Allegheny Pilgrimage: Day 7, Tionesta Creek from Kellettville to Tionesta Lake

Day 7, a Tuesday morning dawned over Kellettville Campground, and the waters called me quickly away.  My goal for the day was simply to put down camp someplace nice where I wouldn't mind spending a long evening and part of the following day.  My friend was supposed to meet me at a place called Nebraska Bridge at noon on Wednesday.  Finding a place to camp proved harder than I'd expected.

As I put out into the water, I paused to gaze at one of the many, many rocks along the stream that carry the imprint of ancient sea creatures.  These upland forests used to be the floor of a primeval ocean, and the creatures that dwelled in those waters were the stuff of real nightmares.  As the waters grew deeper and deeper throughout the course of that day, I pondered a little fearfully the notion that sea monsters once lurked beneath waters on this very spot.  Especially plesiosaurs!

It was a perfect day to be on the water.  Cool and partly sunny.  But I only had a two or three hour trip to Nebraska Bridge, and I wanted to spend most of the day in camp, reading and writing.  This portion of the water journey had some of the most striking natural scenery.  Steep, wooded hillsides.  More handsome birds.  Eagles!  Even more eagles.  And as the water got deeper, approaching the lake, I began to see blue herons--so large and elegant, flying slow and low over the currents.  Big grassy meadows appeared along the stream banks, and I recognized Lamentation Run as I went drifting past.  Although I had thought that I might want to stop there, due to its historic importance in my forest tales, when the place was upon me, I had not the slightest urge to revisit it.  Let it pass.  Let it pass.

Where I did stop was at the next little body of water flowing into the larger stream: Bear Creek, pictured here.  When you get to Bear Creek, you feel like you're in Alaska.  It's wild, and quiet, and far flung.  There's actually a very nice, grassy campsite in the woods just beside the mouth of Bear Creek.  It looks like it's approachable only by boat, and plenty hidden away.  But it was a little strange, too.  Someone treats it like their own private property.  There was a folding chair leaning up against a tree and a few cooking grills hanging from nails.  There were even a few garbage bags full of camping supplies stowed under a nice makeshift table made of stone.  Worst of all, someone left their ugly wraparound sunglasses sitting on the stone table top.  Even though Nebraska Bridge was still quite a distance away, I could have stayed here at Bear Creek campsite--except that it felt as if the owner of the sunglasses might come back at any minute.

I mean, look at this place.  It's great, and so isolated.

And yet, there was an eerie presence about it--the wraparound sunglasses had eyes.  Click on this photo.  I actually DID regret not staying there at Bear Creek because after that, it became nearly impossible to find a place to pitch camp.  The banks were either too steep or too grassy.  Those verdant meadows were deceiving; they appeared so welcoming from a distance, but up close the grass was too tall, potentially full of ticks and snakes--no place to put down camp.  I paddled and paddled and paddled--all the way past Nebraska Bridge and into another Army Corps of Engineers' recreation area known as Tionesta Lake--where the creek was dammed to form a spider-shaped reservoir for fishing, boating, swimming, and camping.  My National Geographic map promised that "primitive campsites are numerous along the lakeside," but I paddled for miles and saw none.

Then when I did begin to see lakeside campsites, I investigated and found them all to be overrun with poison ivy.  Panicked, I began to think that maybe I'd have to paddle all the way into the conventional campground and get a drive-in site.  But then...then a vision appeared on a distant shore: a broad, sandy beach with nicely trimmed grassy meadows beyond and hickory trees and walnut trees, perfectly distanced for hammock-hanging.

The most glorious, remotest, most beautiful camping spot of all was there on the banks of Tionesta Lake, with a broad, private beach and lots of luxurious short grass.  The only way to get to it is by boat.

I did find that I had cell service here at the lake--and only 19% battery!--and so I tried to call the local Army Corps of Engineers to tell them that I'd be claiming this spot for the night.  No answer.  It was too late in the day.  So I happily claimed the lovely location as my home for the night, had a big fire, ate up as many leftovers as I could, and even made a clever dessert out of dried peaches and broken granola bars.  Backpacker's peach cobbler.  I carried unsweetened, dried fruit to make up for the lack of fresh fruits and vegetables on the trail.  But as a celebration on this last night of my pilgrimage, I decided to let the leftover dried peaches simmer for a few minutes in just enough hot water to almost cover them.  After simmering, let stand in the water long enough for the peach slices to reclaim their natural form.  It's fun to see the wrinkles disappearing and the fruit becoming rounded and smooth, as if canned in Mason jars by your grandma last August.  At this point, the water in which they're soaking is thick and sweet, just like peach canning syrup.  Drink most of the water, leaving a small amount, and crush the broken granola bars overtop of the peaches.  Backpacker's peach cobbler!  

Such a beautiful sunset over the lake!  And a glorious ending to a long and wonderful adventure.  When I look at a map to see the territory I covered in about one week, I really am amazed.  As far as the journey's status as a "pilgrimage," I believe its wonders will be revealed now that I'm back in suburbia, even if I didn't really have any magnificent epiphanies on the trail.