Pennsylvania from Above

I had a TERRIBLE time getting home from France earlier this week.  (Photos of the France adventure appear on my mysterious and shadowy other blog, the S&J Online Annex; click HERE.)  Weather events turned a one-day trip into a three-day trip of, quite literally, planes, trains, and automobiles--and a whole lot of walking.  Flight cancelations meant that I spent a very uncomfortable night in the Miami airport, of all places, and then caught a commuter train 65 miles to West Palm Beach, spent a night there, and flew to Philadelphia to change planes for Pittsburgh.  That flight, too, was three hours delayed.  But I got a window seat for one of my favorite views: crossing the entire state from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh.  This is the Delaware River at the New Jersey border.

And this is the majestic City of Brotherly Love, Philadelphia--founded in 1682.  How the skyline has grown since the Rocky movies were filmed here!  The population of Philly has actually been growing in the last 15 or 20 years, and it's back up to a million and a half people living inside the city proper.  Newcomers have largely hailed from Latin America, the Caribbean, and East Asia.  We'll see how Trump's policies of intolerance and hate curtail the city's growth.  I like Philly, and there was a time when I planned to live there.  It's a loud, rude, crowded, lively place with a lot of diversity and local pride.  Like all "world class cities," which is to say cities of more than one million people, it hums with that distinct urban energy.  The juxtaposition of old and new is a big part of its charm.

A lot of people aren't aware that Pennsylvania has a deep sea port.  In fact, some misguided folks call us a Midwestern state because we don't have a coastline.  Delaware was our coastline, but it seceded during the Revolutionary War when the good people of Philadelphia had their minds on other things.  Delaware: three miserable counties...two at high tide.  Don't get me started on Delaware.  Vermont doesn't have a coastline either.  Is it a Midwestern state?  

Since the naval shipyard closed down in 1996, Philly's port has ceased to be among the busiest on the East Coast.  No cruise lines run out of here either--something about gambling laws.  The cruise lines have opted for Baltimore, which is nice; the shrinking city of Baltimore ought to have...something.  But the Port of Philadelphia is said to be among the fastest growing ports in the US, whatever it means for a port to grow.  It looked plenty busy when I flew over it...

Once the plane leaves the densely populated counties in Southeastern PA, low wooded mountains begin to appear far below.  Some of those mountains have rocky ridges, which means that climbing to the summit will afford you clear views out over the countryside.  That's one of the problems with East Coast hiking: even in the mountains, trees often obstruct the views.

See how these strange mountains run like stationary waves in sequence all the way to the horizon?  This is the "Ridge and Valley Province" of the Appalachian range.  You see these formations in Virginia and West Virginia, too--where the ridges are much higher.

Pangea separated these ancient hills from the Scottish Highlands and the Atlas Mountains of Morocco--where my daughter is now living.  It's fun to think that, eons ago, they were all a single mountain range.  

Early pioneers found the mountains of Pennsylvania easier to cross than the ones to the north or south of us.  Because the Appalachians are lower here in Pennsylvania than in neighboring states, and the greatest number of immigrants arrived just east of them--in New York and Philly--many westbound settlers did a sojourn here.  This spread our so-called Mid-Atlantic accent across the northern US and all the way to the West Coast, making our accent into the standard one used in radio and television.  I learned this fun fact in one of my favorite college courses, "History of the English Language."  

Look at the long, snaking configuration of these two mountains in Bedford County.  The Mid-State Trail wends its crooked course along one of those summits, 300-some miles from Maryland to New York.  Maybe someday I'll tackle it.

It was interesting to see how the clear, sunny eastern half of the state gave way to clouds and snow as the plane traveled west.  These mountains are not lofty, but they do trap weather patterns and hold them.  

Never have I been so happy to see Pittsburgh from the window of a plane--after three very hard days of travel.  Here's the Allegheny River--the river of my life--with Highland Park, and East Liberty, and Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, and so much more.  You can tell what part of the city this is by the big reservoir near the river in the actual park that--like the neighborhood--bears the name of "Highland Park."  Part of Oakland is visible here, too, where my other daughter lives.  I was on the wrong side of the plane to get a view of downtown, but I'm not gonna complain.  The whole 43-minute trip was quite a show.

Kane Woods, Scott Conservancy

Here are some photos of the Kane Woods in Scott Township.  It's got some impressive trees.

