Keswick Life

Lifestyles in Keswick and its environs

Keswick Life

HORSIN’ AROUND: Tryon International Equestrian Center to Launch New Fall Tradition with Festival of the Hunt Week

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In an effort to preserve the longstanding fox hunting tradition steeped within the Carolinas’ Foothills equestrian community, Tryon International Equestrian Center (TIEC) will introduce a new addition to the fall event calendar this season with the Festival of the Hunt (November 7-13), featuring a week of fox hunting competition and fun, culminating with the TIEC Field Hunter Championships presented by Adequan® on Saturday, November 12.

The Festival of the Hunt will begin on Monday, November 7, and continue through Sunday, November 13, offering four days of fox hunting opportunities for any member of the Masters of Foxhounds Association (MFHA) who have obtained a valid NC/SC Fox Hunting license. The week will feature three separate days of fox hunting led by three local hunts including the Tryon Hounds, Shakerag Hounds, and Green Creek Hounds. Click here to download the 2016 Festival of the Hunt Entry Blank.

A highlight of the week will be the first annual TIEC Field Hunter Championships presented by Adequan® hosted on the new Grass Complex at 11:00 a.m. on Saturday, November 12. The event will feature 25-30 hunt combinations selected throughout the week by four mounted judges. Combinations invited to compete in the TIEC Field Hunter Championships presented by Adequan® will be asked to participate in a drag round across the field followed by a “Handy Hunter” round, judged based on style, presentation, and skill.

Spectators can enjoy watching the formal traditions of fox hunting at TIEC on the new Grass Complex. The TIEC Field Hunter Championships presented by Adequan® will offer free kids activities, live music, and ticketed lunch buffet on Saturday, November 12th!

The week will also host several special events for attendees and participants, including the Drew Doggett Art Exhibition presented by UnTACKED in the Legends Club Lobby on Friday, November 11, from 5:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. Drew Doggett is a world renowned photographer who has taken a keen interest in equestrian photography. His most recent gallery, which is currently on display in the Legends Club Lobby, exemplifies the beauty of the horse throughout the collection titled “Band of Rebels: White Horses of Camargue.” A short film detailing the behind the scenes of the shoot will also be played during the event.

The Festival of the Hunt Gala, the week’s signature event, will follow the conclusion of the TIEC Field Hunter Championships presented by Adequan® on Saturday, November 12, from 7:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. in Legends Club.

For inquiries about the Festival of the Hunt, please email [email protected] and to learn more about Tryon International Equestrian Center (TIEC) please visit www.tryon.com.

COMMUNITY: Great Things Continue to Happen to Gordonsville

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By Colin J. Dougherty

Our editor reached out to follow up on an invitation to an event held in support of the Town of Gordonsville.  Lauren Bauk, of PBM Capital Group in Charlottesville, filled us in on the goings-on in the Town, a possible new use for some vacant buildings and a new program at the Univeristy of Virginia.

PBM owns twelve commercial properties on Main Street in Gordonsville, VA.  PBM Products was formerly based there; Perrigo remained there with its employees when they purchased PBM Products in 2010.  In March of 2015, Perrigo relocated all Gordonsville employees to Charlottesville, leaving all of the office space (and about half of downtown Gordonsville) vacant.  Each day for nearly twenty years, there were upwards of 100 employees in town visiting restaurants, local retails stores and shops, gas stations, etc.  Now that all of these employees are gone, the Town has become quite a different place.  PBM Capital reached out to the UVa School of Architecture late last summer to see if any of their faculty members might be interested in using their Gordonsville campus (the twelve or so buildings that Perrigo vacated last spring) as a possible project site for a graduate or undergraduate seminar.  By that point in the year, curriculum for the 2015-2016 school year had for the most part already been planned so the timing didn’t end up working out.  This fall 2016 semester, however, they did have a professor interested in using the campus and the Town of Gordonsville as a project site for a graduate seminar.

Andrew Johnston, Ph.D., Associate Professor in Departments of Architectural History and Architecture at the University of Virginia, has chosen Gordonsville as the site for one of his graduate seminars this fall.  Andrew’s research interests focus on industrial and infrastructure heritage, cultural landscapes, critical heritage studies, and heritage and preservation, and so, these will be some of the major areas that will guide the course of study for the next couple of months. The course will be made up of a combination of students whose focus areas include architecture, landscape architecture, planning, and architectural history.  They will be researching the history of the Town, talking to longtime residents and business owners, looking at plans from the past and for the future, and trying to understand issues and/or roadblocks that the Town faces. The hope is to present the people of Gordonsville with a useful proposal at the end of the semester for how their findings and research might be put into real-life effect in the future.

Lauren explained that Paul Manning (PBM Capital’s Founder) got the project rolling in that he reached out to UVa with this “empty canvas”, a group of buildings that were at one time PBM occupied and later held by Perrigo. She was careful to explain, “the course will really involve the whole Town of Gordonsville and many key people in it will be responsible to get the ball rolling.”  The ‘project’ has grown to encompass much more than just PBM’s buildings, and the bright focus of the endeavor shines to UVA and Gordonsville itself.

I was interested since I have gotten involved with other Gordonsville related groups in the past, namely the Greater Gordonsville, Inc. (GGI).  GGI is a non-profit organization devoted to promoting the economic, cultural, and historic development of the area, and to representing the interests of all stakeholders including businesses, local citizens, and government. I attended a meeting in June of 2015 where the GGI Board provided an overview of the primary activities completed to date. They solicited the audience with an opportunity to volunteer for various committees, a significant amount of time was opened up for suggestions from all stakeholders, and a calendar was set for the remainder of 2015 goals and meetings.  The organization was created by Bruce and Jacqueline Gupton, and they have done a great job so far of finding support and really getting some good momentum going.  This was the first official meeting, and they had a meaningful turnout.

