The Youghiogheny River: Ohiopyle

One thing I am not going to write about is moving from West Virginia to Iowa. I will not document one of the worst moving experiences of my life, and when I did get here and talked to others who has experienced moving to Iowa from far away, I heard their similar and sometimes more horrifying stories. I took that as a sign that I would be okay here, since they were and are okay here after their horror.

So, I am writing about the days up to the move.

My mother in law, Rebecca, and niece, Bela, flew out to Pittsburgh to help us move. My niece is a cat whisperer and we owe her, or at least I do, our/my sanity…and definitely our cat’s sanity.  Since Bela had never been to West Virginia and there were some special places we wanted to see before the move, we brought her to Ohiopyle.

Ohio Pyle is a state park in Pennsylvania in what they call the Laurel Highlands. The Youghiogheny River runs through the park and attracts rafters and hikers and anyone who wants to see the falls at the center of the park, in the middle of the river, as the river flows down from the highlands and through the hills. There are two Frank Lloyd Wright homes in the area as well: Kentucky Knob and Falling Water. Both are worth the price, but we were there to see the free trees and water.

The falls of the Youghiogheny are amazing and we gazed at them and watched the water run over them. I will remember them fondly, but the hiking along the river was always what I enjoyed the most. Those Eastern rivers have big rocks in them and they flow North. I was used to rivers with small rocks that flow South. I grew up near the Mississippi River in Southern Illinois. It is a broad, sandy river. I knew about sandbars and I knew I would never dip a toe in that polluted water. I was content to swim and boat on the local man-made lake with a bottom of clay and water which no light penetrated.

Then, we  moved to Arkansas and I swam in Table Rock Lake and could see my feet when I was treading water. It felt so clean. It is a lake of rock and green water with cliffs make up the sides of the lakes and rocks that line the bottom and jut out from the sides of the lakes. We would jump out into Beaver Lake off of them and cautiously watch the snakes that would swim over and try to take our sunbathing rock spot, but the rocks there were slabs and the water was calm.

When I went hiking with a dear friend in the Buffalo National Forest in Central Arkansas and we reached the Buffalo river, we were so hot and grateful to see water that we stripped to our last layer of clothes and dived into the river; the cliffs that  line that river are super high, white limestone rock that rose above us and from which trees grow despite its vertical nature. The rocks at the bottom of the river were smooth and small and did not hurt our tired, hot feet. They were slick and kind and the water flew over them a little fast, but still calm. I knew the river was low that year due to drought year number 5 and I believe the same drought is still going. I knew that when it rained, this river was a different kind of river, but I did not see it that day. I saw the calm river of the west that we could dive into without fear of anything but some snakes.

I moved to West Virginia and visited Ohiopyle and saw swift water over huge boulders with an amazing powerful and awesome current. There is water everywhere there—in the trees, in the air, in the green that is also everywhere. And it never recedes in a way I was used to seeing in Arkansas when as the drought continues the lake and river water would recede and reveal more silent boulders under where we had been swimming last year. They were ones that we never saw—the green, deep water hide them—but we sensed their presence. And that kept us from jumping from the cliffs above that overhang the lake and exposed rock shoreline into the green water below. Instead of jumping, we climbed down the overhang to the rocks that met the water and we lived.

 In the Youghiogheny, those rocks were always there. Sure they had water lines, but they were huge and jutted up out of the water, even when it was high water. And the water rushed past them wearing them slowly away. It was not water to jump right into or even to wade right into. T he current was strong, an unwavering force. The water was also cold. We would sometimes go to Ohiopyle to swim and we choose a spot above the falls. The water was that rock green clear I knew, but cold even in July. I was used to the water in Arkansas warming up the end of June, but I swear it was never, even at its coldest, the temperature of the Youghiogheny in spring, summer or fall. The winter snow had melted into it and we could feel it. We had to jump in and be brave or edge ourselves in slowly and when we came back out, we were gonna be a bit numb. The current was always present and always ready to sweep us towards the falls.

