Highland Indoors | Special Quarantine Edition | Whenever 2020

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WHENEVER 2020

THE INE ANT R A QU ION EDIT

INDOORS

skiing Climbing Biking Backpacking HIGHLAND-OUTDOORS.COM

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Highland INDOORS

West Virginia’s Indoor Magazine

STAFF Publisher, Editor-In-Side Dylan Jones Associate Editor, Design Nikki Forrester A Bunch of Other Stuff Dylan Jones, Nikki Forrester

CONTRIBUTORS I'll give you one guess.

EDITORIAL POLICY Our editorial content is not influenced by advertisers because we don’t have any in this issue.

SUSTAINABILITY We probably saved a few trees by not printing this magazine and only buying a reasonable amount of toilet paper for two people.

FROM THE EDITOR It’s just after two in the afternoon. We ate breakfast at 1:15 P.M. Are these the same sweatpants I’ve been wearing for 20 days?

Pretty sure I changed my underwear a few days ago… Who even knows what day it is anymore?

The pondering of such esoteric questions and onset of space-time warping phenomena can only mean one thing: it’s peak quarantine season. While most of us would normally be in the great outdoors engaged in various sports to celebrate the transition to springtime in Appalachia, we’re stuck inside, daydreaming of what might have been and what might come to pass. When life gives you lemons, squeeze a slice in your eye, wake the hell up, and get ahold of yourself. Plenty of radical adventures exist just steps from your steps. That’s right, it’s time to rev up the stoke factor and prepare for the onslaught of indoor adventure activities.

Just because you’re stuck inside doesn’t mean you have to keep your quiver of suddenly useless adventure gear relegated to the dark depths of recently organized closets.

So bust out the ropes, helmets, paddles, tents, and skis. It’s time to gear up and head downstairs, or maybe upstairs, or perhaps into your garage, if you’re lucky enough to have one.

Let this issue be your guide for turning your adventurous life outside-in. May it bring you some joy in a time that can occasionally be lacking in said emotion. And don’t worry— we’ll be ready to hit you with a fresh print issue of Highland Outdoors when the time is right. Regardless of how long we must endure, never forget these three simple rules: 1) Fashion First 2) Function Second 3) Safety Third w Dylan Jones, Editor-In-Side

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DISCLAIMER Indoor activities are inherently risky. Highland Indoors will not be held responsible for your decision to play inside.

COVER Dylan Jones and Nikki Forrester binge watching outdoor videos on YouTube.

Photo by a camera.

Copyright © 2020 by Highland Outdoors. All rights reserved. Highland Indoors is published by DJones Media, LLC.

Dylan Jones navigates the first crux of Kitchen Multipitchin’, pg. 10.

Contents

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CROSS-CARPET SKIING

BEDROOM BACKPACKING

TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS

By Nikki Forrester

By Dylan Jones

By Dylan Jones

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EVERY ISSUE

KITCHEN MULTIPITCHIN’

STAND-UP PADDLE BATHING

By Dylan Jones

By Nikki Forrester

4 Briefs 16 Events 17 Gallery

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B r ie fs

A BRIEF ON BRIEFS

By Dylan Jones Normally, the Briefs section is comprised of a couple quick hits of goings-on around West Virginia. But with nothing going on, this issue’s Briefs section is literally about briefs. You know, those flimsy garments that go under there. If you just thought ‘under where?’, then you’ve fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book.

You might be asking who would wear underwear when you never have to leave the house? While sweatpants have

become the de facto pandemic uniform, if you want to rock them for more than three days at a time, you’d better separate those comfy pantaloons from the gas-emitting region of your body with some sort of buffer layer.

As such, I’ve done some intense research on fabrics, elasticity, moisture-wicking ability, and comfort, and have identified the best men’s undergarments to wear while engaging in various indoor activities.

The Performance Brief

The Boxer

This highly technical fabric, albeit with impeccable construction and moisture-wicking capabilities, is the ideal brief for exerting oneself in the great indoors. Whether it be yoga, calisthenics, bike training, doorframe bouldering, or showersports, the blend of synthetic textiles makes this the go-to undie for your athletic pursuits. Pairs well with gym shorts, sweatpants, or no pants at all. Close the blinds, start your jumping jacks, and let it flail.

Boxer shorts have been around long before that Joe guy made ‘em famous. Loose, unflattering, and technically not a brief, we decided to include the venerable boxer short because, at some point, you’re gonna run out of your favs and have to break ‘em out. Pairs best with a slim pant that will hold them in place and prevent the dreaded ride-up.

