Kinzua and Rimrock Overlook

I've become like a Londoner in some Evelyn Waugh novel who "weekends" in the country and returns to town every Sunday night in order to be back to the office on Monday.  Except that in my line of work, I flee the city after work on Thursday evening and return on Saturday evening, so that I can be back to work Sunday morning...which is decidedly not anything a character in an Evelyn Waugh novel would do.  (Also, if I have a wedding or a funeral on Saturday, I have to come home Friday night, giving me only 24 hours away.)  The point is that I take Fridays off and spend them up at my country house.  

This is Kinzua Dam, which locals pronounce "KIN-zoo."  This area was a reservation for the Seneca People until the US government rescinded its promises, evicted them from the land, built a dam for flood control, and put most of the reservation under water--at least the Pennsylvania portion; there's still some reservation land across the line in New York State.

You can see how desiccated and sunbaked the scene is.  I hate, hatE, haTE, hATE, HATE all the confounded sunlight!  And the heat.  I get reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder.  I need cloud-cover and the occasional rainfall.  It's been an unpleasant summer, and most of the things I planted this year have either died or failed to thrive--old heirloom forsythia varieties, mainly, which turn out to be neither deer-repellent nor very hardy, though they are said to be both.  (Don't speak to me of planting native species; that will be another post.)

But I'd waited years to do the uphill trail from Kinzua Beach to the summit on Rimrock cliffs.  It's a pleasant trek through late-summer woods to the broad views at the crest.  It gets rocky and steep as you get close to the top.  Look at these uneven stone steps.  

The views are worth it--some of the best in the Allegheny National Forest.

It's possible to drive to the top from the other side of the hill, so it's a little disappointing to get all the way up there and hear the raucous voices of strangers.  But I was here on a Friday morning in late August.  There weren't many folks up top.

I had this broad view all to myself for about half an hour.  It's not exactly breathtaking, but it is scenic.  Look out over this land where the redtail soars beneath you, where Chief Cornplanter once dwelled, where--long ago--the trees were all torn from the hillsides and carted off to New York and Philadelphia, where the forest was finally allowed to regrow.  This land has been stolen, and bought, and sold, and sold again so many times.  It's been pumped for oil and entirely denuded of hemlock and beech, and then left to return to something akin to its natural state--except this time in maple, and oak, and pine.  The story of America--and perhaps of most of the earth--is always one of stealing, and buying, and selling.  But still the land survives...and manages to be beautiful.

After hiking the 1.6 miles back downhill to the beach, where I started, I picked some elderberries and wild grapes.  Can you believe that the big fat grapes you buy in the grocery store descended from the small, flavorful, thick-skinned things you see here on my wrist?  I do like the flavor of wild grapes, though I hate the way their vines overtake the woods.  They're concentrated, and they almost burn your tongue.

And this?  This is Kinzua Beach, a public swimming beach in the Allegheny National Forest.