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June 22, 2004 The sparkling clear day I was driving through, heading up the narrow state highway 11/15 with the Susquhanna River gurgling over the rocks to my right was to be short lived, but I didn't know it at the time. I was just happy for the weekend in the woods, (finally). I'm on highway 220 now just passing through Laport near the Wyoming State Forest and looking for the trailhead on the left. Again I passed it and had to make a U-turn to pull off the road and park my battered old Chevy pickup. I hopped out, got a form at the trail head, and filled out the usual name and address etc for the rangers in the event of an emergency. I shouldered the old North Face frame pack and hit the trail. By the time I was a hundred paces into my weekend the weight I expected to be lifted from my shoulders was cutting in pretty deep. I removed and adjusted the pack straps and waist belt and took off once more. The fall foliage was beautiful and as I walked past open patches in the wood they amplified the intensity of the color. The forest floor was like a patchwork quilt of red and gold and the remnants of the dew, reflected the sunlight, giving the illusion that the outside light was set on high beam. Within an hour, I was meandering down the trail with Loyalsok Creek tumbling over the rocks on my right. I stopped at the usual place, one set aside as a designated camp area,took off the pack and sat on one of the log bench's and sipped a little water and watched the mini waterfall in the creek. As I snacked on some gorp I noticed the rarity of M&Ms present and made a mental note to chastise my wife and daughter. (I always keep a large jar of the stuff and they pick out the stuff they like.) The sunshine at this point is somewhat subdued but not even enough to cause concern. Just a little overcast cloudiness. I shoulder the pack again and follow the trail west. I walk rather more slowly than most hikers because I stop a lot to smell the flowers, or enjoy a view or to rest (I am not out here to log miles but to enjoy the forest) Another hour and I've maybe made 1-1/2 miles and am now away from the creek walking a well maintained and marked trail. I can hear the creek over my shoulder along with the whisper of the still falling leaves and once again marvel at the wonder of it all. I am standing there with no purpose in life whatsoever (ain't it grand) and feel the splash of a raindrop hit my hand, silence, then another. The sky is pretty clear so I don't worry yet. The 62 degree temperature is still agreeable with the moderate exercise of walking casually with a full pack. I move on and once again come within site of the creek, about 150 yards to my right through the trees. I move off the trail to climb an interesting pile of rocks to catch a view of the creek when the occasional rain drop becomes a real light rain. A breeze is also picking up some momentum. I look around and see a flat spot that looks likely and walk over to it . It seems O.K. I open my pack and pull out the tent, and proceed to get set up. The visquine (plastic) ground cloth has seen better days and I make a mental note to replace it. I lay it out and set up the "two man tent" that just accommodates myself and my pack. Just about the time I get the rain, it starts to come down in earnest. I dutifully relieve myself and pitch the pack and myself into the tent. I then proceed to unpack. This is a bit of a feat in the small but lightweight tent but in less than 10 minuets I have the thermarest down and the mummy bag laid out. I myself am laid out on top of the aforementioned. We got some serious rain outside folks but fortunantly, the tent is bone dry inside. I look at my watch and its 11:10 a.m. I assumed that it was noon somewhere and dug lunch out of the pack. I munched cheese and crackers, beef jerky and a little gorp. I washed it all down with a cup of water and a spoon full of tang and a candy bar and lay there and listened to the rain and meditated on the meaning of life, and fell asleep almost immediately, a feat that would never have happened in the real world. I awaken to the thunder of silence. The rain has quit. It is also 3:00. The tang is working on me and I go outside to take care of that problem. A spark of sunshine struggles to expose itself between the heavy clouds but the clouds are going to win so I crawl back into the tent. I leave the front fly open and peer through my binoculars at the creek a ways off. A pare of raccoons are frolicking by the creek and I feel only marginally guilty for observing them. During the next 2 hours I watch squirrels, 2 beaver, several more raccoons and 2 deer amble down to the creek to drink or play. Now and then a trout splashes the water teasing both my appetite and love for fishing but not today. I have not included fishing tackle in my pack this trip. Hark! It's 6:00 PM and the shadows are getting pretty long. I meditate on weather to treat myself to a small campfire, after all its wet outside and dead fall is plentiful. I decide not to and break out my trusty MSR. I heat some water and brew a cup of tea. I only drink tea back home occasionally but it is a staple on backpacking trips. I sip my tea with a touch of honey and decide after checking out my stock of groceries on a quasi stew. I add some more water to the pot and as it begins to simmer toss in a package of dry vegetable soup mix. As it simmers I add some cold water to a package of dehydrated beef. As it rehydrates I dump a full teaspoon of paprika to the soup along with a small handful of macaroni. After a few minutes I add the rehyraded beef and wish for a dollop of sour cream for the goulash, and mumble, "you can't have everything". I settle for dash of powdered milk and a good squirt of margarine and a healthy shake of cracked black pepper, and a few drops of Tobasco. I taste, add some more tobasco and pull out a piece of pita bread. I put a lid on top of the stew pot and toast the pita on the lid top. Gingerly, I remove the pita and flip the lid. putting the pita in the lid, er-uh I mean my plate I empty a good helping of the stew on top and feast like a king. Clean up is easy because I wipe out the pot and plate with another pita. After doing the dishes I put them away and hang the food bag from a overhanging limb a few yards from the tent and load my pipe, light up and wonder what the poor people are doing tonight. I brush my teeth, take a leak, and turn in. Its 8:30. I fall asleep almost instantly. Next morning I head back to the car and home. I wonder what I did with my time. ------------ About the author: Fred Gerson is self employed as an Estimater, Purchaser for construction companies in Pennsylvania, Texas and the area between. He is also a Gormet chief and is in the process getting his rather large, timely, and amusing cookbook ready for publication. Email: fredgerson@verizon.net Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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