Strange Things in the Woods…and Elsewhere

Here is the new deck that we're building on the back of my camp up north. It looks off into the woods on the property--nearly 2 acres of it. The forest here is not old, probably 30 to 40 years' growth. It may have been a hayfield before the trees came up. One of the reasons we're building a deck on the back is to orient the house away from the road and toward the trees. We'll build two additional bedrooms where the current front porch is located and add a sliding glass door to the back of the house, so that the main entrance will be by way of the new deck.  The point is to look away from the road and toward the forest.

I've always felt the deep peace and beauty of the great North Woods, which seems to begin just behind the house. The forest stands like a silent sentinel over the whole place, casting its cool shade over the yard, the porch, the house, the entire property. The trees form a sort of collective presence, like a character in the drama. Deer are common visitors to the property...and pests. I know there are bear in the woods, too, and bobcats and coyotes and foxes. The numerous and varied kinds of birds are a delight. Some of my favorites are red-breasted grosbeaks, who winter in Costa Rica, as well as the handsome tufted titmice, who stay with us all year.  There are lots of animals you hear at night but never see...like fishers and raccoons and possums--all of which make their odd noises.  There are even a few unverified creatures that you hear ABOUT but never see, like bigfoot and dogman. I'm not a superstitious, fearful kind of person.  I sleep alone in the woods pretty often--exposed in a tent or a hammock, no firearms, no weapons, no dog. Solo backpacking is its own kind of joy. Your companion is a flickering fire. You sit quietly with a book and your thoughts, hoping to hear thrushes and owls as the peaceful gloaming deepens all around you. 

(By the way, this is just a hearse that some otherwise normal-looking guy in his 60s drove to Lowe's.)

The night before last, I was up at camp--top photo--delivering and assembling furniture for the new deck.  I rented a big Dodge Ram truck and squeezed it all in the back, then drove up and spent the whole day out on the deck, piecing together metal tables and chairs. That night, I sank into bed at about 9:00pm, tired and grateful for a few hours to rest before getting up at 4:00 to finish up my tasks and return the rental back in Pittsburgh, two hours away.  It was one of those rare moments when you truly feel grateful to sink into bed.  I was deep asleep by 9:30.  At 11:30, above the sound of the oscillating fan that was blowing on me, I heard a loud noise outside: whack, whack, whack, shhhhhh, whack, shhhhh, shhhhh, creeeeeek.  It sounded like someone was chopping down a tree and also dragging big leafy branches across the forest floor.  The noises were definitely coming from the woods just beyond the back yard, which the bedroom's only window faces.  It was 11:30pm, so relatively early, an hour when many of the neighbors were probably still awake.  I looked out the window, wondering if someone was actually chopping down a tree on my property, but I couldn't see anything in the pitch dark.  The noises repeated for a while, but I became less alarmed by them.  I thought, "It's a bear, pushing over a dead tree and cracking it open for grubs.  It's a sick tree, splintering and collapsing slowly to the earth.  The leafy branches of the falling tree are rubbing against the leaves of adjacent trees.  It's nothing.  Go back to sleep."  Which thing I did.  And the next morning, I left before sunrise, so I wasn't able to investigate.  It was fine being inside the house and hearing noises in the woods--sort of creepy, but bearable.  If I'd heard such noises while camped out there, I'd have been terrified.  None of my possible explanations makes really good sense to me.  It sounded like someone whacking a tree erratically with an axe, dragging a leafy branch across the ground, then the grain of some great piece of wood slowly cracking, repeat, repeat.  Actually, what it really sounded like to me...was a dinosaur in the woods.  What was it?

Timber Rock Amphitheater Hosts Old Crow Medicine Show

It was a bit out-of-character for people who like to be in bed by 10:00pm, but we went last night to hear Old Crow Medicine Show at Timber Rock Amphitheater, near Farmington--just adjacent to Fort Necessity National Battlefield, in the Laurel Highlands.  Before the concert, we had dinner in an old inn that's served travelers along the National Pike since 1822, "Stone House." It's got a really great restaurant in a huge old stone inn that still rents rooms.  The concert venue was pretty cool, with views of the sun setting and mists gathering out over distant wooded hills.  And Old Crow Medicine Show?  They put on a really phenomenal performance.  They looked like 6 or 7 drunk uncles up there on stage, swaggering and dancing and making dramatic faces.  They sing alternative country or Americana or Appalachian folk music, not easy to categorize, but they are all true musicians.  The front man would make frequent casual references to local rivers and beers and historical facts--Yuengling, the Youghiogheny--then stick a harmonica in his mouth and start to play a high energy, raucous song, then spit the harmonica out and start to sing.  No intermission, cocaine-like speed.  A stage hand would grab the harmonica and replace it with a violin, then the front man would play the violin while dancing and singing, all at break-neck speed, then toss the violin to the stage hand and start singing and playing the piano.  The stage hand was always running around, picking up the performers' cowboy hats and handing them musical instruments, until, much to your surprise, he too comes out onto the stage playing an accordion and stealing the show by tossing and spinning some kind of baton with amazing skill.  (And here, you thought he was just the stage hand.)  Most of these 7 entertainers have something of the court jester about them, and they put on a really great performance.  But just as good as the show was the audience, a motley, gyrating parade of stray humanity.  I'd say it was about 2/3 genuine rednecks (though OCMS typically has some progressive themes and lyrics) and about 1/3 aging folks from Squirrel Hill who hold disused degrees in philosophy or medieval dance. 

