PA Newlin Grist Mill: Hunting the Wren

“We'll hunt the wren,” says Robin to Bobbin,

“We'll hunt the wren,” says Richard to Robin,

“We'll hunt the wren,” says Jack of the land,

“We'll hunt the wren,” says everyone.

“Where oh where?” says Robin to Bobbin,

“Where oh where?” says Richard to Robin,

“Where oh where?” says Jack of the land,

“Where oh where?” says everyone.

For my first foray after breaking my leg back in October, I chose to visit Newlin Grist Mill in Chester County, PA, about an hour's drive from home. Today is December 26, Wren's Day, The Feast of St. Stephen, so of course I had to find someplace known for both the birds and some Celtic heritage.  It's time to walk some flat trails and Hunt for the Wren.

Just off the famous Baltimore Pike (Route 1) Newlin Mill is easy to find and enjoy.

Wren's Day is one of the many Celtic winter gathering days, celebrated by the Scots, Irish, English, Welsh, and Manx (Norse-English) in various forms that include parades of colorful straw men, evergreen rings, circle dances, wren-poles, and story telling. There a few different stories to explain the legend of Wren and why it is necessary to hunt the King of Birds, but my favorite is the fairy story from Isle of Man (Manx) which is known for the long song "Hunt the Wren" and the famous circle dance.  As I limped on to the old railroad bed - as flat a trail as I could ask for! - I was humming the song on my way to hunt for birds. 

Winter flocks of small birds scattered ahead of me on the old rail bed.

The Newlin family immigrated from Ireland to Penns Woods in 1682 and they would have been very familiar with this very old traditional dance-and-feast day on the day after Christmas.  Who knows, they may have celebrated it through the nine generations of Irish-American millers who ran this grand old mill on the the West Branch of the Chester River. There is plenty of evergreen to gather to make the rings and globes but I chose to investigate under every holly, cedar, and hemlock for an illusive Saw-Whet Owl but no such luck.  Instead, flocks of Chickadees, Titmice, and White-Throated Sparrows moved ahead of me along the old railroad bed scattering into the brush just as I raised my binoculars. Ah, the thrill of the hunt...

A mixture of White-Throated and Song Sparrows stirred up the underbrush.

Tufted Titmouse and his small gang taunted me from across the mill race.

By my first half mile of slow walking I had added several species to my hunting list: an immature Coopers Hawk (no doubt stalking the winter flock I was herding ahead of me), several Turkey Vultures overhead, Blue Jays, Chickadees, Song and White-Throated Sparrows, Kinglet, Sapsucker, Red-Tailed Hawk. But no Wren. I even spotted a Screech Owl in his Sycamore abode. But no Wren. 

Screech Owl sleeping snug in the faint sunshine.

I walked two trails which link the diverse wetlands and creek valley.  Just on these two paths I found spillways, a dam, mill races, mill ponds, and a diversion canal. The Concord Creek dam makes for a nice slow-moving river where I found Canada Geese. The old mill pond behind it is now filled in with sediment and plant material and is quite wide, making for a beautiful marshy wetland where I spotted a Northern Flicker flipping over matted leaves along the edge of an almost frozen puddle. But still no Wren. 

The plain beyond the creek was once a large mill pond.

Starting to feel the pinch of an overused ligament, I decided to turn back and follow the head race trail back to the mill. I tried to hide my slight limp from dog walkers but was walking extra slow just to be cautious. A nice lady asked me if I was okay and I told her I was out of the walking boot and hard cast by only a few weeks and she empathized completely, telling me the story of her one and only mountain bike adventure while on vacation in Wyoming two years ago. Listening to her recount injuries to both legs, surgery, and a year-long recovery reminded me how lucky I was only to break one leg and to be walking in 9 weeks. 

Mill dam just below a diversion canal that moved water into the head race.

Head race leading down to the mill and the return trail, an old road. 

According to the Welsh telling of the legend of Wren, the hunt must have three things: a trick, an absurdity, and a hostility. I was tricked several times into thinking I had finally discovered a Wren in the brush along the head race trail - first a twirling beech leaf then a very busy Song Sparrow who took on the flitting, darting behaviors of Wren. The absurdity came when I got as far as the spillway to the mill and discovered I had to walk backwards and sideways down the steep timber steps to keep from pulling my sore ligament any further. I was wishing for Ibuprofen about then. I wasn't looking forward to what kind of hostility I might encounter as I shuffled across the busy road to the mill. After exploring the old buildings, a beehive oven, and the mill I made my way back to the parking area, a little sad that I hadn't seen a Wren on Wren Day. But then I got yelled at - I mean really yelled at! The hostility!

