I arrived at the northern trailhead on a gloomy Saturday afternoon. I was beginning the trail at milestone 70 and making my way south to milestone 0. A car full of rowdy kids pulled up just behind me, and I scurried into the woods to get ahead of their noise and hopefully escape it--thus passing by the trail register untouched. Little did I know that when I returned to my car a week later, I would find the battery dead. But I did it. I walked 70 miles entirely under my own power. I'm a thru-hiker!
The 70-mille trek was not off to an auspicious start. Bugs were swarming, and within the first mile--which is easily the shortest-seeming mile on the trail--it had begun to rain. Hard. I surrendered myself to the rain and hoped that the rainfly would protect those things in my pack that needed to stay dry. I arrived at the slightly spooky Route 56 Shelter Area after just five uphill miles during which time there was no visibility whatsoever due to the rain and fog. I was the only camper in the campgrounds that night, which had its own kind of fun and spookiness to it. But my sleeping bag was wet, so I ended up having an unexpected fire the next morning, while waiting for the rain to let up. It gave my bag a chance to dry before setting off for a second day on the trail. That fire set a precedent, and though I had not planned on it, I ended up having one every day.
I figured out a better way to protect my sleeping bag and other things inside my pack for another rainy day. And again I abandoned myself to the elements. But the morning fire was such a joy. It made a nice companion on that first morning in the highland forests--watching the soft rain in the foggy woodlands all around, sipping coffee, waiting for my things to dry, and revisiting an old, old friend:
The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, by Howard Pyle. This is the Barnes & Noble Classics edition with original illustrations by the author. It's the classic old text of Robin Hood with the "thees" and "thous" and the memorable terms of my childhood, like "I'll crack thy knave's pate!" I've been wanting to revisit some of the books that influenced and inspired me as a child, and as my 70-mile thru-hike drew near, it occurred to me that, long before The Lord of the Rings, Robin Hood was the first book that made me want to live in the forest. The B&N classic edition even includes the sad epilogue where Robin dies. I don't know how modern children read this book, or even if they do. I wouldn't have been able to read it as a child if I hadn't been brought up with the old King James Bible. And yet, although it weighed almost two pounds, it was the perfect forest companion.
On my second day, Sunday, I had to cover 8 miles of trail to the Route 271 Shelter Area--where my younger daughter and I camped out some years ago. It was sweetly sentimental to come across those places in the woods where I had hiked with her on a lost October day that seems so long ago. She was so happy to have me all to herself--while her mother and sister were in Norway! It was only, what, five years ago, but she was so much smaller, and sweeter, and more innocent than she's ever been since. When I recognized the little bench at milestone 61 where she and I sat, you couldn't blame me for shedding an unobserved tear for the passing of time. And not just time. Other things have passed, things I could not know how to name--just as gone as an October day five years ago.
Here again I had the shelter area (campground) all to myself. This place was no less spooky for its vague familiarity. But here again, I made myself a home in the wilderness and a cozy fire for company--along with my childhood friend, Robin Hood. On the first half of the trip, it was necessary to have a fire every night to dry out my Janner boots, which gave up all pretense of being waterproof. On the second half of the trip, I just made fires out of habit and for the joy of them.
Up till this point, I took very few photos along the trek because it was too wet to pull out my phone. On Monday I had 10.5 miles to cover, which made it my longest day on the trail thus far--though not my biggest day on the trail by the end of it. This segment of the trail crossed the area where the helldiver World War II fighter jet crashed in 1945. [For full coverage of that discovery, CLICK HERE.] So it's an area that I'd explored pretty thoroughly in the spring. I found myself hurrying through familiar territory once again, when I came upon old milestone 51 much like an old friend. In fact, it was at this point along the trail that I decided to rally my random trail thoughts toward disciplined meditation. With each milestone I passed, I tried to ruminate upon my life when I was the age of the number on the mile-marker. It became a meaningful practice along the Laurel Highlands Trail, and I was grateful for the regular mile markers. (Miles 49 thru 45 provided the richest fodder for consideration...)
