PA Laurel Highlands: Linn Run State Park and A Happy Repair

 2022 52-Hike Challenge #21 (3 miles) Linn Run State Park

Next stop: Town and Country Motors for brake repair

You know the saying "Man plans, God laughs." It's true. But if you laugh along you are often granted surprises that you couldn't possibly have planned for. Don't let a bad brake get in the way of making new friends.

 

Conservation landscapes of Pennsylvania

I started out to hike a five mile loop in Linn Run State Park, a beautiful gem embedded in Forbes State Forest. The forest itself is embedded in the beautiful Laurel Highlands. With seven large regional conservation landscapes that include where I work in the Susquehanna Riverlands, these large regions have a lot to explore. Conservation landscapes are designated as high value natural areas with existing or potential infrastructure for green industry/eco-recreational businesses that support local economies. There are hundreds of outdoor opportunities, scenic working lands, state and national parks, state and national forests, and communities that benefit from Pennsylvania's vibrant wildlands. 

Linn Run trickling through - the hottest, driest part of summer

The heat and humidity were, again, an issue for my long-suffering coonhound, Amos. Keep in mind that the inherent nature of this breed is to sleep in cool, shady places all summer long and go for night walks after midnight. At least that's what all of my black and tan coonies have done for the past twenty years. I should not have been surprised that by mile three Amos laid down in the trail and went to sleep. This, after sipping long, leisurely drinks from the trickle that was Linn Run, and digging multiple hollows into the cool leafy duff to snuffle in and test for fit.  Fall, winter, and early spring are really his hiking time so I had to reset my mileage goals for the day. Honestly though, I had to sit in one of his nests to cool off and it was quite comfy! 

"Fossil" ripple marks in Linn Run sandstone from a shallow seabed

No swimmers today - low water.

He laid down in the shallow pools at Flat Rock and again in the tiny stream that dripped into Adams Falls. He snuffled through ferns and sat contentedly in a muddy hollow on the trail. He flopped over on his side to enjoy the coolness of the restroom's cement pad. Well, I thought, if it's just three miles today, we'd had a blast exploring the beautiful ravines, hunting for mushrooms, and lying about on sandstone ledges. Together we sauntered back to the truck. 

Old Man of the Woods

Yellow Coral 

I decided to drive higher up the mountain and maybe visit the Spruce Flats Bog but as we climbed a certain rotational noise began to emanate from the front right wheel. Drat! A brake pad was shot. Double drat! There was a sound of metal against metal. Not good. I met up with a forestry crew and asked about finding a repair shop. They suggested a small Ford dealership in Ligonier just a few miles away. Off we went, Amos snoring in the backseat and me stressing about the cost of rotors and pads. Withing twenty minutes I was parked at the dealership.

Amanita-eye view from one of Amos' nests

Adams Falls in its summertime trickle mode

I walked up to the service window and was met by the nicest mechanic team. I explained my situation and what I thought was the problem. They showed me their long list of repair tickets for the day and said "Do you live nearby?" and I said no. I live four hours away. I started to feel a little sick. 

Dry stream bed trying to feed a waterfall

But then the service writer leaned over the counter and saw Amos. "You guys! A coonhound!"  Then he saw my Hadrian's Wall t-shirt. "You've walked Hadrian's Wall Path? So have I!" I completely forgot about my truck troubles. Amos was getting all kinds of hugs and scratches and I'd found a fellow long distance hiker to swap stories with. "You know, you never encounter the true nature of human kindness until you walk a landscape," said the mechanic. "People are incredible. Everyone needs to go for a long walk. It will change your perspective on humanity." 

Amos loving the cool shop floor

Next thing I knew the truck was taken out for a drive then put right up on the lift. A mechanic called over to Amos, "It won't take long buddy!" The cashier kissed Amos' ears as another mechanic pulled the truck tire. "Don't worry Amos, you'll be on the road in no time!" The store manager showed me to the waiting area and invited Amos to sit on the cool leather couch which of course he loved. Within the hour I had my truck repaired and the bill was not all that bad. But Amos wouldn't leave! He was loving all the attention, especially the air conditioning and it was another half hour before I convinced him it was time to go. He made a lot of new friends that day. 

