A Long Walk Around Cranberry Lake

 

Amos crossing the Oswegatchie River on the Wanakena footbridge

I have spent the last 10 days wonderstruck, immersed the forests and tiny towns of this region. We've done some driving from here to there, but mostly we've been walking. Despite this slow means of travel, and the fact that my attention is almost always here and now, I am still very aware of how little I know this place. We are just dipping our toes in its plentiful lakes, deep woods, and unique culture. 

To bring you up to speed, after completing the 22-mile French Louie loop, which incorporates small pieces of the Northville Placid and North Country Trails, we cruised over to the Black River Wild Forest. There we did an overnight, hiking from the Bear Creek trailhead to Chub Pond, looping over to Gull Pond the next day and back to the car. We stayed at Chub Pond lean-to #2, which provided an epic view of the very large pond (ponds are the size of lakes out here and lakes, well, they are really big). But the real magic was happening on shore. I had the opportunity to watch a clutch of snapping turtle hatchlings take their first steps. Furtively, peeking out of a hole, one by one, where surely they had just left their eggs, walk, waddle, and tumble down to the water, where each one, glided in. I wished them a good life, all seven that I got to witness.

View from Chub Pond lean-to #2

a baby snapping turtle taking their first swim

That evening, rain was predicted so I procured us a Hipcamp in Barneveld, NY at West Canada Creek Farm. Wow, this place was a gem! We rented a little screenhouse for the night, nestled on the edge of expansive hayfields and the wide creek. I set up our tent inside to ensure that Amos felt at home, and he took to it immediately. I learned many hikes ago, to avoid renting motel rooms at all costs. Amos is happy if the surroundings are quiet and resembles sleeping on the trail as much as possible. This screenhouse fit the bill. We liked it so much, we stayed a second night. Plus, Chris and Heather the owners knew the region's trails well, having hiked many of them. It was lots of fun talking trail and they had really helpful insights to share about our upcoming adventure.

Amos at the screenhouse at West Canada Creek Farm

And what an adventure it has been! And still is. We are in progress, taking a rain day at another sweet Hipcamp. I'll be sure to share that one in the next post. So far, we have completed 40 miles of the Cranberry 50 trail. The Cranberry 50 (CL50) is as, you guessed it, a 50-mile trail, that encircles Cranberry Lake. Cranberry Lake is the third largest lake in the Adirondacks and is shaped kind of like an octopus, with a wide center and many arms. These arms are called "flows," which are basically shallow, marshy sections of the lake. Cranberry Lake was once a smaller lake surrounded by cranberry bogs. In the mid-1800's, a dam was built on the Oswegatchie River (to benefit the logging industry), that expanded the lake, essentially creating these flows. Oswegatchie is pronounced Osh-we-gosh-ee (gathered that knowledge at the farm too). The trail travels loosely around the perimeter, at times venturing miles from the shore, but frequently returning the hiker to a flow for camp. 

The tiny village of Wanakena is the hub for the Cranberry 50

We began our trek in the tiny, incredibly charming, village of Wanakena. There's not much here by way of businesses, but my goodness, this li'l place sure welcomes the hiker. I was delighted to come into town and find Otto's Abode. It was sadly closed for renovations, but I could tell that Otto's was one cool place. It shared a historic building with the post office. Out front, a human-sized moose character greeted us, inviting us onto a porch with comfy chairs for sitting and a library of books to "borrow and return". Across the street from Otto's was a park, which had a pavilion (with outlets), a fire ring with Adirondack chairs, firewood, a spigot, croquet, and the most delightful bathroom I have experienced the whole trail. Mind you, I have used a lot of outhouses, but this was really a well-cared-for bathroom. A large round sign shaped like a trail marker announced a trailhead for the Cranberry 50. 

In the center of "downtown" Wanakena

Greeted by the only moose I've seen yet!

However, we did not start here. Instead, we crossed the Oswegatchie River by car and parked near the trailhead for the Janack's Landing trail. By hiking this trail into the loop, we effectively portioned the Cranberry 50 into a 40-mile section and a 15-mile section. So, when we're done, we will have hiked 55 miles! We reached the CL50-proper in a couple hours and spent our first night at Glasby Pond. Unfortunately, I am again limited on photos to share on the blog, given that my phone requires syncing with the internet to download photos to the cloud. Ah, tech. Therefore, rather than take you through each day via text alone, I'll share the highlights. 

One of the many bridges on the Cranberry 50

The path itself has been a joy to walk. We have been traveling counterclockwise and essentially started with the more challenging portion of the loop. However, even this more "rugged" section was gently rolling. Fern-capped boulders sat sentinel in the woods. Yellow birch and eastern hemlock towered. Beech was ever-present. Scarlet swamp maple leaves sometimes carpeted the soil underfoot, by the end of our week, golden sugar maple and coppery beech leaves did too. They were a couple of tricky creek crossings with Amos given precarious boulders, but most creeks were bridged, and mud was, given what I've seen on other trails, minimal. With the exception of some blowdowns along the Otter Creek Trail (one of the many shorter trails that the CL50 uses), maintenance was excellent. Even there, had I not been navigating them with Amos, they wouldn't have been so troublesome. 

