PA Susquehanna and Tidewater Canal: Lock 13

 

Ice begins to form on the Lower Susquehanna

Rambling down the Mason Dixon Trail, following the blue blazes south from the well preserved Lock 12 along the old Susquehanna and Tidewater Canal, Lock 13 is ready for another exploration. With the leaves down and the woods bare and open all around, the huge walls and 170' foot-long lock are easy to spot. The river has not been kind to these ruins which even if they were protected by any park regulations or historical society (they are not) it will, flood by flood, pull it all down. 

Beam slots that held vertical timbers

Tree growth dismantles the integrity of the heavy stacked stones, their roots and massive trunks leaning into and prying apart the work of hundreds of immigrant stonecutters and builders. Freeze and thaw accelerates the work of tree roots while the downslope creep of steep river hills soils move the walls incrementally towards the river. 

Exploring the bottom of the lock.

The most recent round of spray paint vandalism, courtesy of  "Randi John Jesse Mason 2022," left me pitying those who do not have the decency to respect the beauty and history here. They've left their names (as well as numerous insults) for nearly a mile along the trail. Covered in bright neon green and hot pink is the sturdy bench built by a volunteer trail maintainer. The massive tollhouse bridge abutment is tagged in bright yellow. An archeological site nearby is overspread with their names and total disrespect. It sickens me every time and the graffiti problem especially since the Covid years has only gotten worse.

Lock post timber from the 1840s still stand

A natural prop to hold a leaning wall

Tree buckling a towpath wall

Massive abutment of a former bridge over the towpath and canal

Wandering in and around these old canal ruins makes me appreciate the changes that the seasons bring. In late fall and early winter I can finally see into the woods enough to discover the old cellar holes, springheads, mill races, and canal ditches. Even an old tavern foundation is easy to find and I think about the canal boat crews and company men enjoying a hot meal and drink here. This time of year, as we approach Winter Solstice, is particularly meaningful. It signifies our need to be reminded that nature is in a constant state of change and that no matter how epic or lasting the works of man seem to be initially, how durable and well-built they seem at the time, nature will reclaim it and return all of it to herself. 

Drill (star-bit hand hammered) holes for blasting

To me these places are not full of ghosts or wistful remembrances of the past but are visible and tactile proof that there is always something new and unproven yet to come. Nothing lasts but what is constant is change. Even the hardest rock like the great outcrops of metamorphic gneiss (which was once ancient sea bottom) is wearing away grain by grain to be carried to the sea by the Susquehanna. This time of year reminds me most of how transient everything is. 

Rock shelter defaced by Randi, Mason, Jesse, and John.

This place is full of natural symbols that carry down from the time people made stone tools here, when the melting glaciers  had long before finished scouring the river bed with its silty milk-water. Fire - built by people in the lee of the rock shelter for warmth, cooking, and storytelling. Water - full of fish to sustain them. Earth - the fertile river silts that made for excellent farming. Wind - that carried the songs of migrating swans, geese, ducks, and shorebirds as they returned for the winter from the north.  For those who still celebrate these things at Winter Solstice, these symbols are still important in recognizing the turn of seasons. 

In case you need their names...

Ice is forming on the river, another sign and symbol of the change of seasons. Ice has shaped these river islands. It has scoured and pruned the forests that attempt to grow out here. Not a single tree close to the river can be found without ice wounds, scars, and gouges. The great ice floes of the 1870s destroyed so much of the Susquehanna and Tidewater Canal that it remained in a constant state of rebuilding until canals were replaced by the railroads, thus ending the age of canal technology for transportation and trade. By 1904, the last standing vestiges of the canal days were ripped away by an historic ice flow and flood. The flow took out entire villages and towns, carried off and crushed the taverns, lockhouses, hotels, collapsed lock walls, drowned the towpath. 

Ancient metaschists and gneiss conglomerates - very old stuff!