The Gupton’s hosted a kick-off reception for the UVa course at their home, Rocklands, in Gordonsville on Saturday, September 10th where many got the chance to meet Andrew and the students.  People who live and work in Town will be a wonderful resource for the students, and their input will be very much appreciated as they start their work.

The welcome evening began with opening remarks by Andrew Johnston, Bruce and Jacqueline Gupton, and Bob Coiner, Mayor of the Town Gordonsville. A few willing Town members and business owners followed the opening remarks to extend a quick welcome as well.

The workshop weekend (charrette as they call it in the architecture world)  was held the weekend of October 14 – 16th.  Students stayed at UVa to work that Friday the 14th, and then spent the majority of the day Saturday and part of the day Sunday out in Gordonsville.  The workshop Saturday and Sunday was held at Christ Episcopal Church in Gordonsville.  There was an open house for students and Gordonsville Town members to mingle and exchange ideas on Saturday. The BBQ Exchange catered lunch in the church’s large banquet hall with plenty of tables and chairs, and a beautiful garden and patio. Sunday the students worked on their own.

Friends and neighbors in the town were invited and eagerly participated throughout the day.  The students were interested in finding out what is at the heart of Gordonsville, and creating project goals that result in plans that could realistically be put into place.  The history of the Town and the concerns and goals that community members have for moving forward were essential points the students worked to extract from the interaction.  The students went on a walking tour of the town led by Chris Stevens and Angel May from the Exchange Hotel.

Andrew was overjoyed with the warm welcome and encouraging words he has received from everyone he has spoken with in Gordonsville, and comments, “I truly believe that this is going to be a great experience for everyone involved!”

The syllabus that summarizes the goal of the course, titled: Community History, Planning, and Design Workshop: Gordonsville Transformations, explains:

“This year we will partner with the mayor, town council, and a variety of stakeholder groups of the Town of Gordonsville, VA to explore ongoing challenges in their community, and propose possible futures from the varied perspectives of each of our disciplines.

Part studio course and part seminar, the Community History Workshop is both an in-depth historical analysis of the architecture, urban form, and planning of a selected community, and a forum for speculative futures and plan making for the community, informed by a methodologically-driven in-depth analysis of the community in partnership with stakeholders.   This heritage-focused course explores the real significance of the built landscape as an element in, and an expression of, the social and cultural life of the community and as key for plan-making and design for the future.”

Lauren explained that PBM Capital is excited to have the chance to provide such a unique resource for the School of Architecture, and hopes that other members of the Gordonsville community will continue to get involved when the need arises and the time comes.  Lauren commented that “Gordonsville itself has a great spirit and a great number of dedicated Townspeople, and we feel that this combination could create a truly incredible opportunity not only for the students but also for the Town.  These students might prove to be a breath of fresh air, and could become a great resource as we work together to take Gordonsville into the future.”

The UVa course is a great project, and that it would be great to get the word out about it.  Professor Johnston and the students are happy to talk with anyone who has input. Contact the Professor by email at [email protected] (Campus Office: Peyton House 108).

ONLY IN KESWICK: Wha?

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By Tony Vanderwarker

“You want me to fill the tub up with water?” Is what I thought she said.

“No, I said I want a rum and tonic,” she corrects me.

That’s a typical conversation between an aging Venusian and an older Martian. Though both of us have had our hearing checked, our communication keeps going off the road on a regular basis.

Doesn’t help that our house eats sound, few rugs, concrete floor, high ceilings, she can call out my name from the other side of the house and all I hear is something that sounds like a thick magazine hitting the floor.

“Did you say something?’ I yell back.

Nothing.

Then I think I hear Virginia Living landing on the floor again. So I have to go search her out. She’s in the laundry room which is around three corners, she could just have well been talking to me from inside a submarine.

“Did you call me?” I ask.

“Yes, three times and you didn’t answer.”

“I can’t hear you from the other side of the house.”

“You really should get your hearing checked again.”

We must say to each other, “You must get your hearing checked,” three times a week, almost as much as, “Did you lose your iPhone again?” Neither of us goes, of course so we keep playing the game of dropping the ball.

“Looks like rain…”

“What?”

“I said, ‘It looks like rain.’”

“Sorry, but I missed that.”

“IT LOOKS LIKE RAIN,” she screams at me and the dogs all go run and hide.

“Yeah, sure does,” I answer.

And god forbid she’s reading something, a book or checking her email. I’ve learned to fire a warning shot first, as in, “Can I have your attention for a second.” Otherwise it’s like talking to a wall.

So the question, “Did you say something?’ is asked on a regular basis around our house. And if you get, “No, why?” in response, you begin to worry.

“I just thought you said something.”

Then you get The Look. The look that says, “Are you losing your mind?” which doesn’t help because that has already occurred to you.

So when I think she’s talking to me but can’t make out what she’s saying, I often resort to cupping my hand behind my ear. That way, if she doesn’t respond, I can just pretend I was scratching the side of my head and I don’t get The Look. If she does answer, all’s right with the world.

Now trying to start a conversation from across the room is like trying to start a fire with wet wood. That’s when you have to resort to the “run up to the net” technique, like in tennis. So you take a few steps toward her and ask, “How about going to lunch at Bodo’s?”

No response. She’s not even looking up. Now you’re halfway across to where she’s sitting and you try again, “How about going to lunch at Bodo’s?”

Finally she looks up, “Did you say something?”

Now you’re right up at the net and you hit the ball back and just to make sure, you raise your voice a bit, “YOU WANT TO GO TO LUNCH AT BODO’S?”

