making a scene

Thankfully, the twisting drive only lasted ten minutes. When Vic finally gave us the go-ahead to climb out of the van, we found ourselves staring down a winding, wet dirt path marked with a “Lord of the Rings Filming Location” sign. Though the rain had let up during our drive up the mountain, the biting early-morning wind was more than enough to worry about. If it hadn’t been raining earlier, I would have been expecting snow. Raewyn elected to stay in the van with her Macbook, and for a moment I envied her and her proximity to a heater.

Bundled up in scarves, hats, and, in Josephine’s case, an Elven cloak, we gingerly began to pick our way down the slick trail behind Vic. Josephine, rather hobbit-sized herself, was too short to keep her long woolen cloak from dragging through the mud. So she resorted to gathering up a fistful of fabric in each small hand and holding her arms out straight to her sides, causing the cloak to billow out behind her.

“Superman Frodo!” she declared as she careened down the trail.

Not everyone was attacking the soggy track with such reckless abandon, however. Even though a weak sun soon attempted to pierce the clouds overhead, rivulets of fresh rainwater still carved into the rocky trail beneath our feet, making footing slippery in spots. Susi and Mary kept mumbling about how they were “too old for this.”

Everything from age to super powers was forgotten, however, as we reached the spot. The bit of trail we stood on looked just the same as any other. The towering beeches and pines blocked out all light, save for the few feeble rays of winter sun that managed to filter through gaps in the thick canopy. The effect was a slightly mottled light that half-illuminated moist leaves and the rusty-colored soil peppered with fallen pine needles. It smelled of earth and of rain, and certainly wouldn’t have seemed like anything special to the ordinary passer-by. But to us, this spot was much more than a collection of tree trunks and soil.

“Frodo stood right over there, looking towards us, and delivered his ‘Get off the road’ line,” Vic said, pointing to the path in front of us. “And down there,” he continued, pointing to a spot where the trail dropped off slightly to our left, “was where the hobbits hid under a large tree root from the Black Rider.”

The spot looked different than it had when I’d seen it three years before. Trees and shrubs had grown and fallen, the trail was smoother and harder, and the mostly cloudy sky cast a shadowy, slightly sinister pallor over the forest. I imagined that the others in the group who had seen the site in years past were probably thinking something similar. But it didn’t really matter. We could all see the spot for what it had once been, regardless of what it now was.

As soon as Vic finished speaking, the trail erupted in a blur of motion. Josephine grabbed Echo, Lisa, and Charlotte, and was soon crouching down in the damp hollow to the left of the path.

“Susi! We need Black Rider!” Josephine motioned wildly with her hands to get the older woman’s attention.

Susi complied willingly, standing on the path and doing her best to loom over the four prone figures in the dirt. For maximum menace, she pulled her black scarf up over her long grey hair and contorted her hands into claws. Below her, the four “hobbits” made their best frightened faces. Several cameras flashed, capturing the image. I remembered back to my own Fellowship three years earlier, and the similar photos we had taken. That time, Josephine had been our Black Rider, threatening our terrified hobbits with her camera’s flashbulb.

The August Fellowship spent at least half an hour re-enacting scenes on the trail, taking turns playing hobbits and Black Riders. I mostly watched from a distance, playing the role of observer this time as opposed to participating tourist. Even though most of the group members had done this before, each of them still seemed to possess a fresh enthusiasm. Not even the cold weather and damp ground could wipe the smiles off their faces as they bounded from hollow to path and back again.


Once the cold really started to sink in, Vic rounded up the group for one last photo, and then ushered everyone back up the trail to the van.

“Oh, just look at your rosy cheeks!” Raewyn said as we piled back into the van.

“It’s cooooold,” Josephine said, wrapping her cloak tighter around her. She had elected not to wear her winter coat underneath the cloak for the re-enactments, and appeared to be regretting it.

“Well you can warm up now,” Vic said, adjusting the heat dial on the dashboard. “We have a bit of a drive to Stansborough.”