PA Staple Bend Tunnel Trail

 2022 52-Hike Challenge #20 @ 4 miles/ hike & bike on Staple Bend Tunnel Trail, Mineral Point, PA 

The National Park Service manages the multi-site Allegheny Portage Railroad through Western PA, and is one of five National Park units in the region that include the Johnstown Flood Memorial at the South Fork Dam, Fort Necessity National Battlefield, Flight 93 National Memorial, and Friendship Hill NHS. I managed only this one site on my visit to the Laurel Highlands but I do hope to return to explore the other sites within the Allegheny Portage Railroad NHS.  After my visit to the Johnstown Flood site, it was just a short drive for an afternoon hike and bike to and through the Staple Bend Tunnel. 

Beautiful rail grade with some hills!

Completed in 1833 the Staple Bend Tunnel was the first railroad tunnel built in the United States. Being a rail fan, of course I had to see this. I biked most of the four mile trail only because it was getting late and rain was again threatening but had I more time I would have walked it for no other reason than to linger at all the historical interpretive signs and interesting landscape details. Welsh stone masons, miners, and quarry men (and their families) were the real heroes in the construction of this 900' tunnel and their fine work is still something to behold. 

East entrance

I'll leave to you, if you are interested, to read all of the historical information linked in the Notes below, but for this post I just wanted to reflect on the incredible scope and scale of manual labor this tunnel required. I admit I rode back and forth through the tunnel to ponder and appreciate the labor and skills devoted to this project. The Allegheny Portage section of the Main Line Canal system was designed to carry canal boats across the Allegheny Mountains via rail and for a time before steam engines and the powerful Pennsylvania Railroad system out-competed the Main Line, it was the route that connected East to West, Philadelphia to Pittsburg and the Ohio, during the golden age of canal transportation.

West entrance

While experienced, skilled Welsh stone workers created the tunnel, its facades, and the beautiful culverts constructed below the railroad to keep it dry, they were supported by hundreds of Irish laborers who toiled in the quarries, mucked blast debris, and hauled tons of earth to construct the railbed. So much labor! I scrambled down a steep bank to admire a large culvert (now blocked with stone) built dry stack, no mortar, no fastening rods. It also occurred to me how  much time, effort, funding the National Park Service has invested in keeping these structures in sound condition. I know a few stone masons who learned their trades as seasonal and early career stone workers with the NPS. 

A modern pipe now carries the stream but acid seepage adds a goopy trickle.

Dry stack sandstone with a fern garden attached.

Ten inclined planes were built across the mountains to facilitate moving freight barges as well as passenger rail cars. Riders on this section were often making the journey between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh as tourists.  A rather famous passenger on a five-month visit to the U.S., Mr. Charles Dickens of London, traveled on the Main Line in 1842. His accounts of the trip across the country are famously critical of American transportation systems but he did somewhat love the portage section of the passage.

"On Sunday morning we arrived at the foot of the mountain, which is crossed by railroad. There are ten inclined planes; five ascending, and five descending; the carriages are dragged up the former, and let slowly down the latter, by means of stationary engines; the comparatively level spaces between, being traversed, sometimes by horse, and sometimes by engine power, as the case demands. Occasionally the rails are laid upon the extreme verge of a giddy precipice; and looking from the carriage window, the traveller gazes sheer down, without a stone or scrap of fence between into the mountain depths below. The journey is very carefully made, however; only two carriages travelling together; and while proper precautions are taken, is not to be dreaded for its dangers."    

Charles Dickens, Letters of Charles Dickens, 1842

NPS interpretive panel, Staple Bend Tunnel at Incline Plane No. 1, Staple Bend Tunnel

After I had ridden the tunnel enough times to satisfy my pondering and awe, I carefully rode down the embankment of Incline Plane No. 1 as it lowered towards the level leading to Mineral Point. I saw where a biker before me had crashed on the hill, leaving a broken pair of sunglasses and some bandage wrappers. Uh oh. I decided to dismount and walk the rest of the way into the little town park. After a little rest and a snack I headed back up the hill pushing my bike the whole way. The cool breeze rushing out of the tunnel was wonderful. 

Sleeper stones that held up the rails.

