Pine Creek Gorge
Pennsylvania
May 1997
Our sleepover location is the Pettecote Junction Campground, along Pine Creek. We find a postage-stamp-sized piece of land insulated from campers moored to electric posts two sites away on either side. Pettecote Junction Campground is set up to service the many vacationers who drive to this touristy area in their campers and trailers, who then string their paper lanterns and put out their grills and drink lite beer and walk their dogs and put up plastic white picket fences and get the TV satellite dishes hooked up and yell at their kids. It’s just like the city, only more crowded. We face our tents toward Pine Creek and are treated to flitting red wing blackbirds and busy woodpeckers.
After dinner, we walk the quarter mile to the Cedar Run General Store where we are greeted by Sue and Don, the proprietors, who offer several flavors of hand-dipped ice cream. This is good.
The store is decorated with half-century-old wooden toys and the shelves are lined with the various junk you might find in a general store. Except these pieces aren’t junk: pottery, tasteful tchotchkes, and all manner of attractive cinnamon candles. I enjoy a conversation with the owners and complement them on their charming store. “How long have you been open?” I ask. Sue says, “Since this afternoon.”
We talk about the town: I want to know, “How big is Cedar Run?”
Don tells me, “Pretty small. This place had lots of residents thirty years ago. In those days everyone was into lumber. The company ravaged the forest hereabouts and then moved up the creek to the next town. Everyone moved with the company and Cedar Run damn near died.”
“How many residents are here now?” I ask.
“Y’see the mailboxes out front?” I remember passing two metal boxes about the size of a case of beer, with nine doors on the front of each. “That’s it.”
“Don, that’s eighteen mailboxes. That’s just for this block, right?”
“Nope. That’s Cedar Run.
“But the place is coming back. We just put in that eighteen-mile Rail Trail, and that’s only the beginning.”
“How about you guys?” Sue asks. “You camping?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna hike the West Rim Trail this weekend.”
“Good for you, good for you,” Sue says. “Watch out for the bear.”
“Yeah,” Don says. “Sue and I were in our trailer one night a couple weeks ago when this big mama came and shook the whole damn trailer for a while. Then it got into our cooler which was out front and took our food. But damned if it didn’t find my beer! Now I knew I had to do something about this so I went out there with my flashlight. I shined it right into her eyes to surprise her. Then I grabbed my beer out of her hands and I ran.”
“Pretty courageous,” I say.
“Courageous, hell! That bear had my beer! There weren’t no two ways about it. Next beer isn’t ’til Wellsboro and that’s thirty miles away!”
Back at camp, after a little schnapps, we retire for the night. Or at least until 2:30 in the morning when we are awakened by the sounds of vehicles parking in the site next to ours. There is much talking coming from our new neighbors, laughing and cranking down of awnings. Barking and clapping too. The din wakes us all. Lizayla is more pissed than the rest of us and is lying in her tent alternately thinking about how she is gonna get out and yell at whoever these inconsiderate louts are, but then recalled reports of persons being found the next morning at family campgrounds, riddled with gunshot wounds. I’m not sure what she has been reading.
I would have preferred a bear.
At daybreak, we arise with the fishermen, crawl from our tents and see the overhang of one of the 2:30 a.m. trailers is suspended directly above Lizayla’s tent. That’s just too cozy!
It is early enough to see the sunlight illuminate the tops of the nearby mountain ridges, where we will be hiking. We meet our shuttle and ride to trail head at the north terminus, and anticipate three glorious days of wilderness.
Off we go. Here’s a short synopsis of our trip on the West Rim Trail…
Day 1: long day, 10 miles, sore, stiff, a whole lot of smiles
Day 2: long day, 10 miles, sore, stiff, fatigue — two hikers bail due to heavy rain, two fewer smilers
Day 3: the remaining group pushes through, 10 miles, and finishes the hike with blisters and great delight — big smiles
Like I say, three glorious days of wilderness. Curiously, no beer, and no bear.