Campsite by Brandy Flow

Given our humble daily mileage, we didn't always hit the primo campsites, but there were plenty to be had along the trail. Our favorite was one along Brandy flow. We had this spacious site all to ourselves. In fact, we had every camp all to ourselves! It was high and dry and sunny. Loons called late in the afternoon and in the morning we were greeted by a woodpecker knock-knocking away at the tree over our tent. Amos enjoyed taking a dip whenever he pleased and I enjoyed sunning on a large boulder in the water. Come to think of it, Amos enjoyed taking a dip in a lot of places along this trail.

Amos wild and free in East Inlet

The sunsets and early mornings (I don't get up early enough for sunrise) were spectacular. The quiet of this trail, too, was remarkable. Although, unlike the French Louie, there were nights I heard crickets and barred owls and screech owls too. 

Sunset on Cranberry Lake

With the exception of Friday, which was exceptionally lovely with 70-degree temps, and we were within miles of the town of Cranberry Lake, we only saw six hikers the whole time, three and two were in groups, and four out of six were women! Oh, and whatever you do, don't ask Amos about the town of Cranberry Lake. 

The General Store in Cranberry Lake

Aside from Wanakena, the only other town the CL50 goes through in Cranberry Lake. Cranberry Lake is also a pretty quiet place. However, the cars move fast on Route 3, and there are many residences that line the road (even if most seemed uninhabited this time of year). I stopped at the one general store in town to procure a cold soda and to fill our water reserves. Amos was in a panic, eager to get back to the trail as fast as possible, which put me in a panic too. But, we made it through with a quick 15-minute stop. One and a half miles later we were back in the woods. Whew!

Yesterday afternoon, we walked the suspension bridge into Wanakena. What a feeling! We'd done it - the biggest trek of our amble. We'd spent nearly a full week in the woods hiking those 40 miles. 24 of them we'd completed over the last 3 days. We'd gained speed and confidence, but most importantly, we let the beauty of these woods seep into our bones. I was grateful for a primitive campsite right in the town of Wanakena that night. Doesn't get easier than that. We celebrated with a 10-minute drive up to Star Lake where I procured cheap gas station pizza and a hamburger for Amos. Well-deserved rewards. 

In the coming days, we'll take on the remaining miles of the Cranberry 50! Thanks for letting us share our story with you!

Feeling pretty swell about completing the Cranberry 40

Ambling the Adirondacks

 

Amos on the Northville Placid Trail

We set off for the Adirondacks one week ago today. I knew little of this region. Scott, Amos and I had explored it for a few days on the Northville Placid Trail some years back. If fact, I do believe that was Amos' first backpacking venture. Scott and I had also walked up to the edge of the Adirondacks when we completed our thru hike on the Long Path. But aside from these glimpses, I'd never taken the time to really get to know this region. Armed with a packet of National Geographic maps and plenty of supplies, Amos and I drove northward. 

Several hours later we had reached Route 28, which would carry us through numerous quintessential Adirondack towns, among them Thendara, Old Forge, Eagle Bay, and Inlet. As darkness fell, we passed lake after lake, the silhouettes of evergreens towered. We parked it just outside of Inlet at Eighth Lake Campground. As soon as I stepped from the car, I noticed the air smelled different here - like fragrant balsam and damp soil. We had no sooner settled into the tent when I heard the loons calling. I hadn't heard loons since I was on the Finger Lakes Trail, before that the Appalachian Trail. It's amazing how nature has the ability to connect us instantly with far away moments in our lives. Then a screech owl. Later that night, a pack of coyotes yipping and crying and howling. We had certainly entered another realm.

Queer Lake in the early morning

I had studied my maps thoroughly before leaving and had highlighted some trails that I thought would be fun to explore. We started in the Pigeon Lakes Wilderness, with a lollipop loop from Cascade Lake trailhead up to Queer Lake. An easy 4.5 miles. The trail began wide, once a dirt road long ago, and then we turned onto single-track. We rolled along, up and down small hills, sometimes navigating a minor blowdown, other times squishing and squelching through mud. I am learning that mud comes with the territory here. Boardwalks and puncheons and cut-log paths had been laid in an effort to reduce the mud factor, but alas they were rotting in the mud too, so they presented their own obstacle. Still, it was nothing we couldn't handle, and the enormous trees, moss-covered logs, and micro-forests that perched on top of boulders made it all worth it. My pictures that I have to share are limited given my service, but when we reached the lean-to, my goodness! The lean-to sat facing enormous Queer Lake. I was delighted to find the water perfectly clear and the lake with a sandy bottom. I set up our tent just beside it and later that night, after a song from the loons and later, a barred owl, the woods fell completely and utterly silent. Not a breeze, not a cricket, not a crack of a twig. I would come to learn that this, too, seems to be typical in these Adirondack woods.

