The hike out to Lindy Point is not long, less than half a mile. The road to the trailhead is narrow; if you meet someone coming the other direction, you both have to squeeze over, partly off the road, nearly scraping the trees and shrubs at the sides. There is not a lot of room to park when you get there, but I got lucky and arrived just after another car had left, so there was an open spot. I stood by my car and changed into my hiking boots. The trail isn't long, but like most mountain forest trails, it's rocky and root-y, and the day I was there it was very, very muddy. There had been a lot of rain.
The narrow trail leads through the forest, hemmed in closely with rhododendron. If you meet someone coming the other direction, you both have to squeeze over, partly off the trail, brushing the trees and shrubs at the sides. The first time I had hiked it, two years ago, I had a full-size backpack loaded with gear. This time I knew the trail and conditions, so I carried only a small sling bag, with water, spare battery, and my camera. It was much easier on the tight, slippery trail.
Lindy Point overlooks the Blackwater River to the west, and also a valley to the south, where the smaller tributary of Lindy Run empties into the river. The promontory offers a truly stunning view, especially in the fall. The park service has built a broad, stone-floored observation deck, with wooden railings to keep people safe. Some people go around the railings and step out onto the naked granite ledge, perhaps feeling like Cole Porter: "Don't fence me in."
Whenever I visit Lindy Point, I stay awhile. I love to watch the views change as the clouds shuffle and the sun shifts, highlighting different areas of the forested mountainsides. I watch along one valley, to the south, and along the canyon to the west, and to the north. There is much to see, and the scene is endlessly changing. I can spend an hour out there and not grow tired of the view, or feel that I have seen all there is to see. I feel the breezes blow, and listen to the birds and the sound of the river far below. There is such vastness, so much beauty all around, and it's all in motion, shifting and changing endlessly. It's puzzling to me that most people make the drive out to the trailhead, then hike out to the point, look around for thirty seconds, take a selfie, and then leave. It certainly isn't my place to tell anyone else how to experience their life, but it does seem a little sad. People will spend an hour watching a television show, but with a view like this in front of them, they give it barely a glance. I'll probably never understand.