Ohiopyle in the Gathering Autumn Haze

 

What, the Baughman's Rock Overlook again?  Well, it was better this time.  This time around, I started out down at the Youghiogheny River on the edge of the borough of Ohiopyle--right where the Great Allegheny Passage Rail Trail leaves the town--and hiked the Lower Baughman Trail up to the summit.  (Check out all the "gh" combinations in that last sentence..."Youghiogheny" alone has two...)

It is a beautiful hike up along the steep valley wall above the rapidly moving river.

And of course, the river itself is so lovely in the golden autumn sun.

I sat on the banks and had a picnic lunch and listened to the water and the birds.

I think I'd like to tackle this on a kayak; this particular section isn't rough at all.

I had to come back down here to the Laurel Highlands.  They're only an hour and a half away and so much better than I'd remembered.  This area is essentially the Catskills of Pittsburgh.

Once atop the summit, you can make a nice loop back to your car by following the Lower Sugarloaf Trail down the other side of the mountain and back into town--less than 3 hours for the whole trek.

It was good to be in the silence of the woods, discovering new places, feeling the cool autumn air against my face.  It's not just good for the body; it's good for the soul.

The town of Ohiopyle is a curious place.  It's trying very hard to be an outdoorsy stopover on the Great Allegheny Passage, a rail trail which runs from Pittsburgh to D.C.  So, it's got bicycle rentals, and kayak rentals, and rafting outfitters, and coffee houses, and ice cream parlors, and cheap bars.  But it can't hide its grittiness.  It's still Western Pennsylvania, which means it's got a slightly haunted feel, with rundown mansions and shabby storefronts and derelict-looking old railroad paraphernalia.  

The types and sizes of bars is truly amazing for such a small place.

The church is cute, but doesn't seem to get much use.  I like the little open-air sweet shop that it seems to be sheltering beneath its wing.

Of course, the great trail runs right through the middle of it on an old railroad trestle.

And a view of the main street from the trestle. See all the tables with umbrellas?  The town is full of them.  There are probably more umbrellas than year-round residents.

This little open air bar appealed to me, though I do not and cannot drink.  It reminds me of the verandah bars that I used to frequent in tropical places.  The vines engulfing a deeply shaded deck, a little off the street and hidden away, a little bit above everything else, so a drunken American, far from home, can look down from above, unobserved.  These tropical bars were for locals mostly; only few expats frequented them.  But I could spend hours and hours in them.  I loved their shady remove, their colonial feel, their place high up among the leaves.