Allegheny River from West Hickory to Tionesta

We spent a few nights over the July 4th holiday up north, at our camp. I knew I'd be in bed too early to catch the fireworks, so instead, I celebrated by spending about 3 hours paddling the Allegheny River. We have a pair of cheap kayaks, which we rarely use.  But being cheap, they're also lightweight and easy to transport--albeit hard to keep on course, once they're in the water.

The put-in place in West Hickory was crowded for the holiday, though I've never seen more than a single car or two parked there before. Canoes, kayaks, big inflatable floaties. Everyone wanted to spend the hot day out on the cool, fragrant water of the river. I put in quickly and broke from the crowd. Then, as I bobbed further and further downstream and the crowd remained close to shore, I wondered what they knew that I did not. Was I headed for a lock? Were there Class VI rapids up ahead?  

At times, I felt that I had the entire watery world to myself. Then I'd round a bend and come face to face with a band of 20 or 30 kayakers, resting on an island--of which there are many. It was always a challenge to know which channel to take past the numerous river-islands. Some were broad and rocky and impassable. Others were fast-moving but passable. Still others were still and deep--which is usually best, though I like the thrill of turbulent water. But when you're in a kayak at level with the water, you can't always see far enough ahead to know which channel is best. 

Traveling at a leisurely pace, it took me about 3 hours to go the 6.5 miles from West Hickory to Tionesta, where I moored beneath the bridge. That means I traveled a little faster than 2 mph. How could that be? (With a 40 pound pack, I typically hike about 2.5 mph.) I did stop a few times, once for about half an hour to eat and rest in the shade. Still, it felt like I was moving a lot faster than that. I'd like to do this stretch of river again on a cloudy, cool weekday with no one else on the water. As I bobbed along the current, I tried to remember an Irish folk song that I heard years ago about traveling down a river, but most of the words escaped me, and I can't find it on Google either. It is funny how the water changes our perceptions, how it refracts light, how it transmits noises from afar, how it confuses our sense of speed and distance.

Beaver Meadows, Allegheny National Forest

This photo was taken on Independence Day weekend, 2025.  I was trying to duplicate a photo that I took for my old blog in October of 2009.  SEE HERE.  Beaver Meadows was once a campground and recreation area in the Allegheny National Forest.  The campground was closed for unknown reasons, but the trails and lake were kept open with a few picnic tables but no potable water or restrooms.  It's all very much in keeping with current trends in the Allegheny.  Although the forest was originally created to protect the watershed, it has been increasingly repurposed as a place for industrialists to make a quick buck. Our national forest has been in a long, rapid, and seemingly inexorable descent into an industrial wasteland. Conservation and recreation in the forest is diminishing. Beaver Meadows was closed. The nearby Twin Lakes campground and recreation area was also closed, due to barium in the water--which is caused by gas drilling in adjacent forestlands. Local volunteers have taken on the task of reopening the campground at Twin Lakes, out of community pride and pure nostalgia, but how can this kind of reckless exploitation be allowed on our public lands. The Trump administration wants to enact a major increase in logging, too.

But the trail system at Beaver Meadows is pleasant. It's got about 7 miles of interconnecting loops with one very long boardwalk over a marshy area with all manner of birds. The red-winged blackbirds are especially numerous. I think there must be good fishing here, too, since most of the people I saw had fishing poles. 

The last time I was at Beaver Meadows--in 2009--I didn't get very far on these trails. I was still relatively new to the hiking life back in those days, and I naively took my two little girls with me, intending to pull them along the trails in their little red wagon. It was not a successful excursion. Now that they're both adults, I could bring them back here to explore the trails on foot, but I think there might be even more whining now than there was when they were 3 and 4. They would do it to make me happy, but they wouldn't like it.

It seems strange that this big trail system has been here all along, and though I fancy myself an expert on all things ANF, it took me 16 years to finally explore it. True, it doesn't have any spectacular views or interesting rock formations. Even the woods here is not especially lush or lovely--a lot of evergreens that look like they were planted by hand. But it's pleasant and uncrowded with some nice waterside areas. 

I don't remember if the lake was covered in lily pads the last time I was here, but they're pretty, and they bespeak the stillness and the tranquility of the place. You can tell that all of this--the trails, the lake, the dam, the boardwalk, etc.--used to be attached to a campground that is no more. I guess that's what gives Beaver Meadows a slightly forlorn and forgotten feel. If I ever go to another costume-Halloween party in this life of years, I'm going to go as a red-winged blackbird.