Ravine Ramble in the River Hills

I've been on a bit of a tear so haven't had the time to enjoy a weekend unplugged, reading, writing, wandering. So this was the weekend I decided to hit the snooze button on my usual early-up-and-at-it Saturday routine. It has been grey and drizzly for a few days, but until this morning I haven't had the luxury of sleeping in. So there I laid under the quilt past 9am. My coonhound  snored peacefully as I drifted off again thinking, "Oh isn't this great!" Then....WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! A woodpecker banged at the window. The dog flew from the bed with a full-throated coonhound bay. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Ravine wall on the Susquehanna.

Bug and I decided to investigate a remote ravine a few miles from home. I parked at the bottom along a dirt road and we climbed an old wagon path high into the V-shaped valley where the spring-fed creek, normally splashing down through an old sluice, was dry. We've had a long stretch of dry weather so this patch of drizzle and light rain has been refreshing for the surface plants and mosses, but its not been enough to recharge the groundwater and deep springs that seep from the ravine walls.

Sluice for a log mill.

We hiked higher and the going got so steep that I was climbing hand-over-hand. Even Bug, usually game for any off-trail challenge, was cautious about our route. The wagon path had become a deer trail leading to the top of the ridge, but what deer these must be to make this ascent!

Indian's Ledge

There is a hidden history to this ravine that I learned from a hiking companion many years ago. Steve is no longer with us, but these hills were his and he knew them like the back of his hand.  Ravines like this number in the many dozens from Conowingo, Maryland, to the great fault bend on the river at Wrightsville and Columbia, Pennsylvania. This unnamed ravine with its drought-prone cascade, was known for making moonshine and hunting deer.  Steve used to hunt up here from a rock platform that juts out from the ravine wall. From "Indian's Ledge" I could see a maze of deer trails below me. Like hunting from a tree stand above the animals, a quiet, camouflaged hunter can watch without being detected. (Moonshiners could also watch for the "regulators.) Steve was convinced that the ledge had served as a hunting platform for hundreds of years as there are ancient carvings incised in the rock.  If you look closely at the flat lichen-covered section on which a hunter might sit or stand, you can still see the faint forms of a stick-figure buck and a bow-legged hunter.

Garter Snake

Bug and I continued to climb along the ravine wall on a very narrow deer trail until we came to the top of the ridge. Back a ways from the spine of rock that narrowed out into space above the river in the distance, we found enough flat ground to walk side-by-side. At a disused campsite, we rested and had a snack of turkey jerky and water just as a very-much-alive gobbler cackled from the woods! Bug wanted to chase that turkey and she pulled hard on her leash to go for a go, but this was no safe ground for an off-leash adventure.

Fire ring and wild turkey haunt.

We continued our exploration by climbing higher on the forested hill when we intersected a trail from the nearby state park that made the job of walking wet woods a little easier. I found one of the springs that empties into the stream. It was dry. Another spring, built over with a dry stack wall, was barely bubbling up. A thin veneer of water slipped down into the ravine. Near here was the cellar hole of a settlers cabin while further on piles of field stone surrounded a patch that had been farmed a several hundred years ago.

Walled spring head.

This must have been difficult land to farm, but the signs of fields and pasture were all around. We heard the turkey again and Bug let out her best cry. Well, that turkey must have flown across the river to be away from her, because it was the last we heard from him for the rest of our hike. I didn't want to risk falling down the steep valley we'd just clambered up so I chose to walk through the park and back to the car via an old road. The road once led to a crossing for a cable-and-pole ferry and is used now to access a few old seasonal cabins. While on the road we passed a dug-out canoe under construction.

Beginnings of a dug-out canoe.

The River Hills district is still home to many families who identify with native groups from long ago. The last tribe to occupy the Lower Susquehanna Valley were the Susquehannock, but this large cultural group was itself a combination of many other tribes, some from the north, others from the east and south. The log dug-out canoe was the primary means for traveling up and down the river before ferry travel made crossings accessible to horses, wagons, and settlers. I've seen a few dug-outs plying the river over the years. Finished, they are sleek and shallow and graceful. Here was one about a third of the way finished, looking chunky and fat, resting on stiles. It was filled with water. I knew that the recent rains couldn't have added this much water to the basin, so I assumed that it has been filled intentionally after a recent burning down. Partially burnt logs at the head of the canoe smelled like smoke.

Burn, flood, scrape, repeat.

The road to the river flattened out as it turned and ran parallel to the shore. The natural shoreline is underwater and a hundred yards further out and down, however, as the lake behind the dam many miles downstream floods the old banks. High water now submerges the old ferry launch, wagon roads, and canoe slips where finished dug-outs were rolled off their stiles and pushed into the river. Steve would often wonder what we could still see if suddenly the dam broke and the waters drained away. Back at the car I looked up into the ravine we had climbed a few hours before and Bug looked at me as if to say "Not again!"

Back to the car.