I had also never seen natural slides until Ohiopyle. Some local friends of ours told us to go to them. The water, a run really that emptied into Youghiogheny, had gouged out a tube like path in the rock as it gathered and flowed down the side of the highlands as a creek. It was a natural pipe. We visited it about 3 times in the five years we were there. On a hot August day, the trails were packed and people lined up at the top of slides to slide all the way down into shallow pools of water that gathered before the water spilled out of them and went back into the main river. We even tool the trail up and followed the run and found more swimming holes and water falls above the slides. The more rain or snow melt we had, the faster the water flew down the rocks to the river below.

It takes courage to  go down the slides. I was not brave enough to slide down them, as Ernani and our friend Cari were, but I recorded and worried about broken arms and legs as I watched them go down the slides into pools that lead to another set of slides. The limestone was carved out into slides by the water and the angle was a sloop. It was a gentle ride unless there was a lot of rain, then it was quick and scarier as far as I was concerned, but we wanted to take our niece there so she could see it, since it is pretty cool and a once in a lifetime kind of place.

After the slides, we drove to Cucumber Falls. Neither Ernani or I had been there despite our many visits to the park. Waterfalls were always a treat for me. They are hard to find in Arkansas and the best ones there are the ones you run into without expecting to run into when walking a trail. Often the trail will tell you there is one, but when you get to it, it is dry. In the West Virginia area, waterfalls thrive and abound. We had seen many and they never got old. But, those we saw we, we could never get close to like the few I got to get close to on Arkansas trails. The ones in West Virginia were serious. Gallons and gallons of water falls in WV when it falls. It is often not wise to get too close.

We parked in the dusty, rocky parking lot next to the sign for Cucumber Falls and followed the trail as it snaked down to the valley. This was another run, creek, that was making it way to fill the Youghiogheny below it, but this river was not one solid mass of rock the water could carve a path into. Suddenly the water meet a gap and had to fall to reach the ground that sloped to the river. It was a beautiful water fall and behind it was a grotto. We could walk and climb the rocks on the banks of the river it made after it fell and get behind it and dunk our heads into the water falling from high above us. And we did. It was exhilarating. It was not a moment to pass by. Cari, Ernani, Bela and I each took our turn. The day was perfect and I had forgotten about everything but the moment we were in and the pressure of the water on my head, neck and hand as I reached out for it.  We made our way back to Rebecca who took our pictures and then  up the trail to the bridge that crossed the water as it was about to fall off the edge of the rock onto other heads, hands, necks and then to the river. We walked to the car and drove back through green hills and sunshine to reality. 

Leaving West Virginia, Almost Heaven

Leaving the hills was not something I every really saw myself being able to do without the certainty of leaving them for a job in my field. Life did not work the way I thought it would though. The dream teaching job did pan out and my husband is less stubborn than I am.

When there is a problem, when I am fixing something, or putting something together and it resists, I rush headlong into it and continue working on it even when I should I stop. It is just one of the many traits that make me, me. I remember when I was getting my Master’s degree, and one of my colleagues told me: Lisa, all you get by beating your head against a brick wall is a bloody head. I have been pondering that sentence since she spoke it, and it took about ten more years to realize how right it is. But, have I stopped this beating the head and this being generally stubborn about fixing things that just don’t want to be fixed? Of course not. I just needed her to remind me that I have this tendency not to stop when I should stop, so that I stop a bit sooner than I did in my 20s.

So, while I would have clung to the 4/4 teaching load that made me insane every October (midterm), December (finals and finals grade), January (evaluations), and Feb/March (midterm and receipt of annual review), May (finals), Summer (no income), and August (writing the annual review)--and, I worried about not having time to do research and squeezing in 500 job aps between Oct and March in between the grading—I would have kept doing it until I was 65 years old. Luckily, I met my husband, who can be more rational than me about these things, and he decided to change his life, which meant mine changes too. He decided to take the LSAT. And, then we decided to move to Iowa.

Iowa. I am from Southern IL originally. I know flat. I hated flat. I hate Winter. So, why did we choose Iowa? Family. We had lived in the hills, but we were far from our family and we missed them. This can happen as you get older.  I was scared to go back to Fayetteville, Arkansas. I loved Fayetteville. I love Arkansas. I don’t want to look for jobs there because I fear that that might ruin the place I love so much. I want to return there someday when I can enjoy it without fear and worry. And the law program at the University of Iowa is good. My husband loved received his degrees there in philosophy. He knew the city well and he has good memories of the place.

