Signs of Summer 6: Hiking the Charles Lewis Natural Area (Part 2)!

Photo by D. Sillman

(Click on the following link to listen to an audio version of this blog … Charles Lewis Natural Area Part 2

This is the second part of a hike narrative originally published in 2008 on my “Between Stones and Trees” website.  I think that it clearly describes the deep, geological history, and the ecological resilience of Western Pennsylvania’s forests. Enjoy the rest of this walk in the woods!

The trail has, at last, flattened out. We are on the top of Rager Mountain about 1300 feet above the parking lot back at the base of Clark Run. We pass a rocked-in spring and then cross a broad, rocky path. According to our hiking guide, this path is the remains of the old toll road that connected Johnstown to the town of Cramer back in the later 1800’s. The guide also indicates that the remains of the old Harvey Stahley homestead are near this trail crossing point. Also, further along the trail is an old charcoal pit that was partially restored by a Youth Conservation Corps crew. We walk back and forth looking for stone foundations or structures, but they must be hidden under the dense undergrowth.

Photo by D. Sillman

The trees on this flat area along the top of Rager Mountain were repeatedly cut to make charcoal. In fact, six million bushels of charcoal (which was desirable for steel production because it was free of sulfur) were produced here from 1898 to 1906 for the iron and steel industry. Large tracts of second growth hardwoods (which had grown after the removal of the site’s primary forest of hemlocks and mixed hardwoods a few decades previously) were cut to feed the charcoal pits. A third generation of trees (also hardwoods) that grew after the initial charcoal logging was subsequently cut through the mid-1930’s. The trees around us may actually be not just tertiary (“third growth”) but, in fact, quaternary (“fourth growth”) forest stands.

We cross a Gallitzin State Forest road and pause to read a large map sign. We have walked not quite half of our planned hike. The road to the east would take us into the state forest. We walk back into the cover of the forest and note the abundance of black cherry, red and striped maples, sassafras, and yellow birch growing densely as young, “pole trees” around a few, isolated, large red maples. The path crosses over a complex network of little rivulets and streams that will gather together into Clark Run. Our feet get quite wet as we cross and re-cross the streams. Gnats are (and have been all day) very bad. We walk and thrash our hands in front of our faces to try to keep them out of our eyes. The ground is soft here but still full of rocks. The walking is very slow, but, at least, it is fairly flat. There are also a number of downed trees that we have to climb over. There is a feeling to this part of the forest of rapid growth and destruction, of chaotic resurgence of the trees back into an increasingly stable ecological configuration. The sun comes in and out from behind passing clouds. It is humid and warm. The trail joins and departs and then rejoins sets of snowmobile and ski trails. We keep our eyes on the trail blazes to make sure we stay on our path.

We re-cross under the power lines and wind our way through an unmarked thicket of witch hazel. Blackberry canes are covered with large, white flowers. Low growing blueberry plants are also in late flower and some have even begun to set fruits. This sunny area will be an excellent feeding site for black bears later in the summer. The dense cover of the witch hazel also generates excellent cover for them. Previous hikers have talked about encounters with black bear up here on the ridge, but today we see neither bear nor any sign. We are simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

Squawroot. Photo by D. Sillman

Oaks have been plentiful on the trail ever since we left the ravine. Scattered through these oak trail sections have been clusters of light brown, spiny, almost pinecone-like outgrowths pushing up through the dark, loose soil. These oddly shaped and colored plants are called squawroot (left).  Squawroot lacks chlorophyll and grows in a parasitic relationship on the roots of trees, especially oaks. As the above ground portion of the squaw-root ages it gets darker and darker brown until it finally crumbles away back into the humus of the soil.

Cinnamon fern. Photo by D. Sillman

Ferns are also a continuous feature of the undergrowth both in the ravine and all along the ridge. Cinnamon fern, hay-scented fern, wood fern and more grow in dense masses of green all around us. Ferns are eaten by very few animals and can, as they grow form increasingly dense thickets and have huge influences on the types of trees that can germinated and grow beneath them. These fern “filters,” then, can control the direction of forest succession and may have continuing ecological influences on a site for many decades or even centuries after their life cycles have been completed.

Up here on the ridge, greenbrier has become an increasingly abundant component of the undergrowth. Long, curving stems covered with robust thorns crisscross the path and tear at our legs. Greenbrier is excellent deer browse, but it is hard to imagine how the deer avoid the thorns as they clip away at the tender leaves. Slow, careful eating, I guess, does make digestion a more efficient process.

