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m3$*t~vtgy!TM^b*-~v" i *Â· Â·*Â· ~ y ^ * V Getting to Know Dolly By Pauline Bays Photos by Ferrell Friend I was introduced to Dolly Sods after dark and at first I had some misgivings. Strictly speaking, I'm not the rugged, outdoor type, but my husband and-son were a(lso sharing the fold-out camper with our friends, so the strange sounds coming from the pitch blackness outside didn't put me in a complete panic Snuggling deeper into the blankets, I listened to the soft murmur of the wind and tried to forget the sounds I couldn't identify. In another moment, the night had passed and dawn was breaking. Since we'd used flashlights to unpack the cars and set up camp, the first morning held many surprises. -The mysterious noises so close to the camper during the night had been made by cattle roaming freely about in this open range. Our friends had camped in this same spot before and hadn't been worried, but my husband said he slept with one eye open. Watching the curious and amusing baby calves, though, with their reserved and slightly suspicious parents turned out to be one of the enjoyable parts of the trip. Another surprise was the rocks! Had I known what we'd see later in the morning, I wouldn't have been so amazed at the weird, jumbled piles of rocks scattered everywhere amidst the beautiful undergrowth and pines. Breakfast was fun, and delicious--and we all ate too much. The only difficulty in washing up later was that the water we carried from a near-by spring was so soft it made the soap hard to get off our hands and dishes. Chores were short. We took Forest Service Road No. 75 through part of Dolly Sods, going in the direction of Bear Rocks. Stops along the way provided breath-taking views of the valley below as well as the far horizons and an opportunity to hike out one of the trails. But one of the very beautiful sights we enjoyed was the road itself. It was approximately three-and-one-tenth miles of straight, white, rockbase invitation to drive on and one. It would have been perfect for a long bicycle ride. . The hike we took over Northland Look Hiking Trail was one-third mile long, (just right if you have lots of sights to see later in the day) and it made us wish a geologist would appear to explain how, in all of nature's mysteries, such an upheaval of millions and millions of rocks could have been scattered about in such haphazard fashion. There were no briars along the trail path, which provided a variety of surfaces to walk over other than the rocky patches. At one place, the thick, carpet-like moss made a bouncy feeling underfoot. There was the marshy area called Cranberry Bog, where industrious beavers have labored long to dam up the fairly large lake at the end of the trail. A child's wonderland of mountain-tea grew in lush abundance and a maze of huckleberries beyond belief. Please (urn to page 4m STA TE MA GAZINE. July 23,1972 "' , Â«;"-?%V-rv ' !J 3" /. * ^ 'SS -^Â» v* "*' *Â·* ^'J % *? *, 'Â·*Â· # f ' Â·**/ ^ ^ *,*'"'/?* " Â· 'A^*- ^.V 15 *? . ;; ^ ; ' ,*Â»-Â·; *Â·'-** v^. *-*. Â·f-* f 4.iOÂ»Â» %-8^S, *Â· "iÂ£ *Â· **"*" Â« 4. ' ' ^ c / ^^ife^/"^^ /**Â« v /Â«kWS^ ,,* ' .^.-SL Â«2^ Â£/-2- ; V-i.'Â«:^^^ " Â· Â· ^^iSftu^iii^s^^jsf^^^^^t^^yi^,: The road is a white invitation. Turtle Rock. CHARLESTON. W.VA.