(District Stone SE9 is that dark block in the middle of the image, which took three tries to visit. It was not much different for the people who placed them all. In 1789, President George Washington gave personal orders to erect forty stones to mark the boundary of the intended capital city that would be named for him. The Stones were the first national monument of the New Nation. In 1791, he appointed Major Andrew Ellicott to survey the boundaries of the new Federal City. That required skilled workers, and Benjamin Banneker was identified as an expert surveyor who could lead and manage the effort. His participation is historic, since he had been born a free man of color, and his nomination was approved by Thomas Jefferson. Racial relations at the time were naturally strained by the legal status of slavery in the new Republic, but Banneker served as an official assistant surveyor and defied the extraordinary social barriers in place 2230-odd years ago. So, the first Monument of America also marked a signal achievement in our tumult of racial politics).

We are experiencing the unique changes in Virginia’s seasons now. It was similar to what the men who placed the Stones experienced: shifting weather conditions, long hours and precarious terrain made the surveying slow and difficult. After the team completed their calculations, Major Pierre Charles L’Enfant prepared the drawings for the city. So, you can see the various participants in a moderately large public project: Washington, Jefferson, L’Enfant, Ellicott and Banneker. They all had their fingers on the District Stones, and it is worth a moment to celebrate what they accomplished.

We talked about the District Stones yesterday, and the long series of minor challenges involved in visiting the site of the 40 that outline the District of Columbia. That requires a little work, since only 38 of the 40 remain where they were originally place. One of the two missing ones is supposedly in the private garage of a Maryland Department of Highways employee. It was misplaced during an attempt to set them all back in order. The one that is actually missing is represented by a small brass plaque in front of a liquor store not far from the North Stone.

There had been a series of adventures to find the Stones of the Distirct. The hunt ended, for me, with the rented powerboat passage across the vast and slowly moving Potomac River a few years ago.

Jon-Without (the “H”) and I were determined to finish off the hunt for the 40 Stones with a triumphant passage across the great river, and a last attempt to visit to the SE9 stone. That had defeated the dauntless party twice: Argo and I attempted the first approach on foot. The banks of the Potomac can be soggy and the Stone we sought had once been also used as a ferry landing. The level of the river had been up and down over the centuries. At this time the stone was almost as anonymous with other rubble on the shore. The Second Attempt to visit SE9 would be by kayak, rented from a concessioner on the east shore of the river.

A detailed de-briefing outlined the last attempts, the weaknesses and failures, and a plan was made to complete the adventure. We had pictures of the goal and objective. The stone was well defined, but had been moved once and was not protected by the green iron fence erected by the Daughters of the American Revolution in their centennial restoration in the 1890s.

Jon and I had been careful to complete the circuit. We had found the real North Stone, which has a more impressive version at the Northernmost corner of the District Diamond. The original one is not far away, and led to a decision not to join the ambiguity, which means there were technically 41 Stones in total with two missing. We had located the two now surrounded by housing project areas on the SE quadrant. There was great satisfaction in those attempts, and frank discussion about finding the office of the Maryland Department of Public Works to find the NE Stone that had been removed and was allegedly safely in the custody of an employee of the Department.

Today would mark “closure” on this attempt, and the completion of the Stone search. Then a couple drinks to celebrate and wrap up the book project about the search. It is still a doable deal, though the times have made the edges of the District a bit of hostile territory.

Jon and I were both still working in those days. That meant a Saturday was preferred for the last and most audacious attempt to close the project. We had arrived at the trip to the Last Stone after a remarkable adventure in the DC Impound lot, where SE8 is buried inside a vertical galvanized construction pipe. You can see the square top of it about four feet down from the lip of pipe. There was more to that story, though, and it caused a little tingle when we found the six WWII graves of the Nazis executed after they tried to poison reservoirs that slake the thirst of East Coast American families.

The diversion from the older story of the Stones to the newer one of World War II stones, not included in the 41 total, diverted our attention. Once we understood the mystery of the saboteurs landed by U-Boat in Long Island, their arrest, trial and execution, we were ready to find the Last Stone that erupts from the shallow water on the shore. A look back at the land approach on foot was a useful start. It meant taking our car to a place public land in the District, just a mile SE of the Stone in the Impound Lot, and the little garden with no stones that held the bodies of the Nazis executed by Mr. Hoover of the FBI.

Our attempt by rented paddle boats from National Harbor had deposited us in one of the wrong necks of the vast grey and brown river.

The feeling of the slow but insistent current was enough to raise a sense of unease. The look of the banks was imposing- not the landscape on which to beach the boat and plunge into the vegetation that had not been swept away. So, third time is the charm, and we thought we had thought it through.

OK. We don’t think the power of the mighty Potomac can be depicted in a manner that really conveys its strength. Stepping ashore, or even trying to traverse part of the muddy bank is a real challenge. If you are expecting a park-like serenity, you will not find it in the great drain from the hills inland. With rain comes enormous scouring energy to sweep trash from the urban sprawl that attends the river’s downward course. The debris tangles in the undergrowth in an astonishing mess that remains as the river lowers with the passing of the rain.

We will cut to the chase on this and not overwhelm you with data. There is an elegance to the crossing of the broad steam with the sight of the rebuilt Wilson Bridge across the water downstream. Half-seen things float around you, the absence of human contact in the midst of all that human habitation. It is quite an imposing experience, as is the beaching, and hop to the mud that covers the boots. The trash scattered up to what had been the high-water mark. Mostly plastic bottles, but with some other objects protruding from the muck that prudence would suggest we avoid.

We will not tell you about crossing the highwater mark to explore the thicket of brush and trees for the way forward. It had seemed so reasonable looking at the map, or from the satellite pictures that suggested the shore would be more inviting to our landing. That was not precisely the case.

We will leave you with the memorable moment in which we gave up, muck sucking on the boots, and the humid moist air beginning to join with sweat flooding down the back of a sweatshirt.

My last words to SE9, at least within a couple dozen feet, were of greetings and farewell. My advice to others who wish to visit, wait for a period of dry weather outside the Spring. There are no ceremonial Cherry Trees down by the impound lot, and the appearance of the Nazi graves was a significant reminder of some of the history we had tread. I think I expressed it more passionately at the time, but from the look on Jon’s face, the decision to end the hunt was unanimous.

The passage back to Alexandria was routine, as was the walk up to the Union Street Public House for a couple welcome cocktails. Looking back toward the river, we felt a certain perverse sense of accomplishment. We took sips of vodka tonic and thought about the Stones. All of them. And the men who put them there, in a world long ago.

“You know what I wanted to do when we finally found it?” I asked Jon.

He nodded, probably thinking of the same appropriate act to mark the scope of our adventure’s completion. It might have been a little disrespectful to America’s first monument, but it certainly would have felt right. We knew Andrew Ellicott and Benjamin Banneker’s boys, the work parties who shredded their way through forty miles of brush in precise straight line, must have done the same thing. And probably more than once.

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