In the morning, I spotted a beaver out for a swim, and later the loons cackled hilariously at me as I struggled to pack up all of our gear. On our way back, we did a loop around Chain Ponds. Along the way I was struck by all the hobblebush in the understory. It's heart-shaped leaves are turning deep burgundy, and some shrubs are sporting red (ripening to black) berries. Amos also spotted a black bear. We both remained perfectly silent, as he meandered through the forest and then scampered up an embankment. Before we knew it, we were back on the path we had started at, completing 11 miles for this jaunt.

Hobblebush in fruit

That afternoon, we explored the charming town of Inlet. I very much appreciated the open-air coffee house. An iced coffee after a trek, now this I could get used to (and did, two days in a row). Arrowhead Park was a fabulous place to gather info at Town Hall, make use of the Wi-Fi, and clean up a bit in the bathroom. This seems to be the town park, and wow, what a park it is, set right on the shore of Fourth Lake.

View of Fourth Lake from Arrowhead Park

 Later that evening, we headed for Moose River Plains, which hosts over 100 free roadside campsites. No amenities aside from some with firepits, privies, and picnic tables, but it sure is nice to have an easy, no-cost, legal camping spot. Finding a spot did require rolling very slowly down a bumpy gravel road for what felt like an eternity, but about 35 minutes later, we had chosen our site, set on a wooded knoll. That night it poured rain and the site was pretty much dirt. So as the raindrops hit hard, they splattered, right up underneath the rainfly and into the tent, casting black grit and grime all over the outside of the tent, and inside too. So be it, we were at least dry. And, hey when car camping, circumstances such as these, never seem too bad. 

Road sign in Moose River Plains - these remote roads stretch for miles, one leads from Inlet 27 miles to Indian Lake (although due to windfall, this route was closed about halfway through)

The next day we drove farther into Moose River Plains, where the gravel roads eventually turned to sand. I learned from a ranger that a very old moose named Harold, was said to frequent the ponds here. I kept a keen eye out but never did spot him. I'm still holding out hope on this trip! That afternoon, Amos and I took it easy, with a wander through Cathedral Pines - a pocket of old growth pines - and later explored Ferd's Bog. The bog was a wonder. Here we followed a slippery dirt path, down, down, down, and then walked a heavy-duty plastic boardwalk out into the heart of the bog. Leatherleaf lined our path, sphagnum moss was blood red, and carnivorous pitchers plants sat filled to the brim with rainwater waiting for a snack. Amos desperately wanted to keep going beyond the boardwalk, but when he stepped out onto the moss and started sinking, he decided that maybe wasn't such a good idea. 

Moss Lake and the island

Camp at Moss Lake

Late in the afternoon, we discovered beautiful Moss Lake. Amos was all about this place, running up the shoreline, where we spied a wooded island at its heart. The shoreline was a botanical wonderland. I marveled at northern wild raisin, mountain ash, and winterberry - all in fruit. The bottle-brush purple flowers of narrow-leaved gentian, a wholly new plant to me, clustered amidst these shrubs. I could have spent the day here, and perhaps we will, but evening was quick to come. There are eight campsites that surround Moss Lake on a 2.5-mile loop trail. So, back at the car, I packed a backpack, and we headed in for the night, finding a lovely spot in a cove of evergreens.

Winterberry - a deciduous holly

The next day began our first big trek. After much sorting and organizing, and a long drive into the West Canada Lakes Wilderness, Amos and I hit the 22-mile French Louie loop. I was excited for this route given the abundance of lean-tos and lakes. Also, we would be walking a portion of both the Northville Placid Trail and the North Country Trail. After another long drive down a gravel road that I hoped my sedan could traverse, we embarked on our three-night, four-day hike at nearly 5:00 in the evening. 

Amos loves a good puncheon

Trail markers for the 4,200-mile North Country Trail and the 140-mile Northville Placid Trail. The North Country Trail also utilizes the Finger Lakes Trail through New York state, therefore thanks to my time on the FLT, I have already walked about 500 miles of the NCT. Here's to slowly chipping away!

I will sum up this loop as a true walk in the wilderness. These woods were dense, so dense that if the sun were shining while we walked, I was barely aware of it. Trees - predominantly beech, spruce, balsam fir, red maple, and paper birch - densely clustered. Between trees, moss-covered logs and rocks and roots. A thick understory of hobblebush. The precious leaves of native wildflowers we rarely see back at home were abundant, among them blue-bead lily, bunchberry, jack-in-the pulpit, and abundant patches of common wood sorrel (which is not all that common in northeast Pa.) An unparalleled quiet. Zero cell signal for most of the loop. Loons, a fisher cat, belted king fishers and northern flickers, three hikers and two golden retrievers. 

