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Seeing the forest for the trees.
This story was originally published in the March 2024 issue of Wonderful West Virginia. To subscribe, visit wonderfulwv.com.
Written by Stan Bumgardner
photographed by Eric Brumbaugh
Our best-known official state song—the most recent of four in total—asserts that life in West Virginia is “older than the trees, younger than the mountains, blowin’ like a breeze.” Debating certain details about “Take Me, Home Country Roads” is a favorite pastime among West Virginians, but the songwriters—John Denver, Bill Danoff, and Taffy Nivert—were spot-on with one overlooked point: Many Mountain State families date to pioneer times and really are older than most of our trees and, in fact, most of our roads, too. By the time our first statewide road system was built in the 1920s, almost no hardwood trees—those that lose their leaves annually—still existed. Most had been felled as part of the timber boom, and the American chestnut blight was wiping out that giant of a tree, too.
Today, nearly four-fifths of the Mountain State is covered in forests. That’s 2½ percent of all the timberland in the United States. It’s a great revival saga and, for a relatively few trees, a survival story for the ages.
A Clearcut Conundrum
Many old trees had already disappeared before the timber boom. Indigenous people lived here for thousands of years and used trees to build fires, canoes, and eventually houses and fort-like palisades to protect their villages. Late Prehistoric cultures also clear-cut fields for planting—but they employed their own versions of crop rotation and took care not to deplete the natural world they relied upon for their lives. In short, they took from the environment while helping to sustain it.
When the first European settlers arrived in the 1700s, most forests were intact. Our population of trees declined as the population of people increased—trees and hard work became cabins, barns, and other outbuildings. In places where early industry developed, trees disappeared more rapidly.
By the 1820s, Kanawha Valley led the nation in salt production. Salt makers cut down so many trees to fire their salt kettles that they had to turn to a harder-to-get fuel source, unofficially marking the beginning of our coal industry. By the time we became a state in 1863, about 16% of the land had been cleared.
But big changes were about to ride in on steam locomotives and rails. Trees were cut to make paths and ties for the railroads and to build the towns that sprouted up alongside them. Soon, miles of rail lines crisscrossed the state, opening our economy to big industry—coal, steel, glass, pottery, and many others, including the one that made it all possible: timber. Sawmills popped up like wildflowers, followed by massive operations such as Meadow River Lumber in Rainelle.
By 1900, more than 60% of our oldest trees were gone. And by the 1920s, nearly all West Virginia hardwoods—oaks, poplars, sycamores, walnuts, and so many others—had been harvested to heat our homes and to build Modern America. One indirect casualty was the fabled Mingo Oak, near the Logan–Mingo line, killed by fumes from a burning coal refuse pile. When it was cut down in 1938, its rings suggested it was somewhere around 577 years old, dating its debut in this world to about 1361.
What we call progress often comes at a cost—in this case through forest fires, the flooding and soil erosion that follow, and a scarred landscape. It was an environmental disaster. By the 1930s, the state Division of Forestry, the National Forest Service, and the New Deal’s Civilian Conservation Corps were actively tackling these problems. They fought fires, replenished the soil, and planted new trees. Most of those towering hardwoods you see on hikes today date back to only the 1920s or ’30s and, despite their height, lack the overall girth of trees that entered this world more than 200 years ago.
Standing Tall
The rare hardwood trees that survived the timber boom included individual oaks and other shade trees that stood stately watch over city streets and families’ yards. As standalone specimens on private property, some of those are with us still, as are many evergreens, whose softer wood made them generally less valuable; a big exception was the red spruce, which was cut and milled for paper.
But a few intact patches of old-growth forest—less than 1% of our total—have survived, thanks to perseverance, a lot of luck, and dedicated naturalists who take care of our environment.