Okay, so I'll tell a truth on myself: here in the 50s, I strayed from the trail a bit and followed a pipeline road I know that runs parallel to the trail. It was easier walking, and it passed through fewer dead trees. In fact, the number of dead and dying trees along the trail was alarming. I've known of three individuals who lost their lives when a dead tree shed a heavy branch at just the wrong moment. I found a Werther's candy there on that muddy road, and I was sorely tempted. The wrapper seemed intact. But then I noticed it was sugar free. Temptation abated....
Here's the pleasant forest road that runs very near to the trail. I met two rangers from the Game Commission out here in their big black SUV. I asked them about the dead trees, and they said the same thing a park ranger would say to me a few days later: "Dead trees? Huh. I hadn't noticed."
How could you not notice? So much of the forest looked like this! It was eerie and disturbing. I was relying on the "tree-tunnel" to keep me in the shade for the duration of the hike, but there was far more sun on the forest floor than there should have been.
This little tic-tac-toe board is a well-known trail landmark.
After a long, hard uphill climb, I was rewarded with a sign for the Forbes Road. In this spot, the trail crossed a narrow mud lane which was part of the original road that General Forbes hacked into the forest between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh (then Fort Duquesne) in 1758. It's a joy to touch the past.
In this first week of July, the mountain laurel had mostly faded, though it still adorned the occasional bows here and there. This is the state flower of Pennsylvania.
Monday had been the longest day on the trail thus far, and the driest, but it was still plenty wet, and I had to dry my boots beside the fire. My clothes were getting nasty right quickly. Although I had the Route 30 Shelter Area all to myself, I did receive my first visit from a park ranger there that night. The same friendly fellow would find me again the following night at my next camp.
Although I only met with a little bit of rain on Tuesday--the July 4th holiday--the trails were SOAKED. I passed by the familiar Beam Rocks and was surprised to find the modest overlook completely abandoned to the sky and to me. This spot can get quite crowded. I've had it to myself on occasion, but expected there to be revelers there on the 4th. Before arriving in the hard-won Turnpike Shelter Area, there were spots where I actually had to take off my hiking boots and carefully tread through the bogs barefoot. The painfully cold water felt marvelous on my hot, blistered feet!
Once again, I had the entire campground all to myself...but there was evidence that someone had been there the night prior. Trail Magic! This is what they call it on the Appalachian Trail. It's when a stranger leaves treats and gifts for any random hiker to enjoy.
The givers had a Jesus-loves-you message attached to their offerings, and the folks who first benefited from the Trail Magic left a note of gratitude. I wanted to leave a snarky note about how loaves and fishes would be a more convincing form of magic if Jesus was the source. But it seemed a little less than grateful to return kindness with blasphemy. I ate a Little Debbie and a few small bags of chips. I would have loved to take the big bag of corn chips and the jars of salsa, but I had my biggest day ahead of me on Wednesday and needed no extra weight in my bag, which was already overloaded with dampness. If anyone in those mountains was celebrating Independence Day with fireworks, I did not hear them over the two small brooks that converged just outside my shelter.
Oh, and a cigar. The evangelistic trail magicians left a lot of mini-bags of chips, a package of Little Debbies, some Mountain Dew and Cokes (neither of which I could drink in the evening due to high caffeine content), two jars of salsa, corn chips, and a cigar... Thank you, trail magicians. It was a kind gesture.
Wednesday, the day I had been dreading! On Wednesday I planned to skip the Route 31 Shelter Area and go directly 14 miles to the Grindle Ridge Shelter Area, where I would be joined by a friend who wanted to hike with me briefly. On the map, it claimed that I had a 14-mile day ahead of me. When all was said and done, my pedometer told me I'd walked 17 miles--and this with 40 pounds on my back. Now, click on this photo to enlarge it. Here's a piece of a dead tree that's fallen on the trail. It's not so hard to step over, but if you and the deadwood happen to be in motion in the same spot at the same time? Deadly.
