Pennsylvania State Parks

Visitors to Trough Creek State Park can get picturesque views from some of the overlooks.

One similarity I’ve noticed between the central/western part of Pennsylvania and northeast Pa. is the abundance of state parks. My hometown of Mountain Top was in close range to three of them – all part of a “complex.” 

The three – Hickory Run, Lehigh Gorge and Nescopeck – are all entertaining for different reasons. Hickory Run, the most developed of the three, has a sand beach, a campground, hiking trails and Boulder Field, which if you didn’t guess, is a field of boulders.

Lehigh Gorge is well-known for the D&L Rail-Trail, a hiking/biking/walking trail starting in Mountain Top and ending in Jim Thorpe, which if you didn’t guess, is a town named after Jim Thorpe, the Native American Olympian.

The Lehigh Gorge State Park is known for the D&L Rail-Trail, which spans from Mountain Top to Jim Thorpe along the Lehigh River.

Jim Thorpe has become a tourist destination over the years for cyclists, kayakers and white water rafters.

This memorial marks the burial site of Olympian Jim Thorpe near the borough that shares his name.

Lehigh Gorge is well-known for the D&L Rail-Trail, a hiking/biking/walking trail starting in Mountain Top and ending in Jim Thorpe, which if you didn’t guess, is a borough named after Jim Thorpe, the Native American Olympian.

Last is Nescopeck, which, out the three parks in the complex, is still in its infancy. The park was renovated a few years ago with an office that hosts children’s programs. A few trails surround the park, including one that goes around Lake Francis. The lake is a popular spot for fishing when trout season begins. The park considered campsites at one point, but the idea never took off, mainly due to a luck of funding.

Many people fish and walk around Lake Francis in Nescopeck State Park.

State parks are numerous in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania has 120 of them, which is an incredible number to me. To put that into comparison, only four other states have more state parks than Pennsylvania: Washington (188), Oregon (154), Florida (127) and California (126). Alaska, the largest state in the U.S. in terms of land mass, has only four state parks. The second biggest state, Texas, has 55. 

For accuracy purposes, www.stateparks.com lists 119 state parks, while DCNR lists 120. I’m not sure what the one discrepancy is. The 120th park could be a wildlife conservancy, which stateparks.com might not acknowledge as a “state park.” Regardless, Pennsylvania is still No. 5 for state parks in the U.S., and that’s something we as Pennsylvanians should be quite proud of.  

It wasn’t until recently that I discovered the number, and my first thought was having this many parks is overkill. My second thought was Pennsylvania needed something since, other than the few major cities, there isn’t much else in-between. The biggest city in the southwest part of the state is Pittsburgh. Philadelphia “is” the southeast. People who live 45 minutes away from Philly still consider themselves “Philadelphians.” The northeast belongs to Scranton, which is a great misfortune and an overstatement. The final corner, the northwest, is the Lake Erie region, and upon a recent visit to Erie, I found it’s not all that much bigger than Scranton in most respects.

Point State Park is located near the heart of Pittsburgh and marks the meeting point between the city's three rivers: The Allegheny, Monongahela and the Ohio.

Erie is like Scranton with the added benefit that it's on the gorgeous Lake Erie.

Between these four cities is a ton of space. Most of it is just winding highways, back roads and farming country. An outpost will pop up once in a while. Hershey and Lancaster are two good examples in Dutch country. The central part of Pennsylvania has State College, which on football weekends becomes one of the most populated areas in the state. Former industrial cities such as Wilkes-Barre, Hazleton, Altoona and Johnstown are all small “metropolises” dotting the landscape.

Penn State's Old Main is the most iconic building on campus and near State College.

Wilkes-Barre has grown over the years despite being in the center of the nearly defunct coal country.

Once you get outside of all these urban areas, however, Pennsylvania is mostly woods. This is where state parks add a sense of history, culture and “civilization” to these remote areas.

Pennsylvania state parks are special for a few reasons. For one, they’re free of admission. I was shocked when I looked into the possibility of camping at a state park in Maryland to find that it charges a few bucks before you even set foot in the place. The same applies to Delaware state parks. Pennsylvania state parks are my go-to destination when I need to do something cheap for the day. I’ve spent many days hiking, biking and fishing in our state parks with the only expenditure being gas for my car.

Pennsylvania’s state parks offer a variety of activities that are not limited to fishing, hiking, skiing, horseback riding, camping, kayaking, canoeing, boating, swimming, stargazing and sightseeing.

Blue Knob is just one example of the several state parks that offer miles of hiking trails.

Some of them have historical significance, such as the limestone trade of Canoe Creek outside of Hollidaysburg, the lumber/shipping/coal-mining industry of Lehigh Gorge and the maritime history of Presque Isle in Erie. Others just have oddities that attract attention like the Balanced Rock in Trough Creek State Park near Raystown Lake, Boulder Field in Hickory Run or the freshwater lighthouses of Presque Isle. Despite what most people think, state parks aren’t just a bunch of trees and dirt.

The limestone kilns are one of the biggest attractions at Canoe Creek State Park.

The Balanced Rock is just one of a few oddities at Trough Creek State Park.