The King of the Birds!

 

Less than fifty feet from the car, there he was  hollering at me to step aside so he could keep his place on the guardrail. Wren's tail bobbed up and down as he let out a furious rant. I was stuck on a narrow strip of grass between the road on a sharp, blind turn and trying to cross over to the parking area. All that stood between me and my Ibuprofen was Wren.  I gave the King his space as he worked a crack in the wood for insects. A full-bellied Carolina Wren is a happy Wren. The hostility passed and I was able to complete my first mile-long hike since October. Boy, it felt great to walk a trail on this Wren's Day - even if Wren really made me work for the hunt and I won't be able to join in a game of Cammag afterwards. 

Notes:

Newlin Grist Mill has almost eight mills of trails, though I only did one mile using the flat railroad bed and the flat road along the head race. A great variety of habitats for birding! 

http://www.newlingristmill.org/

Isle of Man celebrations on "Wren Day"  https://youtu.be/k8ntUNbPW10

"Hunt the Wren" long song:

Them's the Breaks

Well, here it is. Look away if you must - the result of a trail failure/cliff dive. I walked two miles out and it never hurt. I didn't even think it was broken until the x-ray came back. Surprise! What hurt (and keeps hurting) is the injury to my shoulder when I fell on my crutches and jacked my shoulder up  to my ear. My cast is blue. My mood is blue. This sucks.

So now as I wait on the bones to mend I am looking at the variety of flat-track trails I can walk on until I am able to get back to hiking these Pennsylvania hills. I haven't really given the rail trail network much consideration before but am finding lots of possibilities for winter walking within a hour or two drive of home. Also there are some tempting tow-path trails along old canals that look good, too. I don't know who is more anxious to get back to the trail, me or the two dogs! It's been hard on all of us!

PA Steinman Run Nature Preserve

Steinman Run Trail

It's been a while since I posted. Too busy for what's important, anymore, it seems, but I did get out today after the rain stopped. I needed to clear my head and think through a writing block I've had with a tricky chapter in my manuscript on pilgrimage. I think so much better when I'm hiking and this short two-and-a-half mile double loop trail did the trick.

Steinman Run Nature Preserve is a 350-acre park managed by the Lancaster County Conservancy. For a county that has few large woodlands, Steinman Run is an important woodland site that occupies two distinct areas. The loop trail north of Clearview Road (in the park it's an old woods road) is a former clear-cut area, while the loop trail south of the old road is a more majestic mature forest. The ridges contain outcrops of schist while the valleys contain limestone. It's an interesting mix of habitat, soils, and wood type.

Red Oak stump

From the shady parking area the trail to the right (all blue blazed) leads through a cut-over forest where standing trees are no more than twenty years old. Red oak stumps dot the hillside from the final cut. An old logging road serves as the return trail and ends at the other end of the parking area.

Tulip Poplar showing its age.

The first "big tree" I encountered was at the bottom of the descent from the clear cut woods. It was a grand old Tulip Poplar showing its age with twisted limbs and plenty of limb-drop. I figured it would take about four adults to hold hands at its base for a tree-aging hug but I'm not sure this tree has been surveyed as the PA Big Tree roster has no Liriodendron is currently on the list. Maybe I should suggest this tree to them?

Rock Lichen

Today was the first chilly day of fall, October 13. It's been a long while since we had cool weather. We had so much rain this year. One for the record books. There are springs near where I live that have run full all summer long. Here in the preserve, the trails are oozing with water as the water table is so high. In some places along Steinman's Run, a summer of flash floods has rearranged the trail, blocking it with log jams in some places. Trail crews have been quick to cut the trail open. The smell of sawdust is still fresh.

Leaves are finally beginning to show color and today, it seems, is the first day of leaf fall. The matrix of small streams that runs through and beside the preserve run high and are noisy. Geese have been arriving on the strong north winds. Wood warblers have headed south. The Wood Thrush is gone and so is the Waterthrush. But there are plenty of birds that will stay in this valley and the change in weather today brought them out. Pileated Woodpeckers hammered and laughed and swooped from tree to tree. I was scolded by a Northern Flicker as I stopped to photograph some mushrooms. Blue Jays rummaged through the leaf litter for acorns. No doubt these nut-planting birds have helped re-establish the woods here.

