Pinchot Trail Redux: Corridors of Existence

Taking advantage of a couple mild days, I decided to return to Pinchot Trail for an overnight backpacking trip. The north loop was the plan, but I chose to be a little more adventurous and include a couple new trails and a vista. Along the way I contemplated the metaphorical meaning of the path I was traveling – the corridors of existence. Tag along for the adventure and give me a moment to explain!

Tuesday was beautiful, a mild and sunny summer morning, and I was very happy to be at the trail head by ten o’clock. As planned, I started on the north loop in a counterclockwise fashion. I signed in at the trail register like before. Although this was the second time I was here, the path was very familiar.

There are so many modes of hiking. Often, when I’m on a trail for the first time, my eyes are open and full of awe as I explore the unknown. A familiar trail may be met with a zen-like state or a calm sense of belonging to the surroundings. Sometimes however, the mind begins to wander. In this instance, not far from the trail head, my mind was in a contemplative state.

We travel along corridors of existence, roads, highways, sidewalks, this trail – linear thought.

The familiar trail reminded me that we, as human beings, continue along paths all of the time.  These paths can be perceived as concrete sidewalks, roads, and trails, or more abstract, such as a choice made and a direction taken. Sometimes we have the opportunity to travel a path a second time, as I did on Pinchot Trail or my endeavor to complete my education. If you had the chance, what would you do differently?

Soon my mind was interrupted with the slither of a small snake and the observation of many post-flowering herbs. The blueberries were ripe for the picking! The teaberry was in bloom. Arriving at Pittston Road, I saw a variety of wildflowers enjoying the disturbed edge. Feeling goofy, I picked one and placed it in my hat, a traveling partner. The intellectual was paused and the naturalist experienced the woodland.

I was ready for some brunch at the beginning of Sassafras Hill Trail. The last time I was here, I was caught in a conversation with a man and his adult son, so I didn’t have the opportunity to explore the underground creek. Spring Run emerges from the underground not far from the trail’s junction with Pittston Road. A symphony of nature was heard – thump of the underground stream and the whoosh of wind through the trees, birds in the distance providing the melody! This was the perfect spot to enjoy food and rest. Unlike last time, I was in no hurry.

Blueberries were found throughout the hike on the low bush variety. North Line Trail proved to be the motherload and produced both varieties. I spent so much time gorging on these little delicious delights. I ate so many that day; I thought I would get the shits! A few days later, I brought Jill back with me, blueberry picking cans in tow, and secured a stash for morning breakfasts.

Fruits and veggies from the market are good, but those found in the field are better. I wonder if the taste is superior or if the bounty is eaten with additional mindfulness.

Further along North Line Trail, I flushed a half a dozen grouse. They didn’t fly fast and they didn’t go far. They know when it isn’t hunting season. I was in admiration of their beauty, more browns in their summer plumage. I could not help but think how tasty the tender breast meat would be on a campfire later that night.

Around noon, I reached Watres Trail, my first deviation from the familiar. First, I enjoyed some trail mix and jerky for lunch before setting out into the unknown. The trail proved to be less traveled, but in good shape. I began to have thoughts of following the creeks up to Watres Reservoir. I previously explored the area by car and never on foot. I figured that I would continue down to the northern terminus of Watres Trail and then decide.

Along the way, my ankle began to hurt. I injured it on trail during a previous outing. Without weight on my shoulders, I barely knew something was wrong. The mileage with a thirty pound back was a different story. Troubles like these become progressively worse. Soon, my steps became more tender and fatigued. My goal was to get to Panther Creek for rest and water.

Panther Creek is a small mountain stream that was serving as my motivation to keep going. Although my condition didn’t warrant a retreat back to the car, my travels were no longer fun, but instead, exhausting. My spirits lifted when I reached this destination. I refilled my water stores, washed my face, and sat awhile. Refreshed, I had new momentum!

Not far from my place of rest, I found a peculiar sight; supplies that were partially used laying on the ground. The items that I found do not seem to have been discarded, rather, they were left by accident. Or, so I hoped. The contents of the items were not fully used. I hypothesized they may have fallen out of a pack or have been left there in haste. Surely, this was an eerie sight to find in the woods.

With renewed momentum, I paralleled the creek while continuing north on Watres Trail. When I reached the northern terminus, I had to decide whether to continue to the reservoir or loop back towards camp. Consulting my GPS, I discovered the water was one and a half miles away down hill. I was very tempted to keep going, but better judgement calculated the additional three miles I would be traveling and half would be uphill.

Not often do I play the role of fun police, but I’m glad I did so this time. The trail loops back to a southerly direction and the loop portion is a very steep incline. I must have stopped every twenty-five yards and sat down three separate times. My ankle did not like the steep, rocky assent. Being fatigued, I was burning my energy fast. Once on top of the ridge, the cool breeze again renewed my spirit for the next few miles to camp.