A fine mist of rain was interrupted by peeks of sunlight and this made the ride back to my truck delightful. The Conemaugh River glinted below. Train engines idled in the yards outside of town hidden from view by thick summer foliage.  The sounds of rain dripping from leaves softened the sounds of the engines. Back at the truck I made a note in my journal to visit the rest of the Allegheny Portage Railroad sites and to read some more of Dickens' reflections of his trip across the U.S. 

Notes:

The Allegheny Portage Railroad National Historic Site is actually a collection of separate sites along the path of the portage section of the Pennsylvania Main Line. I am really looking forward to visiting the other sites within this NHS!

American through Charles Dickens' Eyes (History Collection Online) gives an overview of the fanous author's visit to the U.S. See also "Charles Dickens' Travels in America" 

PA Johnstown Flood National Memorial: A Strict Liability Hike and Bike

My questions of legal liability concerning manmade environmental hazards began back at Canoe Creek State Park as my dog and I walked trails that led to and around ruins of limestone quarries, mines, and pits. Though park signs and good hiking etiquette require people stay on trails, I wondered what if someone was injured during an off-trail experience?  A fall into a mine shaft or a tumble off a vertical quarry pit wall? Who, if anyone, bears responsibility for a landscape so altered that it could cause harm?

The next day I took a hike and bike ride at the NPS Johnstown Flood Memorial at the site of the South Fork Dam which failed on May 31, 1889. I had this question in mind as I approached a park ranger at the Visitor Center about where I might learn more about how this manmade "natural" disaster caused a firestorm of legal debate around questions of liability. Before she could help me, her manager emerged from the office and informed a small group of visitors and staff that she had just learned of the passing of historian David McCullough whose first book Johnstown Flood (1968) lit my interest in environmental history while I still worked for the park service. The best-selling book also launched an intense national interest in the Johnstown flood, flood histories, and industrial liability. With the stunning success of the book, he helped raise funds for the Johnstown Flood Museum and the Johnstown Area Historical Association (JAHA). He was the driver behind much-needed renovations to the South Fork dam site under NPS management. A Pittsburgh native, McCullough helped create the culture and craft of story-telling which the current visitor center does with such excellence. The small group in the visitor center stood quietly as we digested the news.  

The valley that was once a lake.

After the flood obliterated the Conemaugh valley and destroyed Johnstown, the South Fork Fishing Club whose officers and owners were some of America's wealthiest industrialists, was able to deflect lawsuits by claiming the dam failure was an "Act of God," in essence finding legal fault with nature. It also helped that the rich club members inserted favored lawyers, specially selected "experts," and industry-friendly judges into the legal proceedings.  Public indignation boiled over as one lawsuit after another was dismissed, laying blame in natural causes.  Public pressure was so great that popular magazines, newspapers, and other public media engaged a new breed of investigative journalist called muckrakers who wrote exhaustively on this tragedy as well as two additional dam failures that occurred in the years following the 1889 flood.  As national pressure mounted, state and federal courts, unable to quell public outcry against environmental abuses of exploitative industries, began to consider the English Law regarding negligence and nuisance as American ideas of strict liability in cases of environmental disaster, human injury, and property loss caused by company negligence. 

Remains of the dam's spillway, a testament to greed.

McCullough's book tells a beautifully detailed and sympathetic story of the flood and its aftermath so I won't repeat it here in hopes you will read it (or read it again), but the author, after years of research and writing summed up the singular event as "...not an act of God or nature. It was brought about by human failure, shortsightedness, selfishness."  While the fallout of the Johnstown Flood legal actions instigated consideration of strict liability in state courts around the country, legislation to ensure dam safety took much longer. In fact, two more fatal Pennsylvania dam failures, the 1911 Austin Dam collapse and the 1977 Laurel Run Dam breech and collapse (which again flooded Johnstown), finally spurred Pennsylvania lawmakers into action enacting strict building code regulations for dam construction, maintenance, repair, and removal. It only took 90 years at a cost thousands of lives.

A surviving part of the Clubhouse under NPS care.