The north loop meets the south loop at Steinman Run below the old Tulip Poplar on the closed section of the old road. I walked up the old road to find the south loop trail, dropped down to the stream, and followed it over log jams and around flooded parts of the trail until it left the valley and climbed through a beautiful mature oak forest. Still, there are plenty of old logging sites to be observed, though most of the stump-sprouted trees are over sixty years old.

Stump sprouts are now mature trees but still circle the original stump of a cut sixty years ago.

I slowed way down through the older woods. The writing problem I've been wrestling with began to unravel bit by bit. I didn't think to bring anything to write on so I talked to myself with hopes that the solutions were being set in my memory. This is how Socrates did it anyway. He walked and thought and talked out loud until his ideas were planted like seeds.

Scoured trail after flash flooding.

Trail almost taken by high water.

The end of the southern loop ended near the culvert of the old road and Steinman's Run and just beyond was the ancient Tulip Poplar. I retraced my steps along the stream up the old road and bypassed the south trail cut-off heading into the eastern half of the northern loop. Up and up the trail climbed through a darkening woods. I almost didn't see the sweet little patch of Grape Fern as I passed over the ridge but the low sun burst through a bank of clouds just in time to illuminate the stalks of golden spore cases in a patch of a dozen plants and I stopped in my tracks to admire them.

Grape Fern, Botrychium dissectum

The trail descends into a rich dark hollow where more Turkey Tail sprouted from downed limbs and strutted its beautiful banded colors on the sun dappled forest floor. The sounds of the forest filled the cool air: crickets, Jays, leaves rattling in the breeze. A hunting dog bayed in the distance and a truck door slammed close enough to where I stood that I knew a bow hunter must be heading to his stand on the edge of the woods. I reminded myself, out loud again, to start packing my hunter's orange beanie and vest. It's fall at long last and it felt really good to hike in the chill of the waning afternoon.

Turkey Tail.

Return trail through old logging area.

Notes:

Steinman Run Nature Preserve is one of many small preserves to explore in Lancaster County. The conservation of woodland is a priority with the Lancaster County Conservancy and this park contains a rich sampling of young trout stream, mature woodlands, and a recovering clear-cut. https://www.lancasterconservancy.org/preserve/steinman-run/

Pilgrimage 2018: St. Cuthbert's Way, Scotland - England

I've been home for a little over a week and I haven't yet really gone through all of my journal, sketches, and photographs to share. But for now, let's just agree that this was a great hike over some challenging hill country with a spectacular finish on the Northumberland Coast. I started in the city of Carlisle in Northwestern England and spent 2 days doing research for my fellowship from the Institute of Pilgrimage Studies. A whole day was at a small country church named for Cuthbert not far from Hardrian's Wall were my son, cousin, and I hiked last year. Cuddy, my carved eider duck, a favorite bird of St. Cuthbert's, was quite popular here and whenever I took him out on this hike. This being a Big Tree themed hike year, I made sure to see as many ancient trees as I could and started with this 2,000 year old yew in the churchyard of St. Cuthberts in Beltingham, one of the "Parishes of the Wall."

Can you find Cuddy?

After Carlisle I took a scenic two hour bus ride to Galleshiels and began my walk on the Border Abbeys Way literally paces from the bus station. I walked through Tweedbank then into Melrose where I found the start of the St. Cuthbert's Way. I visited the ruins of Melrose Abbey where Cuthbert began his life as a monk the I walked up into the Eildrons and visited the first of many Iron Age hill forts I would encounter for the next six days. Nevermind being run into by an old man on senior scooter or being argued with by a staff person at the abbey, the effort it took to climb the first set of hills erased any grumbles I may have had at the start.

Eildon Hills, where Cuthbert worked as a shepherd before entering the monastery at Melrose.

Up and over the Eildons, through a tiny village, along creek then out to the River Tweed and into the beautiful little town of St. Boswells where I stayed two nights. My second day was mostly along the River Tweed and up the Roman road "Dere Street" stopping in Harestanes for lunch and on to Jedburgh for the day's finish. Bus service provided my lift back to the inn at St. Boswell's and forward my third morning to pick up where I left off in Jedburgh at the amazing abbey ruin there.

River Tweed, leaving St. Boswell's with the Eildon Hills beyond.

Cuthbert's Cross is the trail marker symbol. 

