In This
Issue...
Outdoor
Equipment
Available
"Hunting
Cabin" by
Paul Leah
"Pine Creek
Rail Trail" by
Sandra
Barney
"The Story of
Job" by Bob
Myers
"Hiking with
Emmy" by
Bill Shetler
"Middle
Ground" by
Zach Fishel
"Marcellus
Update" by
Bob Myers
"Bears" by
Don Kramer
"Night
Notes" by
Mark Smith
"Hike of the
Month" by
Bob Myers
Past Issues
Past Hikes

The Hemlock
Volume 3, Issue 2 (November 2009)
"I like sometimes to take rank hold on life and spend my
day more as the animals do. Perhaps I have owed to this
employment and to hunting, when quite young, my
closest acquaintance with Nature. They early introduce
us to and detain us in scenery with which otherwise, at
that age, we should have little acquaintance." --Henry
David Thoreau, Walden

Hunting Allies
Welcome back. Although this issue
features our normal diversity of articles,
several of them focus on the topic of
hunting. One of the interests of the
Environmental Focus Group is the
culture of central Pennsylvania, and in
late fall, nothing defines that culture
more clearly than hunting. While some
might find it troubling that a journal
devoted to environmental issues would
endorse hunting, it is important to remember that the split between "treehuggers" and "Bambi killers" is relatively recent. As John Reiger points out in
American Sportsmen and the Origins of Conservation (1975), the early conservation
movement was driven by the hunting and fishing community, and many of the
patron saints of environmentalism--Henry David Thoreau, John Burroughs,
Aldo Leopold--were avid hunters. At a time when our state forests and game
lands are threatened, those who love being in the outdoors--hikers, hunters,
anglers, and environmentalists--need to work together to protect those areas for
future generations.
You may have noticed that our web address is different. Thanks to Scott
Eldridge and John Reid (The Hemlock's new webmaster), there is now a Hemlock
site on the LHU server. We hope to add features to The Hemlock home page in
the near future. And, in case you missed it, Jason Seyler wrote an excellent
article on The Hemlock for the October 15th Eagle Eye. As always, we encourage
you to contact Bob Myers if you'd be interested in contributing to The
Hemlock. Perhaps a short article on your favorite state park and why you love

it? A review of a book that deals with the outdoors or
environmentalism? Reports on your outdoor-related club's activities?
Outdoor Recreation Equipment Available
for Students
Thanks to the hard work of Student Rec
Center Director Brad Dally, LHUP students
can rent outdoor recreation equipment at a
reduced price. Brad has worked out an
agreement with Lock Haven's outdoor
outfitter, Rock River & Trail, to make
equipment available to LHUP students at a
10% discount. Available equipment
includes kayaks, backpacking gear (tents, sleeping bags, backpacks), bikes, and
snowshoes. A shuttle service is also available. The complete list can been seen
online.
Hunting Cabin
--by Paul Leah (LHU Elementary Education Major)
The best time spent as a hunter is not in the woods, but in the cabin. Don’t get
me wrong; I love to be in the woods, but when the day is over, I know the fun
has just begun. While I am in the woods, I am looking forward to sitting next to
a nice fire with my close friends and family. After all, the cabin holds all of the
essentials to a hunter, such as heat, shelter, food, water, friends, family,
bragging, cocktails, poker, toilet paper, and of course, a place to lay his head at
night.
I believe I was ten years old when my father took my brother and me to our first
hunting camp. I still remember walking into the cabin and being intoxicated by
the smell of the food that was lingering in the air. When I got over the
wonderful smell, I began to look around and saw a bunch of my dad’s friends;
they were all smiling at us. I met everyone and was shown where to put all of
my clothes and hunting
accessories. When I was
unpacked, I stepped into
the main room and was
told that it was time to
work.
I have never liked to
participate in chores, but
eager to please the men
around me, I jumped right