The Cotton Blend

The Last Resort

Much to the chagrin of Aaron Neville, 100% cotton undies have not been the fabric of our lives for quite some time.

Fortunately, a resurgence in designing the perfect blend of fabrics has resulted in a bustling market of high-cotton, highcomfort undies that feel great on the cheeks and maintain structural integrity throughout a lifetime of violent wash cycles. This is your all-arounder, the jack of all trades, and master of comfort. Pairs best with sweatpants and a hoody.

AKA the whitey-tightey. Not much needs to be said about this illegitimate stepchild of the under realm beyond the fact that, under no other circumstances, are you to bust these out unless your only choices are to do laundry at night or go commando to the grocery store. If you’re lucky enough to be quarantined with a romantic partner, make sure it’s not a date night if these are next in the queue.

Pairs best with tube socks and bad reality TV. w

Dylan Jones is editor-in-side of Highland Indoors and is super stoked he replaced his fleet of aging undies before the pandemic hit.

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Cross-Carpet Skiing

By Nikki Forrester

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here’s no denying that this past winter was rougher than a pair of sandpaper pajamas on a cold Sunday morning. There was a consistent weekly weather cycle from January through March that went something like this: All-day rain on Friday turned to heavy snow overnight, but high winds ensured that snowfall never accumulated more than a few inches (except for drifts). Saturdays and Sundays were solely dedicated to crosscountry skiing. Each Sunday, the temps rose like clockwork, giving way to slush.

Monday rains and erased all the snow by the next cold snap on Wednesday.

Flurry, rinse, repeat.

Although most days were marginal, there were a handful of magical days for cross-country ski touring through West Virginia’s spectacular terrain. The problem wasn’t the conditions so much as the lack of skiable days. Snow quality doesn’t matter when all you want to do is herringbone up a steep slope, kick and glide through the woods, and float downhill executing perfect tele turns (or more realistically, falling on your face).

Every outing kept me wanting more.

More snow. More skiing. More winter.

Praise Ullr!

But alas. April flurries were only enough to get the most dedicated skiers off the couch and into the trees (I’m looking at you, Chip and Spencer). Now that spring is here, I still can’t shake the feeling that I was cheated out of winter.

Thankfully, when the snow is in short supply outside, the great indoors allow skiers to extend their seasons from a few shabby days to a full 12 months.

If you, like me, are still craving more time on your skis, then turn down that thermostat, pull out the wax, and get psyched for some cross-carpet skiing.

Carpets offer surprising similarities to the snow in West Virginia where conditions are always variable. Outside, snow can change from champagne powder to corn to mashed potatoes to concrete within a few hours. Inside, carpets can be plush, textured, short, or if your home is stuck in the 70s, freakishly shaggy. This variety provides the perfect opportunity to test your kick-and-glide skills.

Just like real cross-country skiing, it’s crucial to layer clothing and be able to put on or shed layers. That eightlayer system you use at White Grass to maintain the knife-edged body temperature zone of no sweat and warm hands might be a little bit much indoors.

I highly suggest a triple-layer system based on sweatpants—the official

uniform of quarantine season.

After cruising between the rooms in your home, you may find yourself looking for a little gravity-fueled excitement. For that wintry adrenaline rush, carpeted stairs offer an experience comparable to skiing steep, narrow trails. Chances are you’ll have to straight line it, so be prepared for a crash landing. Building an epic pillow fort is highly effective for cushioning inevitable falls. Hardwood stairs can match the terror of those icy Appalachian days, and it’s advisable to take off your skis and walk down.

Cross-carpet skiing offers opportunities to practice your step turns, bunny hops, and Glen Plakeinspired hot-dogging ski-ballet moves. If you’re not familiar with this style, I highly suggest you scour YouTube for some education. With this new-fandangled sport, you’ll be kicking and gliding your way through summer whilst honing your XC skills. Winter will be here again before you know it, and I can’t wait to faceplant with you all in that secret powder stash. w Nikki Forrester is associate editor of Highland Indoors and had the best telemark turns of her life on freshly vacuumed carpet in the hallway.

Bedroom Backpacking

By Dylan Jones hen the spring ephemerals start poking their neon green shoots through the earth, it’s time to shoulder a heavy pack and head into the mountains for some nature immersion therapy. As we stared from our second story window into the great beyond, we pondered the next time we’d actually get there. Fortunately, you don’t have to travel far to have a backcountry adventure in your own home. If you’ve got the requisite gear, an indoor campout is as easy as it gets.

