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The following is a journal of Tom Bachelder's trip to Hickory Creek Wilderness, Allegheny National Forest.

6:00pm, July 15, 1998 - Heart's Content parking area and trailhead for the Hickory Creek Wilderness, Allegheny National Forest. Well, here I am. It has been four years since I first entertained thoughts of going "backpacking", what ever that meant to me at the time. It wasn't until this past winter however that I gave in to my inner voice, bought my first backpack and began planning for this day. Now I gaze across the steering wheel, through my windshield and into a shadowy stand of Red Pines. I feel both anticipation and a small degree of apprehension. This is my first backpacking trip, I am alone, and I will be alone for the next two nights in the woods.

7:00pm. Rest break -sitting on a trailside log at the edge of a dark and somber looking stand of Hemlocks. The path disappears into this new and ominous looking world.

My hike has had a somewhat rocky beginning. I managed to lose the trail only minutes into it. Immediately after leaving the parking area the yellow blazed trail into the Wilderness passes through a Red Pine plantation that is carpeted with a thick blanket of fallen needles. Trying to follow the trail on this ground was impossible as the springy cushion of needles preserved little in the way of foot traffic. Following the yellow blazes was equally difficult, as it appeared that every other tree trunk had a yellow splotch painted on it, and each one of them seemed to lead in a different direction. Only after stumbling around in confusion for nearly 15 minutes did I figure out that the yellow trail blazes I wanted were slightly more regular in shape and slightly paler. Needless to say I was somewhat nonplussed as I drifted directionless through an increasingly surreal landscape of tall, slender, pillars that scattered randomly before my eyes, only to reassemble moments later as neat and evenly spaced rows of dutifully obedient columns. Trees that stood at attention like so much ripe corn didnÕt seem quite right. But then again there was very little that did seem quite right about that first quarter hour "on the trail."

Having finally discovered the way out of this Salvador Dali world and having crossed the township road on the far end of the pines the next decision of my hike came as I reached the Forest Service sign marking the beginning of the actual loop trail that would take me into and through the heart of the Wilderness. Should I go to the left or to the right? After a quick consultation with my map I chose left. It was already early evening and left led to the nearest water on the trail. nearly

8:30pm. Camp, at what I presume is Coon Run. The sun has dropped low on the horizon. Arrow like shafts of golden light cut through the leaf cover gently touching the earth below. On the ground the air is calm but overhead a soft breeze moves through the trees. I think I hear voices nearby but looking to the left and right I find the trail deserted. Only the trees speak now, whispering to me in hushed tones. Other sounds soon intrude on my thoughts; subtle, artificial sounds. From far above, beyond an umbrella of branches and leaves, come the unmistakable rumble of a jet engine and the propeller growl of a smaller airplane. Momentarily distracted by these simultaneous interruptions of uninvited technology my thoughts turn to wondering what the forest might look like to the occupants of these high flying machines. Do they look down? Do they marvel at the shaggy, darkening carpet of green? Can they imagine the wild animals sheltered by, or are they so intent on their destination that they ignore the journey?

I have settled down for a late "supper" of dried fruit, trail mix, and snack crackers; washed down with lukewarm water... yum, yum. Surrounded by a maze of maple, beech and what I think are black cherry trees I imagine it is going to be very dark tonight. My experience is with night skies that shimmer with illumination from street lamps and department store parking lots... none of those things here.

9:00pm. The woods have become quiet and still. When first I set up my tent the trees were alive with the song of many birds, each seemingly intent on outperforming its neighbor. Now their calls, if heard at all, are softer, distant, almost plaintive.

9:30pm. I am writing now mostly by feel as the forest floor has grown much darker. Raising my head from the paper I can see only a little of the sky through a spider's web of limb and leaf. I have decided to build a small fire, mostly I suppose as a barrier against the encircling blackness. It crackles in friendly refrains but all in all seems a rather weak challenge to the night. Campfires should evoke the language of fellowship, expressed in storytelling, song, and laughter. These little sparks and glowing embers have only me for company and I am silent, meditating on the world around me, a world now lit only by fire.

5:30am, July 16. Sleep was long in coming and stayed only a short time when it finally arrived. I crawled into my tent and my sleeping bag shortly after 10:00 last night but was still awake at midnight. What I thought was darkness at 9:30 was only a preamble of what was to come. By 10:00 the sky was only scattered smudges of slate gray on a ceiling of black. The forest floor had disappeared, replaced by a curtain of obscure shapes and forms that materialized and dematerialized before eyes that found nothing solid to focus on. The fire had died... As night pressed in on me my world was reduced to the few square feet of my little tent. I finally fell asleep sometime near midnight but was awake again by 3:30am. Another jet passed far overhead, distant but clearly audible in the stillness of the night. The muffled roar of this remote jet engine, like the "lonesome whistle" of Hank William's distant train, reinforced the separation between the "me" of this night and the "me" of all previous and familiar experience. At about 4:00 I heard the near and restive YIP, YIP...HOWL of first one, and then a second, answering coyote. They broke the stillness three times in quick succession and then fell silent. Other noises, sounds that by day I might not have taken notice of, were frightfully magnified by a blackness that I had no control over. The snapping of a twig was but the prelude to horrible calamity at the hands (or jaws) of some wild and savage thing. Furtive scratching in dry leaves just beyond the thin fabric of my tent had to be the hunger driven rampage of some great and evil beast. It is no wonder that my medieval ancestors conjured up such a rich folklore of demons and monsters; ravenous creatures stalking the midnight hour in search of wayward travelers.