into the task. It was a beautiful, sunny day with about ninety percent
humidity. I worked for hours cutting, splitting, and stacking wood. The sweat
was continuously beading on my brow, and the pile of wood that needed to be
stacked only got bigger. There was one point when I looked around and saw
that everyone was as dirty and sweaty as I was, but they were all smiling and
having fun. After that point, I decided to listen to them as they were talking; it
helped me enjoy the laborious task that was still in front of me, and we all
started joking with each other, which led to a great time. When all of the wood
was cut and stacked, we all stopped almost simultaneously and marveled at all
of the work that had been completed. It was a good day of work for sure; and
there was only one thing that was wrong with the work being done. My
stomach had been twisting and turning for the last hour. It was calling for me to
eat something, but the work that I had been enjoying had not allowed me to feel
hungry.
It did not take long to find out that everyone else was starving, too. Groans of
men about their hunger were getting louder as we went inside, and to our
satisfaction, we found out that dinner had been served. There was food
mounded high on what seemed to be a buffet of deliciousness. There were elk
roasts, sausage sandwiches, ham, gravy, soup, mashed potatoes, and about all
of the other wonderful “man food” you can have in life, which included my
mom’s “camp famous” chocolate cookies. The “man feast” was great, but the
company was even better. Everyone talked as if we were one family. We told
stories of past hunts and fishing experiences and learned new and interesting
facts about each other. The best part was that I got to sit right between my father
and brother and talk about all of the day’s events and dream of the opening day
of deer season.
All of the men at the camp that had unfamiliar faces seemed to be turning into
friends and family as the day went on. If I had just one point in my life that I
could go back to, it would be that day, because it felt like Christmas morning
when I was a child. Actually, it did turn to Christmas when “Santa” came to
visit. It seems that two of the camp members owned beer distributers. The beer
companies gave them free promotional hats, shirts, posters, coats, and key
chains. Also about fifty percent of everyone there smoked cigarettes. Just
before “hunting day eve,” they all got together and came up with as many items
as possible with their cigarette points. These items then turned out to be
presents that “Santa” would hand out. The camp’s founder, Tom Fed, Sr., who
is now in the great hunting cabin in the sky, came out in a red Budweiser hat
and red Budweiser shirt, ready to give all of us the mound of presents he had.
We all gathered around and received presents. I only remember the one t-shirt
that I got, which was the last one given. It was a blaze orange t-shirt with the
camp logo right on it. The shirt was big on me then, but it now fits me perfectly,

and I wear it with pride on every opening day of rifle season. When that night
came, I was over stuffed from piles of food and as happy as could be because of
new friends; and well, the presents were just icing on the cake. The best part of
that day was getting closer to my father and brother and getting to know them
better.
My brother and I now have the same thing in common as we did back then, the
love for the outdoors that was given to us by our father. Going to cabins was
and still is the glue that keeps us together. We now have our own cabin, and
when we are there after a day of hunting or fishing, we always have something
to talk about. Remember when Santa came? Remember when you got your first
buck? (Me) Remember when I took you to get your first buck? (My brother)
Remember when I took you out and we both shot bucks from the same tree in
half an hour? (Me) Yes, there is always a running competition. He is up on me
right now, but as I tell him, he has hunted for four more years than I have, and I
think I am winning the buck-to-year ratio. And I do have the biggest fish in
recorded Leah history. I can’t remember a time at any hunting or fishing cabin
that I haven’t had a good time. Cabins have been places where I could relax,
think, and have fun. In going to cabins, I have grown into a man. They have
taught me communication skills with new people, the rewards of hard work,
patience (sitting alone in the woods for ten hours straight), and what it means to
have true friends. I can’t wait for this next season to start so I can laugh, smile,
and frankly, brag all over again.
The Pine Creek Rail Trail
--Sandra Barney (LHU History Professor)
A visit to the Pine Creek Rail Trail gives me hope. In an era of vicious political
wrangling, eroding funding for public institutions, and an apparent
abandonment of the social contract, a day of
bicycling along Pine Creek reminds me of the
good that public/private ventures can produce.
Part of the national Rail Trail system described
by Lenny Long in a previous issue of the
Hemlock, the Pine Creek Trail is an often
overlooked treasure located only half an hour
from Lock Haven.
The trails along Pine Creek served as a
thoroughfare for Native Americans for
centuries before Europeans arrived on the
continent. In the colonial period, Ulster Scots
immigrants, or Scotch Irish as they are often