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After a high-five and a stoic head

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nod, we cued up some late 90s techno and indulged ourselves in a spy movie training montage: backpacks quickly out of the closet, piles of gear strewn across the floor, the rapid stuffing of said gear into our packs, pointing at random spots on maps, and some leather-clad kung fu moves thrown in for style. Before we knew it, the music stopped; we were suddenly fully prepped, ready to head inward.

Since we had easy access to a full-size kitchen before and after the overnighter, we didn’t have to bring food or cooking supplies. At just eight pounds, our packs were light, save for

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the tent, sleeping bags, bulky camp chairs, and minimalist stove for tent-side marshmallows.

While we normally tromp through the West Virginia highlands in a midweight Gore-Tex boot, we decided a good pair of slippers would suffice for the technicality of the route we had planned.

To match the vibe of the springtime weather and justify the use of puffy jackets and down sleeping bags, we turned the thermostat off and let the cool indoor weather settle in.

We shouldered our packs, extended our trekking poles, and set off. Our

route started in the kitchen, heading east over easy terrain for about 30 feet before hooking a sharp turn and heading upstairs. The climb was short but steep—17 steps and about 15 feet of elevation—but provided good, steady footing for the texturized rubber soles of our slippers.

Once we reached the route’s high point, we headed west to the bedroom and found a great campsite. A 10 by 15-foot space offered room for our camp chairs and stove, plus a great queensize memory foam mattress on which to place our two-person tent—a good find considering we left the sleeping pads in the gear closet just outside in the hallway.

After setting up the tent and fluffing our down bags, we closed the blackout curtains and assembled our camp chairs. While Nikki set up the stove, I explored a little by headlamp and found a guitar hanging on the wall in the nearby office. I promptly returned and began to annoy Nikki by strumming the only four chords I know in various order

while she carbonized a marshmallow over the absurdly hot and acute flame of the camp stove.

After about five minutes of this, we decided it was time for bed. We crawled into our bags and snuggled up as we unplugged the floor lamp, shrouding the room in total darkness like that of a new moon on a cloudy night deep in a forested hollow. I wished I had placed that online order for the glow-in-thedark ceiling stars a few days before, but wishing for clear weather just doesn’t get you anywhere in the highlands.

Upon waking, we opened the rain fly—dry for once!—and flung open the blackout curtains to greet the new day. Sunlight streamed in and the view from the two windows at the campsite was absolutely breathtaking. To the south, our neighbor’s house stood in the foreground, flanked by towering eastern white pines (Pinus strobus) and a Norway spruce (Picea abies).

Some large deciduous hardwoods, too far to identify, rose proudly from the lawns of other domestic residences in

the distance. To the east, a few sugar maples (Acer saccharum) lined the gravel alley that serves our driveway— we could even see our car at the trailhead! Across a paved parking lot and beyond State Route 32, the forested hillside leading up Canaan Mountain seemed to extend into the clouds.

We packed up the campsite, stuffed our bags, and headed back downstairs with smiles for miles. When we arrived back in the kitchen, dropping our bags felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from our shoulders. We fired up the kitchen stove to make coffee, vividly recalling the trip we had literally just returned from. Given our incredible experience, I can guarantee that we’ll return to that campsite… probably every night. I can only hope our world-class indoor backpacking trip inspires you to set out on a trip of your own—just be sure to order the ceiling stars in time. w Dylan Jones spent an embarrassing amount of time pouring over topographical maps and blueprints of their apartment to plan the route for this trip—fortunately, it paid off.

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Trials & Tribulations Indoor Bike Skillz

By Dylan Jones

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s with pretty much everything else in this magazine, the arrival of spring signifies the start of mountain biking season. But when you’re confined to your home, the amount of shreddable gnar is greatly limited to your available floor space.

If you’ve got enough space to sit on your bike, no worries! There are plenty of trials-style bike skills you can practice—and master—from your family room or garage. The best part: you’ll never have to ride in the rain or clean the bog muck out of your drivetrain. And when you finally do head out to shred with your motley crew, you’ll have some new tricks up your elbow pad to show off.

Track Stand This basic stationary balance skill is the foundation to unlocking more advanced maneuvers like impressing motorists at traffic lights. The track stand is simply standing on your pedals and balancing for an extended period.

You might be asking yourself, “Why would I need to be able to stand up, motionless, on a bicycle? Aren’t bicycles meant for moving forward?” Yes, yes they are. Actually, I don’t know why

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you’d ever need to be able to stand up on a bike, unless you wanted to see if you could make it through a full episode of Tiger King while holding a track stand. Hell, many of us want to see if we can make it through an episode simply seated on the couch.

