Minister Creek 6-Mile Loop

I took so many pictures at Minister Creek today!  Rarely do I get a Sunday off, and I wanted to make good use of it, so I headed for one of the most popular destinations in the Allegheny National Forest.

I was aware that on a Sunday in October, the trail was bound to attract a lot of day-hikers.  And truly, I've never seen the parking lot so full of cars--or the campground so empty.  

I'm not sure why they left some of the old oil works in this region standing when they created the national forest.  Some they left, others they tore down.

It has always felt like a real gap in my knowledge of this forest that I had never done the entire 6-mile loop at Minister Creek.  But I have this weird thing where I avoid anything that seems popular or trendy.  Not sure why I do it.  I've spent my whole life avoiding crowds, and this is perhaps just an expression of that.

I've even put off watching some really excellent movies and TV shows like "Breaking Bad" and "Ted Lasso" because everyone loved them, and I don't like to follow the crowds.  

Up here in the Northlands, the only trees still holding onto their leaves are the beeches and oaks.

I came here in part because I follow a YouTuber who hosted a big get-together here for a bunch of other Pennsylvania hiking YouTubers.  He called it "The Minister Meet-Up," which of course made me think, "Hey, this guy's a minister, too!"  Then it turned out that it was only so called because it took place here at Minister Creek.

I briefly asked myself why I hadn't been invited.  Does the once-respected name of Snowbelt Parson no longer carry any heft in the world of outdoors exploration?  But then I remembered that no, of course it doesn’t.  My popular blog is a thing of the distant past, and I never graduated to YouTube.  This current blog is open to the public, but few read it. I mostly just keep it for myself.  And also, it’s a blog in a day of TikTok and YouTube.

If you don’t have a drone filming you from 30 feet above your head, you’re not part of the outdoorsy club. But I think it would be soul-draining to film myself, and talk to myself, and edit videos.  

I realize that videos give you a fuller experience...but words.  I love words.  I love them more than most other things...except birds, and trees, and all the stuff I'm taking pictures of.

So, I continue keeping a record of my treks with this antiquated blog...

The boulders are truly one of the best reasons to do the entire loop at Minister Creek.  Plus, there's a kinda scenic vista and some really pleasant camping spots at the northernmost end of the loop.

I did lose the trail in one spot, but there's no losing it where is passes between rocks the size of public buildings.

The clear blue skies, the cool temperatures, the fragrance of autumn leaves.  It was a good day to be in the forest.

I passed many other hikers today, but it didn't bother me.  Hikers tend to be likeminded; most of us don't come to the woods to make friends, but we sense a kinship with anyone else who loves what we love--like a handsome hemlock.  I did the 6 miles in just under 3 hours, and would have done it a lot faster if I hadn't stopped to take so many pictures.

Endeburn Hill, Clear Creek State Forest

I love rural church buildings.  This one is a "Global Methodist" church.  What's that?  It's the new splinter sect that broke away from the mainstream United Methodists a few years ago because the UMC finally began welcoming openly gay people.  Which is to say, I'd snoop around this church when there's no one about, but I have no interest in hearing anything that's said inside on a Sunday morning.

The vibrant colors of October were just starting to fade when I decided to hold a grudge match with Endeburn Hill in Clear Creek State Forest.  I nabbed it this time.

Another beautiful day to be in the forests of the North Country.

The summit of Endeburn Hill is a bit...anticlimactic.  But I knew it would be.

My mother in Ohio is doing her "fall hospital tour," as my sister calls it.  So I had to do a little parental babysitting at my place up North.  My father really likes it there; the house is in the countryside very close to where his mother grew up--and had a pet skunk.  Is it true that death's approach makes us all turn toward whatever home we've known in this world?

We had a get-together with my aunt--my father's sister--and uncle and my one remaining cousin.  It was poorly attended, but I hadn't seen these relatives in close to 20 years, so it was time.

The teaberries--or wintergreen--were abundant on the summit, and very minty.  The leaves were soaked for a week and used as an ersatz tea during the American Revolution--when the British blocked all the ships  coming in from the Caribbean with real tea.