I did my graduate studies here in Pittsburgh.  Then I landed a job way up north, almost to New York State, in a place surrounded by majestic public forests on all sides--tall, straight, awe-inspiring trees, the likes of which you do not see much in the Pittsburgh area.  There were huge boulder fields, and fern meadows, and streams, and moss.  Hemlocks and beeches.  I LOVED it up there.  Sure, a lot of the people in that place didn't "get" me, and I didn't have many friends.  (I'm originally from up there, but that's too long a tale to tell.)  The forest was all I needed, and exploring it was my great joy--along with being a father and a pastor.  My wife?  She HATED it up there, and so after just five years, we moved back down to Pittsburgh--where we'd both gone to school and where we'd met.

My first few years back down here were rough.  I mean, sure, if you've got to live in or near a city, Pittsburgh is a good one.  It's a vibrant city with topography, and history, and beautiful architecture, and lots to do.  It has urban greenspaces and a lot of trees, too.  But, as much as I enjoy bookstores, and coffee shops, and restaurants, and concerts, and museums, and even just the energy of a city...I really missed the woods.  And so, in my early days here, I did everything I could to immerse myself in the local flora.  I hiked at Raccoon Creek and Hillman state parks.  And I took my lunch break everyday in a nature reserve called Kane Woods--a 72-acre patch of suburban woodland belonging to the Scott Township Conservancy.

Scrubgrass Road runs alongside Scrubgrass Run.  It's the only road left in Scott Township that actually feels rural, and it runs right past Kane Woods.  The woods is scenic in places, with a nice little brook and a few vistas out over the suburban sprawl--as seen here.  The Kane Woods is located on the undeveloped flanks of Bower Hill on property that once belonged to the Neville Family.  All this land was once claimed by Virginia, and the Nevilles were early Virginia settlers and aristocrats whose home on Bower Hill was attacked during the Whiskey Rebellion of 1794.  

I stopped going to the Kane Woods over a decade ago, as I slowly adjusted to life in the suburbs.  I was grateful for the place and for the volunteers who maintain it, but 72 acres of trees surrounded by screaming highways and sprawling suburbs?  True...it had some nice trees, and a lot of birds, and the occasional red squirrel.  But it never really scratched the itch that I needed it to scratch... So I drifted away.  I learned some years ago that it's an injustice to hate a thing for being what it is.  This is true for any noun; you can't hate a person, place, or thing for being what they are.  You just accept them and embrace them...or you accept them and walk away.  I hated Racoon Creek and Hillman and Kane Woods for not being the Pennsylvania Wilds, and so I gradually withdrew from them and started spending my days off in the car, driving 2 or 3 hours to the places where I actually wanted to be.

But yesterday, an old fellow I know called me and said, "Father to father, I'm telling you to quit whatever you're doing and just go take a walk."  He was referring to my anxieties about my daughter who's been trapped in Jordan.  The State Department was telling all Americans to get out of every Middle Eastern country, but commercial flights were not flying.  (Her whole class ended up getting relocated to Morocco to continue the semester--so all is well for her now.)  I was feeling emotionally exhausted, which surely made me more suggestible.  So I did as he said: I went to the Kane Woods and took a long walk.  It was not the Hickory Creek Wilderness...but it was good, really good.

Hickory Creek Wilderness, Middle Branch, a Few More Pics

I saw the red fox in the woods behind the house again.  What a beautiful creature, and such a wild hunger in its golden eyes!  This time, it moseyed around the edge of the yard, shook the rain off its fur, like a dog, and ambled back to the rocky area among the trees where it probably has its den.

It comforts me to know I've got such a lovely and uncommon neighbor as a red fox--and probably a whole family of them, since both parents care for the kits, which are often born in late March.  Many years ago, someone piled a long row of large stones at the edge of my property line, in a place that's now gone to forest.  My guess is that they were clearing the rocks from a field or meadow back when this was farmland.  They stacked the rocks all in a long row along the edge of the field, and there they remain to this day, providing crevices and burrows for foxes and other creatures.

I read online that foxes love to eat dog feces, and it's actually a nutritious meal for them!  I've only ever seen the fox in those peripheral areas of the yard where this confounded, ridiculous dog goes to do its business.  And as often as I've gone to clean up its mess, I've never found anything to pick up.  And so, I suppose I have one reason (and one only) to be grateful for this dog that's been dropped on me: it's drawing foxes to my yard.  Beautiful, sly, sleek, golden-eyed foxes.... Here are a few more photos of the Middle Branch area of Hickory Creek Wilderness.   