Standing Bunny Hop Bunnies are fuzzy, but there’s nothing soft or cute about this powerful explosion of vertical energy. The bunny hop is one of the most playful and useful moves in your indoor cycling quiver. A shoe in the hallway? A coiled garden hose in the garage? A child’s toy in the living room? No problem.

When executed properly, the bunny hop can get you up and over any variety of domestic obstacles with style and grace.

Start small—a few inches is better than nothing. Work your way up until you’re able to consistently get a foot or so off the floor. You’ll quickly realize that this is a workout. Crushing out a bunch of bunny hops over a half-hour session will build strength and peddling endurance.

When you’ve got the single hop down, try doing repetitions using your bike’s suspension to spring you into the next hop like you’re on a trampoline. When

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you’re finally able to head out on the trail, you’ll be hopping around like an excited rabbit looking to multiply.

The Wheelie The front wheelie is one of the more advanced MTB maneuvers and one you know you’ve secretly always wanted to learn while scoffing at those who can already do one. If you’ve got an open stretch of space in your home or garage, you’ve probably got enough room to get the initial basics of the wheelie down.

Is it showing off? Absolutely. Is it cool? Even absolutelier. So pull up on those bars, find that balance point, and feel like Leo DiCaprio on the bow of the Titanic. You might not be king of the world, but you’ll certainly be the king (or queen) of your castle.

When you’ve got these three balancebased skills down, you’ll up your game the next time you head out for an actual shred on real bike trails. At the very least, you can elicit endless eye rolls from your quarantine partner or from curious neighbors who wonder just what the hell it is you’re doing on your bike inside your house. w Dylan Jones was glad he had spackling and white paint on hand when doing R&D for this article. It’s amazing what handlebars and tires can do to drywall!

Clockwise from top left: Track stand, bunny hop, wheelie, wheelie

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Kit Mul

By Dylan Jone

tchen ltipitchin'

es

The author in the crux of the first pitch of Kitchen Multipitchin’ (II 5.5 r/x, A3).

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lthough the snow can still fly across the West Virginia highlands through April, the lower elevations and warmer climes of the Mountain State’s rock climbing destinations have already started warming—and greening—up. Cliffs are normally teeming with human activity as climbers log ascents on classic routes and enjoy the explosion of spring in Appalachia.

salad for you. If you’re interested, there are several resources to learn about the ridiculous jargon used by climbers (let me google that for you).

Pitch 1 Crimpin Cabinets Kitchen Multipitchin’ begins in a small corridor between the diningroom table and kitchen counter, then ascends the counter before launching off into the heady cabinet traverse. I geared up to lead the first pitch while Nikki flaked the rope in the tight belay zone. After mantling the counter and gaining a good stance before the traverse, I collected my wits and eyed up opportunities for protection. While the cabinet doors offer ample gear placements, the gear itself is quite sketchy and nuts are liable to pull out at any second, hence the ‘r’ rating. After placing a nut and slinging one of the high and useless cabinet doors above the stove hood, I began the traverse.

The handholds proved to be quite frail; the cosmetic wood paneling on top of the cabinet system is held in with large staples, unable to take my full weight. I really had to zone in on weight distribution while traversing the stove, but quickly found a solid knee bar in the cabinets from which to place a good offset nut.

This spring, however, we’ve all been asked to stay home, meaning those routes are going unclimbed and the burning itch to get vertical remains unscratched. Throwing caution to the wind from the vents of our central HVAC system, Nikki and I decided it was time to flaunt convention and establish a new route, officially logging a first ascent in the annals of West Virginia climbing history.

Most climbers don’t get to experience the blood, sweat, and tears of a first ascent in their careers, choosing instead to enjoy routes established by the tightknit community of first ascensionists: bold, adventurous climbers who seek out new and visionary lines. And so it was in the midst of a rainy day during quarantine that Nikki and I busted out and dusted off our climbing gear after a winter’s worth of atrophy, set on becoming, but for a moment, the vertical visionaries we had always admired.

We studied the topos and terrain, narrowed our focus, and achieved the first ascent of a challenging-yet contrived two-pitch route in our house.

The new route, Kitchen Multipitchin’ (II 5.5 r/x, A3), doesn’t stand up against some of West Virginia’s better-known classic moderates like Old Man’s Route (5.2) at Seneca Rocks, but the novelty of the movement and diversity of climbing styles rendered it memorable.

