Our Sunday newspaper had an article about the fire towers of Penn’s Woods—or, rather, about what’s happening with the few fire towers that remain standing. (By the way, for those not familiar with the term Penn’s Woods, it’s what the name Pennsylvania means. For many of us outdoor enthusiasts, the term readily comes off our lips.)

About 70 fire towers remain standing in Pennsylvania out of the 449 that were built early in the twentieth century. At that time, then- Commissioner of Forestry Gifford Pinchot initiated a flurry of fire tower building that continued after he became governor. One reason for building the towers was to spot and quickly respond to fires, helping protect the state’s forests as they recovered from decades of careless logging and subsequent, devastating fires. As part of its forest restoration efforts, the Civilian Conservation Corps, or CCC, built many of the towers in the 1930s.

The need for these towers has diminished partly because of development moving closer to the forests and partly because of more modern methods of fire detection.

Now you may wonder why I am writing about fire towers, of all things. Well, several years ago, I had a small connection with a fire tower. I have to develop some background for this, so here it goes.

In a prior life, until 15 years ago, my wife, Bernie, and I did a lot of volunteer work on Pennsylvania’s hiking trails. We were very involved with KTA—in fact, we were involved with KTA’s Trail Care, tasked with building and maintaining hiking trails, for many years. We’d camp, usually at a state park or state forest, on a Friday evening; on Saturday, we’d work all day—from 8:00 until 4:00 or so—and return to camp for dinner and an evening of campfire camaraderie; and then, on Sunday, we’d work from 8:00 until about noon, say “See you next month,” and go home.

On any given weekend, anywhere from 15 to 30 participants of all ages, including some couples, joined us for Trail Care. We were people from all walks of life, including a doctor, a dentist, college professors, housewives, nurses, construction workers, truck drivers, teachers, retirees, and even a computer systems analyst (which would be me). Whenever a new person joined us, no one ever asked what they did for a living; what mattered was that they could handle a lopper, chainsaw, or one of our many forestry tools. We worked hard and got very hot and tired, but we always ended on Sunday with a smile and a feeling of accomplishment.

We did this one weekend a month from late March through early November. We worked throughout the state but mostly in the north-central region, heavily forested and therefore having most of the major hiking trails. From these excursions to the lesser-known parts of the state, Bernie and I became pleasantly familiar with some amazingly beautiful hiking trail locales. Over the years we came to love many of the beautiful forests and trails in the hinterlands of Penn’s Woods.

A place where we camped occasionally was in a clearing near the base of the Tamarack Fire Tower in Sproul State Forest, near the town of Renovo in Clinton County. In the clearing was a small cabin used by rangers whenever a fire watcher staffed the tower. Although we had access to the cabin, we seldom used it since we were all tent campers.

The tower was seldom manned; fire watching was and continues to be done by more advanced methods than having a person sit in the tower scanning the surroundings. Sometimes, at night, someone would go up the steps to the cabin at the top of the 82-foot tower. We couldn’t get into the tower’s cabin since there was a locked trapdoor. But the view from near the top level was spectacular. As was fitting for the use of the tower, one could see forever in all directions. Going up the tower had become the thing to do after eating dinner and before sitting around the traditional campfire.

This particular weekend happened to fall within a dry spell. Very little rain had fallen for quite a while, and the signs warned of the possibility of fire in the region. After cooking and eating our dinner, Bernie decided to climb the tower. She went up to each level, turned, and went up to the next level. I sat on the ground watching since I was somewhat averse to high places, especially on a structure that seemed to shake a bit. Suddenly Bernie was gone. Gone? So where was she? She later told me about it.

She’d climbed to the top several times over the years and always liked to be up there, feeling the evening breeze and appreciating the view. But this time was different. She was admiring the scene from the topmost level, just beneath the tower’s cabin, when from on-high she heard a deep voice asking, “Would you like to come up?” She looked up to see someone looking down at her. Since the trapdoor had always been closed, she hadn’t looked up to notice that this time it was open. She said hearing a voice from above was astonishing, to say the least (“It scared the bejabbers out of me”), and that at this time of her life, she hadn’t been prepared to answer the “call from above.”

However, she accepted the invitation and went up into the tower’s cabin. It seemed that since the fire hazard was so extremely high, the forest service had decided to man the tower. She got the tour and was told about what the fire watcher does and the equipment that’s used. Then she looked out over the even higher view. The fire watcher was probably glad to have some company, since fire watching would surely be a rather lonely job.

So now she had a story to tell—she had received the call from on-high, inviting her to “come on up.” Of course, this was so much better than being invited to “come on down.”

While writing this, I remembered another incident in the town of Renovo. There’s a small hotel in town, which probably does more business as a restaurant than a hotel except maybe during hunting season. When camping at the Tamarack Fire Tower, we’d occasionally drive the 15 or so miles into town for dinner. Dinner would usually be topped off by an ice cream cone for dessert. I’m not sure whether their ice cream was particularly good or whether it just tasted especially good after a long, hard day’s work.

After dinner one night, about a dozen of us gathered on the benches outside the hotel, eating our cones and talking. An old guy came around the corner and stopped when he saw us. I’m sure we were an unusual sight for a Saturday evening in small-town Renovo, what with there being so many of us and not being particularly well dressed. Oh, we had washed our hot, sweaty faces and tried to appear presentable, but we were still a rather disheveled, motley bunch.

The old guy stood there and gave us the once-over. Our conversations halted when we realized that we were being appraised. Finally he spoke, to no one in particular and in a voice that we could all hear. “You people going to be around for long?”

He looked around again and then stated, “Good. I was about to put out the alarm to hide away our daughters and womenfolk.” He then moved on up the street.

Trail Care! Good memories. A lot of hard work, getting hot, tired, and sweaty, but having the feeling of accomplishment. But best of all were the friendships that developed.

A CALL FROM ON-HIGH