View of Cedar Lake with morning mist

Nearly every night we slept with a view of an enormous glittering blue bowl of water framed with green hills splotched with red. It was easy to plot out our mileage with nine lean-tos to choose from. My favorite was South Lake lean-to, given the amazing campsite right beside the water. 

Our camp at South Lake

The trail was typically a thread weaving us through the forest. Sometimes that thread was literally cut through a carpet of moss, cleanly edged on both sides, giving the effect of a garden stroll. Other times, we slopped about, sinking ankle-deep in muck - Amos is happy to take me right through the heart of it, even if we could have likely side-stepped it with some finesse. We walked mossy boardwalks and impressive bridges and even a land bridge through the edge of South Lake. Finishing up, we walked what once a road, evidenced by rusting car frame that sat plunked in the woods. With rain coming in, our last night we picked a random spot in the woods to put us closer to the car for our last day. 

22 miles under our belts (and paws) at the trailhead for the French Louie Loop. This trailhead is located off Old Military Road, near Pillsbury Mountain. 

It felt pretty good to reach that now familiar signage this morning. Today we've been taking it easy, getting some chores done and sitting out the rain from yet another roadside campsite. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, we'll see where our feet and paws take us.

Adirondacks, Here We Come!

  

Adirondacks, here we come!

The season has been gloriously full. Herbal programs and plant walks. The continual tending to the meadows, clearing of trails, and herbs, flowers, and veggies in the garden. Plus, there's that book I've been working on for the last five years. The care we devote to one another on this ranch, human and animal alike, certainly the most important work we do (believe me I'm on the receiving end, too). But now, it's time, high time, to take a break, to take a good, long, woods walk.

Several years ago, Scott and Amos and I did a three-night backpacking trip on the Northville Placid Trail. It was magical. The conical evergreens, the big blue ponds and even bigger lakes, the carnivorous plants and glowing moss and lichen-draped craggy limbs, the quiet, it stuck with me. This year, when I got to thinking about where Amos and I could go, this special place surfaced. The terrain was rolling, the paths not so rocky, mountains were all around but we didn't have to climb them, for the swamps and ponds and lakes were vista enough. Amos has spent the season hiking and running, building his strength and endurance. and has been cleared by the vet for another adventure. Doc's words, "his legs will be stronger than the ones he was born with." 

The Adirondack Park is comprised of 6 million acres, making it the largest publicly protected area in the lower 48 states. It's three times the size of Yellowstone. Yep, right here in the densely populated northeast. However, the Adirondacks are a little different from other federally designated lands. It is neither a national park nor a state park. In fact, only about half of those 6 million acres are owned by the state of New York, the rest is owned privately. There are homes and businesses and farms within the Adirondack Park, which I think makes good sense. Nature and humans together, rather than separation. 

There are said to be over 2,000 miles of trails within the Adirondack Park, so we'll have plenty to explore. Good thing, we've got about four weeks. This is as much Amos' adventure as it is mine - he's calling the shots. But, some places on our very loose agenda: Moose River Plains, Five Ponds Wilderness, Pigeon Lakes Wilderness, Ha-De-Ron-Dah Wilderness, West Canada Lake, and the Black River. I'm hoping we can have some fun on the Cranberry 50 - a fifty-mile loop around Cranberry Lake. Two long-distance trails travel the Adirondacks - the 140-mile Northville Placid Trail and the 4,000+ mile North Country Trail - surely we'll drop in for a few miles on these. The lean-to's are plentiful, as is water. And the temps look ideal, high sixties during the day and high forties at night. The car is packed with food, water, gear, and a small library. Surrendering to the unknown. Seizing joy. Seeking beauty. Here, we go!

Herb School for your Wild Heart

 

Wake Robin Trillium (Trillium erectum), a precious spring ephemeral

Within you is a remembrance of being participant in the natural world. This part of you remembers walking barefoot, the damp soil beneath your feet, the cool creek dancing over your toes and lapping at your calves. This quiet memory recalls sitting beneath the luxurious canopy of a towering oak on a warm summer's day and appreciating the company. This instinctual memory enlivens, as you nimbly pluck pungent leaves from bee balm and yarrow and dig the aromatic roots of sassafras and sarsaparilla. Perhaps you personally recall such memories, perhaps you can't recall them at all. Either way, I believe, as living beings in this wild world, such memories exist in our bones, in our DNA; they are inherent in the ancestral knowledge we carry with us. Even if today our lives feel domesticated, our hearts remain wild. They still pound when we step to the edge of a cliff, swell at the sight of a beautiful vista, or warm in the presence of a doe and her fawn.

