Coincidental Fate

Day 1

I went camping and hiking up in the mountains again, escaping my past, searching for my lost soul, learning to survive without my pack. I camped at Kettle Creek State Park in the Upper Campground. I really like Kettle Creek's Upper Campground. The primitive tent sites are nice. I practically had the entire campsite to myself. The only other tent site being used was out of my line of sight. I could see the camp host's RV down the mountain at the beginning of the campground. Jim and Linda Hill, the campground Hosts, are the friendliest campground hosts I've ever met. I just can't say enough good things about them, and they make the best mountain pies!

This campground is surrounded by State Forest land, and has a real wilderness feel to it. On the drive up, a beautiful red fox ran across the road in front of me just outside of the State Park boundary. I've never seen a fox so big. Its coat was long, thick, and beautiful. The fox. The loner. Just like me. How fitting.

After setting up my tent, I decided to hike up to Kettle Creek Vista. I figured it would be a fairly easy hike. I picked up the Butler Trail and the grade was extremely steep with no end in site. The scenery was awesome, with lots of old growth pine and hemlock. I'm a little better physically prepared this time around, and I don't think I'll have to write my last words like I did on my last hike. Still, after about a mile of uphill hiking, I was soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. I stopped to sit down, re-hydrate, and write in my journal.

Today is Father's Day. This day has always been an emotional day for me, from my childhood growing up with no Father, to being Tasha's Father the last nineteen years. When I was a child, Father's Day was such a sad, lonely day for me. As I grew into my late teens, my sadness morphed into bitterness and anger. When Tasha was born, I knew Father's Day would be a very special day. A day with meaning. A day to be proud. A time to finally understand what this day was all about. No more bitterness and anger. Now, I feel sad and lonely again as I sit here in my mountains all alone. Oh, how I miss my pack.

I called Tasha on the drive up and asked her if she wanted to go camping with me. She couldn't on such short notice. At least I was able to talk to her on Father's Day weekend. If she tried to call me today she wouldn't be able to reach me. I have to drive fifty miles just to get a signal on my cell phone.

Large black ants own this mountain, and are surrounding me as I sit here and write. I wonder if they bite. One is crawling up my pant leg and it looks like it has a nasty stinger. I feel like sitting here to see what the ants will do. Talk about a new meaning for ant bait. Pushing away my anticipation, I've decided to get moving. I have about six more miles to go, including the return trip, and it's already going on 4:00 pm.

After another mile of strenuous uphill hiking, I reached a grove of mountain laurel. I actually stopped and smelled the beautiful flowers. As I was coming out of the mountain laurel, I heard a strange croaking sound coming from the treetops. I looked up and saw an angry squirrel jumping from tree branch to tree branch, making his way toward me. Boy, he was one really pissed off squirrel, croaking and screeching at me as he made his way towards me. If ever there was an attack of the Killer Squirrel, this is probably how it would begin. "Run away! Run away!" If you've never watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail, those were the cries of the valiant knights running away from the killer rabbit. I just stood there and watched in amazement. The squirrel finally made it to the treetops above me and stopped, most likely pondering whether or not he can take me. I finally called his bluff and raised my two walking sticks. He took off like a bat, or should I say squirrel, out of hell.

As I made my way into the clearing at the Kettle Creek Vista, a dog, a black lab, came running full speed at me from about 200 feet away. There's an open dirt forest road that takes you up here, and a guy was camping across the clearing with his dog. As I watched this huge black lab running full speed at me, I thought to myself, Why does it have to be a black lab? The dog was barely able to stop inches in front of me, which sent dirt flying in all directions. I held out my hand with my heart breaking, and he licked it. He took a liking to me right away. He was a beautiful dog, enough to make a pack proud. Sometimes, when you miss someone for a long time, you forget what it feels like to have them around. The feeling of having this dog walking with me was bittersweet. I loved the companionship, but it saddened me as I was reminded of Blue and Thunder, my pack. The dog licked my hand again and leaned on me to pet him. I think he could feel the depth of my emotions. I decided to hike back down the trail, and the dog started following me. I turned back and headed for the guy who was paying absolutely no attention to his dog. I called the guy and told him his dog was following me down the trail. The guy called out, "Max!", but the dog wouldn't leave my side. He called him again, and still Max wouldn't leave my side. I met the guy and told him Max wanted to go hiking with me. The guy had a leash and tried to get Max, but Max used me to avoid him, making the guy walk in circles around me. I stepped aside so the guy could get Max. Max looked at me with a pleading look as if saying, "Please take me with you!" After the guy put Max on the leash, I told him I used to have two black labs, but lost them to my ex. The guy said they make great companions, and hoped I would be able to get my dogs back. I thanked him.