Amazingly, I met very few people on the trail though a hard-charging Norweigian pilgrimage group seemed never far from passing me when I was panting and trying to catch my breath! Through tiny villages scattered amongst the foothills of the Cheviots there was stunning scenery every step of the way. My fourth night in the small village of Kirk Yetholm was my last in Scotland before crossing the border into Northeastern England and in Northumberland National Park.

A Norwegian pilgrimage group and I kept leap-frogging each other all the way to Wooler. 

Leaving Scotland, entering England.

The tiny village of Morebattle provided a wonderful pilgrim break at the St. Cuthbert's Cafe before tackling a big rise of hills beyond. More later on all the wonderful people I met like Margaret and Richard as all these folks have a part to play in the fellowship write-up and a book chapter on pilgrimage.  But for now, I'll stick with scenery because it was just stunning all the way to the sea.

The high-rise hill after Morebattle was a breath-taking (literally) climb.

Miles through misty purple heather.

The Cheviot summit in the distance was shrouded in mist as I made my way from Kirk Yedholm in a light rain and over a dizzying array of hills and valleys for a long day onwards to the Border's town of Wooler. I crossed the highpoint and unofficial (and incorrect) halfway point at Wideopen Hill. The solitude was all encompassing and I felt very small in this section. The Norwegians appeared again and I followed them a little ways until I though my lungs would burst. They are fast! I stopped to chat to two wallers repairing a stone fence and learned that both young men were fifth generation wall builders and this is all they do in good months. "There's always wall work," they said, "So as long as we can lift stones we have a job." There's way more to it than that, I said. It really is an art form and from what I could see on their summer job in this section, they were real craftsmen.

Wallers rebuilding a 300 year-old livestock fence.

Wallers help install stone steps for hikers to climb the fences when stiles won't do.

I can see down into Wooler, where I stayed two nights.

Finally, my longest day of nearly 20 miles brought me to Wooler where I stayed two nights and did a day of rest and research with Rev. Brian Cowan and the wonderful church folks of St. Mary's. This was the only place I found pilgrim mass and joined the Norweigians for an early morning service. I had two great pub suppers and lunches at the Angel Inn and the Back Bull and totally enjoyed wandering around this town to find people to talk to. I met two hikers who were doing a weekend section of the trail and who had been to the U.S. many years ago to visit places where John Muir walked in California. They remarked that the U.S. doesn't have a very good public pathway system does it? Nope, I said. (Note to self - The John Muir Way is in Scotland ...) I climbed Tower Hill and saw the troop of hard-charging Norwegians walking out of town. This was the last time I'd see them. The next morning I continued to the final destination and trail's end at Holy Island, Lindisfarne, on the North Sea. But there was still a lot of hiking to go!

I met the striding saint as this fantastic wood carving. Note the otter!

St. Cuthert's Cave where the saint's coffin was hidden and guarded against Vikings by monks from Lindisfarne.

This last day included walking past several WWII "pillbox" bunkers, so I knew the sea was near. I stepped aside for a herd of cattle trot past and talked to an older farmer on his ATV. He had stories of his mother and father who served as aerial observers during the war. "They saw and reported quite a few German squadrons," he said. "From the hill tops with good scopes, they could see warships as well as watch for planes." As I walked past other farmers bringing in huge harvests of hay, I left for good the Border's valley and began the climb up the sandstone ridge to visit St. Cuthbert's Cave and have my first clear view of Holy Island and the North Sea on top.

My first look at the North Sea with Lindisfarne, Holy Island just off the coast.

Before crossing the high speed train tracks, all hikers must get the all clear via phone.

I spent one last night on the mainland before crossing the sand flats at low tide to Holy Island. I was not prepared mentally for the amount of tourist traffic that poured on to the island just as I was arriving to find my quarters at Marygate House. The town is very small and at low tide - during safe crossing times - the population of this tiny fishing village swells to 5,000 and more in summer!  Holy Island has always been a pilgrimage destination, but so few come via the trail I had just completed. Most come by road in cars or buses - by the thousands! Most folks, said Don at Marygate, only stay a few hours to see the abbey ruins, have a pub meal (there are five pubs for a permanent population of 150 people!), stroll out to the cove or climb to the castle. Then they leave. My full day exploring Holy Island was thankfully spent without gads of tourists as I wandered the wild dunes and sea side cliffs.  Of course I had to find the farmers on the island and from a wonderful woman on horseback following sheep, I learned about salt hay and the many hidden fresh water wells - some still in hiding from past invaders like the Vikings and threat of German occupation.