Processing Yarrow to make tincture

We need the wild for health, happiness, wholeness. More than ever, we are discontent, anxious, and lonely. Heart disease, depression, and obesity are on the rise. There are myriad factors that contribute to this decline in human health. I believe a driving force is our separation from the natural world. For most of human history, we lived in close relation with the natural world. Not only did we spend more time outside, but we gathered or grew our own food and medicine, and harvested plants for cordage, fiber, and building materials. When we needed to go somewhere, we walked. We interacted with other species - perhaps birdsong was our backdrop, or we tracked and learned the habits of an animal we hunted, maybe we tended livestock. We paid attention because reading the land provided insight (and there was no GPS). This sort of lifestyle also required community. We learned skills from each other, we relied on each other, we shared stories and played together.

Barefoot walking with guest teacher Barefoot Ken

Make no mistake, our lives remain intertwined with the natural world. Our food is still cultivated someplace by someone, we sleep at night and are wakeful at day, and weather still impacts our lives. However, we spend a lot of time sitting in front of screens, communicating via screens, feeding on-screen life. For many of us, direct participation with the natural world is not necessary for survival. Although it is essential to our vitality, our happiness, our love for life.

Rejoicing in homegrown medicinal herbs

This is why each and every one of us could benefit from herb school. Sure, I've got a vested interest - but hear me out. An in-person herbal medicine program that's rooted in place will get you OUTSIDE. With the plants. With people. In the company of critters. It will teach you how to grow your own food and medicine. You'll come to know place. You will become part of place, and place will become part of you. You'll know what plants you can turn to as allies to support your health, your family's health, and the health of your community. You don't have to want a career in herbalism, nor wish to live in a hobbit hole deep in the woods. If you want health, well-being, wholeness, then herb school is for you!

Spending time with the plants, getting to know them in the place in which they live - and you live too - is medicine in and of itself. Herbal medicine is stitched to the whole of the wild world, and in learning it and practicing it, you, too, will be stitched to the whole of the wild world. Herbalism will feed your wild heart.  

This is why I offer the Plant and Place Immersion, a four-month in-person bioregional herbal medicine program. Not just to teach herbal medicine, but to foster kinship with the natural world. This kinship is imperative for our health, our communities, and our planet.

The Plant and Place Immersion starts soon! Learn more about this journey with the plants below! 

 Plant and Place Immersion 2026

Meet the plants.

Through plant-sits, we'll slow down, examine what makes each plant morphologically unique, how the leaves feel when crushed, what scent they emanate, how they taste. This is what we call organoleptic knowledge, aka sensory knowledge. Included in our sensory knowledge is the imaginal, those sensations, feelings, thoughts, and memories that arise -it's like swapping stories with a plant. Sensory knowledge is how people came to know plants' properties before we had labs to identify constituents. To work with the plants, one had to know them as individuals, one had to create relationship. This is our foundation. 

Learn how to confidently identify plants and gain knowledge of place.

Learn basic botany and how to use a key to identify plants. Plants do not grow in isolation. Once you begin looking closely, subtleties become apparent. Individuals stand out in the green landscape. You'll notice when plants bloom, in what habitats they grow, and in the company of what other plants. Plants are not a microcosm. They root in the earth, absorb nutrients and water, and transform sunshine into food. Insects and animals visit them for food and shelter and, surely, you'll meet them too in your sit spot. This leads to the next point! 

Cultivate relationship to place.

Every participant is encouraged to find a sit spot, a place in nature to sit, turn on the senses, and notice. Through this slowing down and observation, you'll come to know place as our ancestors did. We can have all the facts in the world about the place in which we live, but we must spend time in place and allow space for communion, communication, to create relationship. This is way easier than it sounds. Just sit and be present.

Ethically and safely harvest plants for food and medicine.

You'll learn how to harvest plants through practices that benefit both you and the plants. We do not take the plants for our own use. Rather we ask that we may work with them, harvest only what we need, and give thanks. We can give thanks in a variety of ways - plant nearby seeds, sprinkle water, clear competing invasive plants, or just say thank you! The plants give and we give back. This is practicing reciprocity.

Prepare plants as food and herbal medicine.

Participants learn how to incorporate wild harvested and homegrown plants into delicious meals and easy healthy snacks. You'll learn hands-on how to prepare herbal tinctures, infusions and decoctions, infused oils and salves, herbal vinegars and more. By preparing plants as food and medicine, we create relationship with them and the place in which they grew. As we consume them, they nourish us and contribute to our physiology. We quite literally become inseparable. 

Discover how herbs benefit the human body.

I'll share the ways in we can work with plants to balance various imbalances within the human body. We'll monograph the herbs that we meet, by creating detailed medicinal profiles. These profiles will contain both scientific knowledge and traditional ways of knowing. Every participant will finish the program with a materia medica - a collection of plant monographs - to reference for a lifetime. Participants will have the skills to expand their materia medicas as they meet new plants.