Ruffed grouse. NPS. Public Domain

We are within a thousand yards of the junction back with the ravine trail when we are frozen in place by a dreadful screeching noise. At first we think that it is from a low flying, red-tailed hawk, but then we think that it must be some injured animal up ahead on the trail. Finally, we think that it must be a noise from some humans, but cannot imagine what the stimulus for the noise might be. We walk forward slowly and finally determine that the wailing is coming from a small, drab-brown bird that is running about, head down, neck out-stretched through the camouflaging underbrush just to the left of the trail. It is a female ruffed grouse, and she is doing her best to get our attention (well done, grouse!) and to lead us away from the area of her nest.

The ruffed grouse is the state bird of Pennsylvania but has been experiencing a steady decline in population numbers throughout the eastern United States primarily because of habitat destruction. It is a heartening sign to see this reproducing female even though her cries are incredibly unsettling. We continue along the trail shadowed by the occasionally screeching grouse. She finally fades back into the cover of the forest and the nearly perfect camouflage of the undergrowth. After a couple of hundred yards, the forest is once again quiet.

American toad. Photo by D. Sillman

A few more yards down the trail after the grouse has left us, we come across a beautiful and well camouflaged American toad . The toad is very unconcerned with our presence and poses for a whole series of pictures.

At the junction of the Rager Mountain Trail with the Clark Run Trail we have a choice of paths. The first choice takes us to a flat walk along a broad path that eventually crosses a wobbly, wooden footbridge over the uppermost section of Clark Run. This easy walk however is followed by the steep and rocky south-side ravine trail that we previously climbed.  At least the return trip is assisted by the pull of gravity.

The second trail choice is the “down” loop of the Clark Run Trail that follows the sunnier, north side of the ravine through a massive, rock-city of fallen sandstone boulders. This second path is a bit shorter overall but can take much longer to traverse because you must climb over one enormous rock after another. Calling this section of the trail simply “rocky” is a far too understated description.

Lady slipper. Photo by D. Sillman

We have walked both paths and today pause at the junction to consider our choices. On either side of the connecting path are large, showy orchids called pink lady’s slipper (right). We admire the elaborate flowers and, especially, the large, hollow, sack-like structure which is designed to entice bees to enter the flower. The bees receive their nectar reward inside, and, by following the flower-directed pathway through the sack, both pick up and deliver pollen to accomplish the flower’s reproductive cycle.

The hike through the rock-city section is likely to have rattlesnakes. The rocks that make the “city” are boulders and room-sized masses of hard Pottsville sandstone. These immense rocks have been pried off of the capping surface of the ridge by freeze-thaw weathering and ice wedging.  They have fallen into a chaotic jumble on the relatively flat middle section of the ridge.  The rocks have the blazes of the trail painted directly on them, and the trail is a climb and a clamber over the great pile.

We take the rock-city trail. This part of the path feels endless in spite of its relatively short length. It is beautiful, but it does wears away at one’s knees and ankles, and it does demand constant pauses to consider pathways and rock sequences (which rocks are tippy? which ones have rattlesnakes under them?). It is a pleasure to leave the rock-city behind.

Young rattlesnake. Photo by D. Sillman

As we step over what would prove to be one of the last rocks, we finally see a rattlesnake. It is a small snake (about a foot in length probably….it is hard to estimate accurately because he is all coiled up with his out-of-proportionally large, triangular head resting on his coils). He (or she) is very unconcerned with us and doesn’t flinch or rattle as we pass. We stay with the little snake for several minutes and take a number of pictures.

The timber rattlesnake (Croatus horridus) is the largest of the three species of venomous snakes found in Pennsylvania (the other two species are the northern copperhead and the endangered Massasauga rattlesnake). Adult timber rattlesnakes are typically 36 to 48 inches long with a small number reaching up to 72 inches in length. Almost everyone seeing a rattlesnake out in the wild, though, assumes that they have seen one of the six foot long individuals! Adrenalin does funny things to your perception of length!  On a hike we did at Wolf Rocks a few years before we came across a timber rattler that looked like a coiled up car-tire inner tube! Its warning rattle was slow and deep (and we stayed well away from him/her!).

Photo by D. Sillman

The trail down the north side of the ravine is very steep and requires careful foot placement on the loosely set and wildly angled rocks. We reach Clark’s Run and walk across the stream on a narrow, tippy log. Signs of human use are all around us. We are very near the parking area and the trail is an inch deep in broken glass from shattered bottles. I am very glad that I didn’t bring my dog with me on this hike. He has a well-developed aversion to snakes and I think that he would have avoided the little rattlesnake, but he would have torn his feet to pieces on these glass shards.

We return at last to the car. We spent five hours in the woods covering the six miles of the loop. Time on the way was well invested taking in the view of the gorge, exploring the old foundations up on the ridge, and, of course, visiting with the grouse, the toad, and the rattlesnake. We are tired but absolutely elated by the effort and all of the extras.