Miles of hiking through the wild dunes and sea cliff area. 

Cuddy reaches the sea - at low tide.

All told, counting my extensive wandering on Holy Island, Lindisfarne, I walked 80 miles with two days rest, one day in Wooler and one day on Holy Island. Throughout the hike I conducted interviews and visited sites important to my fellowship research. This included another two days in Durham where I didn't walk except to get back and forth from my host's home to the Cathedral for more work and meetings. 

Finishing my fellowship at the Shrine of St. Cuthbert in Durham Cathedral was the perfect end to nearly two weeks of walking and research. It was a wonderful walk and without the extra days doing work, a hiker could complete it easily in 5-6 days, or, if one is Norwegian, in four days!  I am really very grateful to the Institute of Pilgrimage Studies at the College of William and Mary in Virginia for this amazing opportunity. There's still more work to be done, more conversations to have, interviews to transcribe, and so many more books and articles to read thanks to the recommendations made by my interviewees. Next year (2019) I'll present my paper at the conference in Williamsburg and hopefully be ready to publish the book!

Notes:

Institute for Pilgrimage Studies https://www.wm.edu/sites/pilgrimage/

The Yew has a long and rich history associated with religious and sacred sites in the U.K.   https://www.nationalchurchestrust.org/explore-churches/ancient-yew-trees

Official website of St. Cuthbert's Way, an amazing week-long walk that left me breathless on several levels. http://www.stcuthbertsway.info/

Pilgrimage 2018: St. Cuthbert's Way with Cuddy the Eider Duck

St. Cuthbert's Prayer by Kate Leiper

My long walk this year begins August 3 in Carlisle, U.K. with a visit to St. Cuthbert's Church near Hadrian's Wall in Beltingham, Northumbria, England. Then on to Melrose, Scotland, to start the pilgrimage path of 70 miles to Lindisfarne on the North Sea Coast and Holy Island. This long walk is sponsored by a generous fellowship from the Institute of Pilgrimage Studies, College of William and Mary, Virginia. This experience is part of my ongoing research into the ecology of pilgrimage, how environment and nature intersect with the spiritual and religious journey of intent. 

A Wild Bird and A Cultured Man, illustration by Maria Sergunia for the forthcoming book by Alexandra Goryashko (2019).

Walking the newly established path of St. Cuthbert's Way will be a chance to explore northern pastoral landscapes, the edges of the wild sea, and to talk to the people who are the stewards and keepers of the sauntering saint's favorite routes that connected Holy Island at Lindisfarne to the Bishop's Abbey at Melrose. I'm taking an eider duck to keep me company. Really, there's an eider in my backpack...

Cuddy, carved by Mike Lathroum, ready to ride in my pack across Scotland!

Now that the English Reformation Era ban on pilgrimage has been lifted (Summer of 2017) it will be interesting to see how this nearly lost art of the sacred saunter will return to the landscape - who will take it up, when, where? Will we see a new body of poetry, art, and literature come of it? I hope to speak to church folks, wardens, and vicars about how they will welcome and support pilgrims who come through their villages and towns. In a conversation via email, a vicar of one of the Parishes of the Wall, wrote "It is high time we walk again with our beloved saints across this land."

Notes:

Kate Leipet is one of my favorite illustrators, a Scot of the North Sea Coast, who explores the stuff of northern legend through our love and longing to connect with birds, sea animals, and the wildlings of Scottish mythology.   http://kateleiper.co.uk/

Excellent blog post by Dmitri Lapa for Orthodox Christianity on the story of Cuthbert,  Holy Island,  and the many places that carry his name. http://orthochristian.com/92028.html

St. Cuthbert's Way website for routes and sections. http://www.stcuthbertsway.info/

Parishes By The Wall is an association of churches near Hadrian's Wall (the path my son George and cousin Molly hiked in 2017) that has been very helpful in prior research to Cuthbert's travels along the Roman and Frontier Borderlands region. I look forward to meeting the church warden at St. Cuthbert's in Beltingham where the saint preached during a rest in his travels returning from from the Synod at Whitby as he made his way along Hadrian's Wall to the North Sea Coast. https://parishesbythewall.org.uk/

With deep gratitude to George Greenia and the Institute of Pilgrimage Studies for making this year's long walk possible! https://www.wm.edu/sites/pilgrimage/

PA Black Moshannon State Park: Wandering

On a recent professional training visit to State College, PA, I took a few hours before heading home to enjoy one of my favorite PA State Parks. Black Moshannon contains over 3,000 acres of Allegheny Front wetlands and forest.  Once the setting for multiple lumber camps, lumber mills, and a thriving 19th century village the main area of the park in the early 1990s had a large hotel-tavern, dry goods stores, post office, a bowling alley (!) and a school.  Now only the school remains while equally historic CCC structures replace the structures of Antes, a ghost town with only an historical marker to remind us of the busy logging town.  

