Why do we call the Pine Knob Overlook "elusive"? Because we set off in search of it three times on our recent trek, and our first two attempts were long and tiring failures. We tried hiking in from two separate forest roads--one was the wrong road altogether, and the other was the right road, but we didn't go nearly far enough. I'd been to the Pine Knob Overlook on two previous occasions. The first time I went there, I hiked the two miles up to it from the lovely Lick Hollow Picnic Area. The trail is clearly marked and pleasant. The second time, I drove to the summit of Chestnut Ridge and reached the overlook by car--though the road was very bad. (Actually, the parking area is about 1/8th of a mile from the actual overlook.) The road is even worse now. This time? This time my friend and I got two false starts and were finally reduced to approaching the overlook from the picnic area--which seems to be the only sure way to get there. But here it is. Scramble up onto the rocky outcrops to gaze over the rooftops of Uniontown and points west. You can see all the way to West Virginia if you look off to the left. "Look away. Look away. Look away, Dixieland."
As usual, I underestimated the cold on this trip. I was little-prepared for the fact that spring comes late even to a mountain as low and humble as Chestnut Ridge. Looking at the leaves up on the ridgetop, you'd think it was late March or early April. But Quebec Run rarely disappoints, and that's where we made camp for just a brief overnight.
As I've said many a time, there's nothing especially great about Quebec Run. It's quiet, and wooded, and open to back country camping. The trees there are tall and graceful. But it has no sweeping vistas or lofty heights or breathtaking views. Plus, every dog-owner in Pittsburgh seems to think it's a good place to let their annoying animals run off the leash. But if you come on a weekday, or early on a weekend--Friday to Saturday instead of Saturday to Sunday--you're likely to find what you're looking for.
And what are you looking for, my friend? That's the question. Me? I'm mostly just looking for a feeling akin to freedom, a comfort that only comes in the open air, a sense of escape that is entirely linked to discovery, and beauty, and silence. For me, being in the woods is a kind of prayer. I also came looking to answer a few looming questions about my impending trek across the entire breadth of the Allegheny National Forest. Questions like, does a hammock with a little roofling offer enough shelter against the insects and the Pennsylvania weather?
The answer is no, at least not this early in the season. For this particular trip--as it dipped into the high 30s overnight--the hammock did NOT offer enough shelter. I missed the cocoon-feeling of a real tent, a space where there was no draft or breeze, an enclosure to separate me from the night. A tent's walls are an illusion of protection, but they are a powerful illusion...and we all live by illusions. Illusions can keep us happy and calm. The hammock did little to give me a sense of my own dedicated space inside the forest, "a home within the wilderness." But it was sooo much lighter to carry than a tent. And so, when I cross the Allegheny National Forest, it will be with a hammock instead of a tent.
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