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| Towpath between MM124-25 |
The last time I was on this section of the towpath, a
thin layer of ice covered the bridge at Lock 52; today, the temperature starts
at a humid 80°F. Walking on Independence Day Eve, the temperature will
gradually climb over the next few hours. I think of July as mid-summer, but in reality,
the season began just a couple of weeks before. Walking the towpath this time
of year means hot temperatures, high humidity, and an increasing number of
pesky insects. News from around the world, however, suggests that the weather
could be worse. Just the day before, France experienced its highest ever recorded
temperature, 114°F. It
is difficult to imagine walking in heat like that, but I given that most homes
in France do not have air conditioning just simply surviving must be a chore.
The walks along the Potomac always provide an opportunity
to observe wildlife, but the excitement the night before was in my backyard. We
chanced to see a fox, eating apples from our tree. It was a sweet looking
animal, but I feared that the many rabbits that inhabit our lawn were to be the
second course. Despite our encouragement, none of the cats spotted the visitor.
The fox stayed long enough for me to take some choice photographs before sauntering
off toward the railroad tracks. To our knowledge, no rabbits were harmed.
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| Bowles House |
Shortly after walking from the Bowles House, a late
18th-century house that serves as an information center, located near the
Tonoloway Aqueduct, I met a woman with an excitable border-collie mix. “I have
that same shirt,” referring to my rails-to-trail conservancy gratis t-shirt. After
admiring and petting her dog for a minute or two, she asked it I had been in
the area before. I noted that that I had, but only briefly. She recommended
Buddy Lou’s in Hancock for lunch, where “they do food really well.” I said that
I would stop by on my way back.
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| Hancock, Maryland |
Hancock, a town of 1500 people, is located at the
northern most point of the Potomac River. As a traditional transportation hub, the
town features prominently in an oddity of geography and state borders. At this
point the width of Maryland is extremely narrow; the distance between West
Virginia and Pennsylvania is less than two miles. The towpath runs parallel to
the main thoroughfare, Main Street. A steel bridge crosses to canal to allow
hikers and cyclists to access the little town. Resisting the temptation to
explore Hancock and keep walking, even though a flock of Canada Geese seemed to
form a barricade to prevent me going forward. As I skirted the flock, geese were
hissing at me, seemingly sticking their tongues out in defiance.
Once I leave the outskirts of Hancock, it becomes a rather
solitary walk. I meet three park employees removing down a downed tree that had
fallen across the path. I hear a train that is close enough that in the winter
I would be likely to see. Walking two miles upstream from US522 my only
companions are rabbits and birds. Thinking about a man working the canal 150
years ago what must his thoughts have been? Without hesitation he must have
been concerned about his family, friends and loved ones. His future his destiny
probably weighed on his mind. There was no radio or iPod to distract him. Just
the rhythm of his pace. Would he have confided in his mule? If so, the animal
was likely too busy to respond.
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| Tree trunk: regeneration |
Red metal tags nailed into trees, but I cannot help but
notice that most of the trees are dead or dying.
On my return trip I stopped for lunch at Buddy Lou’s in Hancock,
as recommended by the woman I met earlier that morning. I ordered a chile-rubbed
tuna sandwich with apple-jalapeno coleslaw. The restaurant is popular not only
with local residents but with those who are traveling along the canal as well. My
sandwich was incredible, and I decided that I should bring Angie to Hancock to
see the area and have lunch. One of her favorite dishes, lobster rolls, which are
relatively uncommon in our area, figures prominently on the menu as well.
In the men’s restroom at Buddy Lou’s there is a
photograph of a child being rescued from a house in Hancock dated 3 April 1937.
My grandfather had manned boats helping rescue people and delivering supplies during
the flood in Louisville that same year. He often talked about navigating the
streets of the city just months before he married my grandmother. As a child, 3
April had a different meaning: it was the day that tornadoes ripped through
Kentucky, Indiana and Ohio.
After lunch I felt refreshed, but my legs did not. I
trudged the remaining mile back to Bowles House where the car was parked.
In between walks I made a trip to Massachusetts. While
there I had breakfast with my old friend and colleague, John. During our
conversations over the years it has become increasingly common to discuss our
physical activities and limitations. He told me that he increasingly concerned
about falling. His wife Alli told him that when older people fell thy never
full recovered. Although I most definitely do not think of myself as older, I
take his point that a substantial injury could be life-altering. I take so much
joy in walking that the prospect of an injury that might seriously diminish my
capacity to walk is disturbing.