Methods for connecting with plants and place.

Forest bathing, barefoot walking, journaling, and gardening will further inspire your path to connection with the natural world and her green inhabitants. Guest teachers will provide a variety of insights from their paths. The ways in which we find connection are varied and personal. Through the Immersion, you are sure to find those ways which most resonate with you!

Enjoy a community of like-minded earth-centered folks.

With your fellow participants you'll revel in the natural world and make connections in unexpected ways. Intentionally built into the curriculum is time to share stories and insights. We have much to learn from one another!

This season, get outside, meet the plants, commune with place, and nourish your wild heart! The Plant and Place Immersion takes place at the School of Plant and Place Connection in Milford, Pa. The program runs May through August. Enjoy 10 in-person full-day sessions and 8 virtual classes. Two bonus seasonal plant walks bookend the experience - the first one is in April! Join us for the Plant and Place Immersion by visiting: Immersion

Our classroom at the School of Plant and Place Connection

 

PAWventure: Feral Joy

 

Completing the Old Logger's Path on a sun-drenched autumn day

Our long trek did not go according to plan. Not even close. What began as a nearly 300-mile PAW Mega Loop transformed into a 200 + mile PAWventure. In the Pennsylvania Wilds, we explored the Susquehannock Trail, the Quehanna Trail, the Black Forest Trail, the Chuck Keiper Trail, the Allegheny Front Trail and countless even lesser traveled connecting trails. Near the end of our journey, we ventured into the Ridge and Valley Region on the Mid State Trail and the Old Logger's Path. We finished in the Endless Mountains on the Loyalsock Trail. We hiked clear off the PA Wilds map. Our feet and hearts led the way. We found beauty in so many places. We seized joy. I'll circle 'round to that, the greatest gift from this trek, after I share with you our last week on the trail.

Shelter on the Mid State Trail inside Bald Eagle State Forest

The Pine Creek shelter called to me. I'd remembered thru hiking the Mid State Trail several years ago and anticipating this sanctuary for days. A rainstorm was rolling in as I'd neared. When I'd arrived, I'd found it occupied. Three kindly boys invited us in, but that's not how I roll, nor Amos. We like our solitude. We hiked on. So, when I'd stumbled upon the Central Mountains Shared Use Trails - a network of hiking, biking, and horseback riding trails in Bald Eagle State Forest, I figured I'd build us a hike around this sweet spot. I knew the terrain would be rocky. Pete Fleszar of the Mid State Trail warned me. So did the ranger at Raymond B. Winter State Park, who dug up an old copy of the Central Mountains Shared Use Trails that illustrated I'd unknowingly planned to hike some of the rockiest portions of trail. At the last minute, I altered our loop. We'd follow the Mid State Trail south to the shelter and then circle back on the scenic Pine Creek Road. 

A forest view from the Mid State Trail

Amos pulled ahead excitedly, elated to be back on the familiar Mid State Trail, and within less than a half mile, I was on the side of the trail yowling, grasping my knee. I lay atop a broken trekking pole, the tip still wedged in the rocks beneath me. After some choice words, I picked myself up, dusted off, shoved the tip of my broken pole in the side pocket of my pack, and hobbled on. After a peaceful night in the shelter, I was very happy the next day to stride the forest road back towards R.B. Winter where we'd started. 

Pine Creek Road, a lovely scenic walk along the boundary of the Hook Natural Area in Bald Eagle State Forest

Little did we know what lay in our path. We crested a hill and began a mile-long descent along the road when mewing kittens emerged from a leafy embankment. Amos darted, eager to meet new friends. I could barely believe my eyes. Two tabbies circled 'round my feet. I struggled to calm Amos. I sadly knew right quick how these babes happened to be here. They'd been abandoned. When I had arrived at the state park, Sharon and Jacque, two amazing women who staffed the office and had helped me secure a cabin at Bald Eagle State Park, had introduced me to a Maine Coon cat they had rescued. Another had been hit by a car. They had taken responsibility for that one too, taking it to a local veterinary where it had been euthanized. This beauty, however, with white wisps of fur that curled 'round her ears, whiskers 6 inches long, and a fluffy tail, had survived. Jacque was feeding her well and had made a spot for her on her desk with cardboard and a heating pad. They had informed me that both cats and dogs were periodically dropped there in the park. Mind you, this park is remote. Were it not for the kindness of Jacque and Sharon and the rest of the staff at the park, these precious animals wouldn't stand a chance. From my lonely road, I desperately tried to get a signal to call the office. I knew Sharon and Jacque would help. But after a dozen tries it was clear the call would not go through. I decided to carry on quickly as I could and alert them as I reached the office. Surely, they would send a ranger to retrieve them. But the kittens had other ideas. 

