September 16 (Rt. 94 to Boiling Springs)

Tom, Rich, Molly, Shannon, Wyatt and Mike
8.8 miles

We started out early again this time, and the weather was nearly perfect.   Not surprisingly, there were lots of hikers out—and many dogs as well.  It was the usual gang, save for Mona who stayed back in Pittsburgh for a Steelers game.  (This required that we manage our own logistical support—not an easy thing and we hope she joins us again soon!)

We started in Boiling Springs and headed south to Rt. 94.  The town is known for its fresh water springs---the seventh largest spring in the Commonwealth with a flow of 11,000 gallons per minute.  For hikers, the town is known as the home of the ATC  Mid-Atlantic regional office.   The trail in Boiling Springs sits at an elevation of 500 feet---cutting directly through town and alongside the picturesque Children’s Lake.  Heading south, as we did, the trail meanders through cornfields before becoming a  6.5 mile stretch of peaks and valleys.   In all, there are 6 peaks.  If you add up the elevation in that stretch—it totals 2100 feet of going up, and 1900 of coming down.   Because of this, the 8.8 mile segment may feel about twice as long.  Despite this—it is a beautiful stretch of the AT.

When we arrived at the first peak (elevation of 1060 feet), we took a water break at the marker for “Center Point Knob”.  This marked the spot which was formerly the half-way point of the trail--the current half-way point is now south of this point—which we passed on a previous hike. To our surprise, passing us there was a hiker--carrying not only his pack—but also a guitar slung over his shoulder.  This was a first for us.  We asked if he took song requests—he laughed and made small talk—and headed north.

As we headed south along the Rocky Ridge, it became increasingly clear that acorn season was upon us.  Not only were oak trees in every direction shedding their seeds, but they seemed to be doing so right at the very moments we walked beneath their branches.   Obviously, acorns fall throughout the day and night----but a disproportionally high number pelted most of our group throughout the day—and some of us were hit several times.  Rich continued to remind us that he alone was spared from the assault of the acorns.

Aside from dodging falling acorns—this segment was something of an obstacle course.  While Pennsylvania is known as by AT hikers as "Rocksylvania", this was really the first segment of the trail where we had to use our hands to get up and down from rock formations over which the trail passed.  This was obviously easier for the adults than for seven-year old Wyatt, but he climbed up and down them with great ease and never asked for any help.

The rock formations are something to appreciate, and amazing to walk over, under and around.  Just after the Center Point Knob is a 20 acre ridge section known as the White Rocks, outcroppings of Antietam quartzite formed about 600 million years ago.   For the next few miles of Rocky Ridge, piles of boulders pop up along the way, some the size of small cars---others bigger than a suburban home--all having been traipsed and explored by area inhabitants and visitors for tens of thousands of years.

On our next water break, we presented Rich with three cupcakes and a lit candle in honor of his birthday.  Mona tipped us off to remember his birthday—thinking it was sometime this week—but we got lucky with it being his actual birthday.   So, a chorus of “Happy Birthday” and three cupcakes was as good as any trail hiker might expect.

Just before we crossed the stream around the 8 mile mark, we stopped on the footbridge for a drink.   The sight of Wyatt swinging on a Beech tree reminded Tom of his favorite poem, “Birches” by Robert Frost.  He asked me to look it up on my iPhone and recite it—which I did.   It’s an insightful poem about birches bending in ice storms, rememberances of being a boy and swinging from the limbs of birch trees—branches bending but not breaking—I guess it’s really all about life itself.  (read poem here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173524)

After another great day on the trail, the last line of the poem says it all:

“One could do worse than be a swinger of birches”.

About 60 miles completed and about 170 to go.