AF TER LIVING IN D. C. for more
than a decade, I think of myself as
a tour guide of sorts. When friends
visit for the first time—eager to
tackle the museums or the Tidal
Basin as it bursts into pink blossoms each spring—I willingly tag
along. Afterward, I point them to the
gems not included in their glossy
guidebooks.
However, there’s a spectacular
side of D.C. that I’ve overlooked until
recently: its natural landscape. The
Potomac River, flanked by national
parks and preserves, offers breathtaking views and, for adventurous types,
an estuary of fun.
I decided to explore this sporty
side of Washington, and a friend suggested I start with paddle boarding,
the Potomac’s latest watersports
craze. The Hawaiian sport entails
standing on a surfing-sized board
and scudding through the water with
a single paddle. I took a lesson with
Elise Phipps, owner of Paddle D.C. We
met at Jack’s Boathouse in Georgetown,
a quaint spot where canoes and kayaks
are rented by the hour.
“If you fall in, just fall away from the
board,” Phipps advises as we push off the
dock. Gulp.
I start out kneeling, and when I grow
a little more confident—and reassured
that a dip in the Potomac isn’t as bad as it
sounds—I find my sea legs.
We paddle a tranquil 1. 5 miles downriver, past the Georgetown waterfront
buzzing with weekend diners. We board
past the Watergate Hotel, the Washington Monument and the Kennedy Center.
The Lincoln Memorial comes into view
on our left as the Iwo Jima Memorial
rises on our right.
A mile into the journey, ripples in the
water catch my eye.
“Water snake?” I ask, feigning calm as
something long and thin slices toward
me through the current.
“Piece of wood. You do see a lot of
wildlife, though,” Phipps says, pointing to the shore of Theodore Roosevelt
Island, a 91-acre nature preserve webbed
with 2. 5 miles of hiking trails. Along the
shore, herons fish in tangles of roots at
the water’s edge.
I finish the journey as dry as I’d
started it, thankfully. But my adventure
doesn’t stop there. Turns out that Jack’s
is a good spot to catch the C&O Canal
towpath for a leisurely bike ride.
The 184-mile Chesapeake & Ohio
Canal, which ends in Georgetown, was
built in the 1800s to help move boats
downriver—the towpath was a trail
for the mules that pulled the boats.
Although Georgetown is known today
for its designer shops and swanky restaurants, it was once a bustling tobacco
port. Warehouses from that time still dot
the towpath as it snakes its way through
the city’s colonial streets.
I hop on my bike and follow the
towpath upriver, passing runners and
bikers, a fisherman reeling in a massive
catch and kayakers hauling their boats
to the river. Fourteen miles later, I reach
Great Falls, Md., where I take in the sight
of kayakers on white water and rock
Above: A cyclist passes a canal barge
on the C&O Canal towpath. Right:
Brown’s Brewing Company works up
a new batch of ales.
climbers scaling massive boulders that
jut from the riverbanks.
As a mist from the falls eases the
day’s heat, I suddenly feel sorry for the
tourists lining up for the monuments
downtown .
The Pursuit of Hoppiness
by David Levine
“BEER IS PROOF that God loves us and
wants us to be happy,” runs the quote
famously attributed to Benjamin Frank-
lin, and although there is some disagree-
ment about the attribution (Franklin
preferred wine, historians say), its senti-
ments cannot be disputed—at least, not
by hop-heads like me. The corollary to the
quote might be “Microbrews are proof
that God is in the details of great beer.”
I’m fortunate to live in New York’s
Hudson Valley, which sports some of the