After about five minutes of hiking back down the trail, the memories of Blue and Thunder overwhelmed my senses like a heavy rain pouring down into my soul. Of all the things to happen to me, after everything I've been through, after all of those miles of hiking to escape my past, after all of my searching for a new life without a pack, a dog that looks just like my Blue and Thunder appears out in the middle of nowhere. This felt like cruelty at the hands of fate. I looked up in the sky and said, "Why? Why me?" Sometimes I just don't get life. Do you believe in coincidence? Was this a coincidence, or fate? I am usually of the belief there is no such thing as a coincidence. What a coincidence...

As I made my way back down the trail in a state of shock, the pain of all the downhill hiking started taking its toll on my legs and ankles. Determined to find my Holy Grail, I continued hiking through my physical and emotional pain. I will get through this somehow, this Father's Day that I will never forget, and it will only make me stronger.


Day 2

I woke up extremely sore from yesterday's hike. As I sit here drinking my coffee and looking at my maps contemplating which trail to hike, I wonder if my body will be able to make it through a hike today. My legs and ankles are really sore, not even mentioning my back. But I'm determined to go hiking. It's a beautiful day for a hike in the mountains, and I need a challenge.

I've decided to hike up Elk Lick Run to the Twin Sisters Trail in the Hammersley Wild Area. I might be able to make it to the Hammersley Pool by combining hikes in the book "Hikes in God's Country" by Chuck Dillon. I don't know if it's possible, but what do I have to lose? The Hammersley Pool is supposed to be a nice swimming hole in the Hammersley Wild Area. The only way to get to the pool is to hike several miles.

I parked at Cross Fork Road on the outskirts of the Hammersley Wild Area and made my way up Elk Lick Run, a small creek surrounded by dense forest. After two miles of hiking up an old grade next to Elk Lick Run, the trail started disappearing. The book mentioned there would be some bushwhacking involved, but this is no fun with all of the deadfall, bushes, rocks, holes and bogs. I sit here fighting off the spiders and ants wondering if I should turn back. I just finished eating an energy bar and I'm drinking some gatorade. It's about 90 degrees with high humidity, and I'm sweating like an Eskimo in Havana. I thought about turning back before trouble starts, but that would be like not finishing a challenge. I need to challenge myself, so I'll continue on. What is life without challenges?

Boy, did I continue on. I'm now safely back in my tent, and what a challenge I had on that hike. I continued on like I said I would, and the barely visible trail turned into a non-existent trail. I had to bushwhack my way up this creek for about another two miles with a lot of stream crossings, sometimes up to my waist in bush, over and under deadfall, and occasionally backtracking, when I finally came to a dead-end, unable to go any farther due to deadfall, and sweating like the aforementioned Eskimo in Havana. Looking at my watch brought with it a growing sense of fear and panic. Sunset was in two hours, I might be lost, and if I backtrack the four-plus miles back, I'll make it to my car about 11 pm. That is, if I make it back to my car.

I was at a loss on what to do. If my guess is correct, I had about another mile to hike up this washed out streambed to reach the Twin Sisters Trail, which I would turn right heading North, then turn right heading East on another trail whose name I can't remember right now, which, after three miles would take me about a mile north of my car on the dirt forest road. I was really screwed! I stood there searching for an inner strength that I wasn't sure was there at the time, when two deer noticed me and started running diagonally up the steep mountain to my right. This gave me an idea. If I hike straight up this mountain making my own switchbacks, I can pick up the trail on the other side of the mountain to take me back to the road. A switchback is a path that switches directions back and forth, always moving diagonally on a steep mountainside, thus making for an easier ascent or descent.

