Pennsylvania

After hauling ass across the midwest in an effort to be home by August 12th to watch our cats while my Dad went on a trip that turned out to not exist... we were reunited with Django and Scamper at long last. We felt so awful about leaving them behind all summer and it was a great relief to see them again.

Scamper looked at us balefully as if to complain about the past six months accommodations and Django looked like he wanted to be mad but was so excited to see us that he couldn't stay away. My Dad on the other hand, complained frequently and at length about how our little butterballs were ruining his life. (Thank you Dad and Sylvia!) We got to spend some time visiting, and there was plentiful barbecue and brisket.

Our joy at being reunited with our hellcats was short-lived as we realized the glorious rain-free weather and continuous sunshine we had basked in all summer had come to an unceremonious and abrupt end.

It was exceedingly humid. It was exceptionally hot. It was gray, gray, gray. (Despite the photo above.)

We would frequently wake up late in the morning and it would be twilight dark due to heavy cloud cover. It rained often, sometimes as a light drizzle, sometimes as a downpour. To say we dislike gray rainy weather is a vast understatement -- perhaps more vast than even the Grand Canyon, where we had last seen any significant precipitation.

It was nice to be home in the summertime though. Occasionally we'd have a warm, relatively dry, and mostly clear day with the brilliant sunshine that I remembered.

On top of the extraordinarily poor weather that we were currently experiencing... we had decided to postpone our trip to Mexico due to the high level of community transmission in Quintana Roo and the laissez-faire attitude towards vaccination and masking required to get on a plane and enter Mexico.

Over the past five months whenever we were on a long hike or going through a particular period of deprivation, we would longingly describe the future ceviche that we would consume while laying on the beach in Tulum. Now that that possibility was gone (for now), we were quite sad. The weather matched our mood.

We decided to hit some state parks with the two extra weeks we now had while we waited for our flight out to Israel on September 13th.

Rickett's Glen State Park

Rickett's Glen has always held a special place in my heart. My grandmother would take my cousins and I to Lake Jean every summer to swim and consume copious amounts of sugar. I remember my Dad taking me up the Falls Trail for the first time and I thought I was going to die. Later, I would site my masters thesis just across the lake.

Fun fact: Rickett's Glen almost became a National Park -- the funding was earmarked but then WWII started and the funding was reapportioned. Probably for the best -- it would be overrun with tourists otherwise and that would be a great shame.

The park is most famous for its Falls Trail -- a 7.2 mile loop that has 21 named waterfalls. It is spectacular, one of the uncommon types of trails where you'd want to hike it more than once. I was hoping to place well on the segment leaderboards as well as photograph every one of the waterfalls, but obviously not at the same time.

We arrived at the campground and all was well -- we set up, went fishing, and prepared for our hike in the morning. The sky was overcast but it didn't rain.

While walking back to our campsite from the unsuccessful fishing venture we worried about whether our tent door would zip closed tonight. We longingly eyeballed some new cabins near the lake...

Turns out we were able to zip ourselves in for the night, and not too long after, it started to rain. We realized around midnight that water was leaking into the tent at an alarming rate and was also getting our bedding wet. It had been so long since we last got rained on -- months earlier at the Grand Canyon -- that we forgot that anything touching the walls would absorb the rainwater. That critical error would be our downfall.

So around 4am Vitali cursed the tent and went to sleep in the car. I survived until sunrise, inching as far away from the wet part of my mattress as much as I could. My sleeping bag (down) had also gotten a bit wet, and everything was slowly becoming sodden and miserable. It was a system wide failure in slow motion.

I got out of my bag and put my feet in half an inch of water. I went over to the car where Vitali was sleeping. "Our tent is not seaworthy!" I proclaimed. We laughed, and decided to go hike the Falls Trail and deal with the tent later.

We were so used to doing things in the rain from Hawai'i that hiking seemed like a reasonable idea. When we started it was foggy and misting lightly, so nothing we deemed plan-breaking.