Hickory Creek Wilderness, Middle Branch: OFF TRAIL!

Hickory Creek Wilderness--in the Allegheny National Forest--never disappoints...but that's not for lack of trying.  The one official trail through the wilderness area is poorly marked and very easy to lose in places.  Worst of all, the one trail runs a 12-mile loop along a plateau and avoids the most scenic parts of the wilderness.  I've gotten lost in there once or twice--by purposely going off trail.  But I say that it doesn't disappoint because there's something darkly lovely and soothing about the place.

 At 8,663 acres (13.5 square miles), this wilderness area is about half the size of the Dolly Sods Wilderness in West Virginia--but far less visited.  Even on summer weekends, I've never seen more than 8 or 9 cars at the trailhead parking lot.  Compare that to the hundreds of cars parked along the forest road into the Sods.  My recent explorations along the Tanbark Trail brought me into the easternmost edge of the Hickory Creek Wilderness, which gave me the idea to come back and do a bushwhack deep into the trackless region along Middle Hickory Creek--which the Tanbark crosses at its headwaters.

I parked at the lot where Forest Road 116 meets Hearts Content Road, and I took this short cross-country ski trail parallel to the road and back to the Tanbark Trail, where I crossed the road and entered the wilderness area--all territory that I've covered in recent times.  This ski trail was once the railroad bed into the disappeared village of Dunham Siding.  Once I reached the Tanbark on the south side of Hearts Content Road, all I had to do from there was go off trail and follow the small brook as it gradually got larger and its valley got steeper.  

Wilderness areas are designated by Congress, and there are only two in the Commonwealth.  (Some folks are trying to get the two large "Allegheny National Recreation Areas" designated as "wilderness" as well, but it'll take a more forward-thinking Congress than the one we've currently got.)  The other existing wilderness area in Pennsylvania is just a small collection of islands in the Allegheny River.  But they've got US Route 62 whizzing past them, and they hardly feel remote.  Hickory Creek Wilderness?  Yeah, you can get good and lost in there.  It's a mix of beautiful hemlock and beech forests with lots of streams, and swamps, and waterside meadows.  It's pretty, but there's nothing in the way of overlooks or vistas out over the countryside.

Hickory Creek was designated a wilderness in 1984.  Then in 1985, a powerful tornado came through and cut a wide swath of destruction right through the picturesque southern section of the newly-named wilderness.  On official trail maps, the "tornado swath" is clearly marked; it follows the bed of the Middle Branch of the eponymous Hickory Creek.  I'd never ventured into this part of the wilderness area before because I assumed that the tree carnage would be an ugly hassle to climb over and around.   

I was wrong.  The valley of Middle Hickory Creek is beautiful.  The hemlocks are almost mystical in their size, and shape, and color...and their dark and elegant presence.  And while there is some tree carnage, it's largely due to 21st century climate change winds that come ripping over the Big Level Plateau--where the Allegheny National Forest is located.  The trees that got pushed over 41 years ago, in 1985, have returned to the soil now, with the help of all the moisture in these valleys.  Beavers are very active along the many streams in this area--as they are along the East Branch of Hickory Creek, as my friend and I discovered some years ago.  For a retrospective on that adventure, click HERE.  ("East" Hickory Creek is just NORTH of "Middle" Hickory Creek, which ought to be called "South" Hickory Creek, because it's the only other branch... Who names these things?)

I followed the stream for about two miles until it comes upon a large beaver pond and some streamside meadows.  You can't get lost as long as you're following the stream, but you do have to be careful not to let smaller tributaries trick you into following the wrong stream.

There were still patches of snow on the banks of the streams down here.  This little creek is not Hickory.  Its name doesn't appear on the map.  Do all little brooks like these even have names?  

This area is truly a wilderness--no traffic noise, no beer cans, no trails, no fire rings or old campsites, no rusting oil wells.  Two miles into the wilderness was enough to make me feel like I was in Alaska.  In so many parts of the Allegheny National Forest, you've got to bear with the oil wells, and the access roads, and the clearcuts.  The uninterrupted forest here was such a joy.  Oh, and I saw my first red-shouldered hawk, which is kind of rare.