And what you get back is, “Please, you’re standing two feet away. Do you think I’m deaf?”

Then, if she’s staying true to form, she’ll ask, “Now what did you want to ask me?”

So that’s the way it goes when two planets try to talk to each other. Once I got so frustrated, I came up with the semaphore trick. “So when I want to talk with you, how about if I wave my arms like this?”

“That’s pretty silly.”

“Let’s just try it.”

“Okay, if you insist.”

I let a half hour go by and walk back into the room, stand in front of her and begin waving my arms.

“What in the world are you doing that for?” she asks. “Standing in the middle of the room waving your arms like a crazy person.”

I don’t even try. Shrug, turn and walk out of the room, thinking, “Maybe I’ll write what I want to ask her on a Post-It note, paste it to my forehead, and put my head in front of her face.

Might be worth a try.

LIFE, MAKE IT HAPPEN: How Are You Going to Keep Her Down on the Farm?

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By Mary Morony

shutterstock_141304888On rare occasions, I leave the woods and venture out into the wide world. While my muse Hagar does not accompany me, I still learn a thing or two after all I have Hubs as a travel companion.

After a wildly successful book signing at Barnes and Noble in Charlottesville Who wasn’t there is the question? I left for Oak Ridge, Tennessee. My goal was to research my fourth book Shooting in the Dark at Scarce Birds. The title is a quote from A. Einstein. His response, when asked about the likelihood of taming the atom. I see this novel as secrets on top of secrets in a secret city.

Speaking of fourth books, C’villain, James (Jimbo) Bell’s fourth novel Crisis in the Congo is a compelling read. I started yesterday morning thinking I would read a chapter or two. Dinner was delayed by an hour when I turned the last page.    

In Oak Ridge in the American Museum of Science and Energy, we saw a 3-D printed car!  I can’t for the life of me figure out how that happens, but it is only one of an enormous amount of amazing things created in Oak Ridge. The museum teams with helpful folk, proud of their history. I had the good fortune to have a guided tour of the town offered up by a lifelong resident. Though a little young, for the era my novel is set in, 1943, he was a fount of information.  In a real stroke of good luck, Oak Ridge historian D. Ray Smith volunteered to be my fact checker. It truly is the Volunteer state.

Oak Ridge has a fascinating history.  The town was created in 1942 as part of the Manhattan Project on sixty thousand acres of sparsely populated farmland in East Tennessee just west of Knoxville. In the three years it took to build the atomic bomb, the city’s population swelled to seventy thousand people and was virtually unknown.  As I toured the city, I heard more than once you couldn’t keep a secret like that today. I couldn’t help but think of our own Peter’s Mountain. If the government wants something to stay secret, it tends to, even today.

From Knoxville, Hubs and I took the road through Pigeon Forge and the Great Smokey Mountains on our way to Savannah, Georgia for another book signing at E. Shaver’s Booksellers. While the drive through the Smokies was magnificent, Pigeon Forge is a place you can’t un-see. What a blight, hillbillies meet Disney Yikes!

Savannah didn’t need the contrast, a more enchanting place; I can’t imagine, the town and the bookstore. Twenty-one squares with statues, fountains, live oaks, and Spanish moss adorn the historic district, each charming and distinct in its own right. On the way, we listened to Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil a true story of some of Savannah’s more colorful residents. Charming as some of the character are, I have to say Savannah ain’t got nothin’ on Keswick. We can go toe-to-toe when comes to characters even if we don’t have fancy squares and live oaks resplendent with Spanish moss.

Hubs and I got a chance to see some sites, though I was given my money back and asked to leave a ghost tour. It seems there is only room for one character per ghost tour, and I wasn’t it.  We stopped to pay our respects at Flannery O’Connor’s house. I sucked in the air hoping a little of her juju would rub off. At the Bonaventure Cemetery, Hubs and I found our selves lost. A helpful tour bus driver invited us onto his air-conditioned ride thus rescuing us from what was beginning to look like our last hurrah.  That is one beautiful but big cemetery! Hubs coming down with a fever and a rash cut our trip to Savannah short. When we got home, the doctor to prove my diagnosis correct. As it turned out, he did have Rocky Mountain spotted fever. Moral of that story; listen to your wife.

With Hubs health restored, we set off for points north along with Woody and Jane Baker. Our destination: a former K’wickian’s wedding—and what an affair it was!  New York was hotter than having Cool and the Gang on hand to Celebrate the nuptials. K’wickians, B & C’villians, and FU’ers (Fork Union) were just about everywhere.  Smack in the middle of the New York Yacht Club, I ran into a lovely man, the Commodore. He said that his family was from near Charlottesville. “Had I ever heard of Castle Hill?” Just goes to prove you can’t swing a cat without hitting one of our own somewhere in a fancy place. Like his Virginia cousins, he is a passionate sportsman though sailing is his game.

Clearly, the point of going away is to come home with a fresh new perspective but none the less convinced that there is no place like home. That is particularly the case if you count home as anywhere in or around Keswick.

BOOKWORM: Cozy Up with a Spooky Tale

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By Suzanne Nash

I’m writing my reviews sitting on a porch in beautiful Orkney Springs, enjoying the smell of wood burning in the fireplace and the company of good friends.  Taking a retreat and finding a place away from the distractions of everyday life gives you plenty of opportunity to read and write.  This month’s book choices are an eclectic assortment with a wide range of themes.  From a biography, to humor and historical fiction, there is something to appeal to everyone.