In many ways, Wednesday was the turning point of the trek. It was the first fully dry day I had. I crossed the footbridge over the Pennsylvania Turnpike--a bridge that I've pointed out to my family every time we've driven under it. And south of the turnpike bridge, the character of the forest grew more open and airier. This was in part surely due to the decimated forest canopy. Some weird blight is destroying the leaves on both sides of the bridge. But there was a lighter quality to the air as well.
I felt a little self-congratulatory as I crossed the midway point of the 70-mile trail--milestone 35! I stopped for one hour at the Route 31 Shelter Area to put up my hammock, have lunch, and rest in the middle of my longest trail day. At the entrance to the shelter area, I met Dane Cook--author of the one and only guidebook abut the Laurel Highlands Trail. He was talking to a reporter from the Johnstown Tribune Democrat about an article that the man is writing on the trail. I asked them about the scraggly condition of the trees, and they too said, "Huh. I hadn't noticed."
But I still had a long day ahead of me, and it was a hot one. I had no trouble at all finding sufficient water sources anywhere along the trail (even north of PA highway 30, which is infamously dry). Wednesday saw me crossing the strange ups-and-downs near the Seven Springs Resort, and then entering the grounds of the resort for several miles of the trek.
It is a little surprising to come upon horses pasturing in the woods.
At almost 3,000 feet, Seven Springs is the highest point along the LHHT.
You get some long views out over the ski slopes, abandoned for the summer.
For some reason, crossing Seven Springs felt like the longest leg of the trip. I didn't have time to find their famous convenience store and buy modern amenities, though that would have been fun. My brief town day would come on the following day when my friend and I took his car into Donegal to purchase necessities.
It's quite a long uphill haul to the Grindle Ridge Shelter Area from the resort. Here at last I camped for the first time with other hikers in the campground. My friend had hiked up from the Route 653 Shelter Area, near which he'd parked. He and I would hike back that direction the next day to find his car and make a brief town run. But this was the second half of the journey, and everything was different. I was no longer alone at camp. I was no longer soaked. I had company and neighbors. It was nice.
I stumbled into the shelter area on Wednesday night as physically drained as I'd felt since I climbed Mt. Columbia last summer in Colorado. (Mt. Columbia is my first and only 14er thus far.) Grindle Ridge might be my favorite shelter area, though it would grow old with the Seven Spring clay pigeon shooting range so close-by. I didn't care. I washed some of my reeking clothes with a bar of soap in a cold little brook that tumbled steeply off the rocks by our shelter, and I took a frigid and very restorative bath there, too. My feet ached terribly, and the blisters were crippling.
On Thursday's short 5.5 mile hike to the Route 653 Shelter Area, my friend and I passed through deep rock canyons like this one. I had explored patches of this segment on day hikes past.
We passed a certain beech tree that I love, and which I feared had been killed by porcupines. When I came here this past winter, I saw that porcupines had eaten all the bark from around the entire bottom of the tree. I was sure no tree could survive such an assault, but here she is, looking great!
There are a few scenic overlooks along the trail here.
Brett's Overlook has a view to the west--with a haze out over the land from faraway wildfires in Canada.
Just before crossing Route 653, you come to this small and well-preserved graveyard. We reached my friend's car and made a quick run into town. We bought the world's most delicious sandwiches at Sarnelli's Deli and Market near Donegal. He came back to camp with me, and we spent our second night laughing and chatting by the fire. There were many neighbors in this campground, and not one but two rangers checked in. I had planned this as a solitary trek, but it was a joy to have someone to share parts of it with.
I wanted an early start on Friday morning, and got out of camp while my friend was still in bed, and well before any of the other hikers in the campground got moving. I had 12.5 miles to cover before arriving at my final overnight destination, the Ohiopyle Shelter Area. The forests seemed better here, healthier, fuller, less in distress. It was a balm to my worried heart. The night before setting off--Thursday night--I fretted a little to my friend about the hard day I had ahead of me, and he helped me come up with a plan. He looked at the map and said, "Okay, you're gonna stop and take a nice long break at mile 13 and then another one at mile 8. Those will be your only goals. After that, it's all downhill into Ohiopyle." He was right, and it worked. I set two goals for myself, achieved them easily, and made it in great time.