We made our way across the top portion of the loop and through the Midway Crevasse in light rain that slowly got heavier. We started to notice pools of standing water on the trail, which we easily dodged.

Before long we were descending down the glen and had made it past the first few falls when suddenly we heard -- POP. POP POP. I knew there were game lands nearby but didn't think gunfire would sound so close? POP POP POP POP POP. Fireworks?? And then suddenly, Vitali leapt up and sprinted towards me. We both saw a huge tree falling towards our left at about 8PM. I ascertained it was not going to fall on us and grabbed Vitali before he could run off the cliff like a lemming. Thud -- we watched it hit the ground, with just the slightest of bounce back before coming to rest. It was a big tree -- maybe 30" in diameter.

After we determined our deaths were not imminent we decided it would be prudent to turn back. The ground was already saturated from the near constant rain of the summer, and the terrain was steep. More trees were probably threatening to fall -- we could see evidence all over the trail of recent victims. So we hightailed it back as fast as we could.

The rain continued and we found the upper part of the trail was now a stream, and the pools of water we had dodged at the start were now muddy seas. We finally made it back to Numa and decided to pack up and head to a motel for the night. We were not prepared for the deluge, and neither was our equipment.

If you saw this face walking down the street would you cross the road?

Worlds End State Park

What a name.

Originally thought to have been named Whirls Glen, after a whirlpool in Loyalsock Creek. Also referred to as Worlds End, thought to have been named after an overlook of the confluence of five mountain ranges -- which perhaps appeared as if it could be the worlds end. Also referred to as Whirls End, the mis-combination of possible mispronunciations. After the whirlpool in the creek disappeared they decided to officially name the park Worlds End.

We set up camp and hoped that it wouldn't rain, as we weren't sure if we could endure it.

The next morning we kicked off our visit with a hike up to Canyon Vista, and the Cold Run Spur, which turned out to be a great loop. The Canyon Vista trail was rocky and muddy, but the Cold Run Spur was perhaps the most unique trail we hiked in Pennsylvania.

Behind the Canyon Vista was a Rock Garden, filled with bedrock outcroppings of what I learned was conglomerate and sandstone rock.

We continued on to the Cold Run Spur and this was where the trail got really interesting. It wove in and out of unique rock formations covered in flaky lichen and dense moss.

The trail followed an outcropping of bedrock for a time; the plants and trees not really caring whether they were growing on loose soil or half off the face of a rock.

The trail eventually crossed the Cold Run and Vitali was quite displeased to see some water falling over rocks in a way that begged photographing.

Further down the Cold Run was more of this phenomena, the water lazily finding its way downhill. The smell of wet ferns abound, the soft poignant snap of crisp greenery filling our noses.

We also visited the Double Run Nature Trail so I could photograph another waterfall. We ran into a guy who had a Sony alpha 7iii and the same Tamron lens I did. He shot concerts for a living.

We decided we should probably hike the trail to Worlds End too, it being the namesake of the park after all. It turned out to be brutally steep and the view at the top was completely overgrown. We hiked a little further up to see if there was a better view but there was not.

We went fishing one afternoon and Vitali caught a good sized rainbow trout in Loyalsock Creek, which we ate, and was quite delicious.

Hickory Run State Park

Hickory Run State Park is super popular with people from New Jersey and New York apparently, and the city folk filled the trailheads. We could tell who they were by the level of unpreparedness they presented for hiking.

Laughs in Pennsylvanian.

Our campsite was very private, just one solo vanlifer across the road. Vitali immediately went over to a dammed area of the Sand Spring Run to try to angle some dinner.

No fish were biting though.