I hiked and biked around the South Fork Dam site. I explored what was left of the spillway where iron grates had been installed by the South Fork Fishing Club to prevent their 1,000 cherished (and expensive) black bass from escaping the lake. The grates would quickly become clogged as flood waters overtopped the dam on Friday night, May 31, adding tons of pressure to the weakened center. I biked down from the NPS site into the little town of St. Michaels, the town that grew up on the edge of the lake after the flood. Here I found a good lunch and visited a few surviving club member cottages (really big Victorian homes) and the restored remains of the clubhouse/guesthouse.  I spoke with a NPS carpenter who was working on the clubhouse porch. "This place still represents something difficult for the locals to wrap their heads around, even a hundred plus years later - the greed and indifference of rich people." 

I biked up to the NPS Picnic Area and walked out on the South Fork Trail and looked back at the Visitor Center. In the years before the flood, the fishing club had removed the large outflow pipes at the base of the dam, effectively sealing off any possibility of releasing water to counter rising lake levels during high water events. With no thought of repairing and shoring up an existing slump from a past breech and with visible leaks erupted in the steep downstream wall, club owners assured worried citizens downstream that the dam posed no threat. In 1889, when the heaviest rains ever witnessed by residents in the small downriver towns of South Fork and Mineral Point continued to pound the valley, alarm was raised in Johnstown, already flooded under ten feet of water. A telegraph operator sent a dire message to the railyard in East Conemaugh: "South Fork Dam is liable to break: Notify the People of Johnstown to prepare for the worst." 

The breech.

A railroad line now runs through the breech in the South Fork Dam. Interstate 219 crosses the narrow valley just below what is still visible of the old lake bed and dam ruins. I rode my bike back to the Visitor Center and checked my speed averaging about 15 mph. It took me about 30 minutes to reach my truck at the top of the hill. Thirty minutes after the dam collapsed on May 31, 1889, a roaring wall of logs, metal, lumber, rock, and roiling brown flood water had already obliterated South Fork and Mineral Point and was bearing down on East Conemaugh at 40mph. By the time I finished putting away my helmet and backpack and locked my bike on its rack, I glanced at my phone. Fifty-seven minutes had passed since I left the NPS Picnic Area on the other side of the old lake bed. Fifty-seven minutes after the dam collapsed, Johnstown was hit by the surging flood wall. 

Modern industries are handling the forces of nature on a stupendous scale. . . . Woe to the people who trust these powers to the hands of fools.”

David McCullough, Johnstown Flood

Notes: 

Dam failures in Pennsylvania are unfortunately not a rare occurrence in the 19th and 20th century, especially tragic in landscapes where rivers, creeks, and runs flow in tight, sluice valleys and towns downstream exist in bowl-like topographies. David Rose, PhD, in The Influence of Dam Failures in Pennsylvania explores how PA dam failures helped create new and (hopefully) effective dam safety law and construction protocol. 

For a more academic investigation of the flood and its aftermath, see this excellent online resource from Bowdoin College "The Johnstown Flood" by Casey Goldberg. In particular, the chapter "Avoidance of Legal Blame" and "Blurring the Lines."  Check out the embedded computer simulation of the flood's path, velocity, and volume (!) 

David McCullough was America's most gifted narrative historian, may he rest in peace. I read his book Johnstown Flood (1968) in the early 1990s. I am re-reading it again as I travel through Pennsylvania's Laurel Highlands on my August road trip.   

 

PA Canoe Creek State Park - A Post-Industrial Loop

 2022 52-Hike Challenge #19 - Canoe Creek State Park, Blair County, PA (4 miles) 

At just under a thousand acres with almost 200 of those as lake, Canoe Creek State Park has many miles of excellent trails with some just for horseback riding and others for mountain biking and more for hiking. On our latest expedition across Pennsylvania to visit state parks we've not visited before, my trusty coonhound Amos and I made this little gem our afternoon stop on the way to the Laurel Highlands in the western part of the state. We spent several hours exploring marshes, side-hilling a small mountain, and visiting water as much as possible. It was hot, humid, and (for Amos) a hike that needed more than a few water stops. We walked a solid four miles, most of it on a series of trails that forms a loop around a former industrial complex where ruins and lumps and bumps on the land are pretty numerous. 

