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A River Runs By It



Are you starting to turn itchy in the feet, with a full-throttle need to get going almost … anywhere? When the pandemic started, I confess I was a bit burned out on burning rubber. I spent the previous decade as a travel journalist, journeying everywhere from the High Arctic on down to the most southerly Thai jungles and all that moving had tired me out. Initially, it was a relief to quarantine in my house and simply work. I had enough stories stored up in me that I didn’t need to travel to write. It was good to be home with my family.

And then cabin fever hit, and I knew I needed to get out somewhere.

The question was where? Where could I go that was far enough away from home it seemed like a real excursion, but remote enough I felt safe from the virus? I found my answer along the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal in Maryland, in nearly 200-year-old Lockhouse 10. It’s a surprisingly lovely little place where the men who kept one of the country’s major transportation routes flowing lived with their families, spending their time operating the canal lock mechanism that allowed boats to travel up and down the canal.

Until the C&O Canal closed in the mid-1920s, the victim of a devastating flood, the “Grand Old Ditch” carried cargo — mostly coal — 184.5 miles, from Cumberland, Maryland, to Washington, D.C. New Deal workers began renovating some of the abandoned lockhouses in the 1930s, but it wasn’t until 1961 that Chesapeake & Ohio Canal National Historical Park was founded to preserve what was left of the canal and its structures. The heart of the park beats just about 15 minutes from Lockhouse 10, with pleasures like the Billy Goat hiking trail (section A is strenuous; section C is doable for more casual hikers).

Anyone can stay in Lockhouse 10 or any of the canal’s six others lockhouses — all it takes is a reservation and $160 a night, plus a one-time fee of $20. Honestly, I can’t think of a better place to get away during the pandemic. The place is clean and cute, with a clawfoot bathtub and a full kitchen and out back there’s a firepit and a picnic table. Families will love it. There’s a full-sized bed in one room, and three twins in another.

Even better, the canal runs right along beside the little stone house. While it’s more of a muddy trough these days, the old locks — rusted and broken down — are still a thrill to see. If you peer beyond them, you can spot the Potomac River, as pregnant with rushing water as the old canal is fallow and still.

The best part of renting Lockhouse 10, aside from the chance to stay well away from possibly coronavirus-infected humans, is the towpath that stretches alongside it. Mules once pulled boats up and down the canal from the towpath, but now it’s an ideal walking and biking trail. I took it myself, wandering indolently down its near-zero grade to the next canal house, which houses a tiny museum. It was unfortunately closed; although I was pleased to see Lockhouse 9’s locks were in much better shape than those of 10.

You don’t have to be a history buff, an engineering geek or a bicyclist to stay in Lockhouse 10. I appreciated the quiet serenity as much as anything, as well as the proximity to the historical park’s Great Falls, a massive set of churning cascades accessible by a half-mile set of paved paths and boardwalks from the Great Falls Tavern Visitor Center. While the center was closed when I visited, no doubt a victim of the pandemic, the trail to the Great Falls remained open.

The falls were an awe-inspiring site, so full of fury a mist formed over the most intense whitewater, and the only discernible sound was the pounding of the water. As I stood on the deck, my attention absorbed by the spectacle, I gave a silent thanks that my little trip had led me there, to a place about as magnificent as any I’d seen at home, or abroad.

Jill Gleeson is never far from adventure. Follow her journey on her blog at gleesonreboots.com.

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