The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out The Window and Disappeared, is written by Swedish writer, Jonas Jonasson, was a huge hit in Sweden and has even been made into a film. There were many times when I laughed out loud as I read the exploits of a remarkable runaway. Allan Karlsson is fed up with being in the old folk’s home.  They are getting ready to celebrate his 100th birthday and he’s decided he’ll be a no show.  In his get-away Allan ends up absconding with a suitcase from the bus station.  A comedy of errors ensues, with the owner of the money-filled suitcase chasing Allan across the countryside.  As Allan is pursued and becomes involved with criminals and kind strangers alike, the reader slowly learns this centenarian’s history. And what a history…from being acquainted with Stalin, Truman and many others, to helping to make the atom bomb and preventing the assassination of Winston Churchill, it soon becomes clear Allan was a participant in many of the key events of the 20th century. I loved the whole story!

Another humorous tale is a memoir by Josh Kilmer-Purcell, I am not Myself These Days.  Being a drag queen isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Filled with memorable, quirky characters it is witty, funny and poignant.  There is grace and insight in his prose.  This is the unbelievable true tragicomic story of man’s journey through a drag career and beyond. Aqua, Josh’s drag alter ego, will keep you entertained as he takes you on a roller coaster ride through New York City’s alternative lifestyle.

On the other end of the spectrum, there is the book Mrs. Astor Regrets: The Hidden Betrayal of a Family Beyond Reproach by Meryl Gordon.  Brook Astor was a famous philanthropist who lived in New York City and helped build up the New York Library, along with many other worthy causes. In this biography Gordon explores Astor’s later years and the scandal which rocked the country. Even before her death rumors were circulating about her son, Anthony Marshall, and how he was neglecting his mother’s care and how he seemed to be pilfering artwork and other items from her home. When Anthony’s son sues his father, accusing him of abusing Brook, and stealing her fortune, the media has a field day.  Mrs. Astor’s final years were anything but peaceful.  This is an American epic which explores the final y ears of her life and is a poignant look at a woman who rose to the heights of the mega rich and social elite and yet was still taken advantage of by those around her. Meryl Gordon does a marvelous job of putting all of the pieces together in a very readable account.

An historical thriller, The School of Night will appeal to Dan Brown fans. Louis Bayard tackles the mysteries of history and in this novel he focuses on the late 16th century scholars who formed a club called The School of Night to discuss forbidden topics. Allegedly it included Sir Walter Raleigh, Christopher Marlow, George Chapman and was led by Thomas Harriot. Harriot, an obscure real life scientist was an English astronomer, mathematician, ethnographer and translator.  Jumping from modern England to the 1600s, Bayard writes about a treasure that captures the imagination of modern day collectors and leads to murder. I love a story that makes me want to research history and after reading The School of Night I was immediately curious enough to read more about the accomplishments of Thomas Harriot.

I hope I have given you multiple different options for a pleasurable afternoon of reading in this wonderful crisp autumn air. If you can take a retreat and get away from the cares of the world, then take a trip to the mountains and enjoy the beautiful foliage this fall.

OBITUARY: From In and Around Keswick…

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Andrew Jasperson Lockhart

Andrew Jasperson Lockhart, of Richmond, Virginia, London, England, and Greenwich, Connecticut, died on Friday, September 30, 2016. Andrew passed peacefully surrounded by his family at his home in Richmond, Virginia, after a hard-fought battle with a virulent cancer called Cholangiocarcinoma.

Andrew was born on July 13, 1977, in Boston, Massachusetts, to H. Eugene and Terry J. Lockhart, currently of Keswick, Virginia, and spent his formative years in Boston, Massachusetts, London, England, and Greenwich, Connecticut. Andrew attended Greenwich Country Day School and graduated from Eton College in Windsor, England and Choate-Rosemary Hall School in Wallingford, Connecticut. Andrew graduated from the University of Virginia (B.S. in Economics in 2004) and from the University of Virginia School of Law in 2010. Andrew is survived by his beloved wife, Ashley Parke Lockhart; and his two daughters, Maclaren Page Lockhart and Cecily Boyd Lockhart. He is also survived by his parents, H. Eugene and Terry J. Lockhart of Keswick, Virginia, Nantucket, Massachusetts, and Palm Beach, Flordia; and by three sisters, Julia Lockhart Simon (David) of Denver, Colorado, Victoria Lockhart Katz (Jerome) of Birmingham, Alabama, and Charlotte Lockhart Margulies (Jeffrey) of Denver, Colorado. Andrew and Ashley were married in September 2010. They soon moved to New York where Andrew became an Associate with Clifford Chance LLP, specializing in international transportation and development projects. Andrew finished his all too short law career as an Associate with Hunton & Williams LLP in their Richmond and London offices, permanently moving to London in 2015, where he specialized in international energy, infrastructure, and project development law.

Andrew’s keen intellect, warm and engaging demeanor, and compassionate outlook were bright lights to the people who knew him. Andrew deeply loved his wife and daughters. He spent time relaxing by reading, participating in all forms of country pursuits, and was particularly interested in studying the mysteries of the earth and horizons beyond. Music was an important part of Andrew’s life as he was a member of the Eton College Chapel Choir and the University of Virginia Glee Club. He was an avid fan of all University of Virginia sports teams, cheering through all their triumphs and losses.

Andrew’s family would like to thank the hospital staff of Bon Secours St. Mary’s Hospital in Richmond for their creative, comforting, kind, and faith-based care over the last weeks of his life. Their extraordinary efforts made Andrew’s last wish a reality: to participate in the birth of his newborn daughter, Cecily, and to baptize her.

In lieu of flowers, Andrew’s family has established the Andrew J. Lockhart Research Fellowship at the Focused Ultrasound Foundation in Charlottesville, Virginia, in the hopes that research can contribute to a cure for solid form cancers. Donations can be mailed to The Focused Ultrasound Foundation, 1230 Cedars Court, Suite 206, Charlottesville, Virginia 22903.The ceremony celebrating Andrew’s rich life was held at Grace Episcopal Church in Keswick, Virginia, on Friday, October 21, 2016.

