Snowdrift...and Ultrarunning

It's been a chilly winter so far here in south-central PA, but the snow has largely been on the lighter side.  But once the snow has landed it has remained with us due to the persistent cold weather.

Anyway, the prevailing wind is typically from the west, and I noted the other day how loose soil from the winter wheat field across from us has been picked up by the strong winds.  It has tainted the white snowdrifts along our driveway:

Image credit Gary

Over the weekend I took Mister Tristan (the 7-year-old human being, not the blog) up on the Appalachian Trail for a short hike to Bailey Spring just north of the Mason-Dixon Line.  I was really surprised at just how much snow was on the ground: it made for some slightly slippery going over some rocky sections.  I should have realized that if snow remains in my yard in the valley, surely there would be more snow up at 1800' elevation.

Trail running would have been unpleasant with iffy footing like that.  But we got to drink some mighty fine spring water, which is always a treat!

The Dipper at Reese Hollow

Since the first day I set eyes on the spring at the Reese Hollow Shelter, after volunteering to be the overseer of the shelter and Reese Hollow Trail back in Dec 2012, I've been smitten with it (Reese Hollow is a newer shelter west of Mercersburg, PA, and supports the Tuscarora Trail).

I mean, there's just something arresting and compelling about a source of pure, natural water, coming to the surface and being "tamed" via a pipe for human use.  Maybe it's a species memory of the vital requirement for water from humankind's earliest beginnings, maybe it's my geekiness and interest in hydrology and geology and physics and tools....

Who knows?  But I am irresistibly drawn to springs, and adopting the spring at the Reese Hollow Shelter is a dream come true.  I've only been associated with this spring for less than two years, and have not seen how it performs during a serious, prolonged drought, but I kinda think it's reliable and permanent, even in extreme dry conditions.  The water is cold, sweet, and refreshing.  And somehow, well, comforting is the word that comes to mind.

Soon after I fell in love with the spring, I knew that it needed a dipper.  Not only to obviate the need to bend way down to drink from the pipe, but just because a spring just needs a dipper.  And not just any dipper; it had to be vintage and used and even a little banged up from its former life, ready to assume thirst-quenching duties for hikers at Reese Hollow Shelter and Trail.

I perused local flea markets and antique shops, but I wound up buying the dipper on eBay.  It wasn't expensive--only $12--but when I saw the photo online, I just knew it was the right dipper for Reese Hollow:

You really must come up to Reese Hollow and take a drink.  And use the dipper, of course.  It's waiting, hanging on a small post beside the spring.

Mister Tristan on the Appalachian Trail

Took Mister Tristan--the 4 year old human being, not the blog--over to the Appalachian Trail this weekend for a short hike.

To you folks who know the trail here in south-central PA, we parked at Old Forge and hiked north to the Tumbling Run shelters, so this was pretty short.  The main purpose was just to get out, take a short walk, and drink from a spring to let Mister Tristan know that's how water originally was obtained back in the old days...not from a faucet.

Along the way we saw some deer, some other small critters, and lots of teaberry plants with fruit.  You eat one of these berries and it's like chewing the teaberry gum we enjoyed as kids back in the 1950s: 

The berries are the size of peas, to give you a sense of perspective.

The Tumbling Run spring, which I have never seen go dry.

 

 

Mister Tristan's new hiking boots.

 

 

Spiderman enjoyed the hike as well.

 

 

Emerging Vs. Submerging…and Ultrarunning

As I look out across the cornfield across from my house to the railroad embankment, I just can see the depression where a branch of Muddy Run emerges from a limestone spring.  The farmer there tells me that just on the other side of the tracks is also another spring, one that hoboes and tramps used, as well as Confederates soldiers back in 1863 on their march to and from Gettysburg.

The two springs merge and flow south through pasture land for a quarter mile, where their little stream is joined by another that small stream that emerges from another spring.  While the first two springs will go dry in a drought, the third one has never ceased flowing in recorded memory.  The property on which this latter spring sits is one of the original William Penn land grants (I am told).  A home was built over the spring some 20 years ago; prior to that time, I would frequently stop there for some ice cold water during a run.

But back to the watercourse.  The yield of the three springs crosses the Clay Hill Road and continues south, but only about another quarter mile.  Here there is a crevice in the limestone bedrock of the streambed, and in times of relatively low water the entire flow of the stream simply disappears into the ground.  It submerges into a limestone cave, one whose passages are too small or without a human-sized opening to access and explore.

Oh, and the nexus to Ultrarunning?

In Ultrarunning, I have periods when I am in emergence mode and times of submergence mode.  Sometimes I am busting out, full of energy and full of the possible.  It is a time of race applications, of long, involved training runs, of complex schemes.

Other times I find myself more contemplative, more inward, more in simple maintenance mode.  I’ve submerged and will bide my time until the light of day beckons again.