Stony Point Overlook

As I trekked off into the depths of the forest again--after so much time away--I felt that old, old peace coming back over me.  It's a peace I discovered here a decade ago, one that I've known too little of in recent years.  Ah, but it was there, waiting for me in the trees like a faithful friend.  I didn't know whether to laugh or weep, so I tried to do a little bit of both, with varying degrees of success.  I wanted to cast myself on the mossy earth and shake with loud sobs of gratitude, sobs of real joy, and tears of genuine pain for all the time I've lost.  But if you're a man in his forties, then you know that tears just don't come, no matter how much you might want them to.

In the top photo, you see Stony Point.  It appears on all the maps of the Allegheny National Forest, but there is nothing to indicate what it is or how to get there.  In fact, go look at your map right now.  Find the hamlet of Kellettville, then look due south a few miles.  There you see the words "Stony Point."  I decided that since I couldn't make it to the mouth of Lamentation Run, I'd at least discover the mysterious Stony Point.  And with the help of a geocaching website, I found the place.  Beautiful, isn't it?  And I'm sure the views are even more spectacular in less leafy seasons.  The top photo looks due north toward Kelletville, though the little town is not visible.

Overlooks are relatively rare in this forest.  Of course, you've got overlooks at Jakes Rocks and the exceedingly lovely Rimrock, but not many others.  I recall a small overlook along the Twin Lakes Trail at Brookston, but Stony Point is one of the least-known and least-visited overlooks in the Allegheny National Forest.  The people who do come here usually make the trek on horseback.  And yet, it's an easy walk from the spot where you have to park your car along Forest Road 212.  At some point FR 212 becomes FR 211, but it doesn't matter.  Just go to Muzette, PA, and find Lewis Road--about a mile west of town.  Lewis Road doubles as FR 212; follow it north until you reach a traffic gate.  Park your car and follow the road.  There is a horse path through the woods that makes a bit of a shortcut, pictured here, but don't be bothered with that.  For one thing, any rain at all would make it impossibly muddy--horse hooves really tear up the trails.  Eventually, you'll reach an old rock quarry with gas works where FR 212 / 211 becomes a grassy little lane to the left, and the more prominent FR 484 continues to the right.  Follow this as it gets narrower and more overgrown, all the way up to the overlook, about 3.5 miles from where you parked.

The big blue sky looms like an army of angels through the forest canopy.  You can feel the land falling away through the trees to the open sky beyond.  It's a magnificent sight, and it's guaranteed that you'll have it all to yourself.  O healing forest, restore my soul!  Remember that I'm your child, though long-since strayed.  You cured me once before.  I've been too long in the land of traffic jams and noisy neighbors.  I've spent too many years away, in a place of gadgets, and devices, and appointments, and screaming highways, and achievements, and reputations, and duties, and demands.  I can't even tell you how tired I am, and God knows I never wanted to leave.  Visions of you give me hope.  Joyful memories of you gather round my bed, where I-79 howls like a tormented spirit, and they sing to me the song of the exiles.  You can't fix what's wrong with me now, but I'm sure you could give me the strength to endure it--if only I could get here more often.

Salmon Creek, The North Country Trail, and a Lost Quest

 It was lovely indeed to be back in the Allegheny National Forest for a single night of solitude and discovery.  My goal was to bushwhack the length of Lamentation Run (see article I wrote eight years ago) to set up camp on the edge of the serene Tionesta Creek--pictured here.  The family and I were staying a week at the Chautauqua Institution, and I get tired of all the lectures and concerts by about Wednesday.

 But when I got back to that seldom-visited quadrant of the forest near Muzette (see below), it occurred to me that the last time I bushwhacked 3.5 miles the length of Lamentation Run, I was eight years younger, and I didn't have a 35 pound backpack on my shoulders.  So I tried to follow Forest Road 210--which runs roughly parallel to the fabled brook--as far toward its mouth on Tionesta Creek as possible.  But after less than a third of the distance, a large fallen tree blocked my path, and I didn't have the tools to move it.  My smartphone tried valiantly to lead me to Tionesta Creek by another path, but it turned out to be a gated, grassy little lane that I didn't want to chance--and which was surely blocked by long-fallen tree trunks of its own.  I had to abort my mission to camp at the mouth of Lamentation Run, but while I was in the area, I set off on a whole different trek that will be described in my next post.