Blair Limestone Company lime kiln ruins

The Blair Limestone Company ruins dominate the first part of this loop that begins in the parking lot of the environmental center on the hill. We walked down a macadam road, enjoyed the view over the lake, then walked up an old railroad grade to the remains of six limekilns. The hillside was stepped up and around for various now-gone buildings and sheds. A mill race runs close to the road into the kiln area. The more I looked the more I saw and the more questions I had. 

Inside a limestone kiln

Limestone was an important raw resource quarried and mined in this region beginning in the mid-1800s. There are quarries and mines pits everywhere but the thick summer foliage makes it hard to see entrances and vertical walls. (I made a note to come back in winter!) The Blair Limestone Company operated here in the early part of the 20th century and while it was making every meter count for continued limestone extraction and processing, it unknowingly created a warren of places that now harbor thousands of bats throughout the park. Old mine openings (not visible from the trail we took) are modified to exclude human intruders with the installation of modern grates. Bat biologists monitor roosting sites, hibernation chambers, and bat nurseries. The bats have captured the public's attention, so bat watching is popular and encouraged, especially in the presence of park educators and conservation biologists who can explain the challenges that our state's bat populations face. These challenges include loss of roosting habitat and White-Nose Syndrome. 

Side-hill hiking below the mines

The Frank Felbaum Bat Sanctuary is located here in an old church and at last count is a communal roosting home to over 30,000 Little Brown Bats. The park is home to all six species of PA bats including the endangered and old mine-loving Indiana Bat and is designated an Important Mammal Area (IMA) by the state.  As we walked around the hill, noticing how nature and time have reclaimed this industrial area, I wonder if company bosses ever imagined this site becoming a world-renowned  bat conservation site? 

On our climb up the mountain, passing quarry pits and mine entrances, the trail sometimes joined with the small gauge railroad grade where chunky little steam engines pulled railcars loaded with limestone down to the kilns. We climbed even further and the path became rocky and mucky in the rain. We rounded the crest of the hill and discovered the ruins of the Hartman kiln almost hidden in the dense summer undergrowth. Two lost hikers ambled by and asked me for a look at my soggy map. They had been circling the hilltop for an hour continuously missing the trail blaze that would lead to the bridge below. We all walked down together and they said their goodbye as they cross the bridge to take the Beaver Pond Trail back. 

Canoe Creek 

Our end of the trail joined yet another railroad grade where hundreds of old ties still laid in their beds of gravel. I wondered how many little engines worked along and around this small mountain? We walked along Canoe Creek on its way to the lake and counted green four herons hunting along its banks. A wood duck hen and a line of quick little ducklings zoomed ahead, popping in and out of root caves and log banks to stay well ahead of us. 

Old railroad grade with embedded ties along the creek

I connected the Boardwalk Trail to our loop so that we could walk out to enjoy the marshy edge of the lake and maybe catch a cool breeze. Thunder echoed off the distant hill and rain fell lightly. Poor Amos was really feeling the humidity and had slowed way down from his usual hiking trot. We stopped a lot to feel the breeze and the cool sprinkles. I didn't want to ruin his day so we continued back to the truck without extending our walk to the old church-turned-bat-sanctuary. When he saw the truck at the end of the old macadam road, he picked up speed and soon enjoyed a long drink from his water bowl and laid out on his rear bench seat as I turned the A/C on high. 

Poor Amos had reached his limit

AllTrails map with the Boardwalk Loop added (dotted red)

Notes:  

Listing for Important Mammal Areas compiled by the Pennsylvania Biological Survey.  Canoe Creek State Park is #16. 

Indiana Bat is a species in serious decline, its national population dropping by half since 2019. https://www.fws.gov/species/indiana-bat-myotis-sodalis

DCNR website for Canoe Creek State Park

PA Mason-Dixon Trail and Otter Creek Loop

 2022 52-Hike Challenge #18 - 7.5 miles (counter-clockwise from Urey Overlook parking)

The Otter Creek ravine is one of my favorite local places to explore but sadly I haven't been here to hike since the terrible 2018 flash flood which destroyed much of the lower creek including its fishery along with people's cabins, cars, boats, and household belongings. Thankfully no lives were lost. My last foray into the ravine was in 2019 with the Mason Dixon Trail Club  help to haul out flood debris. Still, even with the dogged efforts of the MDT and Lancaster Conservancy, there is still much to be removed. Yet despite the occasional pile of trash and twisted, mashed metal, Otter Creek seems to be making a full and beautiful recovery. It was good to be back.