One thing’s for sure, it certainly won’t be published in any guidebooks or be repeated unless some gung-ho climber is really hungry to get a second ascent when social distancing measures end.

Warning: If you don’t understand climbing lingo, the following description of our epic ascent is going to be a word

The kitchen cabinets offer ample nut placements.

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The cabinet traverse is essentially a no-fall zone until the bomber #1 camalot placement in a perfect dihedral between two door frames in the back corner of the kitchen. A solid right-foot jam between the door frames allowed a reach into an undercling ledge above the washer/dryer; the small gap between the two appliances offered a great micro ledge for feet. After a good rest in this undercling stance, it was time for the crux: a body tension V3 boulder problem. I had to fight a vicious barndoor while using the gaston on the right side of the door frame and wedging a good toe jam between the washer and the door frame. I matched hands, released the gaston, and placed a solid #1 link cam in the mail slot between the fridge and freezer doors on the refrigerator. The dusty top of

the fridge ended up feeling like chalkcovered slopers in summer. I found two good foot smears on the fridge door using the only spots not covered in magnets. After the crux, I was able to gain the step ladder just right of the microwave stand for a great standing belay to bring up Nikki. If you’re anal about rope management, the microwave stand offers a great area to pancake your rope after bringing up your second.

Pitch Two The Lava Chimney After Nikki pulled all the moves and cleaned the gear from the first pitch, it was time for lunch (which Nikki grabbed from the fridge after removing the link cam wedged between the fridge and the freezer). We munched on pickles, cheese, and leftover stir-fry at the bottom of the stairs—the start of the

second pitch—taking in the views of our living room, while assessing the remainder of the route.

Covering 17 steps and about 15 feet of elevation, the initial climbing looked straightforward—until the unthinkable happened. The carpet on the steps suddenly became lava, so dabbing a foot anywhere on the inviting steps was off limits. Fortunately, my childhood adventures featured seemingly endless indoor routes over lava-laden floors—I felt as if my entire life had led up to this challenge. While most climbers would have bailed, I was able to use those experiences from three decades ago and find the solution: the wooden trim on either side of the steps, which ascended the pitch at a 45-degree angle.

While 45 degrees would be the angle of a friction slab on outdoor rock, the

The author climbing just above the lava floor on the second pitch.

thin edge of the molding made the climbing feel quite vertical and insecure.

The hand railing offered four good protection bolts for hanging quickdraws, making the pitch feel more like a sport climb than an adventurous first ascent. Good chimney technique was paramount for hanging the draws and clipping the rope. As a fall on the lava steps would result in a fiery catastrophe, this section of the pitch gave the route its ‘x’ rating.

At the top of the stairs, the route takes a hard climber’s left turn and heads horizontally toward a door frame where a pull-up bar marks the end of the pitch.

The carpet is still lava, even up at this elevation, meaning good stemming techniques on the wooden trim must be employed. A few door handles offer precarious protection, better for guiding your second than for arresting a leader fall. The pull-up bar offers bomber

Clockwise from top left: Nikki hand-traversing the top of the chimney, Nikki in the crux of the second pitch, Dylan at the hanging belay, rapelling after the floor turned back to carpet.

protection for a hanging belay, although I had to drape the rope properly over my harness to avoid contact with the lava.

a rappel, making use of the now-safe stairs for a quick abseil back to the terra firma of the ground floor.

Fortunately, the pull-up bar was rated to hold more than our combined weight, and right as Nikki clipped into the master point of the anchor, the lava disappeared. After tearing down the anchor, now able to use the carpet, we moved the pull-up bar and set up

The route’s movement, orientation, and three-dimensional climbing reminded me of a multi-pitch route I did in a limestone cave in Thailand in 2015. The interior of a cave is essentially indoors, right? I marveled at the ability of a route in our own home—a place

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in which we had spent countless hours over the years—to conjure vivid memories of a climb, halfway across the world, I had completed some five years ago. w Dylan Jones submitted the detailed trip report of this first ascent to the American Alpine Journal, a comprehensive annual publication of the world’s best new routes.

Keep an eye out for it in early 2021!

Stand-Up Paddle Bathing

By Nikki Forrester

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est Virginia offers some spectacular waterscapes for stand-up paddle (SUP) boarding. From the iconic Summersville Lake to the serious gnar of the lower New, there are seemingly infinite destinations in the state for those who like to stand on water. With limited travel opportunities over the past month, I’ve had to search closer to home to get my SUP fix. It didn’t take long to discover an untapped gem for SUP boarding—my bathtub.

