It was a strange day to be in the forest. Spooky and dark, it felt more like a gray ghost of Novembers past than the hopeful spirit of March and Springtime future. But I had business to attend to back in the Forbes State Forest. On my last trek, below, I accidentally bypassed the parts of the Mountain Streams Trail System that would lead me onto the high flank above Indian Creek and deep into the forest. Here's a shot of that fast-moving stream with the trail climbing the mountainside on its banks.
The temperatures were barely into the 40s, but the wind chill made it feel much colder on the upland hillsides and ridges. Soon enough, the loud gurgling of the brook gave way to the chaotic screaming of the turnpike. It may have been the noise, but all along this hike, I had the uncanny feeling of being watched. I kept casting a downhill glance over my shoulder to see if there was some vagrant or stray animal trotting along behind me. It didn't help, either, that a hapless backpacker was killed just a few days ago on the Appalachian Trail in Maryland when the wind downed an old tree onto his head.
In October or June, this stretch of woods is probably a lovely place...and it has a melancholy beauty in March, too. But the seasonal gray joined with the turnpike racket to make it strangely eerie. I loved this long wooded ridge that accompanied me all the way to 2,600 feet elevation, where I had to turn around in order to hurry home in time to meet my kids off the bus. To the left of the trail, as you ascend, there's always something noisy: a stream, a turnpike. But to the right, there's this deep valley, with its ever-present ridgeline on the opposite side. Unseen in the chasm below is the remote watercourse called "Little Run." It's a tributary of Indian Creek, but there's no trail through that valley, which makes it an immensely appealing place for a lonesome camp-out.
Indian Creek really is a mountain stream, swift and swollen with snowmelt and spring rains. It tumbles down the side of this steep hill, over rocks and fallen trees. I saw a herd of about twenty deer leaping through the gray undergrowth. And upon my return to the car, I had to pluck two deer ticks off my clothes and skin.
Closer to the trailhead on Skyview Road, before beginning the long climb upward, the stream dashes past this odd stone wall. Click on the photo to see it. I couldn't ford the creek in order to go investigate. The water was moving to deep and fast. But it looks too thick to be the foundation of a barn. I'm guessing that it's the remains of an old flour mill. This stone structure probably used to hold a water wheel over the stream in order to grind grain into flour. Surprisingly small bodies of water were often used for mills.
On the way home, I stopped near Donegal to get some coffee, and I saw this strange convoy of VWs, below. They were en route from California to Boston and apparently advertising some kind of beer. The Mohawk haircuts are rows of wheat, so it must be a wheat brew. I don't drink anymore, so I don't know. They've got that little gray car surrounded.
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