Otter Creek Preserve is a new member!

Amos and I started this loop on a cool cloudy afternoon from the Urey Overlook parking area. We ended in a light, cool rain, back at the car seven-plus-miles and four hours later. This loop uses a combination of existing blue-blazed Mason Dixon Trail, a short section of road walking and Game Commission roads to complete. Thankfully the latest heat wave ended so my dear coonhound, Amos, who has been housebound since our last camping trip to the mountains was super ready for a cool day in the woods. 

The Otter Creek Preserve, managed by the Lancaster Conservancy in York County, has been recently added to the Old Growth Forest Network, a national organization, in  April 2022.  It's a nice designation that hopefully points to other deep ravine creeks in our region as holding large tracts of old growth/ mature forest. Eastern hardwoods and giant hemlocks predominate on the steep hillsides while the plateau above and especially on the climb to the Urey Overlook some incredibly impressive Tulip Poplar tower above the trail.  

Steep forested slopes!

The creek may be clear of log jams, but along the banks they are still huge!

This was a two-pole hike, though I admittedly only brought one. I found, however, that with Amos' ten-foot lead buckled into my backpack waist belt I could use  my free hand on the line as a rope assist when needed. He seemed to know when I need a bit of a pull up the hills! We walked up and down for a few miles until we came to a beautiful camp site and took our first break. From the corner of my eye I saw a flash of white and, just in time to hold on to Amos' line to keep him from chasing, saw a Striped Skunk skedaddle into the brush. No spray (this time) but the sight of the skunk running away was a fun surprise for both of us.

Rockhounding the creek.

The geology here is the heavily foliated schists made of metamorphosed slates and micas interrupted by intrusions of white quartz. The rock weathers into plates in the creek and on outcrops it forms shelves and stacks. The creek has carved a classic Susquehanna Riverlands ravine and the walls of the canyon are lined with stacked layers of rock, some tumbled and some in resistant formations. This is great bedrock that forms deep pools in the creek where further upstream, including and beyond the game lands, Otter Creek is designated a cold water fishery. I wonder how the flood affected the trout fishery and if have they returned to upstream pools and holes?  I'll have to cast a few flies this fall and see what I can catch to answer that question. 

One of several large debris piles yet to be removed from 2018.

Rock Polypody, Polypodium virginianum

Spore-producing sori on the underside of a frond

I was happy to find a few Rock Polypody fern gardens growing atop tables of schist. These ferns seem to thrive on the thinnest smattering of soil and even when everything else on the forest floor is dry, Rock Polypody is green and soft and happy. They make me happy, plus, I just like saying their name ten times fast.  We climbed up and up out of the ravine and on to Kline Road. Warning: To do this loop, DO NOT cross the Kline Road to continue following the MDT! Turn left instead and road walk up to the "tarp house" with a bunch of chickens roaming around and turn left again on to a gated fire road that leads into the game lands. 

Meadow blossoms!

These are some of the game lands I love to hunt and fish, so I won't give away my favorite places to explore except to say just follow this gravel road, past the place where I normally park and on into the restored glade and meadows. I had to stop for a full serenade gifted to me by a Field Sparrow. A Scarlet Tanager sang from the woods edge. The meadows are now fully mature and a riot of blossoms attracts so many butterflies. I stopped counting Tiger Swallowtails and Monarchs. There were just so many! Among them were Zebra Swallowtails, a Buckeye, several Red Admirals, and a smattering of Tailed-Blues and some Whites. Then from a distant meadow corner there was a Bobwhite Quail calling! I did a silent fist pump for that. Yessss!

A Mink bound across the road a minute after this shot was taken.

Brown-Eyed Susan growing in the middle of the road

I had just taken a picture of Amos with his nose to the road when a Mink bounded across in front of us. Amos' nose immediately caught scent of this guy and I had to hold on for dear life as he did his classic coonhound zig-zag run back and forth as he tried to pinpoint the Mink's crossing trail. This fun last all the way down to where the road becomes a single wide path so imagine the Mink must have been traveling on the trail coming up from the creek to rejoin it further down the slope. His sharp scent continued to drift in the humid air which kept Amos dancing his zig-zag all the way to the campground. 

