Pennsylvania's Wild Waters

Thousands have lived without love, not one without water. - W.H. Auden

We saw the weather forecast earlier in the week, and Thursday looked to be a real hall-of-famer, featuring blue skies and abundant sunshine, including a cool start, low humidity, and a warm afternoon. My husband had been planning to seize the day without me, and throw caution to the winds to embark on an outdoor adventure; in the end, I decided to do the same, and join him.

It's hard to think of anything more wonderful in summertime than a good woods and waters outdoor adventure. We had been talking about returning to a creek we know, one of the many lovely tributaries of Pine Creek, in northern Pennsylvania. But it is a rather long drive, and so while we often talk about going, we usually don't actually make it there. And so it's been years - several to many - since I have visited these waters.

And on this day, we actually made it! With a quick McDonald's breakfast stop along the way, we arrived at the parking area shortly before 11 am, packed up our bags (including swimsuits, swim fins or flippers, towels, snacks and drinks, fly swatters, etc.), put on our water shoes, and headed down into the gorge.

The very FIRST thing I noticed, even from the parking lot, was the sound of the roaring waters. We've had lots of rain this summer - it's one of our wettest on record - and the water was so loud I could hear it long before I saw it. And then when I saw it . . . WOW!

There is a path along the stream, but you could barely call it that now. It is muddy in spots, and washed out in spots such that you can only pass through if you walk IN the water itself. (Thus the water shoes!) It also requires a nimbleness and agility that I imagine might thwart many contenders.

The falls in the main shot is actually a side-stream to the larger creek we were following. The first photo in the extra photos area is a second shot of the same falls. I can't remember if I have ever seen the water as high as this. It was roaring like an avalanche, coming down the mountains.

It may possibly even have been higher than that one time in springtime, when the water was so strong and so high that it was barely even safe for wading. And that day, I remember that there was some lunatic dude with a kayak, getting ready to throw himself upon the waters.

And I remember wondering if the kayaker would make it safely all the way down, or whether his bones (and boat) would be dashed to bits on any number of protruding rocks. But of course, we never knew how it ended.

I imagine that his experience may have been a lot like that described by Patrick F. McManus in his marvelous tale, "Shooting the Chick-a-nout Narrows," in his very fine book, A Fine and Pleasant Misery. If you love outdoor humor writing, it is well worth a look.

Then we proceeded - carefully - upstream to the actual swimming hole. Walking, crawling, hunching, lurching, scrambling, these are words I'd use to describe our progress. Oh, and slipping and sliding a bit too, as there was a layer of slick silt on some of the rocks in the stream. I was also keeping an eye out for rattlesnakes, as we've seen them on this trail; but there were none in sight today.

When we finally reached the main swimming hole and biggest waterfall (see extra photos - there is a tree just to the right of the falls which has a rope on it for jumping in), the amount of water roiling down the creek actually took my breath away. I can't remember it ever being higher or faster. We stopped and spread our things out on a rock, waded around the edges a bit, tried to get up our nerve. We'd come this far; I was going IN!

And then my husband waded into the main swimming area, and he came back shaking his head. "Not safe. Current is too strong for swimming," he said. But I wouldn't accept his answer. After all, I was there to SWIM! And the water temp on this day (yes, we measured it) was 52.5 degrees F, with the air temperature in the canyon a very comfy 66.5 degrees. Spring temperatures, indeed, in high summertime!

Let me tell you now why I love these waters. First, the swimming hole (when it's not quite so overrun with water) is one of the loveliest places I know. It is a round bowl lined with slate cliffs and a large waterfall over the rocks. The water is cold there all year long. If you can bear to get in, it will turn your skin pink and numb you instantly.

Let me share a personal bit of information. I am an individual whose mind is always active, always busy. But the ONE THING that can still my thoughts and bring me absolute, instant, inner peace is COLD WATER. I seek it out every chance I get. I find it very soothing.

The last time we were here, I swam and floated for TWO HOURS straight in these frigid waters. I emerged feeling peaceful and very, very still inside; I am struggling to find words to describe it adequately. "Comfortably numb" might be as close as I can get.

So I did not heed my husband's words. I marched down to the water with my swim fins, full of intent, ready to go in. And then I waded in to just a few feet from the shore and I eyed up the current. It was truly intimidating.

I suddenly realized I could probably only enter the water safely if I walked up one of the nearby rocks and sort of . . . flung my body off it, into the raging currents. And I took another look . . . and then . . . I chickened out!  I waded a while, but decided it was just too dangerous to swim. (Dang it!)

So I am here to report that we did NOT actually swim in these waters, but we had a splendid time. With the water as high and as wild as this, there were no other visitors, only us, which might be a first for me. The area is usually a favorite for hikers, swimmers, and fishermen. We saw none. As far as the fish, I can't imagine how they stay put in these waters; surely they must all be washed downstream, maybe all the way down to the river! (Along with my husband's hat! - see the P.S. below.)

And so we enjoyed the creek, but only waded. And late in the afternoon, we hiked out. There are a number of really awful, bumpy, paved-trending-to-dirt roads that you have to take to get from point A to point B to go back to civilization, and we did that, carefully, slowly.

And the day had two more bonuses waiting for me: 1) the Kentucky fried chicken meals that we picked up on our way home (nom nom!), and 2) an up close and personal hawk sighting!

My husband was driving very slowly along the bad road, and I suddenly spotted a raptor standing along the road's edge. Oh no, could the bird be injured; could it have been hit by a car? (Gee, why would I think that?)  But as we grew closer, we could see that it was actually fine; its full attention was on something it was hunting in the weeds.

My husband stopped the car about 20 feet from the bird, and I snapped a few shots (see the extra photos) as it strolled toward the edge of the road. One . . . two . . . and on THREE, faster than lightning, the hawk jumped/flew into the weeds, nabbed a smaller creature (rodent or snake) in its talons, and flew away over our car! I have only one thing to say (both for this particular moment and for this whole day): FANTASTICO!

The tune to accompany these images . . . I know I've used this song before, but it's a favorite, and I'm including it again. The song is a celebration of what these ultra-cold waters do for me. The tune is Eddie Vedder and Roger Waters at the 12/12/12 concert for Hurricane Sandy relief, with Comfortably Numb.

P.S. A footnote . . . Lost and long gone in these roaring waters: one hat. My husband's (ratty old) hat was falling toward the creek, and I grabbed for it but missed it. Into the creek it went, where it rapidly disappeared from our sight. Now, my husband is accusing me of having thrown the hat in on purpose. Somehow, it turns out it was his "favorite hat." (How come they never say that until it is gone?) His words to me the following morning, as I was sorting through my photos and deciding which to post: "Yeah, maybe you can sell a few pictures; make enough money to buy me another hat . . . "