labeled, settled along the creek and forged a living from the land. Isolated from
the broader river valleys and their burgeoning agricultural and commercial
development, Pine Creek Valley was not a focus of economic exploitation until
the 1820s. In that decade developers became aware of the expanses of uncut
timber in the region and an era of unrestrained deforestation began. Between
1820 and 1920 millions of trees were cleared and sold. To move timber from
isolated sawmills along the creek, the Jersey Shore, Pine Creek, and Buffalo
Railroad was opened in 1883. According to the Pennsylvania Department of
Conservation and Natural Resources, “by 1896 [the train] was carrying seven
million tons of freight and three passenger trains on daily runs between
Wellsboro Junction and Williamsport.” In 1988, after more than a hundred years
of rail traffic, the line was closed. Local supporters initiated the establishment of
a multi-use rail trail along Pine Creek soon after rail service was terminated.
The trail can be accessed at many points along its 60-mile length, but the Grand
Canyon of Pennsylvania serves as the northern entry point. Entering the trail at
Ansonia (near Wellsboro), a bike rider is soon engulfed by the tranquility and
majesty of the canyon. This is the most isolated section of the trail, although
Leonard Harrison State Park and Colton Point State Park anchor the hills above
the valley floor. The joy of biking a rail trail is that, unlike true mountain biking,
a rider of any ability or fitness can successfully navigate the gradual grades and
broad paths of an old rail line. When biking through the Grand Canyon of
Pennsylvania, the rider is able to experience the delights of being deep in the
woods without facing the daunting physical challenges of an extended
backpacking or biking trip.
After leaving the Pine Creek Gorge
Natural Area at Blackwell, the creek and
the trail, are paralleled by highway 414.
Traveling so close to a paved road may
seem unappealing, but the road’s
unobtrusive presence makes it possible to
park a car or to be dropped off in a
number of different locations. At
Rattlesnake Rock, for example, you might
park your car, ride ten miles out to
Tiadaghton, return, and slip your canoe or
kayak into the water for an afternoon of
paddling. Hoffman Campground is just
across the creek so you could settle in for a
weekend of paddling and riding. This
section of the trail would be particularly
attractive to someone looking for water

sports or fishing since Cedar Run and Slate Run both enter Pine Creek just south
of Rattlesnake Rock.
Below Slate Run the trail settles into a mixture of forest and agriculture. It is
easy to imagine the damage that was done to this land when the trees were
being cut a hundred years ago. Second and third generation reforestation efforts
are impressive, but it is clear that the land has been permanently transformed by
timbering and agriculture. As the trail winds down towards Waterville the rider
observes a number of small hunting camps and second homes. These serve as a
wonderful reminder of the rich history of hunting and recreation in the
Pennsylvania woods. Such camps, as well as the deer and black bear that
regularly show up along the trail, serve to remind the rider to wear orange
during the appropriate times of the year and not to stray from the established
path.
Jersey Shore is the southern terminus of the trail, but many riders might want
to drive the additional ten miles to Waterville. Little Pine Creek State Park is
located nearby, and offers camping, hiking, and lake activities. An old fashion
general store offers supplies in Waterville and there are restaurants available for
those who want someone else to do the cooking after a long day on the trail.
Efforts are underway to link Castanea to the rail train in Jersey Shore, putting
the Pine Creek Trail within even easier reach of Lock Haven residents and
students.
"The Story of Job": The Drawings of Jeremiah
Johnson
--Bob Myers (LHU English Professor)
As I was coming out of Sloan Auditorium a few
weeks ago, I was immediately struck by the
exhibit in the Sloan Gallery, a collection of
drawings by Williamsport artist Jeremiah
Johnson. How could I resist an artist whose
primary theme is central Pennsylvania history
and monuments?
The exhibit, which runs until November 7th, is
well worth seeing. The collection is entitled "The
Story of Job" and is the work of Johnson's alter
ego, Job Johnson, a fictional/historical artist who
lived in central Pennsylvania from 1860 to
1937. Jeremiah notes that with this project, he is
"interested in blurring the lines between fact and