John Jaske 

John Jaske was born on August 29, 1944, to the late Bernard A. and Frances B. Jaske of Waukesha, Wisconsin.

In the 72 years that followed, he married a wife who loves him; he ran marathons; he practiced law; he took his dogs walking up on the mountain; he misplaced several boxes worth of tools; though duct tape was his tool of choice; he drank wine and watched the sun set over the mountains; he raised two daughters who miss him terribly; he read about the Civil War; he worked hard to preserve the Virginia countryside as Chairman of the Virginia League of Conservation Voters and as a long-time board member of the Piedmont Environmental Council; and he always tried to come home, no matter how far he’d been, in time for dinner. He died at his home, Springhill Farm in Rapidan, Virginia early in the morning of October 15, 2016. We know that he would not have gone, had he been able to stay.

John and his wife Pam were hunting members of the Keswick Hunt Club up through the 1990’s. Springhill is in the Rapidan country that was traded to Bull Run Hunt for the areas in Madison County including Glenwood and Kenwalt.

He is survived by his wife Pamela of Rapidan, Virginia; by his daughter Kimberly Jaske of McLean Virginia; by his daughter and son-in-law Kelly and Jeff Diephuis of Portland, Oregon; by his brother and sister-in-law Bernard and Pauline Jaske of New Berlin, Wisconsin, and their extended family. Services private.

TRAVEL: Fly Fishing in Shangri-La

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By Charles Thacher

101Since moving to Keswick eight years ago, I have learned to enjoy fishing in our two ponds and some of those on our neighbors’ farms. Catching a large bass or catfish, or even a good brim, on a fly rod is exciting. But, the allure of traveling to far-flung locations to experience the joys of fly fishing while immersed in an entirely different culture continues to be addictive.

On a clear day, the flight from Katmandu, Nepal to Paro, Bhutan provides a spectacular view as you soar only a few thousand feet above eight of the ten highest peaks in the world, including Mt. Everest. It is a perfect introduction to a beautiful and captivating country.  On the way from the airport to the hotel, Ann and I were dropped off in a small village for a few minutes while our guide, Tshering, a former monk, and our driver, Gyaling, ran an errand. As we were about to enter a shop, a friendly looking young man dressed in the traditional gho (i.e., robe) approached us, offering me his hand. I shook it. He greeted me politely. “Hello sir. How are you?”

1a“I’m fine. And how are you?”

“I’m fine sir. How do you like Bhutan?”

“We have just arrived, but I think that we will like it very much”

“How long will you be here, sir?”

“Ten days.” I now opted to add a little substance. “I’m going to fish in some of your rivers.”

“Sir, this is a Buddhist country. Fishing is against our laws. It is sinful to harm any living creature.”

52Ann smiled wryly, thinking perhaps that given my angling skills there was little chance that any religious tenets would be violated. But I was worried, since fishing was the main reason that I had come to Bhutan. At that moment, our car pulled up, and I was rescued from further embarrassment. Looked to our guide for reassurance. “Tshering, that young man said that fishing is not permitted in Bhutan. Is that true?”

Tshering didn’t hesitate. “Yes. We are Buddhists and cannot fish. But you have special permission from the Royal Family, so it will be okay for you.” After traveling such a long distance, what a relief. And it all worked out. I fished on four different rivers, catching trout on all of them. The rivers were as beautiful as any that I have fished elsewhere. And no other anglers crossed our path. But, there is much more to Bhutan than fishing.

Bhutan is a small country, about one-third the size of Virginia. Though largely agrarian, it is quite prosperous, and the traveler sees none of the abject poverty that is common throughout India and China. It is also geographically diverse. In the north are the high Himalayas, with peaks of nearly 25,000 feet, and in the south, only 80 miles away, the elevation drops to 500 feet. Northern fauna includes mountain sheep, snow leopards, wolves and the national animal, a supersized goat called the takin. In the subtropical forests of the south are elephants, tigers, water buffalo and cobras. We saw huge macaques near the road in the mountain passes at over 10,000 feet. The human population is under 750,000, about half of whom live at least a day’s walk from any road, including many more than several days. Thimpu, the modern capital, is by far the largest city with a population of about 80,000. From 1907 until 2008, Bhutan was ruled solely by the Wangchuck dynasty, but in 2008 the 53-year old King voluntary abdicated his throne, changed the political system to a constitutional monarchy, with a bicameral legislature, and named his son as the new King with greatly reduced powers. Perhaps no country ever had a more seamless transition to democracy. Every Bhutanese with whom we spoke expressed love and admiration for the current king and his father.

All flights to Bhutan land in Paro, in the western end of the country. Tshering told us that it was the only location in the country where a straight, level runway long enough to handle large planes could be built. We never saw another spot that would meet that test. A single road heads east from Paro, eventually ending before the Indian border, and three roads turn off the east-west road going south into India. There are a couple of dirt roads that go north for a short distance, but none pass through to China or even reach the high peaks. Although the primary roads are mostly paved, they are all steep and narrow with frequent huge potholes and constant switchbacks. Average driving speed is about 15-20 miles per hour, but driving never was tedious because of the beautiful and beguiling scenery.

