A Little Wilderness

A Little Wilderness

You may be surprised to learn there are 8663 acres of land-locked, federally-designated wilderness in Delaware, Maryland, New Jersey, New York and Pennsylvania . . . combined.

That statement needs some explanation.  First, the land-locked part:  There is a variety of federal wilderness areas in the Garden, Empire and Keystone states (sorry Delaware and Maryland).  In the case of New York, it’s the Otis Pike Fire Island High Dune Wilderness and in New Jersey, the Great Swamp National Wildlife Refuge. Pennsylvania has the Allegheny Islands and the Hickory Creek Wildernesses. Of all these, Hickory Creek Wilderness alone is accessible by foot. 

Second, this is it not to suggest Hickory Creek has a monopoly on Mid-Atlantic wildness.  Can you say “Adirondack Park?”  Covering some 6 million acres, New York’s vast mountain preserve dwarfs even Yellowstone National Park in size.  However, with villages like Lake Placid and Saranac Lake – not to mention innumerable “camps” -- something like half of the land in Adirondack Park is privately owned.   Heck, according to that infallible source of information on all things – Wikipedia – Adirondack State Park boasts more than 30 golf courses.

   

There are plenty of other places between Toledo and the White Mountains to get lost in the woods, of course.  But only this tiny chunk of the Allegheny Plateau between Tionesta and Warren, PA qualifies as federally-protected wilderness.  To refresh your memory, the Federal Wilderness Act of 1964 defines a wilderness as an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain. An area of wilderness is further defined to mean in this Act an area of undeveloped Federal land retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions and which (1) generally appears to have been affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of man's work substantially unnoticeable; (2) has outstanding opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation; (3) has at least five thousand acres of land or is of sufficient size as to make practicable its preservation and use in an unimpaired condition; and (4) may also contain ecological, geological, or other features of scientific, educational, scenic, or historical value.

Nor is this to say the 8600+ acres bordered by East and Middle Hickory Creeks is, strictly speaking, forest primeval.  The area saw its share of logging in the 1800s and early-1900s; indeed, the principal trail through the wilderness often traces old railroad grades and logging skids.   However, commercial logging in Hickory Creek petered-out in 1920s and the ensuing years have seen the flora and fauna inexorably reclaim their turf, and the oil and natural gas wells that dot the surrounding 500,000 acre Allegheny National Forest are noticeably absent.

Thus, recent imprints of man’s work were largely unnoticeable on the loop trail I recently followed for a dozen miles through Hickory Creek Wilderness.  Well-marked and gently undulating, it passes through stands of mixed hardwoods – black cherry, oaks, maple and beech – with an understory of ferns, along with the occasional cool grove of hemlocks and a carpet of pine needles padding the path.  I also happened upon the odd meadow – whether “naturally occurring,” an old clear cut yet to return to a forested state or a long-since abandoned artillery firing range – where the dazzling sunshine contrasted to the woodlands’ dappled shade.

Although the trail crosses an occasional stream or bog, there are only two substantial watercourses – Jacks and Coon Runs – on the route.  Just beyond the loop’s counterclockwise mid-point, I came to the picturesque ford of Jacks Run, with deep pools along a winding watercourse in a park-like setting with several primo camping spots.  Looking to make a relatively quick exit from Hickory Creek the following morning, I continued on for another mile or two to Coon Run.

Less beguiling than Jacks Run, Coon Run passes through a brushy meadow bordered by a marsh that looked ominously welcoming to mosquitoes, with a couple of serviceable campsites tucked in a stand of oaks just a few paces off the pathway. 

A long day of easy hiking gave way to a languid late afternoon in my Big Agnes Seedhouse, alternating cat-naps with the simple pleasure of lying on my air mattress, gazing at my surroundings through the tent’s fine mesh walls, protected from the buzzing insects. 

At the trailhead I’d seen one fellow heading-off ahead of me and, later, encountered a trio of hikers heading the opposite direction between Coon and Jacks Run.  Camped by Coon Run, the late afternoon and early evening passed without another soul passing by.  And after a hearty meal of freeze-dried mac ‘n cheese and a liberal coating of DEET, I leaned my backpack against a tree and spent the evening reading, turning-on my headlamp as dusk gave way to dark.  Eventually, I repositioned my backpack in the tent to prop-up my neck, read another chapter or two, then turned-in at the civilized hour of 9 pm.

There was no rush for sleep; I was content to watch the night sky turn ever darker and stars begin appearing – Hickory Creek is, after all, not so very far from Cherry Springs State Park, “The Second International Dark Sky Park in the World” as designated by The International Dark-Skies Association.

Nor was the night’s entertainment limited to the visual senses.  As Coon Run relentlessly splashed past, an owl sporadically hooted from deep in the woods.  At times, the sound of jet planes drifted to earth, challenging me to find their pulsating lights among the stars and ponder their possible destinations, recalling how only a month ago I may well have passed over this miniscule spot on a red-eye from SFO to JFK.

Who needs television, radio or a page-turner when nature’s reality show is every bit as entertaining and infinitely more soothing.

The night passed in seamless episodes of slumber/sky gazing/listening.  No worries of insomnia when you’re sure to get your fill of sleep -- for as long as it takes – in the alarm-less morning to come.

Still, after catching 40, then 80 extra winks, the time to rise arrived.  But with just an hour or two of trail between camp and car, I could enjoy the relative luxury of wolfing down a granola bar or two while repacking.  After all, there was no need to cook when a hot breakfast awaited in some restaurant in Tionesta, Cooksburg or one of the other villages I’d soon be passing through on the way home . . . now that I’d had my fix of Pennsylvania’s little wilderness.