The only problem was, this mountain rose ominously up out of site, maybe an 800 foot climb in elevation, and I wasn't exactly sure about a trail being on the other side. For that matter, I was starting to wonder where the hell I actually was. I had to make a decision, and went with my instincts. I followed the deer up the mountain. I was so determined to make it back before dark, the formerly elusive inner strength surged in me like flowing electricity. I made my own switchbacks, bushwhacking from point to point about every 100 feet, zig-zagging my way up the mountain. The uphill hike took about an hour when finally I made it to the top, where all I could see was a sea of fern as far as the eye can see. There was no turning back at this point, so I made my way into the fern, which came up to my chest. To make things worse, I couldn't see what I was walking through as I kept tripping over deadfall, practically breaking my ankles in ditches, and flinching every time something started crawling on me. To make things even worse than worse was the sound of all the animals running under my feet trying to get away from me. The bigger animals would part the sea of fern like a scene from an imaginary Bible for the Wild.

I still pushed on, determined not to spend the night out there. The mountain started going down in elevation, but the fern still continued on as far as the eye can see. I was really bumming at this point, thinking why do I do this to myself, when the fern opened up in front of me and I stumbled on to a trail with blazes. I made it to the trail! I was so relieved. Now, I just had to hike down this trail for about three miles, with less than an hour of daylight left, and hope it's the trail I was looking for.

I had the sun setting to my back as I made my way down the trail. I knew I had to hike east to get back to the road, and that's the direction the trail was heading. I was in such a hurry, I didn't have time to glance down at my compass, so I would occasionally look behind me to confirm the sun was setting at my back. The trail stayed on an easterly course, which was a good sign. My right ankle felt like it was going to snap, but I didn't want to lose any time stopping to wrap it up. I had to hurry before darkness made this hike impossible. This trail was barely used, and the blazes were intermittent at best. Once it got dark, I might lose the trail. At times, I half ran when I could, with my body so sore, I was amazed I could keep pushing on. When you feel as though you're in a possible do-or-die situation, you'd be surprised at what you can accomplish. Besides, I'm starting to get used to pushing myself in extreme conditions.

After about two miles of an exhausting fast-paced hike, the sun set. It was getting dark fast as I pulled out my flashlight. At times, I couldn't make out the trail even with my flashlight, and I had to backtrack twice after nearly stumbling down the mountainside. The blazes stopped a while ago, and I couldn't tell if I was on a trail made by humans or animals. Nothing was going to stop me at this point, though. The trail was really dropping in elevation now, and I knew I was getting close to the road. A deer took off from twenty feet in front of me, and I was surprised I had gotten so close before it took off.

As I determinedly made my way down the mountain, the trail disappeared completely. I started backtracking, but I couldn't find the way I came from. By then it was pitch black, and the flashlight gave me only a small glimpse of what was in front of me. I nearly panicked, and began pushing my way through tree branches, bushes, and anything else that was in front of me, knowing I was close. I forced my way through thick bushes and stumbled into a clearing, a back yard of an old hunting cabin. A deer just stood there in the yard staring at me, stunned that a human would come from that direction. After about ten seconds, the deer took off in a panic. I made it to the road! Now I just had to hike another mile down this dirt forest road in the dark to my car, but that was the easy part. That is, if you didn't take into consideration my blistered feet, my ankle that was about to snap, my back, and every other part of my body, for that matter. But I felt good, like I had conquered the mountain and lived to tell about it.

The moon was full, and it reminded me of the story about the Frenchman who was beheaded by Indians in the 1700's. Legend has it you can see him roaming this area carrying his head when the moon is full. I wondered if I would see him tonight, but unfortunately I didn't see a headless Frenchman. The combination of the luminescent glow from the full moon, and the thousands of fireflies lighting the air, gave the appearance I was walking through a surreal landscape. My own personal reward. I made it to my car at 10:30 pm with a proud smile on my face. I made it! I tell you one thing, though. I will not take a trail if Chuck Dillon says there's some bushwhacking involved. I whacked enough bush for a lifetime.


