Ole Bull
I'm going on a camping/hiking trip. A journey. A quest. Alone. In the big woods. Ole Bull State Park in Northcentral Pennsylvania. Smack dab in the middle of the Susquehannock State Forest. Smack dab in the middle of nowhere. In 1853, the famous Norwegian violinist Ole Bornemann Bull purchased over 11,000 acres in this area. Ole Bull intended to establish a Norwegian colony there and brought over 150 Norwegians. They failed to till the rugged mountain terrain and left an uncompleted castle there about a year later. All that's left is an old foundation.
They call it God's Country. How fitting. A religious sabbatical. I will be one with God. I will be one with myself.
I have three freeze dried food packages. Lasagne, spaghetti and meatballs, beef stroganoff. I have three energy bars. I am staying for six days. I will suffer. That is my will. Physical suffering to mask the emotional pain that ebbs and flows through my mind like a restless tide.
I will hike miles of trails, going over mountains and down into valleys. The area is full of wildlife; bear, deer, coyote packs (the Northern Pennsylvania coyote is 20% timberwolf) bobcat, porcupine, elk. There have been many sightings of mountain lions in this area.
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/04151/324253.stm
There also have been several reported sightings of thunderbirds there.
http://www.skygaze.com/content/strange/Thunderbirds.shtml
I will hike alone in these haunted, mysterious, deep woods. I will hike until dark. I will hike through the darkness with my flashlight. I will hike until I drop. I will thrive on fear. The fear will make me feel so alive! I will speak to the dead in the lumber ghost towns that thrived in these mountains during the turn of the last century. I will listen to the French fife player mourn his passing. Local legend says that the French Army marched past this site a century before Ole Bull tried to settle here. Indians ambushed them, and their fife player was mortally wounded and left to die. Some say you can here his fife in the late evening when the air is quiet, and that Ole Bull was captivated by its mournful tune. I will temp the ghost of Ole Bull himself to play a trio with myself and the French fife player.
I will mourn the loss of my baby boys in the last place we went hiking together. My tears will wash away the emotional pain. The physical pain will make me forget. This, of course, is wishful thinking. How can I ever forget my pack? They will always be in my memory, haunting me like a continuous nightmare in a never ending sleep. I will be walking through the flames of my pathetic life to remind myself of this burned out hull I call my soul. Will this bring some kind of closure to these painful feelings that surround me like a tainted aura, or will it consume me like a black hole? I've been having dreams and nightmares of my pack ever since I started planning this trip. Every night.
They call it God's Country. How fitting. A religious sabbatical. I will be one with God. I will be one with myself.
I have three freeze dried food packages. Lasagne, spaghetti and meatballs, beef stroganoff. I have three energy bars. I am staying for six days. I will suffer. That is my will. Physical suffering to mask the emotional pain that ebbs and flows through my mind like a restless tide.
I will hike miles of trails, going over mountains and down into valleys. The area is full of wildlife; bear, deer, coyote packs (the Northern Pennsylvania coyote is 20% timberwolf) bobcat, porcupine, elk. There have been many sightings of mountain lions in this area.
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/04151/324253.stm
There also have been several reported sightings of thunderbirds there.
http://www.skygaze.com/content/strange/Thunderbirds.shtml
I will hike alone in these haunted, mysterious, deep woods. I will hike until dark. I will hike through the darkness with my flashlight. I will hike until I drop. I will thrive on fear. The fear will make me feel so alive! I will speak to the dead in the lumber ghost towns that thrived in these mountains during the turn of the last century. I will listen to the French fife player mourn his passing. Local legend says that the French Army marched past this site a century before Ole Bull tried to settle here. Indians ambushed them, and their fife player was mortally wounded and left to die. Some say you can here his fife in the late evening when the air is quiet, and that Ole Bull was captivated by its mournful tune. I will temp the ghost of Ole Bull himself to play a trio with myself and the French fife player.
I will mourn the loss of my baby boys in the last place we went hiking together. My tears will wash away the emotional pain. The physical pain will make me forget. This, of course, is wishful thinking. How can I ever forget my pack? They will always be in my memory, haunting me like a continuous nightmare in a never ending sleep. I will be walking through the flames of my pathetic life to remind myself of this burned out hull I call my soul. Will this bring some kind of closure to these painful feelings that surround me like a tainted aura, or will it consume me like a black hole? I've been having dreams and nightmares of my pack ever since I started planning this trip. Every night.
posted by MountainWolf Howls at 9:26 PM
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