PA Boyd Big Tree Preserve Conservation Area

In keeping with this year's theme of searching for Mid-Atlantic big trees and old growth forest, I ventured north to Blue Mountain to visit a relatively new conservation property for Pennsylvania. The land was donated to the Commonwealth by Alexander Boyd (1925-2013) specifically for the as a sanctuary for mature forest. These woods are thick, almost claustrophobic along some of the 12 miles of trails that follow old logging roads and are generally in excellent shape. I took my just-turned-one black and tan coonhound Amos for his first long hike and settled in to explore the conservation area's old roads and foot paths. When the woods are this thick, its good to have a keen scent hound along to discover what might be hiding in plain sight.

Striped Maple, Acer pensylvanicus

The conservation area straddles the ridge of Blue Mountain. With most of its 1,000 acres encompassing the northern flank of the mountain, a good portion of the property folds over the 1,200' ridge and includes the higher elevations of the mountain's southern flank. Hiking on the Janie Trail, which runs the frost-shattered ridge in a single lane footpath, I was able to note the tree and shrub species that preferred southern exposure to northern exposure. On the south-facing ridge were expansive stands of Paw Paw while on the north-facing ridge Striped Maple dominated.

Blue dot = Boyd Big Tree Preserve that straddles the ridge of Blue Mountain, Ridge and Valley Province.

Blue Mountain is a fascinating geological feature that serves as the front of the Appalachian Mountains  in Pennsylvania. It was a formidable barrier to westward expansion. Today, it's best known northeast of here as Kittatinny Mountain where thousands of people flock in the fall to witness the great raptor migrations at Hawk Mountain. Blue Mountain and Peters Mountain to the north form a wonderful canoe-shaped complex that is part of the biologically rich Ridge and Valley Physiographic Province of the Appalachian Mountains. Created during continental collisions, the Appalachians folded and buckled into very high mountains and deep ravine valleys, thrust-faulting  that stacked the highest peaks at over 20,000 feet. Over millions of years of erosion, the gentle folds and dips of the province can only hint at what a dramatic mountainous landscape this must have been.

Frost-shatter talus slopes, a signature of Pennsylvania ridges.

This preserve is named for philanthropist Alexander Boyd, who, while known for the development of many of the neighborhoods in and around Harrisburg, loved the mountain forests that by mid-century in Pennsylvania were approaching maturity once again thanks to robust conservation policies enacted when he was just a boy.  In 1999 he made the decision to donate his land on Blue Mountain to become a conservation area, adding to a long list of philanthropic endeavors for which he sought neither recognition nor award.

Plant impressions in sandstone - a thorny twig.

Sandstone shards found in the wide paths are darkened with fossil plant impressions. Like a scrapbook of old pictures, the shards contain images of veined leaves, tendrils of vines, twigs and seeds - impressions of an old forest long gone. Amos met an old man out for an early walk. He stopped and smiled. "A fine disposition!" he said as he ran his hands down my pup's flanks. He reminisced about coonhound hunting in these mountains when he was a boy. "My daddy hunted with coonhounds and his daddy before him. Coonhounds were all I knew for hunting companions and the retired ones became treasured family pets."  Coonhounds with their very short fur were the perfect for squeezing through "woods so thick that you could barely see where to set your next step." He described these woods as a second growth in his youth and trees that he remembered as young stands of 'doghair' oak are now thinned by natural process to feature the oldest surviving oaks, gnarled and thick.  Amos loved the attention. I loved the stories.

Chipmunk perched on a sandstone slab with a plant impression.

On the the mountain ridge a single-lane footpath replaced the wide gravel paths on the slopes below. Amos sniffed out a garter snake, a million chipmunks, and turkey that laid low until we were practically on top of her. When she exploded out of the thick understory, Amos and I both almost fell backward. His first-ever turkey, he looked at me as if to say "What on earth was that?!" Then he caught scent of something musky and pulled me along the trail. No doubt lots of animals must use this footpath for their own travels. Once out into the heat and glare of a power line right-of-way, he lost interest in the scent and watched instead a pair of hikers picking their way up the rocky trail towards from the valley below. 

Amos with Peter's Mountain to the north, across the canoe-shaped valley.

The right-of-way carved a broad corridor out the forest from mountain to mountain. I scanned the skies for hawks while Amos investigated butterflies. I busted some sandstone and looked for more plant impressions. Another turkey gobbled in the woods beyond. The armature of the old mountains was plain to see: fold and dip, valley, ridge.

