The Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail (LHHT) is well known throughout western Pennsylvania. On one end of the seventy-mile trail is the town of Ohiopyle, PA, nestled in the Youghiogeny River Valley. On the other end is Seward, just outside of Johnston. As a kid, I heard about the trail every now-and-again, usually from my parents or from a friend, but it never really struck me as a trail that I’d like to hike. That was, until about a year ago, when the trail was brought up in casual conversation with my sister, Madi.

“You know,” she began, “Ashley hiked the whole Laurel Highlands Trail in just two days!”

“Oh really?” I replied, completely oblivious to Ashley’s awesome accomplishment, “How many miles is it?”

“It’s just over seventy miles!” Madi exclaimed. “Thirty-five miles a day! She only spent one night out on the trail. She absolutely crushed it!”

 The story of Ashley dashing along the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail peaked my interest. Not because I wanted to try and accomplish anything that intense, but because, once again, the LHHT had entered my world. It started to seem like everyone within my circle of family and friends had hiked it, and I hadn’t even stepped foot on the darn thing. That was about to change.

Madi was onboard before I could even finish asking her if she wanted to hike it with me. I then wrangled a few friends to go with us; my friends, Rob, Dan, and Mark, answered the call. That brought the crew to five, plus Dan’s dog, a big Newfoundland named Lacey.

We had several months to prepare before convening in Seward, Pennsylvania, on the Westmoreland/Indiana County line. A day before the hike was to commence, we parked Dan’s truck near halfway, about thirty-seven miles, from where we were going to start the hike. This was just a precautionary measure, incase someone had to leave halfway through the trek.

On the day of the hike, my mom and dad drove us to the trailhead at Seward. In the car, they recalled the fun and interesting adventures they had had while out on the LHHT many years prior. We pulled into the parking lot at the trailhead and excitedly piled out of the car. Without wasting any time, we hefted our loaded packs onto our backs. The family distributed hugs all around, and we started walking.

The trail mostly runs along the spine of Laurel Ridge, one of the western-most ridges of the Allegheny Mountains. It seemed to us that the hiking would be fairly flat once we got on top of the ridge. But first, we had to get to the top. For the majority of the first day, we climbed at a steady pace, stopping a little to catch a glimpse of the deep, lush Conemaugh River Valley. It didn’t take long before dark and ominous storm clouds began blowing in. The winds from the southwest pushed the dark gray clouds right toward us. Distant rolls of thunder followed us as we continued our upward progress.

As we hiked higher, the clouds moved closer. Then, the distant rumblings turned into sharp loud cracks, and we began to see bolts of lightning within the amorphous clouds. I asked Madi, who had been trained as a Wilderness First Responder and who had led several NOLS courses, “At what point would you think it wise to find a place to shelter?”

“Yeah, it is starting to get a bit close,” she said. After a brief pause, she continued, “Drowning victims and lightning-strike victims have the highest chance of being resuscitated with CPR.”

“Oh!” The sarcasm was palpable in Mark’s response, “well thanks for sharing that tidbit of information Mad. That’s good to know as we hike straight into the jaws of this storm. I’ll be sure to keep timely chest compression on Robbie while the lightning is exploding the trees around us!”

As usual, Mark’s humor eased the tension a little, and we continued our climb. It wasn’t until we began to crest the top of the ridge that we noticed the storm had shifted towards the east, away from our projected path. Our hike continued at a brisk pace. We were probably no more than two-and-a-half miles from our camp when the winds really began to howl. We did not escape the rains as we thought we might. The tops of the ramrod-straight cherry and red maple trees lurched back and forth. Then, the rain came pouring down. We were close to camp, so we hurried along the slick and muddy trail as best we could. We came to a sign along the main LHHT that pointed us to the “Shelter Area”.

Once we arrived at the campsite, we found a vacant shelter and all piled inside. The lightning was flashing all around us and the thunder boomed like cannons. Soaking wet, we stood under the lean-to shelters and waited for the storm to pass.