A few weeks later, we were visiting Angie’s family in the
Finger Lakes region of New York. While I generally associate the Finger Lakes
with cooler summer weather than Pennsylvania, the sun was particularly
oppressive as we walked along the southern edge of Lake Owasco. Cody, the silly
dog he is, remains fearful of water. Once, when he was a puppy, he and I were
walking one late afternoon in winter. The temperature was in the 20s and, being
silly, he ran up to a bridge to indicate his preferred path. It was in the opposite
direction of where we were going. I called him back and told him we were not
going over the bridge. Although dogs have limited facial expressions, I
detected a mischievous look on his face, and he sprinted toward the bridge. He
turned to look over his shoulder just as he slipped between the railroad ties of
the bridge and fell into the creek a few feet below. I could not help but
laugh. The look on his face when he realized that he was about to fall is
ingrained in my memory. I often describe it as if it were a cartoon, like when
the coyote runs over the edge of the cliff before gravity take hold. Although
the water was cold, Cody was none the worse for wear. To this day, however, Cody
is leery of bridges and bodies of water, presumably worried about falling in.
On this hot day, though, I was trying to coax Cody into drinking
some water from the lake. I pointed out the other dogs, much more diminutive in
size, who were taking a cool drink from the lank to no avail. O reach to get
some water in my hands from the lake, stepped on a slippery rock, and began to
fall backwards with my legs in the lake. There was that moment of realization
that I was going to fall into the lake. I reached back to catch myself with my
right hand and heard John’s voice in my head, “…never fully recover…” Although
I sprained my right index finger pretty badly, after about six weeks it seemed
as if I had recovered.
The family vacation in Central New York, a trip in which
the three cats came along, with all the joys and challenges that come with it, afforded
me an opportunity to walk on different trails and explore. Despite my misgivings,
all three cats did very well and the five-hour trip each way passed without incident.
Over the past year and a half, they have become integrated into our lives. I
find myself endlessly removing cat fur from my socks because, for some reason,
it tends to ball up on the heels. It is often the case that I find a strand or
two of fur floating in my coffee in the morning as well. These are inconveniences,
but it is difficult to imagine a life without cats.
As I was driving to the canal, I saw a barred owl as
roadkill on Interstate I-81. Interstates are corridors of no-go zones for
wildlife and pedestrians alike. I am amazed by how many dead animals line the sides
of interstates. While there far fewer people killed on the interstate, roads
create a no-go zone for pedestrians as well. We are a society that values
travel by automobiles over travel by foot.
When I tell people that I am a political scientist, the
standard reaction is that it must be interesting to teach the subject in
current circumstances. I have always found political science, if not politics,
interesting. But in the current state of media and politics, I find the current
discourse tiresome. The news and podcasts are too argumentative to consider on
a tranquil morning that promised to be hot. Instead my soundtrack for the drive
was The New Jazz Orchestra’s Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe.
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| The Potomac at Cohill Station |
My walks are beginning to take me to more remote parts of
Maryland. I exit the Interstate I-70 at the western most interchange in
Maryland, before it creeps north into Pennsylvania and onto its terminus in
Colorado. I accessed the towpath at Cohill Station, a remote access point, to
walk downstream to where I had left off a couple of weeks before. It is secluded
place to start with; it was already 81 degrees as I started according to my car
thermometer. Frogs and an Eastern Swallowtail greet me at the river’s shore. The
cicadas of late summer have begun since my last walk, portending a seasonal
change. But at this point it is still very hot.
At the Leopards Mill Hiker-Biker camp, I saw three bikes leaning
against trees; the picnic table had a tablecloth, but no people could be found.
For a mile and a half stretch prior to mm130, the canal
is intact and full of stagnant water. Turtles, of all sizes, crowd onto
available logs, and swarms of mosquitoes buzzing around my face. In Sunday
school, a popular song was, “God Sees the Little Sparrow Fall,” a song that
explains to children that if God loves little creatures like the birds, then he
must love us too. I love animals as well. On the backroads that get me to the
canal, I do my best to avoid butterflies lapping up the moisture from the road
in the morning. But the mosquito? It is hard not to instinctively kill the
pest. I recently smashed a mosquito on my dashboard and drove twenty miles
occasionally glancing at the mangled carcass at intervals. He sees the little
sparrow; does he see the lowly mosquito too? Mosquitoes are particularly
dangerous to humans. Security, in the modern world, often focuses on the
military, guns and borders. But it is estimated that of all the humans who have
ever lived, half of their deaths have been caused by mosquitoes. In the
nineteenth century, mosquitoes along the towpath would have been a nuisance and
a danger. My modern bug spray would have been an inconceivable luxury for those
who worked the canal.
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| Devil's Eyebrow |
Near Round Top, a noticeable hill that juts up from the
landscape near the river, the ruins of an old cement mill are visible from the
trail. The Round Top Cement Company was one of the most prominent companies of
Washington County during the nineteenth century. The mill experienced several
fires, including one in 1909 that permanently put an end to the business. Nearby
are unique geological formations in the side of the hill, including the one
known as Devils Eyebrow at 127.2. I like the imagination it took to create
interesting monikers invoking evil spirits; there seems to have been many sites
that elicited the images of the devil’s doing in the century the canal’s
construction. I was too busy admiring the Eyebrow to notice a doe and her fawn
stealthily trotting down the towpath, about fifty yards ahead, trying to escape
my attention.