RB and Winter following me down the path

One of two maintenance men who helped to transport the kittens to the safety of Jacque and Sharon

These two kittens, who I affectionately dubbed RB and Winter, followed me for over a mile. The real struggle was getting them across a busy road safely. The tiniest one allowed me to pick her up, but the larger one wouldn't have it. I tried to flag down passing vehicles, but no one stopped for the bedraggled hiker with a coonhound and two kittens at her feet, in the rain mind you. Not knowing what else to do, I scooped up the tiny one, looked both ways and dashed, knowing the larger one would follow quickly behind. We made it, and then I took an alternate route, a quiet park road that climbed a large hill. Suddenly a maintenance truck appeared. I stood in the middle of the road and waved my arms. The two fellas inside spotted me and quickly slowed. They remarked that these felines would be the seventh cats they'd found abandoned that week. I managed to pick up them both up and the men gladly drove them the rest of the way to safety. By later that afternoon, the Maine Coon cat would be adopted by a camper, and the tiniest kitten adopted by another staff member. I know the other will be homed as well. Thank you to the staff at Raymond B. Winter State Park for your kind hearts and going above and beyond in so many ways.

Signage for the Old Logger's Path

With my knee still aching from my fall and a kitten rescue, I was in need of some predictability. I decided we'd head for the Old Logger's Path in Loyalsock State Forest. We had already left the PA Wilds in R.B. Winter and Bald Eagle State Forest. Now, we would enter the Endless Mountains. Amos and I hiked this 27-mile loop last year and it was a dream. The trails are well-graded, with large portions being old forest roads and railroad grades. Vistas are abundant. Creeks flow heartily. Two shelters sit along the trail. Weather was predicted to be cool - high forties during the day, mid-thirties at night - and without rain. It would be a perfect place for us to simply walk and take it in. 

An enormous beech tree with a fused double trunk along the OLP

Like much of our northeastern woods, these forests were ravaged by the logging industry in the early 1900's. Despite this history some impressively large trees remain. Among them: beech, yellow birch, eastern hemlock, and red oak. Given the young forest that surrounds them, their presence feels all the more profound. They are elders, surely sharing nutrients through their subterranean mycorrhizal networks with hungry saplings. They tower, both paying homage to what once was and as symbols of could be. I lingered with as many as I could, giving small morsels of my own energy to these who provide for so many.

Broad leaf waterleaf (Hydrophyllum maculatum)

I marveled at the plants and fungi that also inhabited this trail. Young broad leaf waterleaf glowed green from the leafy forest floor. Goldenrod with fuzzy caterpillar plumes towered along Pleasant Stream beside scarlet staghorn sumac wands held high on silky branches sporting new buds. A single dandelion flowered in a rocky ditch. Wild carrot doilies and showy black-eyed Susan flowers brightened a dirt road. Velvety turkey tail fungi decorated a stump. Trees still clinging to leaves popped too - yellow birch glowed golden and maple shown ruby-red. The beech trees were largely bare and the cherries too, having already surrendered their leaves to the dormant season, but my goodness, there was still so much vitality in these woods.

A single dandelion (Taraxacum officinale)

Staghorn sumac (Rhus typhina)

The silky twigs of staghorn sumac showing off buds

Goldenrod gone to seed (Solidago sp.)

Turkey tail fungi on a stump (Trametes versicolor)

The Old Logger's Path, however, was not without its challenges. On our second day it unexpectedly stormed in the afternoon. The skies spat rain and hail, cold winds blew. That same day, we also forded a knee-deep creek. But being so near to the end of our journey, I reveled in whatever the trail threw our way. I knew our days were limited. I would embrace the icy cold water and the wet clothes. That night we'd be snug in our sleeping bag and in a few days, we'd be back in the comforts of home. Not a minute of our time was to be squandered. 

Sprout Point Vista, very near to the shelter where we spent our last night on the OLP

I was eager to revisit Sprout Point Vista. This vista is significant to me. Last year I had found antlers in the form of a dead-standing tree. In a selfie they had sprouted from my head! They represented so much: connection to my father, kinship with the natural world, a personal strength renewed. Now, I found just one. What could this mean? Perhaps I was unicorn now. Or perhaps we draw these connections, this magic, from different sources in different parts of our lives. On this journey, my father often visited in the sun. And these days I find my strength in this extraordinary coonhound.

With Amos and Dad at Sprout Point Vista

We completed the Old Logger's Path in about two and a half days. Where to go next? I had no service, no GPS, but I did have a map of Loyalsock State Forest. I decided we'd head east. That was at least the direction of home, and we had only a couple days left. After following many winding dirt roads, we found ourselves in Forksville beside two iron bridges. A road sign declared World's End State Park: 2 miles. I reckoned that could be an interesting place to visit, the name alone suggested mystery. But I was soon detoured by a red covered bridge and the promise of hot food.