fiction through art, history, and folklore." Job's works are graphite drawings on
hand-made paper and they are beautifully framed with branches. The initial
impression is that the drawings seem like primitive folk art, but closer
examination reveals a sophistication of both technique and subject matter.
Johnson goes through a complicated process to create these works. "I start with
making paper from scraps of mat board that I get from the frame shop. I make
about 10 to 20 sheets at a time in my basement and lay them out in the sun to
dry. Then I make the drawings, from a variety of sources--landscapes from life
and photographs, old photographs of places that don't exist. I also make
drawings from stories that people tell me and a lot of folklore that I read from
different books. I collect all of this information and make thumbnail sketches in
Job Johnson's Sketchbook, and then work on the finished drawings. After the
drawings are done I build the frames from collected scraps of wood, either raw
wood from tree branches from fallen trees in my pap's woods, or old used
scraps of wood like old apple crates or from pallets."
One central theme is the environmental history of central
Pennsylvania. Johnson is interested in "People that were inseparable from their
environment. They were dependent upon nature for survival." Perhaps my
favorite is "Last Great Pine," which was allegedly drawn in 1923. Johnson
invokes the sadness of this solitary remnant of the huge white pine forest that
covered Pennsylvania. Johnson is also fascinated with the folklore of this area,
including ghost stories. He explains that his inspiration for this work came after
a trip to Ireland: "When I came back I started taking walks with my dad and my
brother in the woods; we'd go exploring for different places that were talked
about by family or in various regional history and folklore books. I wanted a
way to preserve these lost landmarks before they all disappear. I also got lost in
the old photographs from past decades. They only provide a glimpse into a
dark and mysterious past. The way people used to live and work each day just
to survive. These ideas sparked the Job Johnson Project."
Johnson, who can trace his central Pennsylvania roots back to the 1760s, was
born in Jersey Shore and grew up in Clinton and Lycoming counties. He
received a B.F.A. in Printmaking from the Tyler School of Art of Temple
University, and then a Masters in Print, Paper and Book Arts from Syracuse
University. Currently he teaches arts and crafts courses at Pennsylvania College
of Technology and the Public Art Academy at the Pajama Factory in
Williamsport. For more information about Johnson, visit jeremiah's website,
where you can see more of his works. He can be contacted by email at
jj@jeremiahjohnsonart.com.

Hiking with Emmy
--Bill Shetler (LHU English Major)
Unless it’s raining, it’s almost always a good time to go hiking. Such were my
thoughts when I decided to take my three-year old daughter for her first real
hike.
It was a typical cool and cloudy day in May. We strapped on our
backpacks. Mine was filled with the usual essentials and hers . . . well, she had
need of extra goodies, which consisted mostly of Crabby-Patties (gummy candy)
and juice boxes.
We set off into the mountains south of McElhattan. We hadn’t gone very far
when I heard her sweet little voice, floating like soft bubbles in the air, “Daddy,
carry me.” She was tired, so I loaded her into my kid carrier backpack. As I
was lugging her down the trail, she had a good time singing and tapping on my
head. I was smiling because she was happy, and yet I also felt a little worried. I
usually hike alone, and this trip was to be my chance to share with my daughter
how much I enjoy the outdoors and to have her develop an appreciation for the
forest. I was afraid that she was bored and would want to go home. I wanted
this day to be different. I wanted to see
some magic happen for her.
Suddenly, as we passed a patch of
flowers, she cried, “Daddy, I want
down!” She ran to the patch of Johnny
Jump-ups and dandelions and
immediately began examining them with
interest. As it turned out, this was the
beginning of her desire to know the
forest. The day turned out to be
wonderful for both of us. Our hike
became a majestic exploration of the wonders of nature. As we hiked along, she
would stop to inspect anything that caught her eye. As many of you know, an
intelligent three year old can find countless questions to ask. And “because” is
not an acceptable answer.
At one point, she fell behind, and when I walked back I saw the lifeless stems
and petals of a few flowers. In her hands were the remains of several. “Emily,
please stop decapitating the dandelions,” I said when I recognized what she was
doing. “Why, dad? It’s fun,” she replied. I tried, “Because the flowers are
pretty, and if you don’t pick them, they might be here for you to see another
day.” It was a sound answer, but didn’t seem to quash her desire to pop the
heads off of the dandelions. She kept it up all day long.