I was deep in contemplation when a train on the other
side of the river interrupted my thoughts. It reminded me of an incident a
couple of days before while walking on the Appalachian Trail with my brother
and nephew. Christian was trying to get Liam to appreciate the tranquility of
nature by asking him what he heard. Liam, annoyed with the question, replied “birds.”
Christian asked if he heard the airplane flying overhead. My brother’s point
was right, the sound of airplanes blends into our everyday lives that we cease
to notice. Christian tried to explain that it did not take too long to get away
from the sounds of everyday life before surrounded by nature. Liam was more interested
in getting the walk done, so that he could get back to the house and resume
playing whiffle ball and tossing the football.
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| Northern Rat Snake |
On this day nature seemed to overshadow the modern world.
After turning around at MM127, walking back to my car at Cohill Station, my
mind was wandering in several different directions. I was not paying as much
attention to my surroundings, but instead decompressing from a busy month of
travel and work. But before I left the towpath it revealed more wildlife. Within a mile of my destination I saw what
appeared to be a dried pod from a northern catalpa tree, laying across the
trail. By this time in my walk I was hot and tired; I was more driven to finish
my walk than to observe interesting features. But for some reason, I looked at
the pod carefully. Although it did not move, the pod turn out to be a northern
rat snake. If I had really considered it, catalpa trees were introduced this
far and north and no likely to be found on the towpath. I stood an observed the
snake for several minutes, taking pictures and speculating where it would go.
When it finally made a move toward the canal, I left it, thinking that I had
seen something new on the trail today.
But a half a mile farther, a deer and I startled each
other. Typically, deer are skittish and prone to run at the drop of a hat. I
fumbled with my camera half-heartedly, I have lots of deer pictures, but this
deer did not seem particularly upset or startled that I was near. Being
comfortable around humans was probably not behavior that would engender a long
life for a deer. Then, to my surprise, the doe squatted and urinated about
twenty-five yards from me. She really was comfortable sharing the towpath with
me.
Moving from Williamsport, to the further reaches of the
towpath, the travel time to new sections of the canal increases substantially.
Angie kindly offered to drop me at one point and pick me up at another so that
I could avoid some backtracking. Yet, Angie may have been motivated by other
things as well. The following weekend, after my previous walk, I took her to
Hancock to have lunch at Buddy Lou’s. She ordered the lobster roll but took a
bite of my tuna sandwich and was instantly enamored. I think it no coincidence
that the following week she offered to drive me to the towpath, explore Hancock
and pick me up, and then, “Maybe we could have lunch at that place.”
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| Lock House at Lock 56 |
We drove to west from Hancock on I-68 to an exit for US40
Scenic, which my GPS system pronounced as “US40 cynic.” A winding backroad led
us to the village of Woodmont, past abandoned school buses, to a parking lot
for the Western Maryland Rail Trail. We
walked about three quarters of a mile to Sideling Hill Creek on the rail trail,
and then a short way back to a campground where a small path led to the canal
near Lock 56. We saw a man near the path doing some maintenance work. Angie
left to go to the library in Hancock, and I walk seven miles, in near
isolation.
It was an overcast morning, and it had recently rained.
It was humid, and the trees on this section of the towpath had a thick canopy, making
for a dark and gloomy walk. Initially, the path ran parallel not only with the
Potomac but also with Pearre Road and the Western Maryland Rail Trail as well. The
rail trail, which is asphalt, attracts far more cyclists than the more rugged
towpath here. Consequently, the grass grows high on the towpath.
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| Green Heron |
I walked for five miles without seeing another human
being; the roughly ten deer and a green heron were my only visible companions.
Unseen animals, no doubt sensed my presence. I heard a pileated woodpecker,
first pounding on a hollow tree and then calling as it flew away probably as it
detected me. But I know many more animals go undetected. They remain an unknown
to me, something that I do not experience. For the final two miles of the walk
I had no service on my mobile phone. As I move deeper into the remote parts of
Western Maryland this becomes more common. For the most part, I do not find it a
problem; unless if there is no emergency, I suppose. I told Angie that I would
send a message when I was two miles from the pickup point. Apparently, a
message did eventually get through because she was there just in time to pick
me up. When I did meet her, she asks if it is creepy to walk in the woods, all
alone. As a woman, she senses her own vulnerability in a situation like this. I
realize this is one of the privileges of being male, I think about my safety in
these terms far less. I love the isolation, but in a world of constant
surveillance we have become inured from constantly being observed. In
“the Adventure of the Copper Beeches,” Sherlock Holmes explains that he thinks
the country is more dangerous than the city because there are thousands of prying
eyes to watch for evil in the city. While in the country, evil can occur with
impunity. It is different from how most of us see the world today; however,
when one is walking alone it is easier to see Holmes’s (or Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle’s) perspective.
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| Deer about two miles upstream from Cohill Station |
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| Tiger lilies |
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| Eastern Tiger Swallowtail |
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| Bridge across Cacapon River on the West Virginia side |
