March 30, 2013
Section Miles: 15.7 Total Miles: 103.2
I always like to have a little warm up - like, say, a mile or so on level ground - to get my legs in the hiking mood, but today turned out to be one of those drill-sergeant sections that dumps you right out of bed for calisthenics first thing in the morning. We started at the parking lot on 322, abuzz with trout-season activity, and proceeded to slog west on a 2.5 mile climb to the top of Furnace Hills Ridge. Well, okay, I slogged. Rene sort of swooshed to the top in a look-at-my-new-hiking-shoes way and then waited patiently for her breakfast to show up.
Between gasps for air I managed to notice that we were climbing once-again through the red sandstone and conglomerate of the Hammer Creek formation. As an excuse to stop and catch your breath, pause with me for a moment and consider these rocks, letting your imagination drift back millions and millions of years. You are standing in what was once a great rift valley, on the giant continent known as Pangea ("All Land"). The continent is slowly - almost imperceptibly - being rent apart by tectonic forces into the various pieces and parts that will eventually become recognizable as our modern continents. The part you are standing on will become, of course, the North American piece. Streams and rivers choked with debris from the surrounding highlands sweep across the intervening basins, depositing thick beds of sand and gravel as the ground slowly subsides beneath them. These rivers and streams do not have the luxury of time and distance needed to sort and winnow and rework the sediments, thus many of the deposits appear as if they were dumped haphazardly off the back of a truck. In effect, they were. Let your imagination stay here long enough and you may spot some of the earliest dinosaurs foraging on the river banks and sand bars, occasionally leaving tracks that will survive for the next 200 million years. But the age of dinosaurs has not quite arrived. First they must survive the breakup of their land, jarred with occasional rumbling as magma and volcanic fluids force their way into the fracturing crust, ultimately creating the iron ore bodies that will so significantly affect the history of this region. And on that note, we've caught our breath and return to the business of hiking, largely because Rene is now standing 200 yards ahead looking back at us with her hands on her hips.
The walk along Furnace Hills ridge affords great views of the valleys north and south (keep in mind as I write this, the trees are still bare). After several false summits, you'll know you've finally reached the top when the hardwoods abruptly give way to a youthful forest of radio and cell towers. Approximately 2-3 miles to the north of this ridge lies Cornwell Furnace and the associated mining attractions. The Cornwell Iron Mines are the largest known iron ore body east of Lake Superior, and were once the largest open pit mine in the world. Somewhere along this ridge we ran across a Mylar valentines balloon (I would love to know how far it traveled), which Rene dutifully folded up and stashed in her pack, getting adorned with a billion disintegrating Mylar flakes in the process. For the rest of the day she was all glittered-up like a 4H pig.
Lamb. I meant to say lamb.
After a quick, direct descent off the north side of the ridge, you follow a power-line easement for a few miles through some engagingly wet terrain, cut across a little bit of forest, then pop out onto some roads before entering the Clarence Shock Memorial Park. We toddled past some rather brutish logging in this park, which apparently has the local naturalists up in arms against the trustees (and rightly so, according to the eye test), but we remain thankful for the generous donation of land to the public. Beyond the park you ease along a 3 mile, mostly-level trail to the parking lot on 117. While in the area, be sure and visit Dinosaur Rock, home of glacially balanced rocks and locally unbalanced teenagers, and don't miss taking a few minutes to explore the historic art and resort community of Mt. Gretna.
All totaled, section hiking around PA we're now well over 300 miles. Hard to believe. We've scrambled up and over rocks and downed trees, slid down gravelly slopes, slopped through mud, forded streams and generally traipsed across miles of uneven terrain, all without mishap... until today. About half-way into the hike we were trooping along a paved road when Rene's attention was drawn to a stately home, whereupon she promptly fell off the edge of a perilous 3" asphalt cliff onto the gravel shoulder. I turned just in time to see Princess Grace pirouette to the ground in veritable slow motion, absorbing the collision with as many different body parts as possible on the landing. She wound up with a twisted ankle (but thankfully not sprained) and a deeply bruised hip and forearm. After a few minutes of mental rehab, she was able to hike out the rest of the way. Close call, which has us rethinking our first-aid kit. Y'all be careful out there.