On the way back I wander off trail to investigate what remains of the canal below Lock 13 and it a vast plain of destroyed canal wall, something almost glorious to see how the river has reclaimed this spot of human ingenuity.  I try to balance on the tipsy slabs of rock that splay out like giant scales of some mythical creature and Amos, who is four-footed and much more sure-footed, seems amused at my drunken walk. But hey, isn't a difficult path now and then important for a full life? 

Appalachian Rockcap Fern, Polypodium appalachianum

I pulled a garbage bag out of my backpack and picked up all the trash I could reach as I returned through Lock 13. A few shards of liquor bottles (rum). Three plastic soda bottles. Several assorted wrappers. Cigarette butts. A spent spray paint can.  A pair of muddy jeans (heavy!) and a single sock. A lighter. An empty pack of L&M cigarettes. These few things were recently thrown down here so it looks a lot better but I can't reach a bright blue plastic bag which bothers me. Trash attracts trash, I reason, so someone will see that there and figure "what the heck, it's already trashed' and add the next round of refuse to the lock.  

Timeless landscape - Bear Islands, Lower Susquehanna River

Before I left the site, I sat on the high wall of the lock and pulled out my little notebook. I add a winged poem (a poem written on the move) on how much I love this place for reminding me that nothing stays the same, everything changes, and everything has the promise to be be something completely unimaginable from its past. On the high modern Norman Wood Bbridge nearby, the roar of a logging truck crossing over is countered by the slow clip-clop of horses pulling an Amish buggy over one of the oldest rivers in the nation. 

Ice Floe and Flood of 1904 wiped the S&T Canal off the map for good. (Safe Harbor)

Notes:

The authority on the Pennsylvania Canal Era, W.H. Shank still has the most useful guide to all the canals (there were a lot!) that were built in PA. Amazing Pennsylvania Canals (1997) can be found on Amazon, a must have for environmental historians who hike around looking for old locks, taverns, lockhouses, and canal ditches. There are quite a few of us in PA, actually. I am not alone in this quirky quest. 

PA Mason Dixon Trail - Map 2: Codorus Furnace to Gifford Pinchott State Park

Map 2/ Mason Dixon Trail: Codorus Furnace to Pinchot State Park, 20 miles

Kim and I have been putting this section off for a year and a half. We're almost finished section hiking the MDT, a 200-mile-long trail that runs from one end at the Appalachian Trail in Whiskey Springs, PA to Chadds Ford, PA. We started in Chadds Ford and have been making our way west for two-and-a-half years with pretty regular hikes until we got to Map 2. The idea of twenty miles of road walking was not very exciting. During our great delay we did other weekend hikes, celebrated First Day hikes twice, led a Camino group hike, took the kayaks out, all the while not saying out loud to each other, "I'm not excited about 20 miles of road walking. You?"

Codorus Creek

So here we were, parked at the historic Codorus Furnace on Codorus Creek, early on Saturday morning. No matter how many times I looked at the map, the little red trail line overlaid the thick black road lines without exception. No dirt paths. No river walks. We left my car in a wooded lot at Pinchot State Park a half hour before, so we knew there was only one way to retrieve it. Start walking.

I-Beam Trail Blaze, courtesy C.C. Beth at Steelton, PS

Most of the roads were quiet and had little traffic to dodge, but some were dangerous with no shoulder and heavy traffic. All in all, we're glad we did it in one big day hike - even though we made it to my car in the dark. There is an ecology to roads that combines the human endeavor of planning and building transportation routes (and the vehicle technology that use them) and the vegetative corridors, risks to wildlife, and pedestrian traffic. It's a strange ecosystem of man-made and adaptive nature that keeps the hiker on their toes. We jumped off the road several times to avoid being smacked by rear view mirrors, being flattened by enormous dump trucks, and cars going way to fast. I think I did as much side-stepping and forward walking.

Injured Black Vulture juvenile.

