by Steve Zwolinski, KTA Student Intern
It’s been said that it’s often the great outdoors where one can truly find freedom and openness. We might never really discover the world beyond the 4 walls of indoor “imprisonment.” For hikers and campers, the fresh air, the scent of the forest, the starry sky, the chill in the air, and just the freedom of being outdoors can all be irresistible.
For me, though, these things were all rather foreign. Studying environmental science as a graduate student at Duquesne University should have been my calling card, with feelings of euphoria about connecting to the things I strive to protect. As an undergraduate, I worked as a geographic information system (GIS) teacher, a broadcast meteorologist, and an operational meteorologist; my later ventures into the outdoors were often relegated to when things got nasty and brevity was key (after all, chasing a tornado in the Midwest can be hazardous).
Things changed for me when I joined the KTA as an intern. Before joining, I had tended to look at things from the standpoint of my experience in the Cub Scouts—a sort of apathy toward the idea of getting dirty, wet, and cold while pitching a tent far from the nearest cell tower. I felt disconnected with nature; however, at the same time, I wanted to better understand nature and the hiking experience.
However, Saint Patrick’s Day of 2015 was the lucky day for me. Living in southwest Pennsylvania presents many hiking opportunities, but it often means digging a little. Yet the small Lawrence County community of Wampum—a place that time seemingly forgot—beckoned me on Saint Patrick’s Day with a small, friendly hike on a trail that steered me toward a better understanding. Conducted by North Country Trails Association, which has a presence stretching from New York to the Dakotas, the hike was in unsheltered yet friendly territory about 50 miles from my “4 walls” in the South Hills of Pittsburgh. I didn’t hike the trail in its entirety but, rather, a small portion of it: the River Road to Snake Run Road segment—3 miles on a pit-mining property that had ceased operations earlier in the month. I decided to bring my stepfather, a guy who is a veteran of running the less rugged trails of South Park in Allegheny County.
Upon arriving, I had a positive impression of the camaraderie among those attending the hike. Leader Dave Brewer welcomed us immediately, introducing us new folks to the trail work crew. Dave was very organized and understood the weather and trail conditions really well (a washed-out bridge kept us from going too far). It was a cold day, making the idea of hiking less than pleasurable and the notion of freezing my butt off rather intimidating. I knew, too, that the hike would require a lot of energy, so I stocked up on the Gatorade, put a piece of candy in my mouth, and forged on.
Since it was a Saint Patrick’s Day hike, I knew that there were festivities—and that hot dogs were the reward at the finish line. But I also found Cathy Garrett, the local North Country Trail work coordinator in Lawrence County. Cathy welcomed me to the trail care event, and handed me a green bow tie because, well, I needed to be festive. So I put it on and laughed!
We got to the trailhead across the high-flowing Beaver River and took a few photos of us in the group. Dave wanted to have this moment preserved, and we all smiled as we stood there. He explained to us where we would go—his catchphrase was “it’s all downhill,” although we laughed because many times, we were climbing some steep terrain for a couple of minutes. However, Dave seemed relaxed on this hike, and his relaxed state lent itself to my sense of calmness. Dave explained how there would be someone in the back to collect names, so no one would get lost. His pace was fast, but he would also stop to tell a story and catch everyone up every half hour. The group would often spread out, and I often would find myself hustling to keep up with the more experienced leader. I noticed, too, that I surprised myself by outpacing my seemingly fitter stepfather, often passing him on the path.
I often found myself panting a bit through the first 3-quarter-mile of trail. I realized that I would be doing this for 3 hours, and I wasn’t sure whether I could make it. But once we got out there, and I put my mind to it, keeping pace, and realizing it was worse for me and my mission to turn back, I kept going.
I felt a bit disheartened many times while hiking. Because of the recent snow, many places were quite slippery, and I found myself grabbing shrubbery and putting my hand in the dirt to keep balance. Snowmelt was making streams of the path, and staying out of the thick water was often hard. Furthermore, several small stretches passed along 30-foot drops with little room to keep balance—a challenge for someone (like me) who’s got bad coordination—but I heard my stepfather yell “Don’t look down!” whenever I whispered some not-so-nice words under my breath.
There were obstacles, but the camaraderie, the fresh, crisp air, and the quiet sounds of nature all transported me somewhere strikingly different from the busy Pittsburgh streets. How many times had I driven across a bridge but never really noticed the stream or river below? And how many times had I driven on a country road but never really noticed the scenery? While hiking, though, I could take time to stop and appreciate my surroundings. What a pleasant surprise it was! It was funny, actually, just to see the openness of the winter forest. Lots of dull colors, perhaps, but never a sense of nothingness—just a blissful sense of peace and calm. Because of slash done on the forest by the landowners, there was some sense of waste; however, Dave would tell us a story about how bees were taking over a tree or a particular type of critter burrowed into a hill, and suddenly there seemed to be a time and place and reason for everything in the forest, even in its winter dormancy.
Several times, I wanted to say no more, but then we saw the railroad tracks and the boat launch. Being back on pavement was hard on my knees, but I got there and realized I still had energy I thought I didn’t have. The people who helped with uphill climbs smiled at me. A couple of younger kids made it with me; I thought that if they could do it, then I certainly could. I realized I was in better shape than I had thought, that the cold didn’t bother me anymore, and that I could do this again. I couldn’t believe that I had hiked about 3 miles in a short time period. And I had Dave and these people I had just met to thank.
As we ate our hot dog reward, I looked around and felt a sense of family there. The connections may have just been made, but it felt as if we had all taken this together. I knew when the folks around me said “keep going” that they were correct, that I had to get past that first block of time—the mental block that had been restraining me from this experience. And I was glad to do it, too. My stepfather and I thanked Dave, Cathy, and her husband, Dennis Garrett, by joining the North Country Trail Association as a member. It was worth it. And the best part? As I write this today, I’m confident in my ability to take on tasks and have the willpower to do so. Because it was worth finding my freedom.