The lower section of Black Moshannon Lake is marshy and fringed with bog habitat.

When the lumber ran out in the early 20th century (of course, no one ever believed that could be possible in the 19th century) the landscape was littered with the remains of forest and subject to frequent wildfires. I've lived in northern Vermont where the forest history is much the same. The devastation of slash fires, too frequent to allow the forest to recover, kept the landscape deprived of its pioneer growth. Erosion scarred the land and silt built up behind old mill dams. What is now Black Moshannon Lake is the silted-in expanse of mill ponds now covered in shallow freshwater marsh.

Button Bush, Cephalanthus occidentalis

During the 1920s, former Chief of the U.S.Forest Service, Governor of Pennsylvania, Gifford Pinchot tried out a new idea on this and dozens of other deeply damaged landscapes across the Commonwealth.  He and fellow Governor of New York, Franklin D. Roosevelt, had devised a work-to-restore program that in both states served as the model for the Civilian Conservation Corps.

Present camp store was built by CCC and used as a park residence. Built to last!

When FDR became President, he made the CCC one of the premier New Deal programs that brought employment and much needed recovery to both people and the land. Black Moshannon though, was already under restoration thanks to 200 men encamped at the former Beaver Mill lumber logging camp site.  As one of the first official CCC demonstration projects in Pennsylvania those boys had a bit of a head start first fighting fires then replanting the forest. They went on to build park structures and develop the trail system.

A juvenile Eastern Phoebe hanging out in the shade of hemlocks.

I had no destination in mind as I wandered around the park, sampling this trail then another, in all about five miles. I walked a few miles on the Mosse-Hanne Trail, did the Bog Trail coming and going, then did the 1 mile loop on the Sleepy Hollow Trail. I made a mental note that the Allegheny Front Trail, a 40-mile circuit around the park through the state forest might make a great off-season multi-day hike. I checked out the cabins, available year-round for rent. Oy - I need to come back!

A bouquet of carnivorous plants - Pitcher Plant.

The Bog Trail boardwalk was a nice but short excursion into the acid tannin water bog of a side cove and there I observed pitcher plants, lots of flycatchers (Wood Peewee, Phoebe, Kingbird, Great Crested) all diving and zooming around catching winged things.  Hidden from view but startling me on the way out was a Great Blue Heron hunting just beyond the cattails. He didn't go far, however, and stalked along parallel to the boardwalk making short work of fish who thought they were safe beneath the lily pad cover.

Wood Peewee.

Returning to the forest, I wandered down a trail with old plantation pine to one side and thick maple/beech/hemlock woods on the other side. Red-eyed Vireos followed me along above in the maple canopy while Chickadees followed me through the pine woods. My escort kept up until I came to the trail intersection with the Allegheny Front trail when - tempted as I was to go farther - I turned around to head back the way I came. I noticed all the mossy stumps of harvested trees scattered throughout the older forest.

Skid team at Star Mills. 

Lumber camp near Beaver Mill, later the site of a  CCC camp. 

Pine plantation.

I walked a shady lane lined with old cabins and cottages, a car pulled up and a nice lady asked if I was there to lead a group of kids from a summer camp. Now, I had had an experience with another nice lady in State College who, just hours before who - for the life of her - could not figure out my front registration plate as the Scottish national flag. She kept insisting it was a southern confederate flag - a symbol of racism. The nice lady at the park was insistent too, so naturally I was a little leery.  "Certainly you are our tour guide! You are!" I quickened my pace and she rolled along in her car behind me. "Where should we meet you?" Seeing another trail ahead, I politely explained I was there for a few hours hike and that I was sure a park ranger or naturalist would be by soon. She looked defeated. I ran for the trail head. A park ranger did drive up and a busload of LOUD kids invaded the bog trail. No wonder the nice lady was so insistent!

Woods minus the gypsy moth oaks. 