We hiked for five hours that day, climbing the southern side of Round Top
Mountain, exploring and having a great time at it. Her little legs weren’t up for
the climb up or down the mountain, but she sure was a little trooper that
day. We took a few snack breaks and I have to admit that those juice boxes and
crabby patties actually do make a good trailside snack.
It was utterly amazing to see the “magic” of my daughter’s consciousness
awakening to the simple, but exquisite beauty which is so readily available and
accessible to us. I had hoped to teach her some of my love of nature that day,
which I did, but in the process I also became a student. As I viewed her
enjoyment along the trail, I regained some perspective which I had lost. I
relearned what I had forgotten for so many years of hiking alone, that no matter
how lovely or beautiful a mountain or forest is, it is made so much more so
when you have someone to share it with.
For more information on the importance of introducing children to nature, see
Richard Louv's Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature Deficit
Disorder, which was reviewed in the May 2008 Hemlock by Melissa Novak.
Middle Ground
--by Zach Fishel (LHU English Major). Photograph by Kerrie Kegg (LHU
Exploratory Studies Major)
The leaves have changed from
fiery fingers that caressed their
loving sky to the dead brown
grip of a bruise on the back of
the now gloomy sky. I walk
across the campus in awe. I see
the last of autumn breathing a
dying gasp as the strangling
frost begins to thicken around
the throats of those maples and
cornstalks. The poor scarecrow
wishes he had more than a
flannel on. Thanksgiving nears and I wonder if anyone will be thankful. I get to
the student houses and see guard dogs and giant pumpkins with sharp crooked
grins, assuring me that there isn’t any trick to this treat. In a few days these
giant orange faces will shrivel and turn black, the jagged teeth becoming
blackened stumps.
I often take this short time for granted, the time between celebrating the harvest
and the start of fresh snow and shortened days. There is a beauty in that
moment before the burning sun is swallowed by the black assuredness of

winter. I try to hold on, like the last of the corn stalks, fighting against the frigid
future. I feel stuck in between the freshman of fall and the graduates of winter.
Like the seasons, I used to be bright and willing, now I am becoming cold and
tired. Thankfully, I see the transition, and can feel life once again.
Marcellus Update
--by Bob Myers. Photograph courtesy of the ForestCoalition
As I indicated in the last issue, I will be providing regular updates on the
environmental impact of natural gas drilling in the Marcellus Shale. Since the
last Hemlock, Pennsylvania's 101-day budget battle has finally come to an end,
and throughout the debate, the Marcellus Shale issue played a major role.
At first Governor
Rendell and the
Democrats supported a
severance tax on
natural gas, which
would have put
Pennsylvania in line
with every other state
where natural gas
drilling occurs. The
Republicans, on the
other hand, supported
leasing an additional 390,000 acres of state forest land to the natural gas
companies. On September 1st, Gov. Rendell indicated that he no longer
supported the severance tax. The subsequent compromise that was worked out
by House and Senate leadership on September 18 would have opened up 90,000
acres of the state forest to drilling. On October 2nd, in a surprise move, House
Democrats rejected the compromise, and instead passed a bill with a severance
tax. A key player in that move to protect the state forest was Rep. Mike
Hanna. With little chance of success in the Republican-controlled Senate, the
impasse dragged on until October 9th, when Gov. Rendell signed the budget.
The final budget is deeply disturbing for anyone concerned about the
environment or outdoor recreation. The budget of the PA Department of
Environmental Protection (DEP), the agency who will be responsible for
regulating the burgeoning gas industry, was cut by 27%. The budget of the PA
Department of Conservation and Natural Resources (DCNR), who manages the
state forests and parks, was cut by 19%. Furthermore, the DCNR is directed to
lease sufficient acres of the state forest to produce $60 million--at the current
leasing rates, that means about 10,000 acres (Philadelphia Inquirer, "Budget Cuts