 

Clear Creek State Park & State Forest

Clear Creek State Forest is a beautiful place...and the adjacent Clear Creek State Park is equally beautiful.  The lazy, shallow Clarion River passes through both.  In fact, I've seen river otters here.

My goal was to bag a certain Endeburn Hill--a heretofore unclaimed hill in my peak-bagging club.  

But alas, it was not to be...at least not last week when I first attempted it.  I actually did end up bagging it just the day before yesterday.

This is where my grandma used to take us swimming.  She always called it "Clear Crick."

This is the so-called "overlook" at Beartown Rocks.  All it overlooks is the treetops.  

Vistas are rare in the Allegheny National Forest and in the adjacent public lands--though there are a few.

It was a perfect fall day, rainy and glowering, and the colors were at their peak.

But Beartown Rocks was the low-hanging fruit after Endeburn Hill turned me back.  (Beartown had already been claimed by 4 other climbers.)  My attempt to summit Endeburn Hill met with failure because my approach passed through dense thickets of beech saplings, which made the bushwhack a very wet struggle.  

Cooksburg, Sasquatch, Freewill, and a Link to Roaring Plains

This little Bigfoot stands just inside the woods near the open-air restaurant in Cooksburg--at Cook Forest.  He only stands 5 feet tall, which is smaller than I'd expect.  But you still wouldn't want to cross paths with a 5-foot tall Sasquatch in the failing light of evening among the hemlocks.  The tiny hamlet of Cooksburg consists of about 4 houses, all of which are grand Victorian mansions and one of which is currently for sale.  The shallow, lazy Clarion River meanders through it.  There's also a gift shop, the Cooksburg Cafe, and a cemetery on the hill above town--though the lane leading to it is misspelled "Cemetary Road."  Some people really believe in Bigfoot.  In fact, my college biology professor was a leader in Bigfoot research, which added very little credibility to the reputation of the 3rd rate college I attended.  What makes a person believe in Bigfoot?  What makes a person believe in anything?  Most beliefs are inspired by personal experiences and desires, I think.  We believe in the things we hope to be true.  On the other hand, there are a few beliefs we cannot shake even though we hope they're not true, like my unwelcome and unshakeable conviction that all things are predetermined.  It's good to pause every once in a while to take stock of your beliefs...about yourself...about the world.  You probably have fewer than you thought.  Did you pick them, or did they pick you?

A friend and I made a deeply philosophical 3-night trek into the Roaring Plains Wilderness of West Virginia, where we discussed the nature of reality and consciousness.  Click HERE for that visually stunning adventure.

Wildflowers of Early Fall

People, what is with me?  I lived 56 years and flowers never caught my attention.  Then just a few weeks ago, I saw the bushy round pinkish-purple heads of the Joe Pye weeds nodding along a rural roadside...  My conversion was instantaneous.  I stopped and picked a few.  Now I'm learning to identify them and dry them.  I've stopped picking them because I actually do have more than enough.  This low-growing plant is called heal-all.  I learned some years ago that it's used in herbal medicine to treat wounds, skin conditions, and sore throats.

I think this is white snakeroot, but it could be boneset.  It's blooming everywhere right now, even as the Queen Anne's lace and Joe Pye weed are fading.

No idea what this bedazzling creature might be...

The Joe Pyes are all fading to brown.

Asters and goldenrod.

And another kind of aster.

Jewelweed.  My brothers and I used to rub this stuff on our skin if we ever got stung by nettles.  It actually works!  Some people apply it to poison ivy.  They're wild impatiens that contain a lot of fluid.

I was surprised to learn that this is a wild sunflower.  Contrary to myth, sunflowers do not turn their heads to follow the sun.  My wildflower guide, which I bought used for $3, says that every part of this plant is edible except the roots.

Click on this photo.  Does it seem like this stuff used to be everywhere, and now it's not?  This is called smartweed.  No idea how it got its name.  When I was a kid, it seemed like it was in every lawn and green space.  Now I rarely see it.

Like I've said in previous posts, it amazes me that I can still be taking on new interests at my age.  But in a way it makes me sad to realize that I was missing out on so much beauty and joy for all these years.  Ah well, you could only have been who and how you were because that was the road that got you to who and how you are now.  True?

