We launched our camping trip to Luray, Va., with what we thought was a brilliant idea: take on the Rose River Falls Loop hike before even checking in at the campground. It was billed as “moderate” in difficulty—3 out of 5—just challenging enough to get the blood flowing and enjoy some waterfalls. A little over four miles. We can handle that. No problem. Spoiler alert: the trail had other ideas. Service Dog Charlie led the way, tail high and ready to sniff out adventure. The trail started gently enough, with blooming forest and a wide path. We passed a few families, a couple of couples on a romantic walk, and some overly cheerful retirees. Then things started to get… interesting.
The trail got rockier. Steeper. Less “walk in the woods” and more “scramble over ancient rubble pile.” At one point, we crossed a stream by walking across a fallen log—because why not add a little tightrope walking to the hike? Part of the trail at places was indistinguishable from the stream as water gently flowed from beneath and in between the rocks, making the path treacherous and slippery. At around the two-mile mark, we reached the first falls—breathtaking and serene. Most people turned back at that point. In hindsight, that might’ve been smart. But no, we pressed on, determined to complete the loop. From there, the trail transformed into a rugged, nearly empty wilderness path.
No people. No sound except water and the occasional rustle of Charlie investigating leaves, rocks, ferns, and mystery twigs. Then, we ran out of water. Our legs were jelly. There was still no cell service to confirm our location, and Chris started asking, “How much longer?” a little more often. My response, without a clue, was always, “Just ten more minutes.” Near the end, we finally saw two people: a young couple with a dog, bounding toward us with the enthusiasm of folks who hadn’t yet met the rocks. I asked them how far to the trailhead. “About a quarter mile,” they said, fresh-faced in gym clothes and tennis shoes. Trying to be helpful, I warned them, “After the bridge, it gets quite challenging.” The guy looked at us—soaked, dusty, and about five years older than we were at the start—and said, “If it gets too challenging, we’ll just turn back.” Well.
Why didn’t we think of that? Well, Chris had not only thought of it, but vocalized it several times. But, no, we were going to conquer the loop. Uh-huh. We pressed on (of course we did), and after what felt like the final scene of an Indiana Jones movie, we made it out. To its credit, the Rose River Loop delivered two miles of stunning cascading falls—some of the most beautiful scenery in Shenandoah. But it also delivered a solid humbling. We weren’t as ready as we thought, but we were determined. We laughed. We limped. Charlie judged us. And yes, we’d probably do it again—but next time, we’ll bring more water… and maybe take the young couple’s advice…a whole lot sooner!