Looking south to the Susquehanna and the SW curve of the Appalachians beyond.

As the hikers continued their steady climb towards us, Amos alerted me to a dog that they had on a long lead. They came closer and the dog got bigger and bigger. An Irish wolfhound, the size of a small horse, peered up at Amos from an outcrop still far below us, but he must have given Amos some sense that he was much bigger and planned to be the one in charge when they met up. I could see his raised hackles from there.  My brave four-footed hiking companion circled around behind me and hid.

Tunnel-like single lane footpath of the Janie Trail.

And then they were gone. The two hikers and the big wolfhound must have branched off to one of the lower trails off the northern flank. Amos looked relieved when I told him "it's okay" and we began our descent. I went slowly, watching the right-of-way for animals and the sky for hawks. Amos tasted flowers and chased a cabbage white butterfly. We never did catch up with those hikers and the wolfhound. We re-entered the forest on an old wagon road and into the shade which made Amos very happy. Being a black hound in bright hot sun has its draw-backs on a hot day. As I took a drink of water from my bottle, he fell over and luxuriated on the cool gravel.  He was immeasurably content to lie there and nap.

Smooth and wide gravel bed of an old road make the way for the East Loop Trail.

The gift of old woods is best appreciated sitting still and listening, looking, and breathing in the sweet forest air. While Amos napped I sat down and listened to warblers and thrushes. A towhee called from the leafy forest floor and an ovenbird hopped on and off the road to catch ants and crawling things in the gravel. In the distance I thought I heard drumming. Could it be a grouse? It was too rapid and low-pitched to be a woodpecker. This are the kind of woods that beg for you to sit and stay a while.

Frost-shatter talus slopes hide springs that erupt from the rock into the path.

Beyond the bird song and leaf rustling of the million chipmunks, I made out, just barely, the sound of running water. We were still high up on the flank of the mountain, nowhere near the creek at the bottom. Then I realized that I was hearing springs running beneath the talus. When Amos decided he'd had enough nap, we continued on the road and found numerous springs erupting from the rocky slope. Some stayed at the surface and ran across the road to continue downhill while others burst out into the sun only to run underground again.

Springs appear then disappear back into the talus.

I am so fresh in soul and spirit

that life bubbles around me

in a thousand springs.

- Robert Schumann, composer

Power-napping on cool stone road.

The bubbling springs, birdsong, woodland insect chorus, and my footsteps on the path, combined with Amos' tingling bell and tags sounded together like a complex piece of music. What better excuse to listen to some Schumann? I found a nice orchestral piece by the composer to play from my phone, quietly, as a backdrop to long walk downhill. I can't imagine he was inspired by anything less than an exuberant early summer day in the forest  when he composed his symphony No. 3 "Rhenish" - complete with gurgling springs. The music seemed to bubble up and erupt just as we happened upon another gusher from the frost shattered stones. Great fun!

Squaw Root was everywhere. 

Enchanted Nightshade? 

The trail headed steadily downhill on the old graded road. Where the springs gathered together, small creeks formed tumbling over rocks through old gullies in the woods. Nearest these above-ground streams were the oldest stands of trees, though not ancient by any means. Century-old stands of oak shaded pools of water where I watched a mink scramble up and down, now-you-see-me-now-you-don't on the hunt for frogs. Double-trunk tulip poplars soared over the wet patches where skunk cabbage was beginning to brown and shrivel. End of spring is here as was the end of the long grade.

A double trunk Tulip Poplar towers over patch of wilting skunk cabbage

To end our hike in Boyd's woods, we found the spring-fed pond near the bottom of the preserve. Here a photographer with a big, long lens was taking pictures of blue gill and frogs. A green heron stalked along on the opposite side.  Down plopped Amos. He lolled about in cool grass as I talked to the photographer. Then he was snoring. Tired puppy after seven mountain miles!

Spring-fed pond.

I sat for another Amos nap until it was time to say goodbye to the photographer, then Amos popped up and we headed down the short trail to the parking area. He slept all the way home, listening to Schumann.

Short-grass prairie experimental area, Peter's Mountain to the north, from the parking area. 

Notes:

DCNR Boyd Big Tree Preserve Conservation Area:  BoydBigTreePreserveConservationArea
There is a fine trail map downloadable from the Hiking section on the website, but I found the kiosk at the parking area well stocked with them.