TR: A brief escape

On Wed, 10 Oct 2007 10:25:49 -0700, "Tom Nakashima"
wrote:


wrote in message
oups.com...
Beautiful weather on a recent Saturday made me feel like I should be
out in it, so I decided on the spur of the moment to throw the tent
and sleeping bag in the car and head for a favorite close-to-home spot
in the woods of northwestern Pennsylvania. The area I have returned
to dozens of times over the years is one of my favorite places on
earth so it was an easy destination to pick! I was out the door and
on the road by noon.

I got to the campground by 3. There are only a handful of official
camping sites- although since it is in a national forest it is legal
to camp 300 feet on either side of it. The three spots along the
creek were taken, but the other three were free. I chose the best of
those that remained and quickly set up my tent. I was anxious to find
some of the brook trout in the creek. They were still there, but of
very small size. Indeed, the first one I caught was a mere 4" long.
Normally when I catch a fish that size it is a sucker or minnow, but
this one was resplendent in miniature, his yellow and purple spots and
green vermiculation brilliantly showing his DNA. I sent him back into
the water admonishing him to eat his Wheaties (entomological version,
naturally) so he would grow up to be big and strong. I saw a decent
sized brookie later, but he'd seen me first and in a flash was in a
deep cut-bank, out of harm's way.

Back in camp I prepared dinner. I figured it would be dark by 7 or
7:30 and I wasn't far off. I boiled a quick meal and scavenged enough
fallen tree branches for a post-dinner campfire. There is nothing
quite like a campfire in the woods- there is something primeval about
watching the embers and flames dance, feeding more fuel, waiting for
your shins to hurt from the heat. I hadn't gathered much wood, so I
was in the tent, snuggled into my down sleeping bag by 9 o'clock. The
weather report said it would be 40 degrees by morning, and by the time
I turned my headlamp off at 9:30 it was already chilly. I was happy
to be in my new tent- new three years ago though not yet slept in!
Indeed part of the justification for the trip was to christen the
darned thing. I slept comfortably all night long, surrounded by goose
down and nylon.

I was up at 6:30, before dawn, to see a man about a horse. Business
transacted, I decided not to make a dawn raid on a nearby overlook, as
it was fairly foggy in camp. If it was foggy up top, the hike
wouldn't be nearly as worthwhile. Instead, I had a leisurely
breakfast in camp, oatmeal and coffee. By 8 it was looking more
clear, so I headed up the trail.

This particular trail leaves the campground and immediately heads
uphill. After a quarter mile a loop is met, where one can go
counterclockwise or clockwise. Clockwise gains the overlook in just
under a mile, and that is the way I headed. The whole hike I
encountered no other hikers, a true oddity on this well-worn path. I
remembered my dad joking once that they should have painted a yellow
line down the middle of it to indicate lanes. My first backpacking
trip, age 10, was on this trail with my dad, and, as has happened so
frequently this year, I thought about how much I miss him.

The forest here is tremendous- in the lower reaches hemlock and pine
with the occasional maple, higher up almost exclusively black cherry,
maple and a few beech, the understory remarkably clear, save for a
carpet of ferns. House-size boulders, remnants of retreating glaciers
of yesterday, are scattered about as if dribbled from a hole in
someone's pocket. Just before reaching the overlook is a short bit of
rock scrambling. Coming through the gap in the massive blocks, one is
greeted by a jungle of mountain laurel. In late May and early June,
the surprise is even better, when their blooms fill the green with
floral white.

As I soaked in the view, I decided that this was my cathedral, and I
was at Sunday service. Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal read the scripture, Mrs.
Cardinal saving the dramatic parts for herself. Brother Blue Jay
spoke the sermon, chastising as always. I think he is a Baptist.
Chickadee sang the doxology, of course. Woodpecker, in his red bib,
beat out the benediction and postlude, but it was awfully hard to keep
pace with his tempo. It was a very nice service.

I took a handful of pictures along the way:

On the way up to the overlook, I was surprised by many blow-downs. We
happened to be backpacking not far from here when the Memorial Day
tornado of 1986 touched down. The massive blow-downs in that area are
still marked as such on trail maps. The ones I saw here seemed to be
quite recent, and it must have been quite a wind. This cherry was
healthy, and snapped midway up its trunk:

http://filer.case.edu/wpc/misc/pacamp1-9-07.jpg

Life of all sorts clings to the rocks. I absolutely love this birch,
its roots like a kid holding his favorite baseball:

http://filer.case.edu/wpc/misc/pacamp3-9-07.jpg

From the overlook, I could see to the fog below, still shrouding the
campground. The hills on the other side were just starting to show
autumn's colors:

http://filer.case.edu/wpc/misc/pacamp2-9-07.jpg

One fallen maple showed Woodpecker's previous meals, eaten with
meticulous regularity:

http://filer.case.edu/wpc/misc/pacamp4-9-07.jpg

Back at camp, I finished packing up. Here's a picture of my home for
a day, the tent partially dissembled to dry:

http://filer.case.edu/wpc/misc/pacamp5-9-07.jpg

On the way home, I scouted a few other small streams in the area that
I haven't fished before but hope to one day. One held a fat rainbow-
far fatter than his 13 or 14 inch length should have allowed- that
chased and took a twitched black wooly bugger in the thin, low water.

It was a nice- if short- trip and a great way to enjoy some beautiful
weather in a beautiful spot.

Bill


Nice William,
I enjoyed the nature photos, especially the woodpecker art.
Feels good to escape.
-tom



Nice pics indeed.

So's you got religion now, eh Bill? We've got a Pentacostal catbird
(speaks in tongues) at our place that seems to find it amusing to meow
at our Jack Russell.


g.c.