The next morning we went over to the Boulder Field, an 18 acre, 20,000 year old flat field filled with boulders and nothing else, which is also a National Natural Landmark. The leading theory on the formation of this field is that freeze-thaw cycles broke off rock from the surrounding mountains and melting water from glaciers transported those rocks to the valley. However, a recent study has shown that some boulders in this field have been exposed for over 600,000 years, indicating that boulder fields like this one have perhaps persisted through multiple glacial-interglacial cycles. Wow!

The boulders were all rounded so it was very difficult hiking over, and we didn't go very far in. We left and headed for the next trail, Hawk Falls and the Orchard Trail.

This trail was pretty good, although covered in roots and the shoe eating Pennsylvania rocks which I had heard AT thru-hikers complain about.

Hawk Falls were beautiful, and we were all alone there. We continued up to the Orchard Trail which cut along the top of the valley and then down along the Mud Run, where Vitali caught a brookie. He went back to swim with the other fishies.

Later in the afternoon we hiked the Shades of Death Trail, which is probably an accurate name for this one, aptly describing the emotions we felt as we walked (struggled) along it. It followed the Sand Spring Run and was a series of small ups and downs covered in gnarled roots and slick mud. Parts of the trail were underwater from the stream overflowing its banks too. It was slow going and not very enjoyable.

The Sand Spring Run had been dammed in a few places though and overflowed from one in quite a pleasing way.

Our final hike in the park was a loop connecting a few trails around the Lehigh River. We've encountered a handful of Skyline or Highline Trails this summer and they always feature spectacular, wide open views, like of a city skyline. Despite the name, this one was fully forested.

The views from the Fireline and along Hickory Run were a little more interesting. All of the creeks and rivers we visited were flowing at very high rates and the lush foliage from all the rain was practically exploding from the earth.

Lehigh Gorge State Park

We only visited Lehigh Gorge for the day -- to visit Buttermilk and Luke's Falls which were along a dramatic curve of the Lehigh River, which was flowing at an astonishing 8,000 CFS. It was unbelievable; the river had all the physicality of millions of gallons of water rushing by in an instant -- the deadly power and weight that you could feel the brutal immensity of.

The walk to the falls was short and sweet. It was on a multi-use path which looked like it would be fun to ride. Someone was in for a disappointment when we spotted a pack of cigarettes on the trail with only one cigarette gone.

Buttermilk Falls were the color of buttermilk and Luke's Falls were mostly hidden behind more of that explosive foliage.

It was about this point that after much discussion we decided to postpone our trip to Israel. A week-long public holiday in the holy land promised a bad time and the quarantine requirements we deemed too much of a burden to put Vitali's parents through. Doubly disappointed, we started discussions on where else we could go.

Colton Point State Park / Little Pine State Park

We had bought tickets to see Glass Animals in Pittsburgh back in May or so, when things were looking good for a hot vax summer. We were concerned now about going to an event of this size, but considering it was outside, we were vaccinated, and the venue required either proof of vaccination or a negative covid test, we decided to go anyway.

We split the 5 hour drive up by stopping a few hours west of Mountain Top to see the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania. We had tried to go earlier in August but the park we were planning on camping at (Leonard Harrison State Park) on the East rim was closed due to a washed out road.

Colton Point State Park is on the West rim, but only had first come first serve sites. We were so sick of camping, tired of the awful weather, and miserable about our plans falling through, so we opted for a cabin rental instead of using our tent, which was on its last legs with the door zipper on the verge of total failure.

The only cabins we could find though were about an hour south of the Grand Canyon, at Little Pine State Park. Which worked out fine -- the cabin was adorable and just what the doctor ordered.

The cabin looked haunted.

The campground was pretty quiet -- almost no one on the half we were on. I have to commend PA State Parks -- all the ones we visited had nice hot showers, which were free!

Vitali worked on becoming the local legend of a segment nearby, and we also spent an evening fishing. He caught a largemouth bass but it was tiny and back it went.

We watched a bald eagle snatch a fish from the water, which was a show so patriotic it brought a tear to our eyes while we looked around for a flag to salute.