Day 3

I was so sore this morning, I could barely get of of bed. I slept in until 10 am. When I finally got up, my right ankle was so sore I could barely put any weight on it. I taped it up really tight, and was able to get around. I came up here to go hiking, and I would hate to just sit around the campsite. Today I think I'll go on an easy hike since I can barely walk. The campground hosts Jim and Linda gave me some maps of the Donut Trail. I'll pay them a visit, thank them again for the maps, and be sociable.

It's a hot and humid day today, perfect for swimming. Maybe I'll try to reach the Hammersley Pool again, this time hiking in from the south through the old ghost town of Hammersley Fork. The hike should only be about three miles each way with little change in elevation.

I visited the campground hosts Jim and Linda. They were very worried about me last night, wondering if something bad had happened to me while I was hiking. That was very thoughtful and caring on their part. They made me promise next time to let them know where I'm hiking. If I don't return, they can contact the forest rangers who can search for me. The thing is though, If something happens to me out on the trail, I want to suffer, to be challenged, to live or die by my own choices without anyone's influence. I feel as though I'm being tested; by God, by fate, by spirits, by something, that these challenges somehow have an unknown purpose, and I have to see them through to get through life without my pack. If I fall and break my leg and have to crawl several miles for several days through remote wilderness, it's supposed to happen, and I will be a better person for it, dead or alive. I am so lonely. I miss my pack. I need to find myself again. These are my trials and tribulations, my cross to bare. I am painting the canvas of my life. My picture will be beautiful to behold someday, baring the essence of my soul.

The thought of Jim and Linda caring so much about me makes me feel good inside. They invited me over for Mountain Pie when I get back from my hike today. I've never had Mountain Pie, and they tell me I'm in for a treat. It sounds a lot better than freeze-dried spaghetti! I'm leaving to go hiking now, even though it's already 3 pm. I'll hike up along Hammersley Creek, and if I make good time, I might make it to the Hammersley Pool. The thermometer at Jim and Linda's campsite said it's 100 degrees, and it's so humid you can cut the air with a knife. I wonder if I should cram my daypack like I did the past two days. I've been carrying a twenty pound pack , feeling stronger than I have in years. I've decided to carry the same weight since it will be a short hike.

The first part of the hike on the Hammersley Trail you have to do a creek crossing with these two cables, one for your feet, and the other at head level for your hands. The cables are tied to a tree on each end of the creek, about twenty feet high with a wooden ladder at each end. The distance across is about 100 feet. You stand on the lower cable and hold the upper cable, then shuffle sideways across the creek. I've done this cable walk once before years ago, and thought I could make it this time with my two walking stick in my hands. That was a mistake. I struggled to make it out about ten feet with my big sticks when I realized I was going to fall if I continued on, so I backtracked, tossing my sticks back to the beginning. I need my walking sticks to walk because of my sore ankle. Besides, I've had these two walking sticks for years. They feel like they're a part of me, and I will never discard them.

I decided to throw my staffs across the creek, hoping they make it across. The first one hit the cable near the far side, and landed at the water's edge. I panicked as I watched it float downstream for a few feet before getting tangled in a bush. Whew, that was close! The next one made it with no problem. Now it was time to do the cable crossing. This time it seemed a lot harder than I remembered. Maybe it was because of the twenty pound pack I was now carrying. Maybe it was because of my sore right ankle that hindered me to the point of barely being able to walk. Whatever it was this time, I had a real challenge on my hands. By the time I made it halfway out over the creek, my arms started burning from the strain. The cables were a lot looser than they were years ago. The next thing you know, the top cable I was holding on to went behind me, as the bottom cable did the same. I was arched backwards holding on for dear life! I forced the cables in front of me, only to have them swing back again behind me! I started uncontrollably arching back and forth in a furry, trying to hold on. I felt like I was Gumby performing a perpetual motion high wire act in a freak show. The entertainment value was so good, I could've charged admission and sold popcorn to the squirrels! Finally, I was able to wrestle the top cable in front of me and regroup. I knew I had to make it to the end of the cable, but I had absolutely no strength left. Falling off twenty feet below into rapids with large boulders scattered about was incentive enough for me to continue, and somehow I continued on. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally made it to the other tree. My arms and legs were shaking so bad, I could barely make it down the ladder. When I got to the ground, I dropped to my knees in exhaustion, only to remember my walking sticks. I really must be attached to my walking sticks, because I found just enough strength to get up off my knees, strength that I didn't know I had left, and staggered to the creek to retrieve them. I gathered my walking sticks, then collapsed to the ground.