We met a juvenile black vulture on the side of the road and it broke my heart to have to leave the poor thing stuck there with a broken wing. The road kill draws scavengers and young vultures haven't figured out how to dodge oncoming cars. Just a short way up  the road we were sprayed with gravel and dirt as a car intentionally roared at us, spinning wheels into the soft shoulder as it passed us.

Goodbye, Susquehanna! Looking south, its waters bound for the Chesapeake Bay.

Last long look at our iconic river. Looking north towards York Haven.

We said goodbye to the Susquehanna River that has been a beautiful companion since Havre de Grace, Maryland, seventy miles back. Now the trail headed inland and upland to the northwest into the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.  We met a giant snapping turtle at the Wago Club. It was awesome.

This giant snapper has all the awesomesauce.

Road ecology is really a thing in ecological sciences. It started with Lady Bird Johnson, First Lady to Lyndon Johnson, who envisioned a better way to manage roadsides. Because of her wildflower planting initiatives and beautification projects we became more aware of how our roadsides look and function as habitat, minus ugly signs and trashy edges. York County townships do a nice job of keeping their roadsides trash free and a little on the wild side. Except for the LOUD overpass and off/on ramp fast food signage at the intersection with I-83, the entire twenty-mile section was free from billboards. 

A pretty stretch of creek-side road, virtually trash free and pleasantly wild.

But the same couldn't be said for some stretches of road-trail that passed through some interesting rural neighborhoods. We tried to admire the junk-filled yards, collapsing houses, confederate-flags-over-trailer homes, and various vehicles in the woods. We saw cabin cruisers permanently docked in the forest, Winnebago campers lurking in giant stands of dark bamboo, lawn ornaments from the 1960s arranged between sheds and shacks, and many campaign signs that haven't been taken down since the election. The folks in these parts wanted to make sure passers-by know for a fact that their candidate won. Lest we forget for a minute.

A junky stretch of roadside that would drive Lady Bird Johnson crazy were she here to see it. Photo by Kim.

Thankfully much of the MDT along roads was lightly traveled and very pretty in fall colors.

It's interesting to note that in Pennsylvania, road walking is almost as popular as trail walking. I see dozens of people every week strolling country roads, risking life and limb. I've got several routes I like to walk from my home but I always pick low-traffic times and wear obnoxious colors. Kim and I tried to walk side-by-side but traffic necessitated single-file or jumping off into the brush. In some sections we were walking through suburban neighborhoods with sidewalks but still I observed people walked in the road. So I didn't last long on sidewalks. Especially with lawnmowers spewing dust and cut grass into our path. Let the allergies commence.

I-83 is known for its deer collisions, bawdy billboards, and truck traffic. It is LOUD.

The steady up and down progress as we began the climb into the Appalachian foothills offered a few change-ups from pavement. A single gravel road. A few pretty creeks with dramatic drops and gradients. During the early years of our nation, this was mill country. We saw a few foundations of old grist mills and mill dams. Immigrants flocked to York County during the early 1800s to find work in the mills down on the river and in the uplands. We walked through Manchester Town (Borough) , named for Manchester, England, where many immigrant mill workers came from. We walked past several home conversions for many of the red brick one-room school houses. 

An old mill road.

Little rural enclaves of small homes and rustic properties minded the roads through Andersontown, and folks waved and smiled. We walked past an a chainsaw artist's house with his finest work on display in the yard. His work made the Wago snapping turtle look almost amateurish. This guy loved solar panels, too. Yay, chainsaw artist! We passed horses grazing in small pastures and stepped aside to let riders and horses have the skinny shoulder. The sun was sinking low as we passed the Mountain Grove Chapel where we heard a choir member inside tuning up for evening service.

This guy's yard was amazing.

Fresh paint. Photo by Kim.