Once the storm had rolled on, it was time to get to work making camp. Dan was able to get a small fire started by finding little bits of dried twigs under the lean-to. Rob gathered as much dry wood as he could find in the campsite’s communal woodpile. Madi and I began filtering water for our dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast.

When Madi and I returned to the shelter we found Mark sprawled out on the floor of the shelter.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“I’m not feeling so hot,” Mark replied, “I have been fighting the flu all week, but I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t getting sick because I wanted to go on this hike so bad. Let me rest and we’ll see how I feel in the morning.” With that, Mark curled up in the corner of the shelter for the rest of the night.

We ate our supper of freeze-dried deliciousness and played a couple games of dice. Mark occasionally chimed in with a witty phrase or two when someone was rolling a hot-streak, but for the most part, he was silent.

Seeing how it was our first night on the trail, we slept somewhat fitfully. When I woke and slowly rose from the shelter, the sun had just begun to peak over the Alleghenies to the east. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and as the sun rose, so did the contents of Mark’s belly. I watched as he walked to the edge of camp and vomited into the bushes. Mark then slowly ambled back to the shelter. He managed to mumble, “Robbie, I’m thinking about a possible evac.” Mark’s eyes were bleary and his forehead glistened with a light layer of perspiration.

My heart sank. Mark had been so excited for the hike and had trained weeks in advance. Now, an untimely sickness was going to force him to back-out. As bad as I felt about seeing Mark quit the hike, I knew he felt ten times worse. He was making the right decision and we all knew it. “Alright buddy. Let me try and get a hold of my mom and see if she can come pick you up.”

After we ate and packed up camp, we walked with Mark to RT. 271. Solemnly we all shook hands and wished each other luck. Mark took a seat on a boulder at the RT. 271 trailhead parking lot and waited for his "evac" to arrive. Just four of us headed back to the trail.

Later in the morning, when we sat down to take a five-minute rest, Madi was able to send Mark a quick text-message to make sure he had made it off the trail. Mark responded that he had made it back home and was resting. Knowing that Mark was home safe and sound, lightened our spirits as we continued into the second day of our journey.

Our goal for the second day was to reach the Turnpike Shelter Area, which was about 18 miles away. We seemed to cruise through the first half of the day. At lunchtime, we sat and ate a quick meal right beside the historic Forbes Road.

In 1758, the “road” wasn’t much more than a path, and it still isn’t much of a road to this day. It had been used as a wagon trail to carry troops and supplies through the wilderness of the Allegheny Mountains. It was built by several thousand British and Colonial troops that were under the command of the British general, John Forbes. The goal of Forbes’ army was to make an assault on the French and Indian forces at Fort Duquesne in present-day Pittsburgh. As we ate our quick lunch, I tried to picture what it would have been like to be a gray squirrel sitting on a branch, watching thousands of soldiers marching along Forbes Road.

We continued our eighteen-mile trek well into the afternoon before we stopped and took another prolonged break. Dan and Madi had started to develop a couple of blisters on their feet. We got out the tape and band aids and did a wellness check on all our feet. It was at this stop that Madi first mentioned that her ACL was feeling a bit tight.

Madi had torn her ACL several years ago on a skiing trip. While the injury did little to slow her adventuring, she was forced to keep an eye on it, especially during activities like hiking and running.

Once we sufficiently doctored our feet, we hit somewhat of a faster stride and put nearly five-and-a-half miles behind us in roughly two hours. We hiked around the base of the, locally famous, Beams Rocks and cut over the top. When we finally saw the sign for the Turnpike Shelter Area, I was feeling bushed. All of us peeled off the main trail and headed down the small, less-traveled trail towards the shelters. We all flung our packs down at the first shelter we came to and plunked our rear-ends down in the grass or on top of our packs. We were all glad that the day of hiking was over, and we were ready to make this first shelter our home for the night when a middle-aged man with a crew-cut came around the corner of the shelter.

“Where did you guys hike from?” he asked.

“At the start of the trail in Seward,” Dan replied.

“How many miles is that?” the man quickly asked.

“Oh, probably over thirty."

“How much does your pack weigh?” the man was firing off questions just as fast as his mouth would let him.