As I lay there shaking from muscle fatigue, I realized that so far I only hiked about 200 feet, with another five or six miles to go. Boy, did I feel pathetic. I sucked it up and found my inner strength, got to my feet and started the hike up through the old ghost town of Hammersley Fork. As I made my way through the ghost town, I could feel the spirits around me, curious about the stranger in town. We have something in common, I thought, these spirits and me, as we both wondered aimlessly through our world. Just don't follow me home like the ghost at Gettysburg did.

The trail was very wet with a stream flowing down it, and the trail all but disappeared. I had to start making my way through the brush. Why can't things be easy. The further I hiked, the more flooded the trail became, and I had to bushwhack here and there, even though I swore off bushwhacking. It was so hot and humid out, I was determined to make it to the Hammersley pool. After another mile, I found out why the trail was flooded. An old dam made out of rocks and wire broke, letting part of the Hammersley Creek flow down the trail into the ghost town. A short time later, I had to cross the Hammersley Creek to continue. Looking at the maps earlier, I knew this would happen. The best way to cross was to walk over a huge old tree that fell across the creek. I climbed up on the tree and began making my way across. I've done this so many times in the past, it's usually second nature to me, but this time it was really hard. I was exhausted, carrying a twenty pound pack which I'm not used to, and my ankle felt like it was going to snap. I kept my balance, though, and made it across... barely.

I picked up the trail, and after another mile, stopped to rest. It's 5 pm now, and I'm not sure if I should continue. Jim and Linda are going to make me a mountain pie, and I should probably get back to their campsite before it gets dark. If it wasn't for the invite, I would probably keep hiking, but I feel obligated, so I'll turn back. Besides, I'm so tired right now, I barely have the energy to even right in my journal. I will make it to the Hammersley Pool one day, this I promise myself.

A mile later, I was back at the Hammersley with the fallen tree to traverse. I was so tired, I knew it would be a challenge. I climbed up on the tree and started making my way across, balancing myself. Did you ever walk on a curb as a kid, balancing yourself, trying to keep your balance without falling off? Then when you started losing your balance, you went faster to try and make it to the end before falling? That was always fun. Well, when your ten feet up in the air, with rapids below interspersed with boulders, it's just not as fun as the curb was. I started losing my balance half way across the tree. If I fell, I could really get hurt. Next time, I might have to double the price of admission for the squirrels. As I started losing my balance, leaning to the left, I started going faster, losing my balance even more. The creek ended in another ten feet, then there was a rocky beach about six feet below. As I was falling to my left, I started running, with my twenty pound pack and my bad ankle reminding me how life can really suck sometimes. I made it as far as I can and was going down when I dove for the rocky beach six feet below. I just made it with my feet in the water, landing hard on the rocks with my backpack driving me hard into the ground, knocking the wind out of me.

As I lay there, unable to breath, unable to move, wondering if I broke my ribs, feeling like I was going to puke as stars swam in my vision, I thought to myself "Why am I doing this?" After another one of my eternities, by the way which I've been having way too many of lately, I was finally able to take in a painful, gasping breath, wheezing like an old man on Mount Everest. Not only am I doubling the price of admission, I'm doubling the price for the popcorn, too, the squirrels be damned! This is entertainment at its best, and it shouldn't come cheap. I laid there for another ten minutes with my feet in the creek, thinking about what it would be like to do normal things, like go to the shore, or to the amusement park, or maybe just sit in a bar and get shitfaced, like normal people do. Then again, I guess I'm just not a normal person. I ... am MountainWolf! (Choke.. Gasp... Choke... Gasp...)

