If you've ever driven I-99--which is a north / south interstate that runs along the eastern edges of Altoona--you've surely seen the stony-topped mountain that looms darkly over the roadway and the town. This is it, Brush Mountain, and I went back to Central Pennsylvania again to see if I couldn't summit this humble peak. I was hoping to reach the barren stretches near the top of the mountain so that I could look out over Altoona and the surrounding countryside.
All the easy ways up the mountain are on private land and marked with No Trespassing signs. On a map, I located an ascent that was entirely within the bounds of State Game Land 166. All of our state game lands are open to hiking, just not camping. I drove across Brush Mountain, where Kettle Road runs through a high mountain pass, in order to begin my climb back up to the summit from Sinking Valley, which is a hollow that sits on the far side of the ridge. This valley stands between two separate arms of the mountain, and it contains an old Revolutionary War fort that protected the mines from which colonists drew lead for the manufacture of their ammunition. I saw a sign for the state game lands on the wrong side of the road but thought I must have missed my intended ascent. So I allowed myself to get sidetracked by this mossy old road (open only to horses, bikes, and feet) that climbed ever upward on the wrong arm of the mountain--which splits like a snake tongue. I was hoping at least to reach a summit--if not the one I'd originally intended.
The views were not as remarkable as they've been of late. I caught some nice glimpses of the farmland below through trees just beginning to take on leaves in delicate, almost-pastel colors. In a few weeks, the leaves will obscure what little view there is.
The manic-depressive skies were, by turns, glowering and bright. The flanks of the more easterly head of Brush Mountain were pleasant, but I found no clear track leading to the summit, just a road that went up high and then petered out into a narrow path that began to descend on the same side of the hill. Also, aerial photos on Google showed no clear rocky patches where trees would not obstruct the view even if I could reach the summit on this part of the mountain.
I had an elderly parishioner back in Kane who had married a fellow from that town and moved there from Vermont as a young woman. She had the most wonderful old-timey Vermont accent. She also had a real crabapple tree in her front yard--as opposed to these ornamental ones, which have poison apples. She invited us to come and pick some crabapples to make wine--which turned out so delicious! When we showed up, she was blaring "Appalachian Spring" by Aaron Copeland at a surprising volume. I mean, loud enough for the neighbors to call the police--on an old woman playing Copeland. "Appalachian Spring" is a 1944 ballet, and ballet is not my thing. But it's set in the mountains of Central Pennsylvania, and its reinterpretation of the familiar old American hymn tune "Simple Gifts" is really beautiful.
I thought of her and of that day as I walked the Appalachians of Central Pennsylvania "robed in the blooming garb of spring." What a beautiful time to be in the hills and forests. And though my weekly adventure may have been considered a failure in that I did not get to summit Brush Mountain, as I drove toward home--still in Sinking Valley--I did find the game lands on the correct side of the mountain and the upward path that I'm sure will lead me to the vistas I'm looking for. That will be an adventure for another day....
I'd read online that hang-gliders use Brush Mountain to push off from, but I don't know where they would do that. The areas that are not privately owned are under the jurisdiction of the PA Game Commission--and not easily accessible. See on this game lands map how Brush Mountain zigzags? The yellowish areas are public lands, and the smaller yellow segment to the left (west) is where I need to be. But that big area to the east surely holds some hidden wonders. There's a whole stream valley in there, a so-called "hollow." O the beauty of being able-bodied and curious!
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