Big Mike's Steaks and Hoagies

You must eat here (and I'm vegetarian). Big Mike's Steaks and Hoagies, located on the other side of that covered bridge in historic Forksville, is an oasis. Our diet out here is limited. We eat a lot of instant pasta and rice, cheese, granola bars, trail mix, and cheap bread products that won't mold. A treat is an egg sandwich from Sheetz or raw veggies from a grocery store. The Trail Gods were smiling upon us when they directed us here. Inside I found a whole section of their menu dedicated to vegetarian fare, each sandwich more creative and mouthwatering than the next. To top it off, on the counter was a sign: Puppy Bowls, plain steak or chicken for your fur-baby, $5. I ordered up the Woodstock, a Beyond Burger topped with melted swiss, sauteed mushrooms, onion rings, and some kind of heavenly mustard sauce. I got Amos a jam-packed puppy bowl of shredded chicken. We retreated to the car to eat our food and in that moment I didn't care where we were going or if we ever got there. All that mattered was the food in our bellies. FYI, Big Mike's was recently voted Best Cheesesteaks in PA by USA Today.

Sone's Pond in Loyalsock State Forest

Our permitted camp not far from the pond

When the food-induced coma lifted, we weaved through the rocky cliffs of World's End State Park, visited a roadside waterfall and vista and with the help of both park and state forest staff, found our way to a perfectly private campsite near Sone's Pond. This positioned us perfectly for the next day's hike on the Loyalsock Trail.

Easy railroad grade on the Loyalsock Trail

The Haystacks - Conspicuous boulders in Loyalsock Creek with a unique mineral composition not found in the surrounding area.

Blazes along the Loyalsock Trail

Our last day, we ventured out on the entirely new-to-us Loyalsock Trail. We hiked eight miles round trip from the start of the trail to near Sone's Pond, circling back via the Haystacks Trail. With the exception of one short steep climb, we hiked like the wind on easy graded trail. The skies were sunny, the temps brisk, the air crisp. We snuck a peek at Dutchman's Falls, the Haystacks (mysterious boulders along a portion of Loyalsock Creek), and reveled in spying a colorful ridgeline through the bare tree limbs. Amos' tail slapped back and forth like a windshield wiper. I turned my gaze to the treetops and whispered thank you. 

Milkweed seeds bursting from a pod along Pine Hollow Road in Bald Eagle State Forest

And if you've stuck with me through this lengthy post, thank you! I stated before we left for this trek that, "when we're done, we'll end up right back where we started. Though I am certain we won't be the same." We are now home and indeed we are different in body and mind. On this journey, Amos overcame tremendous physical challenges, renewing his strength and confidence. We learned all that's possible with adaptation and perseverance. And now, since returning home, we face another surgery. We have discovered a minute tear in the ligament in Amos' opposite leg. The vet says once this leg is fixed, his legs will be stronger than what he was born with. Life is riddled with obstacles. But it is also drenched in beauty. On this journey I rediscovered how to seize joy. And I intend to continue to seize it going forward. When it's there, fill 'er up. When you feel your feet light and your sight clarified, embrace it. When the wild spectacles grace your path, celebrate them. When your heart feels so full you can hardly bear it, give it. These, moments to remember, are gifts. Don't hold back. Go feral. Seize joy. Fill your reserves and joy will carry you. 

Pleasant Stream along the OLP

I'd like to thank all the folks that made this journey possible. Much gratitude to:

Members of the PAW Mega Loop Committee. You inspired me to hike so many new-to-me trails and I reveled in the sections of trail that I explored. 

Pete Fleszar for putting the wild idea of the PAW Mega Loop in my head! Pete provided me with the GPS route and the informal guide to follow it and graciously answered my many questions. Pete also retrieved Amos and I from the trail, allowing us an easier transition into our PAWventure. 

Jenn Ulmer for lending me her copies of precious out-of-print guidebooks (and maps), which made our hike on the Chuck Keiper possible. 

Albert Germann for his willingness to help with a resupply package and providing intel on conditions along the Chuck Keiper. 

The many members of the Keystone Trails Association for making my hike and so many others' hikes possible. These trails provide passage into a wild world that might otherwise be hard to access. 

So many kind souls I met along the way - state forest and state park staff, townspeople, shop owners. Your kindness made my day so many times.

Those who followed my journey through blog post and social media. A long trek (and joy) is better shared with others. 

Friends and family that buoyed me with supportive words or a simple check-in from back home.

Star Left, for being there if I needed help! And making the trail a little brighter.

My mom for shipping me so many packages all at once and putting up with my neurotic pre-hike anxieties. And for being Mom.

My love, Scott, for providing me with the love and support to take on big adventures and even from across an ocean, always being just a phone call away.