Road turns to trail on the decent into Otter Creek Campground.

Bathrooms!

Otter Creek Campground was quiet and still. The clouds got a little lower and darker. A soft drizzle began. We walked along the paved road that leads past the fenced maintenance area and some really interesting summer camps. We visited with some forest gnomes. This old campground and its companion across the river at Pequea, were once part of a vast recreational landscape built by the power company behind Holtwood Dam that created Lake Aldred in the 1940s. Much of this company-owned and operated landscape has passed on to other managers, but Otter Creek Campground still has its 1940s feel. The pit toilets certainly did. 

Hello forest gnomes!

Otter Creek empties into the Susquehanna at the base of the hill. We walked past the camp store and gave a wave to the nice couple that runs it. With the rain starting, I did not stop for my usual ice cream sandwich and we kept on going to the river's edge. Remnants of the old Wrightsville/Tidewater Canal can still be seen. Bald Eagles circled over the closest island and I suspect they may have a nest there. The old boat launch is closed and the fishing dock looks like it has weathered a few additional floods. So we continued on to cross the Rt 425 bridge (careful on weekends as this road gets crazy busy) and rejoined the MDT on the opposite bank of Otter Creek to finish our big loop.

Quartz intrusion near the old canal bed

Two juvenile Bald Eagles circled over the island (left)

Just past the bridge duck under the guard rail to find the MDT

Ups and downs continued as well as meeting various piles of flood debris that still need a lift out. I folded and lashed two pieces of wood and a strange cross-shaped metal thing to my pack and did my part to carry some of it out. Amos' leash rope assist came in handy on the ups as the extra weight slowed me down. Beneath the thick canopy of Hemlock and Oak the light rain didn't make it to the ground, but the sound of the shower hitting the leaves above made the air sizzle with sound. We recrossed Rt. 425 and wove our way through great stands of Tulip Poplar and up the final hill to the Urey Overlook. What a spectacular finish to our hike. 

Edgy business!

I tried to sit on the bench at the overlook and enjoy a small snack before walking the last ten minutes back to the parking area, but with rain touching his back - EEEEK! - Amos wanted to keep going. He seemed to know the car, warm and dry, was not far off. So I zipped up my snack bag, hoisted my flood debris, and let him pull me up the old fire road. But just before we got there a small herd of Whitetail Deer burst from the cornfield that lines one side of the fire road. Amos truly Did. Not. Know. What. To. Do. They bounded down the hill, bellies full of corn, and scattered rug of corn leaves in their wake. So he stood there and let out a huge coonhound bay for good measure. 

Looking north - the Safe Harbor Dam and newly opened trestle rail-trail bridge.

Looking east - the river village of Pequea and the mouth of Pequea Creek

Back at the car 

I was unloading my pack into the back of my Escape when a car pulled in. They were older and worried about a possible long walk (for them) to the overlook in the rain so decided against it and stood to chat. He is a rabbi who tends to a synagogue in New York near Syracuse and they told me they were traveling back roads on their way to attend a grand daughter's summer college graduation in Baltimore. Rabbi watched me untie the flood debris from my pack, first the sections of two-by-four and then the strange cross-shaped metal thing. He made a face. "Rabbi," I said, "What can you tell me about this cross-shaped thing?" He let out a great big laugh and said "I never met anyone until you who hikes with a 1986 Ford truck universal joint!" 

AllTrails Map for Mason Dixon Trail/Otter Creek Loop
AllTrails incorrectly logs this loop at five miles but as many reviewers note on the app, it is in fact seven and a half miles. A good catch by the crowdsource!

Notes:

The 2018 Flash Flood was one for the record books, but the clean up continues six years later. https://www.yorkdispatch.com/picture-gallery/news/local/2019/01/11/photos-volunteers-take-massive-cleanup-effort/2546160002/

Old Growth Forest Network summary of the newly designated section now managed by Lancaster Conservancy https://www.oldgrowthforest.net/pa-otter-creek-nature-preserve  is a very welcome recognition for our older forests in York and Lancaster Counties. https://www.lancasterconservancy.org/news/otter-creek-nature-preserve-joins-the-old-growth-forest-network/