgetops of the Appalachians, I realized that to pass through the land without doing anything to protect it for future generations, was as great a crime as the policies of politicians and corporations that I criticized. My interest and support in grassroots environmental protection had been spurred.

 While I was there, I illegally walked to Eagle’s Nest, ignoring the ... posted signs. ... feeling helpless and powerless to save my true love, the great wild canyon of the Blackwater. As I stood against the wind that cold day last January, tears swelled in my soul.

Many locals would shake their heads at me -- how can I understand the problems of West Virginia? I am not a resident of the state. I live in a big city, three hours away. And I say to that -- my body may be in the city, but my soul was rooted in the mountains twenty-nine years ago. And I hope one day, circumstances in my life will allow me to return permanently to the mountains of my family and bring my past full circle.

I returned this past winter to Blackwater, continuing the family tradition off-season. Winter is a peaceful time in the mountains and I hoped it would give me an opportunity to commune with the wilderness and write. While I was there, I illegally walked to Eagle’s Nest, ignoring the excess of posted signs. How much shorter the hike seemed to older and taller legs. Damn the signs! Arrest me, fine me, ban the tomboy running to the cliffs of her childhood, feeling helpless and powerless to save her true love, the great wild canyon of the Blackwater. As I stood against the wind that cold January day, tears swelled in my soul. The words of John Denver rang through my mind, "And I know it’s just changes, and mankind marching on. I know we can’t live in yesterday. But compared to what we are losing and what it means to me, I’d give my life and throw the rest away...To the wild country, where I belong."

An individual can feel so hopeless when they see a new landscape being carved on the past. I am sure the victims of war know this feeling well. Has the struggle in West Virginia become a war of sorts? I cannot predict the future of my beloved Blackwater. It would be a tragedy to lose the Blackwater Canyon to logging and development. No matter what happens, I know in my heart that the spirit of the land will remain constant. However, it is important that those who have the future of the land in their hands realize not only the environmental importance of the land, but the historical importance as well. If we can not embrace our history, we can not live completely in the future. The Blackwater defines my family. It is an inheritance that I can not deny. The desecration of the land takes away not only the well-documented ecological integrity of the land, but takes away the past of so many as well.