Many surmise that Bhutan was the model for the mystical paradise, “Shangri-la”, in James Hilton’s popular 1933 novel Lost Horizons, perhaps because it was a completely closed country until the early 1970s. No foreigner could enter Bhutan unless invited by the Royal Family. So the rest of the world had virtually no information about the country, inspiring leaps of imagination. In the 1970s, the King noted the demise of all of the other small Himalayan kingdoms (e.g., Tibet, Sikkim, Mustang, Ladakh) that were sandwiched between the two aggressive powers – India and China – and decided that if Bhutan were to remain independent, Western visitors had to be invited in to see the idyllic countryside and meet its charming inhabitants. He also changed the educational system to require teaching in English (the Country has eight languages), so locals could communicate with the new visitors. Tourism is still in its infancy, with just over 100,000 total tourists estimated for all of 2015, about 10% of which were Americans. All visitors must use a Bhutanese tourist agency (they have U.S. affiliates) and travel by bus, or by private car with a driver and guide. No independent travel is permitted. Your first day on the roads will convince you that you don’t want your guide to also be driving.

Buddhism is the state religion of Bhutan, and evidence of the depth of the peoples’ commitment is palpable. All government administrative buildings (called “Dzongs”) contain a temple, and religious buildings and religious monuments dot the landscape. Plots of prayer flags are ubiquitous, and monasteries are visible on many mountain tops, including the famed “Tiger’s Nest”, one of the world’s great sights. Bhutan has many of the highest unclimbed peaks in the world, as they are considered sacred and climbing them is prohibited. Both polygamy and polyandry are permitted, though rarely practiced by ordinary citizens. But the former king has four wives – all sisters from a family of six girls. In Bhutanese villages, many houses have paintings on the outside walls, with perhaps the most common theme being a giant phallus. Sex education is not a controversial topic.

Fishing in Bhutan is for brown trout, except in the far south, where the giant and elusive mahseer can be found in warmer rivers. The trout were brought from Kashmir, where they were originally introduced by the English in the 19th Century, as were the trout now residing in many Asian and African countries.

The first two rivers that I fished were the Paro Chhu (the local word for “River”) and the Mo Chhu. These were both classic trout streams, broad and clear, with long riffles and deep runs, but with no visible insect activity or rising trout. The banks were lined with rice fields and virgin forest. In the Paro I caught a half dozen fish up to about 12 inches, but in the Mo only a single small fish. I couldn’t get any fish to come to a dry fly, but caught them on standard nymphs. I would love to give the Mo another go, as Tshering said that it was unique in having large trout of up to 10-12 pounds.

Although Tshering was not a fishing guide, he had accompanied a few other anglers in the past, and it quickly became apparent that he had developed an interest in angling that was beyond “passive”. He set up a rod and tied on a fly, ostensibly for me in case I managed to break or lose mine, but several times when I looked toward him I noticed that his line had inadvertently fallen on the water, and was floating downstream in a manner that could easily, though of course accidentally, hook a fish. Supposing that I should not bear witness to such un-zenlike activity, I kept my counsel.

On our drive back to the small hotel in Punakha after fishing the Mo, Tshering said that the hotel restaurant had some “special hot chiles”. Although there is variety in Bhutanese food, the staple is rice and chiles. Both Tshering and Gyaling ate rice and chiles for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. Large numbers of chile peppers were drying on rooftops or hanging by windows on many homes. We had sampled the “regular chiles” and found that even a small bite was incendiary and would require a bottle of beer for relief. The thought of special hot chiles terrified us.

Later, at dinner, the waiter placed a small bowl of round orange chiles in front of Tshering. He offered one to us. We respectfully declined. He popped one into his mouth. Immediately, his eyes bulged and teared, and he began choking. He tried to speak, but nothing came out but short gasps of air. He then began sweating profusely, and his shaved head and the shirt under his gho were soon completely drenched. He stood up, turned to leave the table, but couldn’t speak to tell us what was wrong or where he was going. He disappeared through a swinging door which led to both the bathroom and the kitchen. Ann looked at me and said “I feel bad for him, but I don’t know what we should do”. I responded with my usual empathy. “I think this has happened to him before”. About ten minutes later he returned, still looking stressed. His words were a bit slurred, but we believe that he said “These are really good chiles”, as he popped another into his mouth. It was our longest dinner in Bhutan.

The farthest east that we traveled was in the Bumthang Valley, about 100 miles from Paro. From there, one morning, we drove for two hours on a rough dirt road through a beautiful valley, to fish the Tang Chhu. I entered the lovely, crystal clear stream near a large plot of Buddhist prayer flags, and upstream from a narrow suspension footbridge. I had just begun casting, when Ann signaled me to turn around. On the bridge about a dozen children had gathered to observe my strange behavior. After ten minutes or so, I hooked and landed a small fish. They applauded, and immediately I felt a great weight lifted from my shoulders. Fortunately, Tshering relieved the pressure by taking me upstream to a deep pool sequestered in the shadow of a high cliff.

The new pool proved to be full of fish. I hooked one on almost every other cast by drifting a small nymph downstream, and slowly stripping it back. The brown trout in the Tang had unusual coloring, the sides being gray, with many brilliant red spots. The largest I caught was just over a foot long, but they were feisty, and are etched in my memory. After an hour or so in the pool, some clouds drifted overhead, blocking the sun, which triggered a hatch of small mayflies with gray wings. Fish rose regularly in the foam to take the flies. I tried all of my small dry flies that looked like the naturals without success so, as is often the case, I still have no idea what was going on.

We left the Bumthang Valley, returning west, then turned south on a road extending about 15 miles into the Probjikha Valley. This valley is the winter home of the black-necked crane, a sacred (and endangered) bird that migrates annually from Tibet to this and only one other valley in Asia. The people living there have chosen not to have electricity, because they are afraid that overhead wires will upset the cranes, causing them to opt to winter elsewhere. Sacrifices are the daily bread of these devout Buddhists. We saw several of the impressive cranes that had only recently arrived.