As I fled the scene, I entered another landscape transformed - Sleepy Hollow Trail - where once giant white oaks towered the valley. What was missing, however, were the oaks. The gypsy moth infestation of the mid-century had resulted in a massive salvage harvest of dead oaks in the 1990s.  A new forest of spindly maple and stick-wide hickory is taking their place.  A very nice ranger supervising a trail crew spent some time explaining to me how the loss of the white oak forest has taught him to see the woods in new ways, but he was worried. "The combination of losing our oaks, increasing summer temperatures, intermittent drought, and a longer growing season means we really don't know how to plan for new pests and invasions. If the gypsy moth taught us anything it was to ready for surprises." A few old oaks and giant pines persisted along this trail, however, and they sheltered tiny ecosystems in their root pools, stem hollows, and canopies. 

Mayflower and Partridge Berry in a pine stem hollow.

White oak offering space for a small fern and a carpet of moss. 

Back to my wandering, I tried to focus on the quality of the forest floor. Indian Pipes grew in clumps among the singular leaves of Mayflower and Partridge Berry.  A wounded but open and healing forest enclosed the trail but there was such vibrancy of birdsong and the mosaic of color in the leaf litter,  that when I happened upon a singing brook I looked up and saw such a beautiful glade of young hemlock that it almost took my breath away. The glade and the little brook seemed to hold each other in dappled sunlight, deep shade within a sun-filled forest of new growth.

Indian Pipe.

How can you not think of Gibran?

Think not you can direct the course of love, for love, 

if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart 

and a song of praise upon your lips.

- Kahlil Gibran, from The Prophet (1923)

Black Cohosh, Actaea racemosa.

Kahil Gibran, 20th century Lebanese poet, came to mind as I sat on the shady bank of the small brook. The little stream had a song of its own that I hadn't been aware of while hiking down the path through the cut-over woods. Listening closely, I could make out verses and refrains, music of  water over root and rock so sweet that Gibran's poem came to mind of  "a brook singing its melody to the night."

White Oak stump crowned with moss.

I left the beautiful little glade and passed a final White Oak stump along the trail, crowned in moss like a bird's nest in which acorn caps were nestled along with the brown, thin leaves of black cherry. I stopped by the CCC-era camp store, once a residence and general store. The very sweet staff person at the counter shared her knowledge of the history of the place. She cooked a few hot dogs, one for me and one for herself. I love log cabins from that era, built tight, bright white chinking contrasting with dark stained logs. Just outside was the old school, its bell on a stand in front.  I walked back to the Bog Trail where I had parked along the road lined with tidy cottages.

Bullhead Lily, Nuphar variegatum.

Fragrant Water-Lily, Nymphaea odorata.

Rounding a bend in the road, Black Moshannon Lake came into view spanning the horizon from near to far, blanketed with pond lily and cattail. What great bass habitat - but not so much for fishermen who often grumble at having their lures tangle in the tangle of stems and roots below the surface. There were quite a few Great Blue Herons hunting! Mallards and Canada Geese paddled purposefully through the carpet of round leaves and blossoms, pulling up juicy bits and pieces of stringy roots. Among the white blossoms that were fully opened a riot of bees and flies hummed busily. 

Pond lilies as far as the eye can see!

Yellowneck Caterpillars snacking on blueberry leaves.  

Meadowsweet.

Counted 12 Great Blue Herons for the day, many of them juveniles.

Wandering back to the parking area via the Bog Boardwalk one more time (I walked it three times as I love bogs so much) I met a young herpetologist and his dad enjoying the bog together. He had just seen and photographed a  Smooth Green Snake - a lifer! Hurray! So many Great Blue Herons along the way and a beggar of a Red Squirrel who was convinced I was about to share my trail mix with her. When I didn't I got scolded for being a rude human.

Red Squirrel

Not a very high mileage day, maybe four miles. But I do plan to go back with more than a few hours to spend in this magnificent area. The Allegheny Front highlands area has so much to explore, not to mention several multi-day backpacking trails and the large state forest that surrounds the park. Pennsylvania has a few ghost towns and Antes is one of a dozen lumber town sites marked. The park office has many historic photographs inside - worth a stop in to take a look.


Notes:

Field Guide to PA Pond Plants http://wcdpa.com/wp-content/uploads/Pond-Field-Guide1.pdf

Black Moshannon DCNR
 https://www.dcnr.pa.gov/StateParks/FindAPark/BlackMoshannonStatePark/Pages/default.aspx