I’ve played around on SUP boards before, mostly by beached-whaling myself onto the board and paddling around in circles with my hands. But I’ve never really had a true SUP experience until now. The bathtub offers an ideal venue for mastering essential SUP skills. Because space is limited, balance is imperative. Instead of resorting to my stomach for stability, I had to remain upright with a broad stance, keep my knees bent, and continually adjust my position based on the water flow.

Without water to resist my paddle, I continuously overpowered my strokes,

resulting in desperate attempts to correct my errors. Within five minutes, my core strength was completely depleted, causing me to collapse on the shaggy bathmat for a much-needed breather. Thankfully, I could run right downstairs to hydrate and stock up on snacks.

Many athletes are driven by highconsequence situations, and I, too, felt the pressure to perform. Reading bathwater currents can be extremely challenging because you must account for the power and trajectory of water shooting out of the faucet and the swirling eddies in the tub. Turning off the tap can reduce the hydrological complexity, making it easier to navigate the water. Variable water temperatures also affect the buoyancy of the board, heightening the risk of falling. Wearing a helmet and PFD is crucial. One misstep and you could smash your head into a tile wall or toilet.

After many failed attempts, including a disastrous flop where I slipped on a misplaced soap bar and smashed my funny bone into a shampoo bottle, I finally started getting the hang of SUP bathing. By the end of the day, I was

effortlessly moving my board across the water surface, gracefully paddling with wind currents from the overhead fan.

At this point, you may be wondering if SUP bathing is right for you. If you haven’t showered in weeks, the short answer is yes. If you’re a beginner, why not give it a go? It’s a great way to pass the time while working on your balance, focus, and core strength. If you don’t have a SUP board—no worries—any floating device and helmet will do. You can even make a paddle out of a broom or umbrella to help you fine-tune the paddling motion. If you’re a pro, why not give it a go? You can’t go anywhere else right now and you already have the requisite equipment.

SUP bathing, like every other adventure sport, is all about progression. For now, I’ll be focusing on building strength, fine-tuning my technique, and conquering the tub in the upstairs bathroom. But with a little bit of time and a steadfast commitment, my trainer says I’ll push SUP bathing to the next level—the kitchen sink. w Nikki Forrester is ready to take on the class V rapids of the Upper Gauley on her SUP board.

E ve nt s C ale nd a r

Since everything is pretty much cancelled, here are 30 outdoorsy things to do inside.

“Wagon Wheel” does not count

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2

Hop on the bike trainer

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3

Crush some weights

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Run a marathon in your driveway If you’re that kind of person

Do some yoga

Stretch and foam roll After all those years of saying you’ll do it

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and edit your 22 Organize outdoor photos the perfect 23 Curate adventure playlist

24 Adopt a pet

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Dehydrate food for backpacking trips

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Start some sourdough

Look at maps

the clouds pass 27 Watch by your window

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Practice your orienteering skills with zero consequences if you get lost

Build a Rube Goldberg machine out of your gear

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Because they taste good

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Paint something inspired by your outdoor adventures

Grow a garden

Go on a scavenger hunt

Practice tying knots

Clean and repair your gear

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Why not?

Tackle Freedom of the Hills or binge watch YouTube videos

Cook tasty things

Watch outdoorsy movies

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Brush up on your outdoor skills

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Build a fort

Identify bird species

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It’s about time

It’s fun

Organize your gear closet Weigh your gear Ever wondered how much you’re hauling on trips?

Time to get your geek on

Learn some natural history Discover all the animals, plants, and fungi that call WV home

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As a good friend once said, bread ‘til yer dead

Do absolutely nothing Seriously, you need some of these days

every issue of 29 Read Highland Outdoors, then... out every activity 30 Try in this issue

Freepik

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Practice your campfire tunes

G aller y

If a picture is worth a thousand words, a picture of a picture is worth exactly 118 words, which is the length of this caption.

Our gallery usually showcases one of West Virginia’s prominent photographers, but since they’re all stuck inside, too, this gallery showcases a picture inside our home. The picture in the picture is of one of many idyllic waterfalls on Red Creek in the spectacular and iconic Dolly Sods Wilderness. The tea-colored, tannin-stained waters of red creek and shadowed rhododendrons contrast the soft sunset light illuminating the brilliant fall foliage. I chose this shot for our quarantine issue because, well, by the time we get back outside, Red Creek just might look like this. Photo, photo of the photo, and caption by Dylan Jones.

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See you on the other side