The Probjikha Valley also is home to a pristine creek emanating from a mountain spring. While Ann visited a local elementary school which, because of deference to the cranes, had no lights or heat, Tshering took me to the creek. Like many spring creeks, it meandered for many miles through a flat valley. It was perfect dry fly water, but I did not see an insect or a fish rise. In one long, deep pool I caught many small fish on a dry fly but in the other mile or so of the stream that I walked, none rose to a dry fly, even under the cut banks. I was able to catch some fish on nymphs, but I left this lovely stretch of water with a slight sense of disappointment. At one point, Tshering wandered off with my spare rod and was caught fishing by a local, who chastised him very aggressively for his sinful behavior.

On the drive through Bhutan, we passed four or five other beautiful rivers, and Tshering said that all of them have trout. The few reports on Bhutan fishing that I have read by other anglers have extolled the beauty of the rivers, but noted the dearth of larger fish. Some have surmised that the factors causing this could be high elevation (although many of our Western rivers are at similar elevations of 5,000-8,000 feet) or a paucity of insect life. Frankly, I don’t have a clue. But I do know that if you like standing in beautiful rivers, gazing at snow-capped peaks, meeting and talking with enchanting children along the river bank, while also experiencing a unique and fascinating culture, it would be hard to beat Bhutan.         

ON EXHIBIT: The Private Jefferson: From the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society

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October 15, 2016 – January 15, 2017: One hundred fifty years ago, the largest collection of Thomas Jefferson’s private papers was given to the Massachusetts Historical Society by his great-grandson. The exhibition of The Private Jefferson is your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to view this collection in Mr. Jefferson’s beloved Virginia. See three copies of the Declaration of Independence, 35 architectural drawings of Virginia landmarks, and much more. Tickets are on sale now, and the exhibition opens on Saturday, October 15.

As author of the Declaration of Independence, architect of the Virginia State Capitol, founder of the University of Virginia, and third president of the United States, Thomas Jefferson is one of history’s best-known figures. Surprisingly, the largest collection of Jefferson’s private papers (more than 8,000 pieces) cannot be found in the Commonwealth, but is instead in the collection of the Massachusetts Historical Society.

For the first time since the late 1800s, the most significant pieces from the Coolidge Collection of Thomas Jefferson Manuscripts are returning to Virginia and will be on display at the Virginia Historical Society in the exhibition The Private Jefferson: From the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society.

Among the five dozen items on display are:

• Jefferson’s handwritten copy of the Declaration of Independence as originally drafted

• John Adams’s handwritten copy of the Declaration of Independence as it was presented to Congress

• One of only 26 known copies of the first printed version of the Declaration of Independence

• Thirty-five architectural drawings of Virginia landmarks designed by Jefferson, including Monticello, the Virginia Capitol, and the University of Virginia

• Jefferson’s manuscript for his book Notes on the State of Virginia

• Jefferson’s meticulous farm and garden journals

This exhibition offers a once in a lifetime opportunity to see these important American documents in one place.

The Private Jefferson is organized by the Massachusetts Historical Society. Admission: Free for VHS members; $10 for nonmembers; $8 for groups of 10 or more. Tickets may be purchased online or by calling 804.358.4901..Admission is free for children under the age of 12.

LOOKING BACK: Arnold Palmer, who died recently at age 87, was hired in the early 1990s by Lord Bernard Ashley when he bought Keswick Club to reconstruct the club’s golf course

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Adapted with permission by Patricia Castelli

ba-and-ap-1992Fred Findlay, a Scottish immigrant and renowned designer of several courses in central Virginia, built Keswick Club’s original golf course in 1939. The course, which opened with Findlay’s first nine, expanded to 18 holes in the mid-1950s. The refurbished Keswick Hall follows the same routing as the original 1948 Fred Findlay design, later renovated by Arnold Palmer . The course was redesigned in 1990 by Arnold Palmer (The Arnold Palmer Golf Course Design Company), elevating Keswick to the status of an Arnold Palmer Signature Course. Palmer said the course had “good bones” and was therefore able to keep the majority of the original design. Palmer’s touches included additional bunkers, contouring changes to the land, greens built to United States Golf Association standards, and a new tee-to-green irrigation system.

This combination has produced a perfect blend of classical and modern golf course architecture. The lush grounds, old growth trees, shrubs, and sheer beauty will allow one to step back in time while playing a modern and very challenging course. Arnold Palmer has used the wonderful setting of the estate to fashion a course of exceptional natural beauty, featuring tall ancient oaks, grassy wetlands and spectacular mountain views as well as a variety of lakes and streams.

A little history lesson: The resort was originally a private home called “Villa Crawford,” with fireplaces, ornate ceiling molding and a grand staircase. It was built in 1912 as a private residence for Mr. and Mrs. Robert B. Crawford. Robert Crawford, born in Alabama, had been a medical student at the University of Virginia, and his wife came from Providence, R.I., where her father was commodore of the Newport Yacht Club. Designed by prominent local architect Eugene Bradbury, the 8,000-square-foot, two-story, stucco-clad structure originally cost $100,000 to build.

After several subsequent owners led to a state of “senile ruin” with “touches of elegance” remaining, Villa Crawford was purchased in 1990 by Bernard Ashley, the widower of Laura Ashley, the famous textile designer who died in 1985. The new owner saw the potential for a world-class hotel after purchasing the home and 600-acre property for $5.5 million. He had the goal of turning it into a “country house” hotel, and felt strongly that Villa Crawford would be the heart of a truly outstanding property.

Ashley spent $25-million-plus expanding the number of guest rooms to 48, with each individually furnished and decorated. Laura Ashley’s signature style was incorporated into the public spaces as well, and her husband placed many items in the hotel from his personal collection of antiques, including paintings, sideboards, cabinets, sculptures, busts and lithographs.