Hamper"). Finally, the Oil and Gas Lease Fund, which was created in 1955 to
direct the money raised from leasing state lands to conservation projects, has
been put on hold for this year--all money goes to the general fund.
Thus, while the worst nightmares were avoided through the efforts of several
key lawmakers, this budget still represents a deep wound to the wild
Pennsylvania that many of us love. To prevent an even worse scenario next
year, it is important that Pennsylvania hunters, anglers, and environmentalists
become politically active and vote out those legislators who have demonstrated
their opposition to the preservation and protection of the woods and waters of
our state. The Philadelphia Inquirer has published an excellent, and disturbing,
analysis of the politics behind Gov. Rendell's decision to abandon the severance
tax: "How Marcellus Shale Came to be Tax Exempt in PA."
Bears
The following is a funny story that will remain in my family's hearts forever. My
uncle, Don Kramer, loved animals and nature. On any given day, he would drive to the
mountains to feed the wild animals on his land. He wrote this story in 2003 and
submitted it to the Pennsylvania Game News (I don't think it was ever published). -Tammie Houser (LHU Secretary to the Department of History, Political Science,
Economics, and Foreign Languages)
I am presently a Farm Game Manager for the PA Game Commission, with 25
years of service. As I look toward retirement in the not so distant future, there
are many memories that I will take with me. But none as bittersweet as the time
in 1980 when I hunted bear with my son.
The day dawned with heavy rain. As my wife packed sandwiches and hot tea
for our lunch, I could hear the rain pounding heavily on the roof, and I
remember thinking that I should just go to work and forget about hunting. But
then my 14-year-old son, Dan, emerged from his room carrying his Savage
single shot 30-30. The excitement on his face told me that I could forget going to
work.
When we reached the woods, the rain
came harder than ever. We had scouted
the area and had seen plenty of sign that
the bear were in the area. We entered the
woods and when we came to a large
hemlock that looked like it would
provide some protection from the
weather, I told Dan that this would be his
spot. I reminded him to make sure of his
shot and to make sure that the bear stays

down. Little did I know he would do just that.
I found another hemlock for my spot. The first hour was uneventful, until I saw
a beautiful 8-point buck, just 20 yards away. Suddenly a gun shot rang out,
causing me to jump. As I started towards Dan's spot, I heard a second shot, and
heard Dan shouting, "Dad, Dad!" As I ran toward the sound of his voice, the
mountain laurel slapped my face and the rocks caused my feet to slip. But
within minutes I was there.
Dan was standing in the spot I left him. He was shaking, perhaps from the cold,
or perhaps from excitement. He told me that a bear came through the laurel
and he shot at him. As he tried to reload his rifle, the shell flew onto the
ground. By the time he picked up the shell, the bear appeared again, so he shot
a second time. I pushed through the laurel and saw the bear. As I turned to
congratulate Dan, I saw a second bear.
My heart sank as I realized the gravity of the situation. This was my first year
as a deputy game officer and my son just shot two bears. We unloaded our
guns, and Dan took them back to the truck. Meanwhile, I figured out what had
happened. After he shot the first bear and was trying to pick up his shell,
another bear appeared and he thought it was the same one. When Dan
returned, I jokingly said, "Of course you know you're under arrest." We
dragged the bears out, and when we arrived home I called the regional office
and explained what happened. I was told to pay a fine of $50 for a mistaken
kill. Some time later, my father, Loyd Kramer, wrote a poem, "The Saga of
Deadeye Daniel" to have some fun at our expense. The poem concludes:
Well the moral of the story is
Don't go hunting with your Dad
Even tho you kill two by mistake
You're liable to be had.
A case in point I'd like to make
Please allow me your permission
You see young Danny's father worked
For the PA Game Commission!
He turned young Danny in of course,
The proper thing to do
But Danny being under age
Dad paid the field fine too.