With just a few miles to go the sun slipped behind our first big hill and we walked in twilight up from our crossing Beaver Creek. The woods were getting active with deer and Kim was lucky to catch one with her camera crossing the road between us. I was actually beginning to worry a little about hunters and wished I had worn my blaze orange baseball cap - but I did have on my obnoxious yellow-green marathon shirt on. Kim was decked out in orange everything. 

This is when I started thinking about blaze orange at sunset. Photo by Kim.

By the time we got to the state park it was too dark to follow the tiny bit of unpaved trail to my car. So we skirted the curvy mountain road to the parking lot for about a half mile, sticking tight to the guard rails and shoulderless edge. There were hunters coming out of the woods, gathering around their trucks in the lot near my car and it helped to have their headlights blazing to light up the parking area. We had completed our twenty-mile trek entirely along roads and were glad to be done with it! We were both sore and stiff, but no worse for wear. Our next section is through Gifford Pinchot State Park and a section of PA Game Lands, back on dirt trail, heading steadily northwest towards our end at the Appalachian Trail. Next time I have to remember to be as orange as Kim.

Last picture before there was no more light.

Reminder to self: Dress like Kim for next section hike.

PA Mason Dixon Trail -Map 3: Codorus Furnace to Highpoint Overlook

Saturday February 27, 2016: York County, PA, 13 miles 

Today Kim and I switched our direction north to south, starting this section at Codorus Furnace in Hellam Township and walking south along the river to the summit at Highpoint Overlook just south of Wrightsville, a very pretty river town. Besides being an absolutely perfect day for a long hike, it was important section for me as I was carrying a full pack using the Gregory 38L Savant I plan to use on my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage in May and June. 

The oldest iron furnace in York County. 

We started our section hike at Codorus Furnace in Hellam Township. The oldest surviving pre-Revolutionary iron furnace in the York County, it was built in the 1740s as a pig-iron production furnace but when war between England and America broke out it quickly transitioned to producing cannon balls and shot. This is the western reach of the Iron Hills region of South Central Pennsylvania where during the Revolution every furnace (and there were hundreds!) were put into service to supply Washington's Army with munitions. It also produced cannon shot for the artillery during the War of 1812. Like most of these hill-built furnaces, it was retired in the mid-1800s replaced by new technologies.  I love the furnace history of this region and were it not for having to start our hike, I would have liked to explored this old site for more of the ruins and remains that were scattered through the forest.

Codorus Creek on our left was flowing fast and rapid filled with snow melt and recent heavy rains.

I had forgotten the map, stuffing it into the wrong pack the day before, so we were totally dependent upon the blue blazes. We found the trail to be well marked and easy to follow the whole way to Highpoint. It was icy in many places as bluffs and hills blocked the afternoon sun, and snow still laid in shady places, leftover from the record-breaking 30 inches we received a few weeks ago.

A single narrow road between the bluffs and the river made for a beautiful stretch.

This is river hill country and we huffed and puffed up several steep switchback slopes, but the trail mostly followed old woods roads when traveling through valleys or along ridges. Down along the river we followed the blue blazes through pretty cabin and cottage communities. The river was high - in watch stage - as snow melt and run off from recent heavy rains raised ever stream, creek, and tributary river along the lower section. 

Flooded river woods.

As we walked I thought about the idea of hiking through landscapes as a way to interpret the rich ecology and social histories that they hold. I do a lot of research at my computer, in libraries and archives, and poring through books and journals, but there is nothing that compares to investigating a landscape history by walking through it. With the river nearly touching our path, the sound of dozens of waterfalls and fast creeks tumbling off the bluffs, and surrounded by historic sites, it was clear that this section was all about hydrology, industry, and human ingenuity. 

A memorial deep in the woods.

