Thursday morning, bright and clear--deep, deep inside the forests of the North! The path was calling, so we set off to see where it might lead. The goal for the day was Red Bridge, and I actually ended up going a little further.
Just this, nothing more. Daylight on the greens and grays of the woods. A light shimmering sound as the breeze touches the leaves high in the canopy--a noise reminiscent of the ocean. Birdcalls. A cool and sunny day. This is all I needed.
The portion of the trail that runs along Hemlock Run is very scenic, and it comes to a glorious climax near the spot where the creek empties into Chappel Bay--right here at this large campsite near the lake.
Distances become hard to estimate after you cross PA Route 321 again. What seems like it should only take an hour or so ends up taking longer.
So many forest crossings.
And so many idyllic bodies of water to be crossed! Water levels were low, especially for May, but we did end up getting some rain by the following morning--and then all the next day and most of the one after that.
Again, the water glinting in the sunlight just through the trees.
By this third day, I had songs that I sang as I walked alone--old songs that bring me comfort. I felt more truly like a pilgrim.
At one point, weary and dragging, I thought I saw a picnic table through the trees at the top of a hill that I was slowly climbing. Surely it's a mirage, I said to myself, but it was not. More and more of these backpacking shelters are being erected along the trail, and they make nice places to take a break.
On this day, I did meet another backpacker in the woods, a Ford employee from Cleveland who had been laid off. I wished him well and encountered him again a little further down the trail--where he had laid claim to the Root Run campsite that I had been aiming for myself. I left him to it, thinking there would be more camping closer to Red Bridge. I was wrong. The terrain from that point to Red Bridge becomes pretty unwelcoming.
A shagbark hickory. How could you not hug a tree like that?
The rest of the evening became something of a fiasco. I got to the day's second road crossing at Red Bridge with no trouble--but weary from the long trudge. Red Bridge is a national forest recreation area with a popular campground, and I told myself that as a last resort I could ask if they had any vacancies, but it seemed unlikely since it was coming up on Memorial Day weekend. Looking at the map, I decided to cross the long bridge (which is not the slightest bit red) to camp in the forest on the far side, close to the water. I found a spot and began to set up when some rowdy fishers showed up. They didn't see me, but I heard them loud and clear, so I moved on and finally ended up pitching a hasty camp in a small patch of woods close to the road. And yet, it was a glorious night in the forest, and a long rainy morning in my hammock the following day until my wife arrived to meet me at 3:00pm on Friday.
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