Author's note: This was the only night of backpacking in which my imagination would run so wild. On future outings the night became a much more comfortable place. Fears gave way as knowledge and experience replaced ignorance.

6:15am. The birds began to come awake about 5:00. Now as the sky brightens I am surrounded by a cacophony of assorted chirps, chattering and other treetop good mornings. Breakfast in front of another small fire. Actually it is a continuation of my fire from last night. I got it started again with a few still hot coals that were buried beneath the ashes. One match, two fires, not bad, but I definitely have to do something about my menu. Cold Pop-Tarts just don't make the grade.

Somewhere nearby a hidden woodpecker keeps me company as he hammers away in search of his own breakfast. Good morning and good appetite.

7:30am. Ready to lift my pack and start walking again. I would guess that I have about 7 miles of the loop to go if I decide to walk out today. With the pack on I figure I average about 1 1/2 miles an hour including rest stops.

9:00am. Break time - About 30 minutes into the walk this morning I was startled by a deer that crashed through the underbrush just off the trail. I guess I surprised it as much as it surprised me. Dashing away, it rapidly put distance between us. I didn't see much more than a flash of tan and a bouncing white tail. A short time later, as I crested a rise in the trail, I saw what I took to be the brightly painted roof of an automobile, possibly a Volkswagen Beetle, partially hidden among the trees. As I drew nearer my mind was having a hard time coming to grips with what my eyes were seeing. How could such an object have found its way here, miles from the nearest road? For a brief moment my impressions of wilderness travel were somewhat jolted. Nearing this oddity I quickly passed from puzzlement, to relief, to an odd sense of self-inflicted embarrassment as I realized that what I was looking at was the upper half of a dome tent. As I drew nearer a young man came out to the trail to meet me, introducing himself as Jonathan F. from Pittsburgh. Moments later a small boy poked his head out of the tent flap and waved hello. Jonathan was desperate for some matches, having forgotten his at home. Without matches breakfast would consist of nothing more than Power Bars and some cold water. Matches were something I carried in abundance, both the regular paper kind and a few emergency waterproof ones. I gladly gave him a pack, for which he expressed much gratitude. Now he and his son could look forward to a "real" breakfast. I didnÕt stay to hear what the menu was... nor did I tell him what my breakfast had consisted of.

11:00am. Break time - By my estimate and by exercising my budding map reading skills I figure I am about 3 1/2 to 4 miles from my car. Do I walk out and leave this hike at a one nighter or do I set up a very early camp and explore a little without the pack... About 10 this morning, as I ambled casually up the trail enjoying scurrying chipmunks and the mosaic of sun dappled leaves that surrounded me, I saw a figure approaching from ahead. From a distance I observed that he was wearing camouflage clothing and had a gun slung over his shoulder. Knowing that it wasnÕt hunting season my immediate thoughts were; "Oh hell, a damn survivalist out playing soldier!". and then "How many 'friends' are out here with him?" and then "What do I say to him, 'Gee ...having fun'?" ...be careful when rushing judgment. As the man approached I realized that the gun on his back was in reality a plastic tube holding a dissembled fishing rod. And guess what... the guy was lost! He wondered if he might have stumbled onto the Hickory Creek trail. It seems that he was looking for East Hickory Creek but had wondered up a smaller side creek, probably Jack's Run, by mistake. I showed him on my map where I thought we were. He headed off down the trail whistling cheerily. I hope he found his creek. I was headed in the opposite direction and never saw him again. ...I decided to set my tent up, have lunch, and spend a second night out. Having selected a level spot a short distance off the trail and having hidden my pack I am ready for some lighter walking.

