This past weekend Karen and I continued our northward trek on the A.T., walking twenty-four miles in two days. Our hike the first day was very peculiar, in that we were in the woods only on the last three miles. Most of the hike was across a semi-rural landscape cut into tiny sections by many roads and highways. As often as we were among trees, we were also in farmlands, meadows, and on the side of roadways. And, during the first three miles, we could hear the noise of an active firing range, next to which the A.T. passes.
At about eight miles into our hike, we crossed the Bernhisel Bridge and had our lunch break at the Scott Farm Trail Work Center. There is a pump here for water, which we were entirely depending on, since we didn’t want to have to carry extra water all the way from PA-74. At first we were both perplexed and not a little disconcerted, since pumping produced no water. We had almost decided to knock on someone’s door, when we discovered that one has to lift and hold the pump in an upward position in order to get water from it. Yeah, . . . I know: “Duh!” Well, you live and learn.
About two miles north of the Farm we began our ascent up Blue Mountain. Having already walked ten miles, this last stretch before reaching Darlington Shelter was tough. But, it was worth it. Darlington Shelter is a beautiful rest stop. Although we probably already had enough water, Karen checked out the spring and found it slowly productive. I should also note that Darlington Shelter has the Taj Mahaj of privies, an impressive two-seater about as large as the shelter itself. We found a smooth and flat spot to set up our tent, cooked dinner, and made it an early night.
Upon rising in the morning, we found that two other hikers, Megan and her younger sister, Ann Marie, with their German shepherd, had come into the shelter during the night. They are, like us, hiking the trail a little section at a time. Megan’s boots had fallen into pieces, so Karen gave her some duct tape. What a nightmare! What could be worse on a hike than losing the use of one’s boots! Megan, however, wasn’t anywhere near despair. She taped her soles onto her socks and, without so much as a whimper, prepared herself to hike out—which, we are informed, she did successfully.
Our hike the second day was, until we got to Duncannon, almost entirely in the woods. We did cross a couple of fields between Blue and Cove Mountains. Cove Mountain, they say, is where Rocksylvania begins for north-bound hikers. The rocks weren’t worse than we’d experienced elsewhere; the problem was that there was no end to them. Karen and I took a short break at the junction to Cove Mountain Shelter and, then, pressed onward to Hawk Rock, where we had our lunch. From here, the view of the Susquehanna River and Duncannon is fantastic.
From Hawk Rock, down we went, steeply and treacherously. The larger rocks have been placed as steps, which makes the descent much easier, but one still must be very careful. When we got near to the bottom, the A.T. suddenly veers off and upward to the right. It’s counter-intuitive, and we had to look closely at our map to make certain that we weren’t foolishly following white blazes made by a self-amusing demon. To continue going straight and downward will probably take one to a parking lot, from which one could probably find one’s way into Duncannon—but, it’s not the A.T.
Twenty-four miles is a bit longer than Karen and I are accustomed to, and our legs were a little sorer than usual, but it’s a good soreness, one that we are proud to have earned. Having finally made it to Duncannon, we can’t wait to go further.