Night Notes
--by Mark Smith (LHU English Professor)
In October, those who know me pretty well start asking if I’m still sleeping
outside or not. I tell them I’m holding out as best I can, but I foresee the end of
it. It’s getting chilly out here, and I’ll be heading indoors for winter soon
enough.
You see, I sleep outside nearly half the year, from May through October, in a big
screened-in porch and I love it. When I first started this, I bought a cot for
sleeping, but later found I much prefer an old couch since it blocks the wind
during rainstorms and the cushions hold the heat better. This couch is too short
though, so my feet stick out. I don’t care. I love it. The cats like to sleep out here
with me, mostly on me. Sleeping outside, I tune in to the slow progression of the
summer, noticing the way the nights get shorter then longer again once we pass
the solstice in June, and the way the nighttime temps reach a humid crescendo
in August before slowly crawling down again. I have become very attuned to
what goes on at night, and when.
The clearest, brightest nights are
always early on, in May and
June, so that’s when, on nights
when I have trouble sleeping, I
set up my spotting scope out in
the driveway, pull up a lawn
chair, and look at Jupiter and its
moons. Once in a while I can
even see the rings of Saturn,
though that’s pushing the limits
of my little scope. I watch these
distant planets move slowly
westward through the night, and also through the year. One evening in June
2008 my father suffered a heart attack while visiting our farm out in Iowa. Here
in Pennsylvania I was too far away (865 miles as the crow flies) to be there with
him that night. When I tried to sleep I couldn’t, so I just looked at Jupiter instead
and found all four of the Galilean moons lined up perfectly at a distance of
390,414,000 miles. I watched them for a long time, thinking about my father,
until some clouds moved in and blotted out the scene. My father and I have
never been very close and when I finally pulled the blanket up to my chin that
night, I drifted off while thinking about distances. 390,414,000 miles. 865 miles.
How much of the distance between us is his? How much of it belongs to me?
How much is the universe itself?

All this summer, usually between two and three in the morning, a
neighborhood skunk has made his rounds through the yard. I call this my
“skunk hour,” after the well-known poem by Robert Lowell, but my skunk hour
is nothing like Lowell’s. His was a confrontation with mental illness; mine just
brings a smile to my face. Usually I smell the skunk first, then I sit up and wait
for his imminent arrival. A creature of routine and habit, he always comes
round the side of the house, and walks close beside the porch, right up against
the screen generally, before sidling off to the compost bin where I often leave
him some choice leftovers. If I forget the treat, he loves to dig his way under the
bin and make a mess of things. When he’s done with the compost he’s off again,
trundling through the neighbor’s yard, just an undulant white stripe
disappearing into the darkness.
At night, the mind focuses on sounds and smells instead of sight. The smell of
rain in the distance. The sound of a sudden downpour hitting the porch roof.
Wind in a spruce tree. Late-summer crickets. Even the street sweeper that comes
by every Thursday morning at precisely four a.m. As the summer progresses we
get more fog in the mornings, and it comes on surprisingly fast, usually after
three in the morning. By four or five a.m. when I rouse from sleep I can smell
the dampness of the fog and tell, even without opening my eyes, how thick it
will be that morning.
I love to hear trains coming out of the west along Bald Eagle Creek, then turning
to cut through the heart of town with horns sounding at every crossing. Each
conductor has his own style of laying on the horn. Some use sharp staccato
blasts while others prefer a sort of mournful, modulated wailing. One conductor
always rings the bell—a very relaxed and quaint sort of sound. After the horn
sounds, the reverberating, roundabout echoes bounce back from Bald Eagle
Mountain, the Highland Cemetery hill, and the hills of Lockport across the
river. The echoes last four or five times longer than the horn itself and slowly
taper off into the distance.
I think my favorite night sounds are the nocturnal flight calls of migrating birds.
These quick, sharp calls help the birds stay in touch with each other and stay on
course through their night journey. Flight calls are very short notes, maybe a
tenth of a second or less, but very sweet, often sounding like “cheep,” “tweet,”
“weet,” or “sheet.” Every bird has its own, distinct call, but to us humans they
often sound so much alike that ornithologists, and amateur enthusiasts as well,
use computers to generate spectrograms of the calls in order to identify them.
This technology is used to monitor migrations, determine flight patterns, even
determine populations of particular songbirds. But I confess, I love most just to
listen to the night calls and think about those tiny birds—the warblers, the
thrushes, the tanagers—flying overhead on a journey that may take them all the