Presque Isle State Park has beaches, Lake Erie and lighthouses.

In my office, taped to a wall, is a map of the state parks in Pennsylvania. Circled in black ink are the ones I’ve visited to some extent. It looks as though I’ve covered some ground until I count the circles – seven. Seven out of 120 is only about 6 percent of the state parks in Pennsylvania. I’ve got a lot of work to do. 

It’s unlikely I’ll ever visit every single one in my lifetime, but I like to think it’s possible. The biggest challenge in my way is distance. The parks, much like the major cities, are close in some cases but far apart in others. Trough Creek, which I visited last month, is one of the closer parks to Altoona – at 45 minutes driving distance. Presque Isle State Park, which Cassidy and I visited at the end of August, was almost a drive to the beach at four hours.

As you can see, I’m going to need some vacation time along the way. It’s a challenge, but it’s one that is filled with wonders, oddities and beauty. I can live in Pa. for the rest of my life and never see everything it has to offer. As of right now, I still have 113 reasons to go out and explore.

Canal Basin Park / The Pennsylvania Main Line Canal

Visitors to Canal Basin Park in Hollidaysburg can see a replica of a Pennsylvania Main Line Canal lock.

Children climb and slide on playground equipment shaped like barges and ferries. Mothers chat with one another while sitting on benches and under trees as their kids play. On a nearby wooden bridge, a toddler stares through the supports at a small creek bustling below. Boys ride their bikes on gravel paths dotted with plaques.

This is a typical summer day at Canal Basin Park in Hollidaysburg. The park itself is just a little more than a decade old. Much of the playground equipment still looks as new as the day it arrived. A nearby amphitheater is furnished with a smooth concrete stage and a stone brick foundation. The Reiser House, which acts as a visitor’s center,

hasn’t aged much with sparkling windows, red bricks and clean tan siding.

Canal Basin Park has boat-themed playground equipment to recognize Hollidaysburg's history during the time of the Pennsylvania Main Line Canal.

The amphitheater is used for concerts during the summertime at Canal Basin Park.

The Reiser House acts as Canal Basin Park's visitor center.

It’s hard to believe how this little piece of land, now reserved for child recreation, was once one of the most significant points for travel and transportation in the state of Pennsylvania.

As I had mentioned in my previous post about Hollidaysburg, there wasn’t much going on in the borough when it was founded. The National Park Service puts it bluntly:

“Hollidaysburg was a small backwoods village in the early 1820s. Founded in the years after the Revolution, the settlement's growth was hampered by its location in the rugged remoteness of the Allegheny foothills. The Huntingdon, Cambria, and Indiana Turnpike, a narrow dirt road really, ran through the heart of town, bringing an occasional pack train of horses or a Conestoga wagon. Its population in 1827 was about 76.” -http://www.nps.gov/alpo/historyculture/hburgbasin.htm

The Park Service gets the point across. Hollidaysburg wasn’t exactly a booming metropolis. However, for about a 20-year period, Hollidaysburg was the bees’ knees, and it was all thanks to a marvel known as the Pennsylvania Main Line Canal.

The canal is an engineering feat to this day, which is why Blair County has made the effort to capitalize on the former's significance. It ran from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, making it the first direct link between the two major cities. This was huge, considering a trip between the two cities today by automobile is anywhere between 300 to 350 miles and 4.5 to 5.5 hours. I'm guessing a trip by horse had to be a hell of a commute.

This map from the National Park Service shows the Pennsylvania Main Line Canal and the Allegheny Portage Railroad when they were fully operational.

What’s even more incredible is the canal was dug by hand through clay and rock. Working conditions during the construction of the canal were wretched. There were no backhoes, bulldozers or cranes in those days, and the workers didn't have the aid of an alien race like the Egyptians did with the pyramids (citation needed). The workers had donkeys at best. Injury, disease and death were all common. Workers got paid 48 cents a day, according to the National Park Service. If a worker was injured, he was fired. The blame was placed on the injured person for "carelessness," according to the NPS.

How the canal system worked gets a little confusing. There are signs and plaques all over the region with historical tidbits. Each seems to mention another railroad, canal, passage, basin until the point where we wonder if the historians even know what they’re talking about. A map here or there would do great justice, but apparently this would’ve been too convenient. I think I’ve nailed out the basics, though, and that’s all you really need to understand to appreciate what I’m yammering on about.

Back in the 1800s, people wanted stuff. They also wanted stuff quick. The problem was people couldn’t get stuff quick, so they couldn’t satisfy their desire to want stuff. Therefore, if people wanted to end their desire to want stuff quick when they couldn’t get stuff quick since there was no way to get stuff quick, they needed to find a way to get stuff quick. Simple enough to understand, I’m sure.

You have to remember that this was a time before major highways, planes, or tractor-trailers existed to transport goods in an efficient manner. Pennsylvania is also a geographically long state. I mean really long, as in “You need at least 11 bathroom breaks and four meals” long -- in present day Pennsylvania. So as you can see, our ancestors had a predicament.