Luckily, my ribs were only bruised, my breath came back to me, and the show for the squirrels ended. I re-adjusted what, at the time, felt like a five hundred pound backpack, and continued the hike back to my car with thoughts of mountain pie both in my head and my very empty stomach. After another mile, the cable crossing came into view and my spirits plummeted. This was going to be a big challenge. I had enough of "high wire acts" and was determined not to put on any more shows. Besides, the squirrels never paid. I carefully threw my walking sticks across the creek and climbed up on the cable, feeling like I was walking the proverbial Last Mile. I made it across with no theatrics this time, somehow numb from it all, finding more strength that I didn't know was in me. When I made it across, I was so tired I just fell to the ground, in too much pain to move. After about five minutes, I thought about Jim and Linda waiting for me with my mountain pie, and I didn't want to disappoint or worry them. I struggled to get up on my feet and walked to my car.

I was so tired and sore, I could barely drive, but the thought of mountain pie settling in my stomach drove me on. When I pulled up to Jim and Linda's campsite, they were so happy I made it. They made me the best mountain pie pizzas I've ever had, followed by a blueberry mountain pie for dessert. I savored those pies like they were the last meal on earth, as I told them about my hike, my balancing acts over the Hammersley, about the Hammersley Pool that I will someday swim in, about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness... ok, maybe not about all that, but it was good conversation and even better food. I thanked them for their generosity, and they said hopefully someday I'll bring a new girlfriend up and we can all eat mountain pie together. I can only hope.


Day 4

It's supposed to rain today with scattered thunderstorms, which has never deterred me before. A little water and electricity will not dampen my spirits. I'm going to get to that damn Hammersley Pool if it kills me, which wouldn't be very surprising considering my last two hikes. This thought makes me laugh out loud, which sends shockwaves of pain through my ribcage, which for some crazy reason makes me laugh some more, but the pain won over fairly quickly this time. Time to focus on today's route into the Hammersley Wild Area to find the previously elusive Hammersley Pool. If I hike the two miles down the Bunnell Ridge Trail to the STS (Susquehannock Trail System), then hike another mile and a half or so, it should take me to the Pool. The climb back up Bunnell Ridge Trail is fairly steep, about a thousand feet in elevation, but it seems like the easiest route to the Pool. The hike I took yesterday is probably easier though, but I'm not in the mood for the cable and tree crossing today. Bunnell Ridge Trail it is.

I decided to hang out at my campsite for a while, taking in the scenery, listening to the birds and animals, drink coffee and just relax. Actually, the real reason behind this delay is that I'm in so much pain I don't know if I can even hike today. It does feel good to just sit and relax sometimes. It's already 1:00 pm though, and if I'm going to hike to the Hammersley Pool, I'd better get moving. It's time to tape up my entire body so I can walk again. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe. I do need to tape up my ankle, though, but my ribs are going to have to make it without support. I'll stop at Jim and Linda's on my way to tell them where I'm going so they can worry when I come home late tonight, I mean, so they can call for help if I never come back. I know they worry about me hiking all alone, and it's a nice feeling having people care about me, but I wish I could just go without telling anyone.

I made it to the trailhead at 3:10 pm. The drive on the dirt forest road took 45 minutes alone. This is way out there, the northern part of the Hammersley Wild Area. I put on my twenty pound backpack and started the hike down into the Hammersley. The Bunnell Ridge Trail is a beautiful trail. I'm about a mile and a half down the trail sitting here under some old growth hemlock. I could sit here for hours, but it's already after 4:00, and I have about five to six miles of hiking ahead of me. I've been hiking downhill for the past mile, and I know the return hike is going to be killer, but nothing will keep me from the Hammersley Pool this time.

