Railroad Bridge over Chartiers Creek

The Chartiers runs deep in certain place.  Beneath the railroad bridge from South Fayette Township into Bridgeville, I'd bet "the cool and fishy deep" stands at ten feet or more.

People use the bridge as a walkway between the town and the new businesses just to the south.  I saw old folks walking along it and a guy in a McDonald's uniform, headed home from work.

The water levels aren't high, but it's definitely navigable for a kayak.  Can you see the ubiquitous blue heron in this picture?  The Chartiers always has herons.

Looking the opposite direction, toward town and PA 51, the water levels are suddenly deeper.  The problem with the Chartiers is that the land on its banks is being so rapidly paved over.

It's traversed by more rusted out bridges than any body of water I know--with the possible exception of the Monongahela.  It's got more poison ivy and wild grapevines on its banks than the River Styx.  There are rotted out factories, and dumpy boroughs, and noisy highways all along its muddy course, not to mention ugly new suburban developments for housing and shopping.  And yet, down by the water, there's still an ancient hint of wilderness, the smell of fresh water, the flapping of the wood duck.  Silvery fishes dart beneath the water's surface.  You can sense that the French and Indian War is not in the distant past, but around the next bend. 

The City at Night

 Pittsburgh's urban nightscape from the North Shore of the Allegheny, an angle you don't often see.

Raccoon Creek on Memorial Day Weekend

I fell to sleep at 10pm among the trees with the smell of woodsmoke lingering in the dark air and the noisy sounds of neighbors' conversations.  When I woke up briefly around 2am, the only noise was the calling of owls--two different kinds!--and the throaty rattle of a raccoon snooping around the campsite.  It's fast becoming our tradition to spend Memorial Day weekend camping with friends at Raccoon Creek.  I had a realization on the crowded beach there yesterday, as heavily tattooed men and women in mullets smoked cigarettes on every side of us, and Leonard Skynard played from somebody's beach radio: Raccoon Creek is nice if you use it simply as what it is, a playground for holidays.  It's pretty, and large, and well-equipped.  It's no wilderness destination, but it's a pleasant, scenic spot to spend a long weekend.  Despite the crowds, I actually like going there on those rare occasions.  But when you try to make it your regular weekly hiking spot, it just can't deliver.  Use the place sparingly, like the restaurant where you only eat on your anniversary or the church you only attend at Christmas....

Laurel Mountain State Park: The Abandoned Ski Resort

I've seen this place at the northernmost edge of my Linn Run hiking maps, and I've always thought about coming here to see what was left of it.

It felt like an old episode of Scoobie Doo.  An abandoned ski resort at the end of a gravel road in the mountains.

Every year, skiers ask whether Laurel Mountain will reopen, and it never does.  As far as I can find on the Web, this place hasn't been operational since 2005, and even then it wasn't much used.

I love ski resorts in the off season.  This is the third one I've explored when no one else was around. Blue Knob was fun in August as was a certain ski resort near Mt. Ascutney in Vermont in October.

And yet, it was a little eerie.  The wind was blowing hard, making the trees creak like complaining voices and creating the constant illusion that someone is walking behind me.

There are two nice ponds here at Laurel Mountain, and an air of complete abandon.

The lodge is large and derelict.  It's at that point in its abandon where it could go either way: Someone takes it and runs with it fast, or it slips quickly away into ruin.  Strange how quickly things made with hands can disappear.

The mountain air was crisp and the views almost alpine.  One reason I wanted to trek into the old ski resort was to see the Laurel Highlands from the cleared downhill slopes.

I'm not exactly sure why this body of water creeped me out so thoroughly.  It's out on the edge of the resort closest to the Forbes State Forest--the way I hiked in--and it's surrounded by debris: old parts to ski lifts, an abandoned truck, even an antique kayak, seen above in the fifth photo.

But the mountains were lovely from here, with clouds scuttling over the ridgetop, creating an ever-changing interplay between darkness and light.

There are privately-owned cabins all along the road to the ski resort, although the road passes through the Forbes.  My guess is that the state leases the properties.  

This one looks cool...in a strange sort of way.

For the official website of the Laurel Mountain Ski Resort, click this incredibly unhelpful link: http://www.skilaurelmountain.com/

Let the Current Carry You

I paddled the Chartiers Creek oxbow from Heidelberg to Carnegie again today.  What a great ride!  It's not exactly scenic.  The creek passes between glowering old mills in various stages of decrepitude.  It runs very near Interstate 79, which screams with traffic, and under a variety of rusted out bridges.  And yet, the water was cool and dappled with sunlight.  There was a great blue heron, a lot of wild ducks, and a gaggle Canada geese that I just kept chasing further and further downstream.  I'm learning the ways of that stretch of river.  I'm discovering where the deepest passages flow over the gravelly streambed.  I didn't bottom-out once this time, and the water levels are pretty low.  It took 20 minutes to travel from home, tie up the kayak at Heidelberg, then drive over to Carnegie and park; 20 minutes to hike up the railroad track back to the kayak; 50 minutes to let the currents carry me to Carnegie and my waiting car; 20 minutes to get back home--out and back again in two hours.  I feel like the rockstar of solo kayaking.  It's so weird that you can walk down the main street of Carnegie with a bright orange kayak on your back, and no one even glances at you.