“I don’t know,” was Dan’s response.

“Well, how much does it weigh without anything in it?”

Puzzled, Dan stared at the man for a second or two, “I don’t know,” he repeated.

“My pack weighs thirty pounds with nothing in it. Have you ever heard of anything like that?” the man’s eyes jumped around to each of our faces, begging for a response.

“Nope.”

“Yeah, it’s heavy. It’s military issue. It’s all I’ve known,” the man had a faint smirk on his face while he jabbered on. “I’ve never spent the night out in the woods. I got my tarp and hammock set up right behind this shelter,” The man nodded at the shelter that we were sitting next to. “Do you guys want to see how my pack is set up and how I have my camp made?”

The four of us all looked at each other. We were exhausted and hungry after our eighteen-mile day, “Um, I think we are going to get our camp ready, so probably not right now.”

“Where are you guys going to set up?” he asked.

“Oh, probably down there,” I said, pointing indiscriminately to the shelters further down the trail. And with that, we hastily picked up our packs and made a beeline down the trail.

We found a shelter at the complete opposite end of the campsite and threw our packs inside. We joked to one another about the loquacious nature of the man that we just encountered.

“Man, I hope he doesn’t wander down here to find us,” Rob said, “all I want to do is eat some food and relax. I don’t really care to hear about anyone’s life story right now.”

To this, we all agreed.

Each of us volunteered for the various camp chores. Dan and Rob started gathering firewood, while Madi started preparing the pots of boiling water for our freeze-dried meals. I volunteered to filter water.

With as many water bottles as I could carry, I made my way to the pump at the center of the shelter area. I had started priming the pump when I heard a jostling noise behind me. I turned around to see the garrulous man making his way down a steep embankment toward the water pump. He was wearing shorts and flip-flops, with his pack slung onto his back. I knew that I was in for a little show-and-tell.

He made it about halfway to the water pump when he planted his foot into a mud puddle and the flip-flop was sucked right off his foot. “Damn it!” he cried, as he turned around and bent over to remove his footwear from the mud. He shook it a couple of times in the air and then placed it back on his bare foot.

Meanwhile, I was pumping the water pump as fast as I could. The faster I could fill the water bottles, the less time I would have to be subjected to the man’s longwinded ramblings.

“Are you gonna filter that water?” he asked, when he finally reached me.

“Yes I am.”

“Yeah that’s good, I wouldn’t trust it,” he said while he started rummaging around in his pack. “You ever see one of these?” he held out a metal water bottle.

A bit perplexed, I said, “Uh, you mean the water bottle?”

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s made special. It’s really heavy. Military issue. But it’s all I’ve known.”

The man continued talking about “all he had ever known,” like the specifics of his water bottle, but I had already tuned him out. I finally filled up the last of our water bottles and began tightening the lids on all the bottles. The man put the water bottle away and began rummaging around in his pack for something else to show me. Before he could produce the mystery object, I abruptly cut the show-and-tell session short, “Well, I’m going to go get something to eat. We put in some hard miles today. If I don’t see you in the morning, good luck on the rest of your hike.”

I hastily gathered up the full water bottles and fumbled with them as I made my escape. I heard a bit of commotion behind me and looked over my shoulder. The man was bent over and rooting around in the grass for something. I watched as he pulled his flip-flop from another mud puddle, and cursing under his breath, slid it back onto his foot. He then started climbing the embankment back up to his camp.

That night, another substantial rain storm blew in. We stayed nice and dry in the cozy shelter. We ate heartily because we knew that the following day would be our longest of the whole trip. We planned to hike about twenty-one miles. We discussed the game plan for tomorrow’s hike while we looked at the map: wake up early, eat breakfast, and grind-out about 6 miles. That would put us at Dan’s truck. There, we could off-load any extra gear we had, grab a cookie (Madi had the foresight to pack cookies!) and then, we’d only have about fifteen miles left before our next shelter.

As we continued to discuss our plan, Madi interjected that she might have to stop hiking once we made it to Dan’s truck. Her ACL was really beginning to bother her. After some discussions and inquiries about her overall wellbeing, she decided to wait until the morning before completely making up her mind to bow-out.