When I got to the STS, I planted two branches along the trail so I know where Bunnell Ridge Trail is. It kind of disappeared the last 100 yards, and would be really easy to miss on the way back. Even though I'm extremely sore, I feel strong. My ankle is taped real tight, and my bruised ribs don't feel that bad. It's about 90 degrees and humid. I can the feel the threat of thunderstorms today, and I hope I make it back before they hit.

The hike along the STS wasn't very difficult, and there was only one small climb in elevation. After three days of hiking twenty miles, after two failed attempts, after getting lost, after performing balancing acts for squirrels and living to tell about it, I finally made it to the Hammersley Pool! I jumped for joy, regardless of the agony, shouted out a jubilant "YES!", took off my backpack, stripped to my shorts, and went swimming. The pool was deep and lived up to its legend. The water was cold and felt great in the 90 degree humidity. I stepped off of a ledge where the water was up to my waist to see how deep the pool was. It looked to me like it might be about five feet deep. One step, and I was very surprised as I went under, swallowing water along the way. It turns out my guess of a five foot deep pool was wrong. It was closer to eight feet deep, and The huge black snake swimming next to me as I pushed up to the surface, choking on water, was only a minor inconvenience, scaring the living daylights out of me. This place was heaven! If only I had my pack.

After an hour's swim I decided to dry off, dress, and hike back before it got dark. The sky looked threatening, and the darkness could come prematurely in the form of thunderstorms. After a mile and a half of hiking the STS, I found my planted sticks marking the Bunnell Ridge Trail. I was so tired at this point, I was starting to worry about the two mile ascent up the steep trail. I really needed to rest, so I found a place to sit and write. It's going on 7:00 pm now, and the forest is so peaceful. It's quite possible I'm the only person around for hundreds of miles, and I love it! The Hammersley Wild Area, the largest roadless area in Pennsylvania. I just heard distant thunder, and I'm not loving it as much as I was a minute ago. I'm so tired, but I better get moving. Maybe I can beat the storm if I get lucky.

After about a quarter mile up this two mile trail, I was beyond the point of exhaustion. I had to stop, even though the lightning was getting closer. There aren't many places to hide from lightning on this trail. It's full of big old growth trees everywhere I look. I stood in a copse of young trees, only to realize the big trees are pretty much unavoidable anywhere in this forest. After a five minute rest, I pushed on, inspired by the ever looming thunderstorm approaching from the west. Another hike, another extreme challenge. I was so sore and tired I could barely stand up, but I pushed myself to the breaking point trying to beat the storm up the mountain. After about a mile, the lightning was actually starting right over my head in the clouds, then striking down into the Hammersley Creek area. It was kind of cool, but scary.

The last mile was probably the most difficult hike I've ever had, and believe me, I've had some really challenging hikes. Every time I stopped from exhaustion, taking cover from the lightning, I would realize the lightning is striking just to the southeast of me, so then I would start hiking again until I had to stop, thinking all the while I didn't want to be on this mountain when the lightning starts striking here. I was near panic as I made it to the top of the ridge, when I realized the last half mile was on a very open trail at the top of the mountain. Here I thought the forest was the worst place to be in during the storm. I thought about turning back and taking cover somewhere in the forest, but then said what the hell, and started hiking on the open trail. I was half running as the lightning struck in front of me, and I figured my fate was no longer in my own hands. I put myself in a really bad situation, and all I could do now was try and live through it. Why the hell did the lightning hold off until I reached the opening? Coincidence, or fate?

I no longer cared whether or not I would get hit by the lightning striking all around me. I just hiked like I always do. One bolt hit right next to me and I actually felt like I was lifted off the ground. I felt the concussion deep in my bones, like a bomb went off next to me. My body hummed from the electricity, tingling my hands. I was able to keep my balance and pushed on at a run. I finally saw my car up in the distance and knew I would make it. By the time I got inside my car, it poured like rivers from heaven as lightning struck everywhere. I made it just in time.