One of them is Tammy Cooper, park activities coordinator and naturalist at Twin Falls Resort State Park, where 777 of its 3,776 acres—about 20%—are covered in old-growth trees. Three trails, with convenient parking, wind their ways through different parts of Twin Falls’ oldest patch of forest: the 2-mile Hemlock Trail, 3-mile Cliffside Trail, and 1¼-mile Falls Trail.
It’s easy to tell how much Cooper loves her job. A graduate of Pineville High School, she’s been fascinated by nature since she was a kid, scampering around the woods of Wyoming County and reading anything about nature she could get her hands on.
At Twin Falls, Cooper works only 8 miles from those woods she grew up playing in. She has a theory on why some stands of old hardwoods managed to survive the timber boom. In the case of Twin Falls, she says, “It’s the sheer terrain. It’s very steep, and a lot is around rock ledges and cliffs. It probably would have cost a fortune to build access roads into those areas to pull that timber out.” Just like wily prey hiding from predators, these old trees sheltered in the right places to survive the lumberjacks’ axes and crosscut saws.
Most of the very old trees left standing in West Virginia today are managed by nonprofit preserves, the U.S. Forest Service in the Monongahela National Forest, the National Park Service in the New River Gorge National Park and Preserve, and the West Virginia Division of Natural Resources in our system of state parks and forests.
Old-Growth Stands in State Parks
Trees in the Wilderness Area at Watoga State Park in Pocahontas County date back 300 to 350 years, before anyone of European ancestry had settled in present-day West Virginia. Not far to the west in Webster County, Holly River State Park’s trails also lead through old-growth forests. Beech Fork State Park in Wayne County is home to what are often called “secondary old-growth” trees, which began growing 150 to 200 years ago, after the initial cut had wiped out the oldest ones. Kanawha State Forest, south of Charleston, has quite a bit of secondary old growth, too, but also some white oaks and other trees estimated at over three centuries old.
A historical state park in Nicholas County has some magnificent old-growth patches perched on the precipice of the Gauley River Canyon. In one afternoon at Carnifex Ferry Battlefield State Park, you can tour a Civil War battlefield and then stroll down Pierson Hollow to find 30 acres of hemlocks, tulip poplars, and red oaks—the only living witnesses to the 1861 battle.
Two of the most fascinating state parks for old-growth trees are Cathedral in Preston County and North Bend in Ritchie County. Cathedral’s Eastern hemlocks measure 16 feet in circumference and tower 90 feet in height. Their canopies can make it appear like twilight in the middle of a sunny day while providing a home for unusual plant life. And about 60% of North Bend’s Giant Tree Trail / Hollow consists of old growth. As the trail’s name implies, it features some of our state’s biggest trees, including West Virginia’s tallest white pine and a sycamore that reaches some 150 feet toward the heavens.
The state parks and forests protect these areas through tender loving care, education, and “stay on the trail” signs, although one of the greatest threats is nature itself—many of the trees that survived the timber boom have since given way not only to vandalism, but to age and disease.
But old trees also are blessed. “These trees,” Cooper says, “could last another 500 years. It’s up to Mother Nature. You never know what the weather is going to bring. We’ve had tornadoes come through the park and turn just before hitting the old-growth forest.”
Just gazing at old trees elicits a sheer sense of joy, but they have a lot more to offer. Old-growth forests are more biologically diverse than younger forests. A wider variety of animal populations, especially birds, and plant species thrive in these unique settings. Due to the moisture old-growth forests absorb, they are among the few places in nature where more soil is created than depleted.
“If we don’t have forests,” Cooper notes, “we don’t have clean air. An old-growth forest absorbs more carbon dioxide. When you step into one, you can immediately sense how much better the air quality is.”
It truly feels amazing to pass through an old-growth forest in any season—including and maybe especially in winter, because you really can see the forest for the trees when the leaves are down. Majestic and resilient, they’re among our oldest and most prized state treasures. So, get out and “Go into the Woods with Cooper,” as she calls her Twin Falls tours, or ask at other state parks and forests about their ancient trees, old-growth trails, and guided tours.
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