We passed a simple memorial to some unknown soul and I thought about how dangerous work had been in harnessing the river with dams, building canals, operating cable ferries, log drives and logging, the furnace industry, and quarrying, Because of the danger of furnace work, working the colliers' charcoal pits, hoisting and setting huge blocks of stone in canal walls, an early piece of Pennsylvania legislation made it illegal to site a public house or tavern within two miles of a work site. Drinking on the job or showing up to work drunk was not tolerated. The work is still dangerous and given the place where we found the newer memorial deep in the woods, I wondered if a logger or tree cutter had recently met his end here. It was a sobering sight, so remote, but clearly cared for and maintained.

A mailbox garden begins to bloom.

Down along the river the woods paths gave way to a single paved track that traced the contour of a higher shelf of the old river bed. Here were a line of perfect cabins and cottages, some quite old and made of quarried stone, some of log, others more recently built. We chatted with folks clearing flood debris from the lower reaches of their properties and said our hellos to some folks still shoveling snow, chatting with neighbors, walking dogs. This stretch of river front community was hemmed in with a high bluff to the west. Here the Susquehanna carved its way down, down, down, through the hills and mountains rising all around as the Appalachians were being folded and lifted. The rate of downcutting was faster that the rate of uplift, so the river made its way through the young mountain range mostly by following the path of faults and fractures. The ninety degree bend at Chickies Rock is evidence of one such fault that captured and redirected the  mighty Susquehanna. 

Not much room on this shelf of old flood plain to site a cabin or cottage with the bluff directly above us.

Chickies Rock  marks a ninety degree bend where a fault line redirected the river.

As we walked I kept fooling with the strap adjustments on my new pack. I'd loaded 20lbs for the hike, probably a little more than I want on the Camino, but any back pain, knee or hip strain was quickly addressed by shifting weight from shoulders to hips with adjustments. I actually forgot I even had the pack on, even on the steep uphills, so I figure it will serve me well across Spain and several of the mountain ranges I will cross on my way to the Atlantic from France. 

Lime kilns at Wrightsville.

John Wright's Foundry and the 'new' bridge that replaced the wooden structure burned during the Civil War.

June 1863, Wrightsville Union Militia skirmished with Confederates then burned the bridge to prevent their crossing.

The single paved lane payed out as we approached the little river town of Wrightsville. John Wright's Foundry is still standing and beyond it is modern foundry and forge. The bridge connecting Wrightsville to Columbia delivers walkers, cyclists, and vehicle traffic to he center of town. An impressive bank of lime kilns funneled us on to the main street. We passed friendly folks on the porches of their small worker's row homes typical of the mid-1800s for industrial villages. But this is an important town for environmental historians so if you have the time to linger and look, there's much to learn about how the river, the hills, bridges, ferries, forests, and farms shaped the look and function of the town itself. Historical markers and signs are everywhere. I made a mental note to come back and just wander around. 

Leaving town and back to the river hills.

Once through Wrightsville we continued south along the river to the point where the trail left the road for good. Up and up we climbed into the river hills once again with the Susquehanna loud and fast below us. Rafts of debris were washing down, huge logs bobbed along, and anything floating seemed to have a crew of ring-billed gulls happily riding along. This would have been log drive season when men rode the rafts of logs downstream to mills further south. It was fun to imagine the gulls directing their logs to some distant island downriver. 

One last crossing, grateful for waterproof boots, following the blue blazes.

Coming through the culvert. Photo by Kim. 

Climbing to the summit of Highpoint Overlook. Photo by Kim. 

One more set of switchbacks and we were on our way to the summit at Highpoint. Lots of ups on this section hike but also plenty of brilliant early spring light to make the effort beautiful. Kim and I agreed that this had been one of the more beautiful sections we've hiked so far.

At the summit looking across the Susquehanna into Lancaster County. Photo by Kim.

Notes:  

Wrightsville's Bridge Burning was an important turn of events during the Civil War. 

http://warfarehistorynetwork.com/daily/civil-war/an-occurrence-at-wrightsville-bridge/

PA Mason Dixon Trail - Map 4: Apollo Park to Kline's Run Park with Bad Language

Saturday May 30, 2015: Boyd's Run Lot (Apollo County Park) to Kline's Park, Long Level, PA
10 miles had we stayed on trail/ 9 miles because we didn't. [140/200]

If you have no doubt that we are anything other than intrepid, serious hikers, then continue reading. If you have a problem with inferences of  foul language and real pain then avert your eyes and look elsewhere for pleasantries on the Mason Dixon Trail.