4:30pm. Back at camp - For my afternoon hike I took water, some emergency supplies in a small hip bag, a compass, and my map. Bisecting the loop, I headed back toward Jack's Run, which I had crossed earlier in the day. As I was now off-trail and wanted to stay on course I frequently checked my compass and selected distant trees as markers to walk toward. Intent on not getting lost, and smugly congratulating myself on my map reading skills, I wasn't looking down and nearly stumbled over a young porcupine. If his slight movement had not caught my attention at the last second I most likely would still be pulling quills out of my shins. Swinging his backside vigorously in my direction he made it abundantly clear that I was on his turf, that he was in no mood to yield right-of-way, and that I would have to go around him. I humbly agreed. (Note to self - Next time look down dummy.) Jack's Run is a small stream that feeds into East Hickory Creek. As I approached its curving edge the still water of a small pool suddenly shivered with ripples of overlapping Vs as tiny silver streaks flashed away, disappearing into a shadowy labyrinth of undercut roots on the opposite bank. I decided to sit down and wait for the streaks to emerge from their hiding places. As I waited I enjoyed a kaleidoscope of colors moving across the water's mirror surface. Impressionistic reflections of blue, green, brown and white competed for attention as they played over the water. Monet didn't have to look hard for his inspiration. The silver streaks had more patience than I did however and eventually I gave up my watch, deciding to follow the trail back to camp. Beyond Jack's Run, where the trail turns at the far side of the loop, my path cut along the side of a hill. I walked steadily upward through thickly wooded terrain. The canopy overhead closed in tightly, forming a long, dark green tunnel. All in all it was a rather oppressive passage, with only fleeting points of sunlight meekly breaking through the cover. The tunnel seemed endless but eventually I emerged into a patch of sunlight and grass near the top of the hill. I felt a little like the character in the N.C.Wyeth painting titled Into the Clearing. In this picture a buckskin clad frontiersman has just emerged into a small clearing. At his back is a very thick, dark and apparently endless forest of enormous trees. Sunlight enters the clearing like a beaconÕs beam. The man stands with head turned upward into the light. His face is aglow; his arms, rifle in one hand, stretch eagerly toward the unseen sky above.

Author's note: On subsequent trips around the Hickory Creek loop I have not been able to find this gloomy section of the trail. Imagination and inexperience do indeed play odd tricks on mind and mood. Perspectives alter with a little seasoning.

9:00am, July 17. Once I had escaped the green tunnel, yesterday's walk from Jack's Run to camp was physically and emotionally uneventful, just a pleasant saunter through tall trees and past many intensely vocal and hyperactive chipmunks. Last night was for the most part a rerun of the previous night, absent the extremes of my imagination. Twigs still snapped in the blackness beyond the walls of my diminished world, more dry leaves were softly disturbed by the passing of unseen creatures, and unfortunately, more intrusive noises from aircraft passing overhead. There was one new and pleasant exception. As the forest chatter of retiring birds faded and dusk descended over camp a distant and soft ho...ho...ho ho wafted through the trees. Soon, much closer, came an answering call. This two-way owl conversation went on for many minutes before it to fell silent. This unexpected and pleasant ending to the day must have assisted my eventual sleep for the morning came much quicker than it did last night.

11:30am. Break for a quick lunch. As I sit here writing a young couple with a leashed dog approach from the direction I am headed. I am resting on a large log, perhaps 50 feet off the trail. At first the couple doesn't see me. The dog does however, and enthusiastically yanks its owner my way. After a brief chat they leave but have confirmed my estimate that the trailhead is only about a mile or so further on. My hike is nearly over.

12:30pm. One final stop to write down some observations while they are fresh in my mind. This final section of the loop trail appears rockier than that of the other side. There are trailside boulder outcroppings and the trees seem older, larger. Snags abound and many fallen logs lay about in various stages of decay. Some are nothing more than long, slightly elevated lines of spongy, crumbling and moss covered pulp. There are also many aging stumps, tops splintered into tiny towers and spires, cores dissolving into concave pools of woody powder. They make me think of miniature castles in some Lilliputian landscape. I have read that a tree actually lives two lives, the first being the familiar one which rises from seed and that stretches its limbs skyward for many years; and a second less dramatic but equally important life of slow decay, a merging back into the earth, nurse to the unseen life of the forest floor. I wonder how many of my own generations of grandparents have come and gone since these ghostly green tracings at my feet, now little more than low reliefs against the forest litter, first broke free of their hard shells and reached toward the sun.

1:30pm. Done. Pack in trunk and sneakers replacing hot hiking shoes. Body tired but spirit much pleased with a trip well made and much enjoyed.

EPILOGUE - February 24, 2003 It has been four and a half years since the hike described above and I have now taken many subsequent hikes in the Allegheny National Forest. I have hiked and camped on the Tanbark, Morrison, and Minister Creek trails and I have explored much of the Tracy Ridge trail system. I have seen a pileated woodpecker off trail in the Allegheny Front and briefly sighted a black bear on the trail near Buzzard Swamp. I have hiked further off trail in the Hickory Creek Wilderness and I have marveled at the ancient Hemlocks in the Tionesta Natural Area. My trail menu has also improved significantly since that premier trip. In the spring of 2000 I first learned of and became involved in the work of the Allegheny Defense Project, a grassroots organization dedicated to the preservation and restoration of the Allegheny National Forest. Today I am proud to serve as a member of the Board of Directors for that group.