As I drove back to my campsite, I had to avoid all of the bullfrogs sitting in the road. For some strange reason, they come out on the road during thunderstorms and watch the lightning. Some bullfrogs must get hit by cars. I wonder what goes through their little minds as the lights from cars come flying at them like lightning on the road, the sounds of the engine approaching like the ultimate thunder with the ground vibrating under their webbed feet, the wind swooshing by, lifting them off the ground as they barely survive getting squished by the tires. I go really, really slow, swerving along the way as I avoid the bullfrogs sacrificing themselves to the Lightning Gods.

When I got into camp at 10:oo pm, Jim was outside waiting for me. He said they were worried about me, and even contemplated calling for help. I assured them I was ok and thought to myself, they really don't know me, do they? Hell, this was nothing, and I even lived to tell about it... again.


Day 5

Today is my last day up here. I was going to drive home in the daylight, but decided to get up early and check out my old tromping grounds at Pine Creek Gorge about 30 miles east of here. I want to see the blueberry field where I saw the largest bear in my life, and where I heard the ghost train. It will be bittersweet going back there, the memories of life with my pack when we used to go there weighing heavily on my mind. I hope this journey will help bring closure to my past.

I stopped at Pine Creek where we used to go swimming. There were people there, and it just didn't seem as great a place as it used to be. I drove the four mile drive up Gamble Run Road out of the gorge and into the mountains. When I got to where the Reynolds Spring/Vanaimes trailhead was, I was appalled to see Vanaimes Trail had turned into a new logging road, tire ruts in the dirt, the formerly pristine area now unclean and spoiled. This was a real shock to the system. This was where we used to pick blueberries. This was one of my favorite trails. This was where I sat with my dogs and listened to the steam whistle of a ghost train echoing so loudly coming up Gamble Run, at first I thought it was my Wife blasting the car horn, with the gong of a loud bell every few seconds, only to pass right in front of me, followed by a loud howl going up in pitch to nothing sending echoes through the forest, my body uncontrollably tingling and shivering. This happened to me and my old pack just as night fell. At the time, I realized I was in the middle of nowhere, possibly surrounded by ghosts, and started double timing it down Gamble Run Road. My Wife and Daughter came driving up about fifteen minutes later, and I was so white I looked like I saw, or heard, a ghost. That was an experience I'll never forget.

I walked down the muddy road made by the big logging trucks to the blueberry field. It just didn't look as big as it used to, and I knew I would never come back here again. I walked back to my car saddened by the memories and said my goodbyes. I just couldn't let my hiking vacation end on such a sad experience, so I decided to drive back towards my new mountains to the Quehanna Wild Area. There was a trail I hiked there in April, and it was the most beautiful trail I've ever been on. It would be a good place to hike before I have to drive back home.

I parked off the Quehanna Highway at the Beaver Dam parking area, and took a hike through an absolutely beautiful pine forest. The colors of the greenery, and the beauty of the red pine reaching up towards the heavens into deep blue sky was awe inspiring! This place is so beautiful. My new mountains where I will make my new memories. I want to fall in love someday and show her this treasure. This will happen, I just know it. I made my way through the pine forest into fields of blueberry as far as the eye can see! This really took me by surprise. I was upset about no longer being able to go to my blueberry field at Pine Creek Gorge where the memories were too painful and the loggers ruined my trail. I was upset that I might not see a big bear there again, and I find this! Blueberries for miles and miles and miles! I hear noise and look to my left where a mother black bear is slowly making her way into the forest with her two little cubs following. This is absolutely freaky. My new trail. My new blueberries. My new bear. My new life.

I asked myself as tears flowed down my face, do I believe in coincidence? I was always of the belief there's no such thing as a coincidence. How can a coincidence be so dead on with everything? There has to be some fate involved, it's just too coincidental. But there has to be some coincidence in the way everything happened today. From my saying goodbye to my old mountains, saying goodbye to my blueberry field, saying goodbye to the memories of my bear sighting and my ghost train. In the same day I now stand in my new mountains, on my new trail, standing in a sea of my new blueberry field, watching my new bear and her cubs, living my new life. Talk about coincidence... talk about fate... talk about... my coincidental fate.