way to South America. Living rivulets of birds in the night sky. Bright and brave
sounds to hear at midnight.
With all this going on, you might think I don’t get much sleep out here on the
porch, but I sleep very well indeed. Indoors I immediately miss the softness of
the night air, and the open, aural spaciousness of it. I miss the giant presence of
the outside of the world and feel rather confined in the silence of lathe and
plaster, the dull rush of the furnace.
But seasons turn of course. The night notes of the birds are nearly gone now. A
few laconic crickets cling to life, but with the nightly threat of frost the end is
near. They go down singing, by the way, singing till the end. And with nights
dipping down into the thirties, I’ll be moving indoors again and hunkering
down for the long winter. But even then, at night as I drift off to sleep, I’ll be
remembering all the night notes of the summer.
For more information about nocturnal flight calls, and to hear samples of them,
check out "Migrating Birds" by Bill Evans.
Hike of the Month: State Game Lands #255
--by Bob Myers
Last month's hike introduced
you to the Pennsylvania State
Forest; this month takes you
to one of Pennsylvania's many
State Game Lands. The hike
is about 3 miles round trip
and takes about an
hour. Since we are in the
midst of hunting season, I
recommend that you take this
hike on a Sunday, when
hunting is prohibited. If you
do go during the week, be sure to wear florescent orange and be respectful of
those who are hunting. Since there are several stream crossings, boots are
recommended. First-rate maps of the state game lands can be found at the State
Game Commission (SGC) site.
To get to the trailhead, begin at Walmart and turn right onto PA 150 South. Go
.4 miles and after you cross the bridge, turn left onto Rt. 64/Water Street. Go .6
miles and turn right onto Church Street. Continue on Church Street/Mountain
Road for 3.7 miles--on the left you will see a parking area with a portable toilet.

Go through the gate and proceed up the hill (southeast). Follow the broad path
of clover up the hill as it passes several SGC food plots. These plots are what
the SGC calls "habitat improvement," and they are designed to attract deer and
provide them with forage throughout the winter. After about a half mile, the
path turns left (east) and then reaches an intersection. Turn right and follow a
pretty mountain stream up the hill (southeast) for about a third of a mile. At the
next intersection, turn left (east) and follow a small stream uphill. For this part
of the hike, you are between the twin ridges of Bald Eagle mountain. The path
continues uphill for about a half mile, gradually leveling out, until it reaches a
large clearing. You have now hiked about 1.5 miles. You can return to your car,
but if you bushwhack to the left (north) for 700 feet, you will reach the top of the
ridge--there are too many trees for a good view, even when the leaves are down,
but you can see a bit of the Bald Eagle valley and even
Lock Haven.
The PA State Game Commission was created in 1895
to restore the dwindling wildlife population. At the
time, it was estimated that there were only 500 whitetail deer in Pennsylvania (the current population is
about 1.5 million). Black bears and wild turkeys were
nearly extinct as well. By regulating hunting and
protecting wildlife habitats, the SGC has been able to
restore or reintroduce the populations of deer, turkey, bears, bob cats, river
otters, wood ducks, geese, beavers, fishers, and elk. The first State Game Land
(SGL) was purchased in 1920; currently there are 287 SGLs. The SGC is not
supported by tax revenues; instead its funding comes from hunting license fees,
federal grants, and funds collected from the sale of oil, gas, coal, and timber
obtained from State Game Lands. Wildlife protection is conducted by
approximately 200 Wildlife Conservation Officers.
Thanks to John Reid, Elizabeth Gruber, Michael Myers, and Max for helping me
plot this hike!
Environmental Focus Group
Bob Myers (chair), Md. Khalequzzaman, Lenny Long, Jeff Walsh, Danielle
Tolton, John Crossen, Sandra Barney, David White, Tom Ormond, Ralph
Harnishfeger, and Barrie Overton. The committee is charged with promoting
and supporting activities, experiences, and structures that encourage students,
faculty, and staff to develop a stronger sense of place for Lock Haven University
and central Pennsylvania. Such a sense of place involves a stewardship of
natural resources (environmentalism), meaningful outdoor experiences, and
appreciation for the heritage of the region.