The Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest is now one of the largest stand of old growth trees in the eastern United States. The 3,800 acre preserve commemorates Joyce Kilmer, a fallen World War I soldier and poet who was killed in action at the age of 31. His masterpiece poem testifies to the power of the remaining giants: "I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree..."

A National Recreation Trail winds through the dark enchanted forest, a perfect outing for families or anyone who has never experienced the magic of a true forest primeval. An easy figure 8 loop leaves from a picnic area, quickly entering the Joyce Kilmer-Slickrock Wilderness where only foot travel is permitted.

The 2 mile path is soft underfoot, cushioned by the leaves dropped from the canopy towering overhead. In about half a mile, the trail comes to the center of the eight, where a plaque is laid in honor of the forest's namesake. Crossing Little Santeelah Creek, the trail continues on to the upper loop, entering the Poplar Grove.

The immensity of the trees strikes one first. These specimens are truly behemoths hundreds of years old: poplars, hemlocks, chestnuts, and oaks stretch hundreds of feet toward the sky. An ancient's base may extend 20 feet around, stretching out ever further at ground level as it seeks a toehold to keep the tower upright. High overhead, a gangly set of branches is silhouetted against the sky in early spring, the leaves just beginning to bud out and filter the light on its way down to the forest floor.

While the trees symbolize centuries of growth, the floor itself holds much of the fascination of the mature forest. Unlike lands recovering from recent cuts, this ground is open, not littered with second growth. The cycle of life is evident where young trees barely a child's height grow beside massive rotting timbers, their surfaces completely shrouded with the glossy green moss that is helping to break them down. In the dappled sunlight reaching the ground on an April morning, wildflowers are blossoming; tiny purple irises peek through the deadfall, while other scattered blooms of yellow, red, and white appear beside the trail.

As one completes the upper loop of just under a mile, a bridge crosses to the north side of the Little Santeelah. Along the stream bed, the forest floor closes in to a massive rhododendron thicket. The creek tumbles over mossy rocks, the sound of flowing water breaking the stillness of a spring morning. In another half mile the trail exits the wilderness and winds back to its beginning at the picnic area.