Kudos to Pennsylvania State Parks

Just an appreciative nod in the direction of our state park system. On October 16, they were awarded the prestigious "National Gold Medal Award" (which is like the state parks version of one of those movie awards that all the directors strive for, and which I ignore so thorougly that I don't even know their names...Oscars? Tonies? Cannes? Sundances?)

The goal of the PA DCNR was to put a state park within 35 miles of every resident. Of course, that includes urban parks, like the uber-cool Point State Park in downtown Pittsburgh. But it also includes such woodland gems as Chapman, Elk, and Parker Dam. Where do you stop in listing all the fantastic state parks? Raccoon Creek, Oil Creek, Ohiopyle.... (Sorry if I don't say Kinzua Bridge, but I wish they would develop some trails there.) Clear Creek State Park is one of my favorites, with its miles of beautifully maintained trails passing through hilly forests, its CCC architecture, and its cold little beach, pictured here. (As always, click on the image for a better view.) Check out this link to read about the award.

Occasionally Pittsburgh will win the name "most livable city" for a given year, and each time it happens, the world stands amazed. "Pittsburgh? Really? Not Phoenix or Seattle?" I have a friend out west who maintains the illusion that Pennsylvania is all strip mines and rusting factories (more about that in a future article). Now, I don't mean to sound "jingoistic" or anything, but this is what I love about the unglamorous places on the backside of the Eastern seaboard, places like rural Pennsylvania and the Southern Tier of New York State: The quality of life is unparalleled; it's inexpensive, and the larger world isn't forever encroaching, crowding in, trying to claim its part. We live quietly and well. These awards and moments of recognition are nice every once in a while, but in the end, the nation at large will go back to overlooking us, and our way of life can continue undisturbed.

"Antlers in All of My Decorating..."

On the one hand, I know a lot of really great guys who are hunters. Many of those guys show up on my door and offer my wife and me choicest cuts of their forest kills, and we gratefully accept. (I think they secretly pity my wife for having a husband who doesn't bring her dead animals.) I don't begrudge them the sense of manly accomplishment that must come with providing meat and proving their status at the top of the foodchain. There's surely something satisfying and primal about stalking, killing, and eating a wild beast without any help from anyone but the good folks at Winchester. I get that. Too many people are too far removed from the earth. They're completely out of touch with their own food sources, and they'd be lost without the industrial food business. (That rant belongs to a different blog, but you gotta read The Omnivore's Dilemma, by Michael Pollan.)

On the other hand, why is it that so many guys believe that they aren't allowed to go into the woods unless they're armed with deadly weapons? And whenever you ask a guy 'why' he hunts, most of them will tell you, "I just love being out there in the woods."

Anyhow, I came across this really cool hamlet of hunting camps on a little patch of private land surrounded by the national forest. Just four simple cottages that sit there all year and wait for the hunters to come back in the late fall. This cabin was called "The No Tell Motel." (What are those hunters doing out there that they can't tell their wives?) I don't know what the name implies, but this place clearly hasn't seen a woman's touch in a few years. The racks above the door made me think of Gaston, the hunter in the Disney version of "Beauty and the Beast." There's a scene where Gaston is singing a tribute to his own superior manhood, and he sings, "I've got antlers in all of my decorating."

Ah, hunters. They make us flee the woods every fall, for fear of their stray bullets, and they're trying to take Sundays away from us, too. But I gotta say, most of them are nice enough guys.

Loleta, You Will Never Know...

Maybe you've heard of "Loleta," a recreation area in the ANF, several miles south of Marienville.

Now, for most folks in their late 30s, the word "Loleta" does two things. 1) It reminds us of an old Elton John song, where he croons, "Nikita, you will never know anything about my home." (Nikita. Loleta. They both sound vaguely Russian.) And 2) It reminds us of a controversial novel by Vladimir Nabokov... also undeniably Russian.

I mention Loleta here only because the Loleta Trail makes a way better hike in the fall than in the summer. It's a 3-mile loop that follows the scenic Sugarcamp Run, passes through hardwood gallery forests with very little understory, goes through big, grassy meadows, does a sidespur to a great rock city that could take several hours to explore, and climaxes at an "overlook" that only has views when most of the leaves are off the trees.

I'm not usually one for the trails. I far prefer to hike grassy old forest roads. But I can guarantee that you will have this trail all to yourself. The views on the second half of the loop are broad, looking out over the valley of Millstone Run. But when the green leaves come back, all the vistas will disappear.

"Yellow Leaves, or None, or Few..."

If I understand leaf coloration at all, I think the recent snowfall killed off our best October colors before they got a chance to appear. Apparently the leaves can take the cold, but they get tinged with brown when snow settles on them. The southern edges of the Allegheny are still decked out in vivid array, but around here, the colors have been muted and toned down.

In any case, I'd like to apologize on behalf of Mother Nature (or Pan or whoever) to all the poor, disappointed leaf peepers I see driving Route 6 with their Ohio plates, looking in vain for the mid-October splendor of The Big Level.