Wilson's Run. Cuff's Run. Fishing Creek. We knew going in we'd have three steep descents and three equally steep ascents in order to cross three ravine then traverse three high sections of bluff and cliff edge. We knew we had ten miles to cover. Not a bad day, since we've already had several days of 12 - 13 miles. But by the time we limped to the car at Kline's Run Park at the northern edge of Long Level almost ten hours later, we thought back to the fit man who met us that morning. "He was an omen," I moaned to my hiking partner Kim.

Ugh.

The descent into Wilson's Run was just a warm-up, literally. The famously hated Pennsylvania humidity had returned. Carefully picking our way through a boulder field of frost heaved rock the size of small cars, crossing the stream, and climbing steeply up to the river bluff high above was slow going. We met a woman at the stream crossing, in her mid-50s, who was literally jogging along the jagged path. She was an ultra-trail racer. She happily told us about the 100k race that starts in Havre de Grace, MD, and ends at Shanks Mare at Long Level, PA, and takes 24 hours to run (in August - are they nuts?!). She happily told us about the MDT meeting she was scheduled to attend at the Safe Harbor hut building site - five miles to the south. She happily told us about how we should join an ultra race! She was so very nice. But I hated her the minute we said our goodbyes and she happily continued bouncing along her way up the steep switchbacks. Mile 1.

Trying not to fall down 100' to the river below.

Along the first bluff edge we could see the river far below through thick forest canopy. It was beautiful but hard to admire. It was tricky to keep an eye on the rough and pitched footing with every step and not go careening down the cliff.  A young man came trudging along, in his mid-20s, he seemed grateful to have an excuse to stop and chat. "I'm doing this section everyday to get in shape," he said , "I'm carrying 20 pounds of water. But - shit - this is too hard when its humid like this. I'm calling it early." I started to get a little nervous. We came across a nice place to take our first break and grab a snack. A nesting pair of eagles chatted above us from a nearby nest. I wished I had wings to fly back to the car and sit in the AC. I wished for winter...

Cuff's Run.

As I've mentioned in this blog before, the Susquehanna River Hills are known for their steep creek ravines that carry water down from the Piedmont Plateau above, dropping a hundred of feet of grade to the river below. Nowhere along the MDT so far have the ravines been as steep as on this section.The next descent into Cuff's Run was a tortuous knee buster. By the time I got to the bottom my legs were shaking and my head was pounding. I took a full head and shoulders bath in the cold water and awaited Kim, who was being very cautious with her down-steps so as not to aggravate an old ligament injury. "Obnoxious," she said, over and over again. Three miles out of ten so far and it had taken us five solid hours. Mile 3. But there were butterflies...

Spring azures and Tiger swallowtails muddling for minerals Pic by Kim.

The second bluff section was straight across a sharply defined bow of cliff high above the water. I was hanging on to trees to stay centered on the trail. I said "F--K!" a lot. No, really, a lot. I had reached my F-point. My half gallon of water was running low and I began to ration. The sounds of people boating and swimming below put me in a foul mood. "Oh shut up!" I cursed as I wedged myself between two towers of stone. Another hour passed. Then another. I lost count. I started playing music in my head again. "Music for a Darkened Theater" from the soundtrack of Edward Scissorhands. Go figure. I tried to tell myself a joke. I forgot what the punch line was...

Any tree to lean on, grab hold on to, or hug was welcomed. Pic by Kim.