When it came to building a worldwide design empire on the basis of his fame, Arnold Palmer succeeded like nobody else. Palmer, who died recently at age 87, was a smart-enough businessman to know that his clients would be thrilled even if he were to show up only at the occasional ceremonial event to bless work that was well underway.

He cared enough to monitor progress on the 306 design projects that came his way during the last half-century of his life. He also knew the key was to hire good associates and to entrust and empower them.

Nobody mistook Palmer for the architect. At news conferences and ribbon cuttings, Palmer would defer to his design associates to provide technical details. Such is the confidence when you’re The King.

In the early 1990s when Keswick Club was bought by Lord Bernard Ashley , Ashley hired Arnold Palmer to reconstruct the club’s golf course that had been dormant for years. Palmer rebuilt the course and was there for the grand opening, playing the course before a crowd of about 400 who wanted to get a glimpse of the legendary golfer.

Charlottesville architect Hank Browne, who was overseeing the construction of the hall and club told a great story recalled by Patricia Castelli in her book “The History of Keswick Hall”. Arnold Palmer and Hank Browne were standing behind the Hall admiring the newly seeded and hayed 18th green when they heard the whirr-whirr-whirr of a helicopter in the distance. As it came closer, they realized it was BA (who loved helicopters) and he was coming closer and closer. They watched in disbelief, and AP turned to Hank and said, “He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t…” And then he DID land right on the 18th — seeds and hay scattering everywhere. Arnold Palmer softly said to Hank, “I wonder if he has any idea what that just cost.”

LIFE, MAKE IT HAPPEN: Laughing at Fears and Uncertainty

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By Mary Morony

file_101560_0_baby_mirrorUnfortunately, there is an extreme amount of uncertainty for us to fear currently.  There’s the presidential election, enough said.  There’s also climate change, international, economic and political uncertainty all around us.  All of this uncertainty makes for a scary proposition when we’ve already snuggled into bed with the devils we know; It is hard going to rouse much enthusiasm for a new bedmate. What if the new one is worse?  What then?  And what if the solution we choose ends up giving us more problems to resolve?  It’s entirely possible.

My old furry friend and fellow blogger, Hagar (MaryMorony.com/canine-conundrums) is consistently teaching me lessons that help me laugh at my fears and uncertainties.  Especially when we walk together in the woods. There are so many things to rile up our worries in the forest. For me, there are snakes and ticks. For him, there are flies.  Hagar is a Great Dane by breed, (in case you’ve never read about him before) and at 11 hands, that’s 44 inches.  I had to measure him with my hands because he is afraid of a tape measure, the idea of him being afraid of something as small and insignificant as a fly, borders on the absurd. It is ridiculous, even more so for me. Look at the ratio of me to a tick or snake. Size clearly has nothing to do with fear. When I think about it, isn’t almost everything we fear smaller than we are? Odd isn’t is?  But I digress, back to the walk.

So, try to imagine walking with a dog taller than a Shetland pony who insists on walking on the narrow deer path inches ahead of you.  This behemoth stops whenever he hears something whiz by or is touched by something as small as a blade of grass or butterfly.  Hagar waves his huge blockhead around like a searchlight looking for his boggart (a being that takes on the form of his worst fears) OR he hunkers down in the path to protect his belly from the perceived attacker. I stumble and trip after him, safe in the knowledge that while it may not be the most relaxing way to traverse the woods, there are no snakes in my path.

As Hagar thrashes his way along the trail, I find myself laughing at his irrational fears and forgetting my own. “You silly dog, it’s just a little fly.” A small voice whispers to me easy for you to laugh as it occurs to me how asinine I am stumbling along behind him.  I couldn’t help but think of J. K. Rowling’s witty charm to tame boggarts—Riddikulus! Laughing at our fears is a start to conquering them.

While Hagar has a sense of humor, it isn’t developed to a fine enough degree that he laughs at what he fears.  During moments of courage, he will even charge cows, ignoring my shouts that he shouldn’t, but never without the protection of a fence between him and the harmless cud-chewers. When they race off in a flurry of bovine frenzy, his hearing magically restored, he trots up with an equivalent of a chuckle in his gait.

Like Hagar, there are some fears that our humor is just not developed enough to see the irony. That’s when his variation on the theme works well for humans. Put distance between you and what you fear – like a fence. Snakes, for example, are much less terrifying at the zoo behind glass. I can’t say I like them all that much more, but they are less of a frightful thing. Ticks—there’s always bug spray.

Still, there is the dread of the uncertain. For Hagar, it could be a measuring tape or a Mylar balloon. Last night a mysterious silver orb lay on the grass along the drive, gently swaying in the breeze.  Hagar was keenly aware of that fact that it had never been there before. In a feat of his most daring-do, stealthily he approached this unknown object with a warning growl as if to say, “Don’t mess with me you, you strange thing.”  Caught up by a puff of wind the balloon bucked forward. My less than intrepid friend jumped back as the silver blobs underbelly waved and proclaimed a garish happy birthday. With tail tucked, he slunk behind me. I picked up the string rendering the dread thing immediately safe and known. He trotted along not in the least bothered by the strange silver object as it floated behind me. When I tied it to the fence and left it immediately, it regained an object to fear status.  How often do I find the unknown fearful?  And when I think I know something, how often does my fear evaporate only to reemerge at the slightest change, wondering I still laughed at my pooch’s antics?

You might think I am taking undue advantage of my buddy by laughing at his fears. While Hagar may worry his way through a walk in the woods, when he lies down to sleep all of that worry is a thing of the past. I, on the other hand, spend many a long night awake worrying about things that never happen. Who has the last laugh do you suppose?