My original thought was to camp at the Painter Creek site as I did last time. I was happy to find it vacant. In fact, I never saw a soul during my entire journey. At camp, I rested a while and made some tea – priorities. Then, I set up my hammock and tried the hang. Okay, I just about fell asleep. I crawled out and decided to explore my surroundings before dinner. The last time I stayed at this camp, I didn’t get in until dark and had little time before going to sleep.

I was surprised to see so many other camps in the surrounding hemlock. I was greatly surprised to see the condition of the area. Many of the sites contained garbage, such as cans and wrappers. A broken ax rested at another. A pot and grilling rack suspended from a tree. On many occasions, I found birch trees stripped of their bark for its fire-starting ability. The damage done to these trees will lead to their demise. These pseudo-outdoors people should walk the walk.

These so called outdoors men practicing their bushcraft – using flammable birch bark to prove their fire starting skill and leaving their garbage for others to wallow. Not one, but many have scarred the trees and left their trace. One day, this camp may not have any birch trees and the beauty will be nothing more than a memory.

After seeing the unsightly mess, I decided to have dinner. I was excited to try my new backpacking cuisine, chicken with mixed vegetables and couscous. Before heading out, the chicken and vegetables were prepared with the food dehydrator. Per the recipe, the ingredients were combined in a freezer bag. I took the liberty to add extra herbage as I usually do with recipes.

Back at camp, I boiled some water on my alcohol stove. Once the water came to a boil, I poured it over the dehydrated contents, sealed the bag, and let it sit. The aroma almost smelled like a chicken or turkey dinner – flavorful with the smell of sage and thyme. Several minutes past and I opened the bag and dug in. The flavor was so strong, it wasn’t enjoyable. And the chicken, the chicken never reconstituted properly. I decided to continue eating and chewing and chewing. After some time, I started spitting out the rock-like chicken pieces. I didn’t finish the meal; I had enough. Lucky for me, I still have two servings to use!

I engaged in some writing in my field book and then settled into my hammock. I was so cozy in my new sleeping bag. The night was cool, but I was warm and toasty.

In the middle of the night, I woke to sounds of gnawing. It’s always an unsettling sound when you are camping! At first I didn’t know if I was actually hearing it because I was snug in my sleeping bag, drawn in tight. I loosened it to get a better bead on the sound. The gnawing was coming from my pack that was suspended on a tree to subvert such animal behavior. I shined my flashlight in the direction of the sound and saw a mouse on my pack. I created movement and sound and attempted to scare off the intruder. A couple minutes later, he was back. This time, I extracted myself from my sleeping bag and crawled out of my hammock and made my way over to the pest. I shined my light and the mouse crawled down under the pack’s waist straps. I only saw his face and back-end. I flicked his butt with my finger, scolded he took off! I was sure that was the end of his shenanigans. Back into my cocoon. A few minutes later he was back, gnawing on my side pouch where I keep my trail mix. I tried to get to my pack as fast as I could, but he was faster. He leaped into the surrounding vegetation. Stomping my feet, I hissed and cursed in an attempt to finally rid myself of this annoyance. Fortunately, he never returned.

Feeling well rested, I broke camp around ten and continued along Pinchot Trail. Taking it all in, I enjoyed the cool morning air and my sense of belonging. I spied a few Chestnut saplings that I didn’t see before. I was excited to see them and hoped they would one day become a mature tree; I knew otherwise, but hope is still important. A lone lily was found not far from trail-side, yellow-orange.

You can walk a path and never see everything, every opportunity. Walking a path again is like retrospect and enhances your search image for what is ahead. Such is the trail and such is life.

At noon, I turned onto Frank Gantz Trail. This trail wasn’t a part of the itinerary the last time I was on the loop, so I was looking forward to the unknown. The trail bisects the loop that the Pinchot Trail makes and I was eager to see what lurked in the interior.

Not more than 25 yards away, I heard something large rustling through some saplings. I could make out some motion but nothing decisive. A 300 pound plus bear emerged from the saplings and ran through an opening. It all happened so fast; I could not get a picture. By the time I thought about the camera, the bear was long gone.

I arrived back at the trail head at 1:30 that afternoon. The length of the hike seemed just about right, but I didn’t want to go home. I decided to explore some of the dirt roads throughout the State Forest. I enjoyed seeing the trail heads from a different perspective and having a better idea of where I was on the landscape.

Before leaving the northern portion of the State Forest, I decided to check out the Pine Hill Vista. I’m still amazed that after living in northeastern Pennsylvania for thirty some odd years, there are still places to explore that aren’t far from home. A gated road from the parking area leads to a raised observation deck. The view isn’t the most grand in Pennsylvania, but it is, nonetheless, stunning. From what I have read, ranges out to thirty miles can be seen from the deck. The view also provided another perspective of the landscape that I’ve been exploring.