I mean...look at this weirdness.  I've got wildflowers hanging from the rafters of my basement up north.  After they dry, I spray them down with hairspray to keep them from falling apart, and in the winter I'll put them out in vases.  How did this become my life?  (Did you know they're still manufacturing hairspray?  It's used quite heavily up in the North Country...)

Samuel Justus Rail Trail

Friday was perfect for a 4-mile hike along the Allegheny River up in its northern reaches.  I hadn't hiked the Samuel Justus Trail in many years.  Rail trails are not my favorite.  I don't like sharing the trail with bikes and dogs.  Also, they tend to be heavily traveled.  Rail trails run through all the places where railroads go--or went--which means they sometimes take you through the grittier, less scenic parts of cities and towns.  But, like railroads, they do often follow rivers, which is nice.  I give money to the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy because I want America to have a network of public footpaths like they have in Europe.  In the United Kingdom, you can walk pretty much anywhere.  Wanna walk from London to Edinburgh using footpaths?  It's entirely possible--though some of those footpaths take you across pastureland with some very unpleasant bulls roaming about, and they can include road-walks.  In some ways, a network of rail trails would be better. 

The Oil City trailhead is tricky to find, so I hiked from Franklin toward Oil City.  I'm not sure how it is that it's only 5.5 miles from one town to the other if you walk the trail, but by car, it's 8 miles.  The road is on the other side of the river and might be on the outside of the curve, but that wouldn't add 2.5 miles to the trip, would it?

I'd like to walk the whole thing, but my cousin told me there's no Uber or Lyft up there, so I don't know how I'd get back to my car.  Might be fun to park in Oil City, kayak downriver to Franklin, then walk the trail back to the car.  It'd take quite a while.  (A thing people in Oil City used to say: "Flush your toilets; Franklin needs water."  If you know the two towns, then you know why that's ironic.)

The Allegheny: river of my life.  I've been in nearly 30 countries and all but 6 states.  I've lived in New York, Oklahoma City, and half a decade in Africa. I speak French quite well and a smattering of other languages--just enough to get by.  But I do love knowing where I'm from and keeping strong ties to that place.  This river feels like home.  It roots me.  

River Ridge Farm, Near Franklin

Above is a grainy photo of the main house at River Ridge Farm.  When the leaves are off the trees, you can still see this dark old house presiding aloofly over the valley of the Allegheny River and all the wooded hills around.  It's a beautiful sight.  It was built by a wealthy man named Sibley.  When I was a child, my father always pointed it out when we drove past--across the river and up in the hills.  He called it "The Sibley Estate" and said that a certain US President summered there once or twice and that Sibley himself lived there under house arrest--though I don't recall which President or why Sibley was under house arrest.  His money--like all the money around here--was in oil. 

The beautiful Samuel Justus Rail Trail leads you to the gates of the estate.  Here's the gatehouse.  That's to say, there used to be a train stop here.  The railroad tracks eventually fell into disuse, but then in the 80s or 90s, the wonderful rail-trail movement tore out the old railroad and used the bed to create a beautiful path along the river.  This brought people once again to the gates of River Ridge Farm.  

The driveway is long since disappeared.

In 1968, my father had the choice to buy the old farmhouse at River Ridge Farm or a big wooden house in Oil City.  Both were selling for $7,000.  The farmhouse was a huge, redbrick mansion in its own right, though not as grand as the 33-room main house.  My mother didn't want to live so far from town, so he opted for the (now abandoned and condemned) house in Oil City.   

 

Long ago, I saw black-and-white photographs of my mother sitting in the carillon tower pictured here.  The photos had frilly edges.  My father's Mustang--which he bragged about for decades after it was gone--was in the background.  I don't know what happened to those pictures.  My parents became hoarders, and so much good stuff got thrown away with the bad when we moved them out of their long succession of wasted houses.  Oh, but truly my mother was beautiful when she was young.  My father looked like an angry weird scarecrow, but she was lovely.  River Ridge Farm is still an enormous estate with a gatehouse, a guesthouse, a farmhouse, and a main house.  It's now owned by a fundamentalist sect that does recovery from addiction with a religious bent.  They're secretive, and the estate is closed to the public.  After Sibley died, the "White Fathers" set up a Catholic missionary training center here.  That, too, is long gone.