In the morning, we all arose sleepily from our sleeping bags. Lacey had decided that Rob would make for a nice bed and had all but slept on top of him. But Rob seemed to be in good spirits and had evidently enjoyed the extra warmth Lacey had provided him.

While we cooked a quick breakfast, Madi informed the group that she didn’t think it would be wise for her to continue the hike. She decided that once we reached Dan’s truck, she would call it quits and drive the truck back home. It was unfortunate news to hear for the rest of us, but we were glad that she hadn’t pushed her strained ACL too far, which could have resulted in more dire consequences.

After she ate, Madi quickly packed her backpack and pulled her boots on. “Alright guys, I’m going to take off. I’m likely going to go a bit slower than you, so you’ll probably catch me a little later, but I want to get a head-start.”

“Sounds good,” Dan said, “if you see our talkative buddy on the way out, tell him good morning for us.”

Madi chuckled and shook her head while she turned and headed down the trail.

Once Rob, Dan, and I finished eating, we took our time packing up the rest of camp. When we finally left the shelter area, we made our way past where the loquacious man had been camping. Apparently, he had already packed up and moved on, thankfully; we still had many more miles to cover and a finite amount of time to cover it in.

For several hours, we walked. We made our way across the Pennsylvania Turnpike, then made it to the official half-way marker (mile 35), and then we finally crossed Route 31. Madi walked ahead of us the whole time. For having a strained ACL, she kept up an unbelievable pace!

We finally made it to the parking lot where Dan’s truck was parked. Dan’s vehicle was the only vehicle in the lot, and when we got to it, we dropped our packs on the ground and took a nice prolonged rest. Madi got the cookies and a box of Sparklers out of the truck. While munching on a cookie, she opened the box of sparklers and handed one to each of us.

“What are these for?” I asked.

“It’s the Fourth of July!” she said, while she pulled a lighter out of her pocket.

“That’s right!” I had completely forgotten what day it was ever since we had started hiking, “light it up!” I stuck my sparkler out and Madi put the lighter to it.

Once our riveting, thirty-second Independence Day celebration had fizzled out, we decided to say our goodbyes. Madi wished us all luck and we gave her a hug. Dan handed Madi the keys to his truck and she climbed up into the cab of the big GMC. Madi waved goodbye one last time and put the truck in reverse. The truck began backing out slowly and then ceased its backward progression. Madi gave it a little more gas but the truck’s tires began spinning. The rains had apparently softened the ground under the top layer of gravel on the parking lot. The tires of Dan's truck broke through the top layer of gravel, exposing a slick and muddy mess. Madi took her foot of the gas and rolled down the window.

“No problem,” Dan said as he approached the truck, “let me put it in four-wheel-drive.” Dan reached into the cab and hit a switch. “Okay. Go ahead and try it again.”

Madi began backing out, but the results were the same, the tires began spinning and bits of mud slung across the parking lot. Madi opened the driver-side door and climbed out. Dan climbed in. He pulled forward and then backed up again. This time, the side of the muddy parking lot began to slough away and the truck began to slide sideways. It didn’t look good. Rob, Madi, and I began gathering large rocks to put under the tires. We grabbed logs and began digging at the muddy ruts around the tires. Dan tried several more times to get the right side of the vehicle out of the mud, but each time the truck slid further down the side of the parking lot, burying itself deeper and deeper in the mud. The right-side of the truck was now buried up to the frame. The truck had slid down the side of the parking lot and was now just several inches away from smashing into an ash tree.

Dan put the truck in park and jumped out, “I think we are going to need someone to pull us out. I can’t stop sliding sideways and the truck will soon be pinned up against that ash tree,” he gave a stubborn nod towards the tree.

It was quite clear that our hike would have to be put on the back-burner for the time being. We would have to worry later about the fifteen miles we still had left to hike.  We now had an important task at hand, get Dan's truck out of the mud and get Madi on her way home.

To Be Continued...

Check back next week for the rest of the story.