 The afternoon wore on, and I had to find a place to set up camp for the night.  This was strange, for when I was truly the Snowbelt Parson, I lived so nearby that I never had to worry about finding a place to sleep in the forest.  But now I'm a stranger, a suburbanite, an outsider who returns to this enchanted forest as a mendicant.  "Please, forest, may I sleep here?  No?  Well, then how about here?"  I checked out the North Country Trail campsites along Salmon Creek Road--pictured here--but found them too public, too close to the road.

 Still, it's nice to see that the North Country Trail is still going strong.

 Thinking I might have to tuck my tail and stay in a conventional campground, I made for Kellettville on Salmon Creek Road.  The campground there is quiet, small, and unassuming.  But it turned out that I didn't have to go through the hassle of calling the Army Corps of Engineers Reservation Center and standing on hold for half an hour to get a spot at Kellettville.  Did you know there's beautiful camping at rustic sites all along the scenic length of Salmon Creek?  The sites tend to be spread out, most of them a quarter mile or a half mile from their nearest neighbors.  But not a single site was occupied; I had the whole forest to myself.  This is the view from site 16, which sits at the bottom of a long, steep path, about 500 feet from the road.

 I must admit: I spent more than three years exploring and blogging about the Allegheny National Forest, and I never knew that Salmon Creek existed, much less that it was so beautiful and campable.  It was fun to learn something new about this place after all these years.

 See the water shimmering in the left side of this photo.  When I arrived here--after the trek described in my next entry--I was hot and dirty, so I bathed in the chilly water of the creek.

 I'm still relatively new to backpacking solo.  I do a lot of backpacking, but usually with a partner.  I thought I'd get the willies as dusk began to fall.  I expected the forest that I loved to take on a haunted feel in the dark.  But it did not.  This forest is more than a friend to me.  It is "my strength and my song, and it has become my salvation."  (Okay, it was my salvation years ago--less so today--but I'm quoting a famous bit of Holy Writ that some readers may know, just to prove that I really am a parson.)

 I strung up my hammock by the stream to listen to the water-song.  As the green forest around my camp went dark, the wood thrushes made their evening chant--flute-like and rich.  It's easily my favorite birdcall, and though the thrush sings all day, its evensong is best.  The thrushes were followed by the soothing sound of a barred owl: Whoo-whoo...who-who."  In the fourteen hours I spent in this spot, I only counted eight cars passing on the dirt road above.  It was deeply tranquil.

Of course, a good fire makes everything cheerful.  It's the very best companion.  And when sleep came, it was peaceful and deep, entirely uninterrupted--which is rare for a night of backpacking.  But this is the place I love.  This is the place that I dream of and long for.  How could thoughts of Bigfoot and black bears and deranged hobos trouble my rest here?  I've missed this place so much.

Muzette, PA

 This is Muzette, Pennsylvania, a hamlet in Forest County that I visited some eight years ago in search of the fabled Lamentation Run.  The place is surrounded by a beautiful and little-known segment of the Allegheny National Forest, and the North Country Trail passes nearby.

 Actually, I use the word "hamlet" loosely.  All you see from the road through town is an overgrown farm that was clearly loved and well-kept the last time I went through the area.  But that's the way it is in rural areas: an older family member dies, and the survivors tell themselves, "Yeah, someday we gotta get over and get the house ready for auction."  It never happens, and things molder.  

 Click on the photos to enlarge them.  Here, beyond the neglected picket fence and the overgrown pampas grasses, you've got a decorative little cluster of birdhouses.  It's as if someone just walked away from this place and left everything as it was.

 There are trinkets sitting out still on the front porch, too.  There are no "posted" signs, but it's clearly private property, and the Allegheny Journal does not advocate or condone trespassing.

If you head south out of the so-called town, there are a few more houses or hunting camps along that road, including the Lucky Buck Lodge--home to a woman who commented on my last article about Lamentation Run.  Her comment suggested that I stop by Lucky Buck if ever I'm in the area again, which I did, but no one seemed to be home.