Laurel Highlands Thru-Hike, May 2022

Over the last few years I’d had my eyes opened to the wealth of public lands in Western Pennsylvania, and enjoyed discovering all the various hiking trails. One of my favorites is the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail, a 70-mile route from Seward to Ohiopyle that winds through State Parks, State Forests, and State Game Lands. The diverse landscapes it connects include imposing rock outcroppings, tangled rhododendron tunnels, and quiet fern-filled forests. When I started a sabbatical a few months ago there were a lot of things I needed a break from — to stop doing — but one of the few concrete goals I had was to complete a thru-hike of the Laurel Highlands.

I’d never done any overnight backpacking, so this trip required a bit of planning, learning, and training to pull off. But last week I successfully completed the 70-mile hike, and really enjoyed myself! Below are some day-by-day notes for my own documentation that might hopefully help others who are interested in planning a similar trip.

The Route

The Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail map has been hanging on my office whiteboard for over a year, where I mark off the sections that Molly and I have completed together. These are 6–8 mile out-and-back hikes, so while we’ve seen a lot of the trail it’s been fairly slow going, and difficult to fill in some of the more remote gaps.

The trail runs from Ohiopyle, PA (mile 0) to Seward, PA (mile 70) and I hiked it in reverse because the segments worked out a bit better for me and it seemed more celebratory to end in a bustling small town full of outfitters and restaurants, rather than a quiet parking lot.

One of the things that made this trip seem doable, as a first-time backpacker, are the eight different shelter areas along the trail. Each one contains a handful of three-sided Adirondack shelters with integrated fireplaces, which can be reserved ahead of time. The shelter areas are well maintained by the PA DCNR, who provide cut firewood, bear-proof trash containers, and clean outhouses.

The spacing and number of shelters allows for a variety of different itineraries, and I decided to do the hike in five nights, starting Monday morning and ending on Saturday afternoon.

Continue reading “Laurel Highlands Thru-Hike, May 2022”

Abandoned coal towns of West Virginia

The last movie I saw in a theatre, before the pandemic shut everything down, was a 4K restoration of the 1987 film Matewan at the Carnegie Science Center’s IMAX theatre. It’s a film about union labor organizing in a West Virginia coal mining town, and the violent struggle between the company and workers. It stars Will Oldham, one of my favorite musicians, in his first cinematic role. Both the director and Oldham were in person for the screening and held a Q+A after the film.

Although Matewan is a real place, the film was shot about a 100 miles northeast in the abandoned town of Thurmond, West Virginia. Both towns were built along the railroad, with the tracks in Thurmond acting as a “main street” for its commercial strip. Until 1921 those tracks were the only way to access the town, which served as a thriving hub for the local coal mining community along the New River. Thurmond’s peak was in 1910, when it supported multiple hotels, banks, and even a movie theatre. Over 75,000 people passed through the Thurmond depot that year.

A few weeks ago we visited the New River Gorge National Park, which Thurmond now sits within. After winding deep within the gorge you enter the town by crossing a one-lane railroad bridge, near a dramatic bend in the New River, to discover what is effectively a ghost town.

The Thurmond depot, built in 1904 after the 1891 original was destroyed in a fire. Thurmond remains an active Amtrak stop, so the depot is still in operation (although it was closed on the day we visited).
Continue reading “Abandoned coal towns of West Virginia”

Dear Lighthouse

Just before lockdowns started in March of 2020, after my last week at IDEO, I took the California Zephyr from Chicago to San Francisco and spent a week in Mendocino County. I stayed in the keeper’s quarters at the Point Arena lighthouse, which is situated alongside the beautiful Stornetta Public Lands, and was lucky to have my trip coincide with a twice-yearly lens tour at the nearby Point Cabrillo lighthouse.

I had planned to meet Molly in La Paz, Mexico the following week, but we cancelled the trip and I headed home, into a year of COVID-19 shutdown and everything that followed. It’s been just over a year, and reflecting back reminds me not only of the beautiful landscapes but the sense of possibility I felt, which has been stunted by this pandemic. I’m hopeful for the return of that feeling in 2021.

Below is my submission to the Point Arena Light Station “150th + 1 Anniversary Writers Invitation” within their “Dear Lighthouse” category.

Point Arena Light Station, March 5th, 2020

Dear Lighthouse,

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since we met. I suppose the memory is stronger for me, given the circumstances. I had just left my job, a bittersweet choice to spend less time traveling. My trip to see you was a personal interregnum, a space left intentionally blank, a time to look neither forward nor backward. I knew that change was coming, but didn’t understand the scale.

I traveled by train, a long continuous line connecting a Great Lake to a great ocean. From the observation car I watched night blanket the Midwest, and morning sun reveal the Rockies. Snow covered mountain passes gave way to red rock canyons. As we wound around the San Francisco Bay, a cruise ship was seeking permission to dock, its passengers infected with the novel coronavirus. We didn’t yet call it a pandemic, just a scary story set in other countries.

You, of course, know about the calm before the storm.

As I drove up the coast to meet you, I managed to stay in the present, immersing myself in the beauty of your neighbors. I hiked rugged coastlines. I napped beneath redwood trees. When I checked into your keeper’s quarters, I was thrilled to learn that I could see your light from my window. I watched you work as the vibrant sunset faded to monochrome.

How many countless people have you guided home safely? As the storm of infection swelled, and the fog of danger thickened, I knew that our time together was short. The future was rushing towards us, and I needed to be home.

It helps though, to know that you’re there.Your steadfast presence on the peninsula, the predictable cadence of your light. A year is a long time to be adrift.


My view from inside the Point Arena keeper’s quarters.