Up on Hawk Mountain: Richard Klepfer

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Up on Hawk Mountain

by Rick Klepfer

Feeling a bit confined by the winter weather, my wife, Kay, and I decided to do something about it. We both like to backpack into unusual places ~ locations that are off the established trail. What we are generally looking for is a route upon which we can see something unique and camp where there is little likelihood of running across anything that resembles a crowd. My idea was that we could hike up Hawk Mountain, a place in southeastern Pennsylvania named for the proliferation of migrating hawks that seasonally go there to take advantage of the thermal currents rising along the slopes. While during the summer it would be congested with hawk watchers, it was now January, and the place should be desolate enough to be interesting ~ neither of us had ever been there.

Our chances of having an unsullied trek were greatly improved by the weather. It was snowing heartily, so much so that I began to wonder if the roads would be clear on the day we had set for our departure. We asked our friends if any had a few pairs of snowshoes ~ no deal. Neither were there any places that rented them. Well, so what ~

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we were no strangers to snow. We would just break our own trail. It would be an even better adventure.

We piled our gear into our Volkswagen and set out. The snow had stopped, but there were a few feet of it on the ground. And it was cold. We had no concerns that the VW would have difficulty in the snow ~ we had put this car through many trials, and it had never let us down. As we neared the mountain, the drifts became higher. We turned off onto ever-narrowing roads until we came to a dead-end alongside a farm. I jammed the car onto the snow-drifted shoulder, we got our gear out of the trunk, and we set off. I had a USGS quad-map of the area, so we had an idea of which direction to head. We hefted our over-burdened packs and headed for the hills. It was snowing again.

I was happily trudging through the snowdrifts, conversing over my shoulder with Kay, when her replies became less and less distinct. I turned to see her struggling through the heavy snow with a

Hawk Mountain a welcome happenstance, and one that we decided to take advantage grim look on her face. I waited for of. I beat a path to it, and we disher to catch up and, when she had covered that not only was there a regained her breath, she described lean-to, but an outhouse as well. the difficulty she was having in This cheered Kay immeasurably; getting through the snow that was she does not enjoy relieving herself nearly up to her waist. We decided while perched over a snow-covered that I would take baby steps from log. I went into the loo first ~ to this point forward, breaking a trail check it out, and to take a longthat her shorter gait could man- needed pee. age. I wasn’t concerned, as the trip It was a simple structure: a to where we were to camp was not wooden shanty with a standard more than a few hours farther on plastic seat affixed to a box and and we should be there well before a wooden shelf with a coffee can dark. turned upside down on it. I sup-

Somewhat short of our intended posed that the can was covering a camp, we came upon a small lean- roll of toilet paper ~ perfect! I verito poking out of the drifts. This was fied that there were no Sasquatches, escaped convicts or skeletons in the place, peed, and turned the facility over to Kay. I was feeling good about this ~ all these unexpected comforts of home. My revery was shattered by a piercing scream emanating from the outhouse. Before I had time to react, Kay erupted from the place with her snow pants around her ankles. MICE!!!, she yelled as she

Hawk Mountain hunting knife, and Kay eyed the small axe lying on our pile of fireran past me. When she had calmed wood. down and pulled up her trousers, Presently, a party of perhaps she told me that when she had ten individuals emerged from the lifted the coffee can, a clutch of brush, heading in our direction. tiny mice had poured out onto her When they discovered us and deknees and over her boots. I tried duced that we had squatters’ rights to conceal the humor I saw in this. to the lean-to, they had a muffled Kay vowed to hold her toilet needs counsel among themselves. This for as many days as it took. I knew gave us the chance to check them to keep my own counsel about the out. It was a group of teenagers snowy log option. and two adult males. They were not

Things settled down after that equipped for hiking in the woods excitement, and Kay composed in winter. Eventually, one of the herself sufficiently to get some men came over to Kay and me and supper on the tiny backpacking apologized. They explained that stove we had brought. She is a they were a tough-love organizamaster of making gourmet meals tion that took delinquent teens and out of dehydrated food packs and tried to sort them out before they her special and top-secret sauces. became delinquent adults. It was just before an early twilight when we heard a commotion in the distance. Soon we could discern human voices echoing closer ~ unhappy voices. I felt my belt for my

They had one boy who was so malevolent that they had decided to throw him out into the winter wilderness with no gear and let him have the opportunity to reflect upon his current path. The boy was to have used the lean-to, but now that we were there, they decided that they would just take him a

bit farther on and leave him in the brush. We didn’t think this was a good idea, but we had no say in it. It was too late in the day for us to move on to another camp, and we stood our ground. We were advised that we should not go anywhere near the young hoodlum, nor to offer him anything.

They stomped off ~ the adults hurling insults at the boy all the while. Kay and I realized that our peaceful night was no longer possible. The adults and the remainder of the boys soon came back through and told us that they would return for the lad the next day. They never mentioned what horrible things this boy had done to be forced into this situation ~ was he a murderer? Was he a drug addict that might fancy the bottle of wine I had in my

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pack? Would he survive the freezing night with nothing but a snowdrift to shelter him?

After their voices faded away in the distance, we decided to break our instructions and find out where the boy was ~ better a known devil than one unknown. We followed the footprints a hundred yards or so, whereupon we found the pitiful huddle of the aspiring miscreant. Kay violated two additional rules by bringing him a little food and a blanket. He was incommunicative and spoke only grunts. He gave us evil looks, but ones that brightened a bit with Kay’s offerings.

We had a fitful night. I slept lightly with the hatchet by my side, and Kay had the kitchen knife. We arose early in the morning and decided to depart before breakfast. There were sounds of movement coming from the prisoner’s camp, so we knew that he hadn’t frozen to death overnight. Kay donated the blanket to the effort, and we broke camp and headed up the trail before the adult men and the rest of the delinquents might come back to see what had transpired. As we hiked, the day brightened. The sun broke through the morning overcast, the air temperature rose to above freezing and we had only an easy climb to the summit.

This gave us the time to discuss the events of the night and, if nothing else, the experience gave us some meager insight into a part of our society that we always knew was there, but that we rarely had the opportunity to engage with personally. We hoped that the lad in the woods had used his experience to turn his life around, but we doubted that the methods we witnessed would have much to do with it if he did.

Rick Klepfer is an avid sailor, oarsman and traveler and has written about his sailing adventures, including such places as the Norwegian Arctic, the Southern Caribbean, the South China Sea and the Coast of Maine. He now resides in Cambridge.