A part of me was ready to get back to the western, and right, side of the Mississippi River. I reason that I can tolerate the winter with family nearby and if I put my stubbornness against it, perhaps that would be a good outlet for it. And, Iowa City does have some hills. It is nice to be able to really see the stars from horizon to horizon, instead of hill to hill. There is so much more sky to see. I miss those hills, but someday, I will be back in hills, in Arkansas perhaps, back in a warmer place and ready to be there without a bloody head.

But, first I was moving to Iowa from West Virginia and had only a few weeks to say goodbye to one of the prettiest states we have. Camping was on the agenda. I wanted it on every day, but I had to pack too, so we only got out a few times that summer. I have written about most of them, but not these final weeks, so here it goes.

Ernani and I took off on day trips together and spent some nights in the woods alone, saying goodbye to the green hills. I love driving through a country that is hilly. All my stress evaporates. I cannot wait to see what is behind the next bend. It is the same on a trail, unless I have a heavy backpack, but those are different stories.

We found another swimming hole where we met a father who told us he came here as a boy to swim, his Mom and Dad came here as children to swim, and he was taking his kids here to swim. We all, even our returning friend, marveled at a house on the ridge above the swimming area that was new to us all and looked as if it could easily slid right down the cliff into the shallow water/river below it in which we were swimming.

We stayed at a place just inside the old entrance signs to the Monongahela National Forest. Our campsite was nestled in the trees off a paved road, but if we continued on the road and turned to follow the paved road, it dropped us into the valley and brought us to the swimming hole. If we turned off the pavement onto the gravel road, it twisted up and up the hills. We followed it and got to see amazing drop offs into deep and shallow valleys of green trees and ferns. We saw deer leap randomly out as we drove by those ravens. We climbed up and up and sometimes we saw a deep, open raven and the walls of the next hill not quite as close as those before were. We twisted up and up and around. The road seemed to go on forever and I really think it did. We never reached the end of it.

We did reach the top or a top of a hill really. Suddenly, we were in the open sky, a field cleared for a pasture. Ahead of us the road continued to snake slowly up a hill in the distance, but we stopped; we pulled off into the ruts of tractor and jeep tracks that marked an entrance into the pasture and a closed cattle fence. We shut off the engine. Besides the small clicks of the cooling engine, we heard birds in the trees slightly below us and in the grasses around the fence by which we stopped. We pulled on our hiking boots and climbed over the cattle fence.

We jumped from the top of the fence onto the grassy ground and started up the slight rise of the top of the hill. Rocks mixed in with the dirt and cow patties marked the passage of the cows, which we never did see. We followed the path, improvised road really, to the top of the hill and to the trough of water some park people must come by to fill every so often. I ran the last few feet knowing that what we got for our exploration was a reward—a 360 degree view of West Virginia. I turned and turned and in every direction I saw perfection: green hills whose ridges sloped jaggedly to pass in front of and behind the other ridges of other green hills.

Rarely did I see signs of people, except on the bald hill I stood on to see these other hills and the occasional radio tower on opposite hills. I did not care about people up here though. I breathed in the fresh air and feasted on the sights before me.  I could not see enough or stay long enough. I admired the circling buzzards Ed Abbey taught me to love and which I also see in Arkansas. I wished I had brought a telescope for later tonight. The sun was setting and the sky was turning pick and orange. The hills were getting darker where the sun could not penetrate because of the shadows of the ridges of the hills nearby. The sun was lightening up the trees it could reach. The pattern of light on the trees gave the hills texture and definition. When I was in the car, I was in that pattern on a road under those trees. Now, I stood outside of it and above it. I saw it again, but could not see the road, since it was high summer, where I had been earlier inside those trees. I lifted my eyes. The sun slipped behind a hill to the west. Stars started to appear above me.

The way back was easy and took what felt like less time than getting there, but we walked it together and pointed out the things on the ground we had noticed and meant to point out to each other before as we walked to the top of the hill—the rocks glistening with mica, the flowers embedded in the path where the tires and hooves and feet that had passed by before us had missed them.

Every so often I would glance back at the view, at the place where I had stood above the world in the sky looking down, but I was no longer on top, so I looked to the sides and said a mental goodbye to the valleys I could see. It was a perfect end to our time in West Virginia in a perfect place.