Four teenagers came frolicking up and over giant blocks of stone stacked like books on their sides. "Hello!" they called as they bobbled happily by. I hated them too. "Where are you headed?" ask Kim. One of the pink sneaker clad teens chirped happily back "To the top!" The other  pink tank top clad girl stopped huffing in her tracks and stared at us. Two old women with backpacks and hiking poles. No pink to be seen. Maybe some blood, though. "Wait," she said, "How do we get down from here?"  One of the two boys cheerfully proclaimed "Easy! The way we came up!"  Kim, having reached her F-point some time ago, said not so happily, "Good luck with that!"  The foursome looked somewhat somber and skittered away. "Did you hear what that lady said?" But the good news was that somewhere nearby was a parking area where these kids must have started from not to long ago. "Stop being so bubbly," I muttered. A six foot blacksnake slithered over the cliff...

Stone steps like books on end. Pic by Kim/

Mile five at the height of land overlooked the river and we found a tree stump to sit on. Seven hours.  By this time we were F-bombing every ankle twisting step and trying not to just sit down and cry. So we just sat. I did, at one point however, sit right in the trail against a tree and begged Kim to go ahead while I stewed in my own sweat. Nursing an almost empty half gallon water bottle I fought back the pounding headache that comes with too much heat. I talked myself out of throwing up a few times. But soon we were down into another creek ravine where people were hurling themselves off a cliff...

Cliff climbing box turtle relocated down slope towards Cuff's Run. Pic by Kim.

We should have taken a clue as to what we were up against when as we were strapping on our packs at the Boyd's Road parking area in Apollo County Park, that fit man in his early 50s, came cruising into the gravel lot from the trail we were about to climb. His face was pained and red. We asked where he'd started. "I started at High Point and had this bizarre vision that I'd make it to Otter Creek Campground today. I just called my wife to come pick me up. I cant go another quarter mile. This section kicked my butt!"  He muttered something about rocks.  Climbing and crawling through and around and over and between lots of rocks. He collapsed on the side of the lot to await his wife. "Maybe I can get a nap in before she gets here." That was eight hours ago. I stopped to think about him coming this way hours earlier.

Through a slot to a steep descent (again) to Fishing Creek. Pic by Kim.

Finally we stepped off the mountain and on to an old road. Fishing Creek ran deep and cold next to the road. We met a cabin dweller who was wiring shut a gate that the four bubbly teens had opened to access a short cut to the ridge climb through his property. It was hung in three or four places with No Trespassing signs. He overcame his anger to chat with us a few minutes, then we hobbled on towards the ice cream shop in Long Level another mile further. And of course it was closed. Closed!

At five o'clock on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the riverside park crowded with picnics and kids and what we most desired that very minute was Closed!

A kind outfitter pulled in to park his trip trailer and offered us a few bottles of water. We decided not to delay or lengthen our walk any further and started out on the road straight for Kline's Park, rather than returning to the twisty up and down trail behind the outfitters. I walked at a fast pace, swerving off the narrow shoulder for wide boat trailers and wincing as loud motorcycles yowled by. The sun was setting. Mile 9.

I almost cried when we saw this. Good food, friendly service, and ice cream to go with lo mein.

We made our escape up out of the river valley, AC roaring. We were disappointed, muttering unsavory things in our exhaustion. Approaching a little crossroads we almost missed a new place to eat! We cheered! I backed up in the travel lane and drifted down into the parking lot.  A Chinese/Asian food eatery with a Hershey's ice cream shop and Hawaiian shaved ice. Oh delish! Saved! With our meals of Lo Mein, General Tso's chicken with pork fried rice, egg roll, milkshake, Coke, and ice cream cone one of two fortune cookies had this inside...

Thanks to Kim for most of the pictures for this post since my trusty SLR decided the humidity was to much and threw error codes with abandon. Thank you, most of all, to the MDT Trail Crew who again impressed us (even in their absence) with the all the work to clear blow-downs all along the way. We can't imagine the work involved in hauling chain saws and other important tools to these remote and rugged parts.