On the drive out, I snapped a shot of this hunting camp...just because I liked it.  

Limestone Cemetery, Afterthougths

This is Ivan Lancelot, who lived only four days in 1890.  It's sad...but he did get one heck of a cool name.

I saw the most marvelous red-bellied woodpecker in this cemetery, but he was camera-shy.

It's not that I have much hope of our misguided leaders repenting of their faults...but it helps me to pray that they will.  After all, even George Wallace--the Alabama governor who said, "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever"--ended up repenting of his racism.  And it helps me to remember that they too are human beings and worthy of my best hopes for all humankind.

Limestone Cemetery, Warren County

On my way back from the short jaunt on the Tanbark Trail, I told myself I had enough time (and courage) to do one of two things, but not both: I could either explore a certain abandoned house that I've had my eye on, or I could take the long dirt lane marked "Limestone Cemetery."  I've noticed the lane many times, but it seems to wind out along the edge of private woods and fields, so I've hesitated to follow it.  I mean, what if it goes to a private family cemetery?  What if a local on a gator with an AR-16 asks what I'm doing in his hayfield?

It's true that I felt like I was on private property, but at the top of the lane, where it comes to the edge of the woods, there was indeed a small gravel parking area replete with a weathered handicap sign for the area nearest to the graves.  

I imagine there was probably a church up here at one time.  That's how most rural cemeteries got placed, in centuries past.  In the southern part of the state, and most notably in West Virginia, family cemeteries are usually located on family farms--and that was what I was hoping to avoid here.  

While I was on the remote hilltop, I took the opportunity to text my daughters, who are both upset about the needless attack on Iran.  One of my daughters is doing a semester in Jordan, and it's not clear yet how American aggression in the region will affect her.  Not that she's my only concern: I ache for all the innocent and those who stand in harm's way.  More needless violence, and all of it a ploy to distract us from real issues.

There's nothing like an old cemetery on a far-away hilltop to give you a sense of perspective about life...and vanity...and violence...and death...and eternity.  We all end up here, don't we?  We've all got a limited number of years to make good on these lives we've been given.  We will all be forgotten eventually.  Even those who remember us will follow after us and themselves be forgotten.  We can etch our names in marble and attach those names on glass-and-concrete towers; we can name things after ourselves and assume that we will be known and respected forever.  But we all come to this.  

I struggled with substance abuse at one time in my life.  In the cemetery today, I had reason to recall (with horror) some of the beastly things I did when I was "in my cups."  And there, for the first time, I was able to feel a degree of compassion for the author(s) of today's chaos and violence.  They're poisoned souls.  They've been intoxicated and enslaved, utterly owned by power, and money, and arrogance, and greed--just as I was once intoxicated and owned by another kind of poison.  They're in their cups.  And for the first time ever, I was able to honestly pray for their healing...

Tanbark Trail: An Adventure in OCD

So...I just had to complete the small segment of the Tanbark Trail that I didn't get to cover in my previous section hikes.  There was just a small stretch of trail that I missed, near the Hickory Creek Wilderness, maybe less than a mile in length.  The forest there is so pure, the trees so tall, and straight, and silent.  I believe this is within the bounds of the Hearts Content Scenic Area, so camping is not allowed.

So I parked at the trailhead for the Hickory Creek Wilderness and instead of going into the wilderness, I took the Tanbark toward the east branch of the actual stream for which the wilderness is named, Hickory Creek.  The hemlocks were angelic, even if the trail was very poorly blazed in places.  Maybe someday I'll volunteer to maintain and blaze the Tanbark as my gift to the trees and to everyone who loves them and finds their presence life-giving.

This hemlock was grand and ancient.  I had to stop and rub my hands over its bark... I'm not sure if that's an appropriate homage to a venerable hemlock, but it was all I knew to do.

This stretch of trail took longer than I expected because it passes through some slippery climbs among boulders and also because I occasionally lost the trail and had to look for it.  Clearly, we're assuming these days that everyone who comes out here has a hiking app to show them where the trail is.  I still resist trail apps because when I'm backpacking, that's not how I want to spend my phone's limited battery.  After all, I've got pictures to take for my blog.  But!  Mission accomplished.  Now I have hiked the entire 9-mile length of the Tanbark Trail.  It would have bugged me constantly to know that I did all but one mile of it...