On YouTube videos of the trail, I'd always seen this large pond--is it Cranberry Glad Lake? Many people stop to take a dip in its waters, but despite the heat, I wasn't about to take a swim. I'm terrified of murky water.
The woods were pleasant here, if overrun with bugs and heat. I began to cross more areas that I recognized from earlier section hikes.
When you see the milestone informing you that you've only got eight miles till the end of the trail, you take heart. You think to yourself, "Eight miles! I've already covered 62 miles. Eight more is nothing!" Oh, but they are not eight ordinary miles. They are eight of the steepest miles on the trail, and the bugs attack with a vengeance. At the long descent into the Ohiopyle State Park, there is a nice view.
Those 12.5 miles from Route 653 Shelter Area to the Ohiopyle Shelter Area felt easy though. After my 17-mile day (Wednesday) everything felt easy. I chatted with my neighbors at the campground and got out of camp long before them on Saturday morning. I was afraid of the 6.5 miles of rugged terrain that lay ahead of me, and even briefly entertained the possibility of following the little brook downhill out of the shelter area to the railroad tracks, which would lead me on a level train track directly into the town of Ohiopyle. But I resisted the urge to do that, and did not regret it.
It was a beautiful hike through rugged terrain, very different from the landscape up to this point, more brutal, more beautiful. But the mist hung so heavy over the early morning forest, and I was in such a rush that I took no photos. I had to catch my shuttle back to mile 70 (the northern terminus) at 1:00pm.
In time, Sugarloaf Knob came into view, with the valley of the Youghiogheny River in the foreground, and I knew I was home safe. The trails here are treacherously steep, and they run dangerously along the edge of high precipices, but middle-aged women jog these trails and smile at you as they pass.
This is it, the end of the trail. I hurried all morning so that I would not miss my 1:00pm shuttle, but I arrived at the end of the trail by 10:30am.
Here's proof, of sorts. Haggard and weary, I trudged into the tiny borough of Ohiopyle on a Saturday morning to find the place abuzz with tourists and city-folk looking to escape the crowds. It was kind of like Western Pennsylvania's humble answer to Aspen or Vail. Coffee shops, wine bars, outfitters, gear shops, trendy restaurants, you name it. The place was crowded. I had been there many times and made my way to the Ohiopyle Coffee Company, where I sought out a shady spot on their side porch. There I laid out my map and drank a celebratory americano, then used their restroom to change into the shirt I'd just washed at camp, and take a bath of sorts--with one of those prepackaged bath wipes. It was no shower, but it helped. After an outdoor lunch at the Falls Restaurant, I headed back to Wilderness Voyageurs for a prepaid shuttle back to my car--whose battery had given up the ghost during my long absence...
This is the Youghiogheny River from the bridge in Ohiopyle town. It was such a satisfying experience to do a thru-hike, even if the trail was only 70 miles. I found myself settling into the rhythms of the forest and of the long days of walking. I slept better, wakened earlier, ate with more appetite, drank lots and lots of water. I think I was operating the whole time on a calory deficit, but my body felt great--after the initial shock of the first day or two. Walking was my only work, and I walked all day, and at the end of the day, made my home for the night. I heard not a whisper from the gloomy thoughts that sometimes pester me when I'm at home with my routines. The hike itself became my routine. All was forest. All was walking. Or resting. I don't know that I'll do many more thru-hikes. The sense of accomplishment that they entail is due in part to their stress: you've got to cover certain distances in certain amounts of time. You have an agenda to keep. Base-camping might be my M.O. in the future--as it has been in the past. But can I get my trail name now?
NOTES TO FUTURE SELF:
-Never underestimate the miseries of chafing!
-Always pack a rain suit
-Always pack a light set of clothes to wear only in camp
-Always remember not to push it too hard the first few days; it gets easier with time
-Always pack an odorless bar of soap for clothes and body
-Pack moleskins for blisters
-Trekking poles are necessary for us old guys on steep terrain, plus they turn a hike into a full body workout
