One of my favorite places in the Washington, DC, area is the
Chesapeake and Ohio Canal which stretches almost 185 miles along the north Bank
of the Potomac River. It’s the country’s longest and skinniest National Park,
beginning in DC’s affluent Georgetown neighborhood, and ending in Cumberland,
Maryland. There’s a tow path that runs along the canal, dating from the days
when barges were towed by mules, and for several decades now I’ve hiked this
path, alone and with friends.
I’ve had a couple of strange experiences there. Once, very early on a still and damp fall morning
when the fog was still shrouding the path, the poignant sound of a bag pipe
playing the Fallen Soldier Tribute
filled the air. My hair stood on end. Out of the fog came a single Highlander in
full regalia. He strode past me without a glance, and vanished back into the haze.
I recognized the tune because the night before I’d been listening to a
collection of Scottish military music and the tribute had been featured
prominently.
Last year, as my pal Raoul and I were on the tow path, we
noticed hundreds of Koreans walking silently and gathering in a hollow between the
canal and the river. Hiking is a Korean pastime, and there’s never a day on the
canal that I don’t see dozens of them, jauntily attired in pastel shorts and
wide-brimmed tennis hats, lugging cameras, tripods, and coolers. This
gathering, eerily quiet, was different.
They trudged past us empty-handed and eyes downcast. We stood at the edge of the clearing and watched
the crowd grow. And then I remembered--a
nationally known apocalyptic preacher had predicted the Rapture for this date. There
were tales of believers giving away cars and homes, and some of the faithful had
gathered by the waters for their ascension to heaven. We left them to their blissful
journey. A few hours later, walking back to the car, we encountered the Koreans
again, this time heading back in the direction they’d originally come from. Some
were in tears, others seemed vastly relieved. That night, the news was that the
preacher’s doomsday prophecy had been postponed. He apologized for any problems
his miscalculation might have caused and enjoined his flock to gather a month
hence. I don’t know how the flock
responded.
One of the parks delight has always been its wildlife. Years
ago, the C & O was rife with black and water snakes, the occasional copperhead,
turtles of all kinds, beaver, heron, deer and an astonishing collection of reptiles
and insects. Carps swam lazily in the
canal, alongside endless sunfish, spots and crappies. Strange little shrimplike
beings hid beneath rocks. Skinks clambered across boulders. Cormorants plied
the waters, as did a multitude of green and great blue herons; butterflies and dragonflies
hovered and flittered. There were paw-paw tree heavy with fruit and blackberry
bushed lined the path.
Yesterday, as Raoul and I walked the path, we saw a grand total
of two large birds, one tiny toad, one butterfly and one damselfly. A snapping
turtle swam along the bottom of the canal. Everything else was gone. No blacksnake,
no yellow and black box turtle. The largest fish visible were one-inch minnows.
No paw-paws, no berries.
Blacksnakes, also called rat snakes, are vanishing all over
the East Coast. Two decades ago, walking along the canal or the Potomac, you would
see hundreds sunning themselves on the rocks and in the crevices of the ancient
stone walls that once supported the Washington aqueduct. Their disappearance is
blamed on the weather, pollution, insecticides, destroyed habitat and --I will
get in trouble for saying this--a growing immigration population that prize
snakes for their meat.
I’m not sure what all this portends, but it ain’t good. Could
there have been an animal rapture?
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