Ah, but it's still fall, and I'm still a melancholy ex-English teacher, so here's another poem just for the occasion. This one's a sonnet by William Shakespeare in honor of all those 400 year old trees in Cook's Forest that began their life in 1609, the same year these verses were published.

"That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long."

The song of the ephemeral autumn. Love it well.

The Clarion River Valley

Never under-estimate the importance of a river. Every great civilization had its river, drawing life from its waters, approaching the world on the highway of its currents. Think about it: the Euphrates, the Nile, the Yangtze, the Thames, and the Seine. Even today, the cultures of the world develop along the banks of great rivers, and those rivers still bring life.

The river that forms the north border of the ANF is the well known Allegheny, and the Forest is its namesake. Outside of Pennsylvania, the word "Allegheny" still evokes images of steel mills, smokestacks, and Pittsburgh under the mid-afternoon darkness of polluted skies. The Mississippi is the river of American commerce; the Potomac is the river of power; the Hudson is the river of culture. And the Allegheny--despite its spectacular scenery and ecological comeback--will forever be remembered (alas!) as the dirty river of 19th century robber barons.

And so, what about the Clarion River, the lazy, shallow body of water that saunters along the southern border of the Forest? Well, let me tell you a secret: the Clarion is an outdoorsman's paradise. It passes through some of the wildest, most scenic country in the sate, much of which is public land--whether state or federal. There's fantastic backpacking in the Clarion Valley. The river is shallow enough to make easy canoeing and kayaking. Bridges are rare in far-flung parts of the Valley, but you can even ford the river on foot in places. Cook's Forest is the Clarion's closest brush with fame. The river also passes alongside Clear Creek State Park. But consider the parts of the ANF that run alongside the Clarion.

Next time you visit Loleta Recreation Area (the subject of a future article), do yourself a favor and follow the Loleta beach road (Millstone Road) southwest, away from the beach, as it follows Millstone Run toward the Clarion. This road runs four miles through a beautiful, riverine landscape, lonely places known only to fishermen. After about four miles, the Millstone joins up with the Clarion, and there are great campsites set up all along the river. These are all ANF sites. They're free, undiscovered, absolutely beautiful, and tranquil like some new kind of Eden.

Hell, there's probably a river out there for everyone. But if you're reading this obscure blog, then you probably belong to the civilization that takes form along the banks of the Clarion River. Go check it out.

The Ancient Forest

Cook Forest State Park (known to locals as "Cook's Forest") is surely the most popular woodland destination in the western part of the state. Unless there's some corner of the Poconos that attracts hordes of New Yorkers, my guess is that Cook's Forest is the most popular patch of trees in Pennsylvania. What explains this popularity?

On the one hand, much of Cook's Forest is virgin woodland. That's to say, it has never in all its history fallen under the axe or saw. That's pretty cool. In the area known as "Forest Cathedral," pictured here, many of the trees are 300 to 400 years old. It's mostly white pine, hemlock, and beech, which were once the dominant species in this region. They make for a pretty dark forest, but there's just something almost mystical about standing next to a living thing that was around in 1609 when Henry Hudson first discovered the Delaware Bay, the year that Shakespeare's sonnets were first published, the year that "Three Bilnd Mice" made its debut....

And yet, I don't think the 400-year old trees alone explain the park's popularity. I mean, there are 20 acres of virgin forest at Heart's Content, in the ANF, and the campground there is still threatened with closure for lack of use.

Cook's Forest is as commercialized as any spot of so-called "wilderness" in the Northeast. PA36 is lined with "Indian" trading posts, replete with giant statues of Yogi the Bear and oversize cigar store Indians. The stores and cabins are all done in a mock-rustic style. The private cabin rentals are a booming business because, as our hostess told us on a recent stay, "The forest sells itself." At only 8,500 acres, Cook Forest is a fraction the size of the adjoining Allegheny Nat'l Forest. And yet, because it's a state park, it's much more carefully maintained and more geared to recreation (hiking, backpacking, camping, canoeing and kayaking) and natural preservation than the Allegheny...which some call a "black cherry plantation."

Strangely, you can hike for hours in Cook's Forest without encountering another person on the trails. It's as if all the many visitors want to be *near* the Big Woods but not *in* it. The park is so small that there are few places on the trails that are out of earshot of vehicles passing on tarmac. (To me, that's the definition of solitude: an absence of noise from trucks and cars.)

Does a forest sell itself to visitors? Really? If so, then why is nearby Clear Creek State Park so little known to the outside world, despite being pristine, quiet, located on the same Clarion River, just as beautiful and far less touristy? What "sells" a forest?

Rimrock in Fall

When was the last time I went to Rimrock? For me to go to Rimrock would be like a New Yorker going to the Statue of Liberty; it's something you only do to entertain out-of-town visitors (which is why I was there today). The Rimrock Overlook might just be the only place in the National Forest where you can always find a fairly cosmopolitan mix of people. Even on a Monday morning, like today, there were people there from Switzerland and Brooklyn.