The next morning we went up to Colton Point State Park to visit the Grand Canyon. We hiked to the bottom because we love punishment.

The trail was steep and slick. My boot treads were so worn that I was slip sliding most of the way down. I think they called this the Turkey Path Trail because only turkeys (us) hike it. The view at the top was very nice and the view at the bottom was not very exciting, and probably not worth the effort.

We continued on our way to Pittsburgh, stopping at the Allegheny Portage Railroad National Historic Site (the first railroad linking Philadelphia and Pittsburgh) and the Johnstown Flood National Memorial Site -- while it was coincidentally pouring rain, and found the Visitor Center at the latter inexplicably closed. As we left town we saw the Flash Flood Warnings pop up on our phones and even heard a tornado siren. We hoped the rain from the remnants of Ida would stop before the show that evening and we also hoped we wouldn't die.

We made it to Pittsburgh safely though and checked in to our airbnb in an urban neighborhood -- which was an amazing historical row home filled with original architectural details and covered in Steelers and Penguins memorabilia.

Glass Animals was excellent that evening -- they played live variations of their studio recordings which was unusual but worked. My only complaint was the sound was a little too low to use my concert earplugs, so I suffered very minor hearing damage instead.

Flight 93 National Memorial

We stopped here on the way back from Pittsburgh, and the day turned out to be quite depressing.

Although I did get a stamp in my NPS passport.

A wide walkway leads you from the parking lot through a portal, along an axis that corresponds with the flight path and terminates with the site of the crash, marked by a large boulder.

The architecture was stunning and the exhibits inside were best-in-class. Throughout the site angled cuts evoke the geometry of hemlock branches, a grove of which surrounds the crash site.

Away from the building, in the memorial plaza, stands forty marble slabs with the names of the victims engraved, and the ceremonial hemlock gate, aligned with the flight path, overlooks the impact site.

There is also a wind chime installation that was very beautiful. Forty wind chimes shimmer in the wind, representing each individual on the plane, each chime quietly ringing a different note.

Johnstown Flood National Memorial

We stopped again on the way back home and found the Visitor Center open this time (needed to get a stamp!). We proceeded to read and watch about the horrifying events of the Johnstown Flood of 1889. Over 2,000 people lost their lives in a few minutes because some fat cats who did not consult an engineer, built a dam on the river upstream from Johnstown to create a lake resort for themselves and their high society friends. A large scale rain event caused the river to break through the dam and flood the town downstream. Bodies of victims continued to be found 30 years later and as far away as Cleveland.

The NPS video was a mixture of documentary and dramatic reenactment and took some cues from horror movies to set the tone. We walked out thoroughly shook. Even the museum exhibits were horrific -- the full scale trunk of a tree and mangled debris of homes and vehicles pierced the building and hung above the interpretive displays like a specter. If we had visited the day before while it was pouring rain...

Fortunately the sun was shining and we were able to leave the visitor center and only reflect on the tragedy that had occurred here.

We also wanted to stop by Fallingwater which was in the vicinity but when we checked for tour tickets a few days before we had found them completely sold out.

So we headed east and made our way back to Mountain Top and made the decision on where we would head next -- to the Great White North, to the Canadian Rockies. Yes, that did mean we would have to drive an extra 2,500 miles to be back where we were just a few weeks prior. We were only 50 miles from the Canadian border at Glacier National Park when they re-opened land crossings on August 9th. We could have entered and went right up the Rockies like we had intended originally.

Though the timing to go in September would actually work out to be perfect -- the seasons would be changing and if we were lucky we would get a peep of the most spectacular show on Earth.

So, as Vitali has christened me the Michael Phelps of Planning, I planned a month in the Canadian Rockies in a few days, booked our campsites, and prepared for our voyage. Preparations also included new boots for both of us, as my old ones had about 700 miles on them and almost no tread left, while Vitali's tread had also disappeared long ago.

We'd soon be ready to go!