Camping in Pennsyltucky

Public campsites are to camping what decaf is to coffee. They might be safer, cleaner, and more conducive to sleeping, but they’re favorless and boring. So when my church small group went camping last month, I was glad we were doing primitive, private-land-next-to-state-game-land type of camping, not pitching our tents at a KOA and trying to avoid eye contact with the neighbors at the next campfire.

Marlin and Amy, one of the small group couples, did most of the planning. Marlin has connections with people who own forested land in a remote area of Huntington County and allowed us to camp there. Our group was eleven adults, the only couple with children left them with their grandparents.

Huntington County, unlike Lancaster County, which I call home, is in the heart of “Pennsyltucky” the rural part of Pennsylvania that’s more like Kentucky than Philadelphia or Pittsburgh.

“We’re all going to turn off our phones for the weekend and no watches,” Marlin told us earlier. “Not being able to check the time kinda messes with you after a while.” We all agreed; only one phone was left on for emergencies.

Most of us arrived at the campsite on Friday afternoon after a long drive on the PA turnpike, followed by a 15-minute drive on a gravel road. Our campsite was at the end of the road, with an open grassy area where we built a campfire and stacked our food and gear beneath a large tarp. We set up tents in the woods for sleeping.

We joked about bears, but the only large animals we saw were deer and a few lingering 17-year-cicadas.

“Are you going to sleep in a hammock?” asked Darla. Marlin and Amy had brought extra hammocks. The other single girls, Darla and Bettina, were going to sleep in hammocks instead of a tent.

“I don’t know. I never have. Maybe I should try it.”

“You can try it, and write about the experience on your blog,” said Darla with a smile. She’s going for her master’s in counseling, and there’s no sneaking motivations past her.

But the first night there was rain in the forecast, so I opted to sleep in a tent even though the zipper was one of those that you have to open and close real carefully or otherwise the zipper comes apart on both sides. The next morning there was no alarm clock, just the morning sun to tell us it was time to get up.

After brunch we played games, read books (I had brought along both Dilbert and Man’s Search for Meaning for variety) and sat around discussing what time it was. Sometime in the afternoon, we decided to go to see the abandoned turnpike tunnel a few miles away. We all piled into two cars, I got in Sheldon and Tiffany’s car. “I covered up the clock with a mask,” said Tiff proudly as she pointed to the dashboard.

We drove out the gravel road and took back roads to the abandoned turnpike leading to the tunnel. Sheldon followed Jared and Nicole’s car, carefully avoiding the potholes on the abandoned road. Near the entrance of tunnel the inevitable happened. “Hey, look, Jared’s car has a flat tire!” Everyone got out of both cars, Jared shrugged his shoulders at the flat, and we headed into the tunnel.

The Sideling Hill Tunnel was built in 1884— and the engineer who designed it died in a blast near the entrance in 1885. (You can read more here.) It was used as a two-way tunnel for a long time by the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and today the whole stretch of abandoned road, including the tunnel, is a bicycle trail.

The tunnel is 1.26 miles long, and we walked the entire length. On the way back, we stopped and sang in the middle of the tunnel.

Jared and the other guys had the spare on in just a few minutes, and we were off again, our carload following Jared’s. Instead of going back to the campsite, we headed for the turnpike (the present-day one) and to our carload’s distress, Jared turned into a road marked with “Do Not Enter” signs. We followed and realized we were going in the backend of a turnpike service plaza via the employee entrance.

Jared got his tire repaired at the plaza, and we left again, without any state troopers emerging to question our presence on the forbidden road.

We were all hungry for Nicole’s mountain pies that evening.

The zipper of the tent I had slept in Friday night gave up completely sometime on Saturday. So Saturday night, after a long time sitting around the campfire, I made my way over the rocks and sticks to my newly set up hammock.

The secret to a comfortable night in a hammock, the others had assured me, was a taunt, tightly strung hammock so you aren’t bent into a U-shape by morning. I loaded up my hammock with two camping mats, my pillow, bedsheet, and an extra-thick sleeping bag—even though it was June, after my experience with freezing last year in May I wasn’t taking any chances.

So I started to get into my hammock—sort of rolled into it, but the problem was I kept rolling! My tautly strung hammock spun upside down and spit me and my bedding out, like dough springing from a pop-and-serve can.

“I hope Bettina didn’t hear that,” I thought as I got off the lichen-covered rock I had landed on. Feeling embarrassed is a good sign that no serious injury has occurred. I loaded my extra-thick sleeping bag back into the hammock, and I carefully sat in and swung my legs inside. I closed the zipper, adjusted the sleeping mats and sleeping bag just right, then lowered my head— and where was my pillow? With a sigh, I unzipped the hammock, eased myself out, snatched my pillow off the ground, and eased my way back in.

With the woods dark, and my pillow and the extra-thick sleeping bag beneath me, and the bedsheet between me and the June night breezes and the zippered mosquito net between me and the bugs, I slept like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

In the morning, Bettina and Tiffany made egg burritos for breakfast, our last meal around the campfire. We had a worship service beneath the trees, then Marlin pulled out his phone and announced the time. It was somewhere around eleven o’clock.

The day was getting hot, and we all knew Monday morning was coming. So we started taking down tents and hammocks and packing, ready to leave Pennsyltucky and go back to Lancaster County. It had been a great weekend.

Next weekend, I’m going camping again. This time I’m going with my family to a private camping site next to a river in Pennsyltucky.

We have connections.