Anyway, a group of people got together and started brainstorming ideas. Now, the typical result of a brainstorming session is to knock out the not-so-great ideas and to be left with the best solution. Instead, someone stood up and said: “You know what? We should dig a giant river from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh!” I’d like to know how bad the other ideas were that everyone in the room said “why not” to the concept of one of the most back-breaking, laborious tasks in Pennsylvania’s history.

Construction began for the man-made river from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh somewhere in the mid- to late-1820s. According to the National Park Service, there weren’t really blueprints involved. The logic at the time, and I can’t even make this up, was, “Let’s start digging at each end and try to meet up somewhere.” The Philadelphia side cheated a bit by starting with a railroad on its part of the canal before actually digging.

To give the people who started this endeavor credit, the project was only a few miles from completion before the big problem arose. Both sides dug until they reached the two yellow dots connected by the black sliver on the map above. Those two dots are present-day Johnstown and Hollidaysburg, and between these two sits a series of “small hills” known as the Allegheny Ridge. 

The canal workers had enough crap on their plates. Now they had a mountain ridge to contend with. How to get past the mountains was the biggest setback in the construction of the canal. Although a ton of planning wasn't used at this point, this was the time where a solid idea was needed.

The original plan at the time was to dig a four-mile tunnel through the mountains. I’m assuming this idea came from the same guy who came up with the canal idea. This time around, however, the rest of the party realized he was a bit off his clock.

The second-best idea, and the one that stuck, was to build a railroad going over the mountains that would connect the canal at Johnstown and Hollidaysburg. This required a lot of work, but it was much better than digging with shovels through pure rock. 

This would become the Allegheny Portage Railroad, which was the first passage to successfully traverse the ridge. A national park historic site exists where Incline No. 6 of the railroad remains today.

The Allegheny Portage Railroad National Historic Site has a replica of the railroad's Engine House 6.

This wasn’t as crazy as the “burrow through the mountains” idea, but we have to remember that these guys were building a canal, not a railroad. How would this work out in the end?

For the first few years the canal operated, people and goods were unloaded from boats in the canal at the Johnstown and Hollidaysburg ports, put onto trains and sent up the railroad until they were reloaded back onto boats and finished the trip. One man made the process even more efficient by building canal boats that could be loaded onto train cars and sent back and forth. This was serious ingenuity for the time period.

This graphic from the National Park Service shows one of the canal boats being pulled up an incline into an engine house on the Allegheny Portage Railroad.

But before any of this started, there was still the issue of the locations of the canal basins. Johnstown was considered suitable on the western end long beforehand because of the adequate supply of water, courtesy of Stoney Creek and the Little Conemaugh, according to the NPS. On the east side, the builders originally considered Hollidaysburg’s neighbor, Frankstown. The problem was the proposed location sat on a farmer’s land. To the misfortune of the builders, the farmer, as the NPS so nicely puts it, “either didn't like the idea of change or was a little too greedy to accept the price he was offered for his land.”

After getting this far, the builders weren’t going to let a lone farmer hinder their progress. They decided on Hollidaysburg instead, since the local Juniata River had three connecting branches that would supply the canal with enough water. Three canal basins in Hollidaysburg came out of the project, including the Canal Basin Park location, each serving the purpose of loading/unloading people and goods from the Philadelphia side of the canal to the Pittsburgh side and vice versa, according to the NPS.

The joint project of the Pennsylvania Canal and the Allegheny Portage Railroad wrapped up somewhere between 1832-34 (the accounts on the completion are conflicting). The canal would bring prosperity to Hollidaysburg that it hadn’t known before – for a short period of time, anyway.

It took only 20 years before the canal was considered obsolete. Its demise began when the Pennsylvania Railroad decided to buy it out. Instead of utilizing the canal, the Railroad left it there to rot. The Allegheny Portage Railroad was dismantled and likely used for scrap for larger railroad endeavors elsewhere, according to the NPS.

Regular flooding along the Juniata River has destroyed much of the infrastructure along the local portions of the canal. Repairs would have been too expensive for something that was considered pointless now, so it was left a broken mess. Parts of the canal were even filled with cinders to reduce water flow, according to the NPS. This, more or less, marked the demise of the Pennsylvania Main Line Canal and the Allegheny Portage Railroad.

Many of the people who go to Canal Basin Park probably don’t take the time to look at the numerous plaques and signs about the history of the basin and its importance. That's a saddening thought, but it’s nice to know this location became a park because it probably would have faded into oblivion otherwise.

A couple thousand people took advantage of the canal and railroad during its operation, but even that number doesn’t compare to how many people live in the state of Pennsylvania now, or how many people use highways like Interstates 80, 81, 95 and 99 on a yearly basis.

I would kill to have been one of the few thousand who saw the Pennsylvania Canal in action. 

I realize it takes long enough to travel through the state by car alone, but the idea of riding a canal and railroad across the state is majestic. The best I can do is visit the various sites still in existence and reflect on what someone, who was standing in the same spot as me, saw almost 180 years before. Not everyone appreciated it back then, I’m sure, but I bet at least a couple of those few thousand were in just as much awe as I am today.

The Lower Trail

This mailbox greets riders at the Alfarata trailhead of the Lower Trail.

           For the longest time, I had the urge to bike ride after moving to Hollidaysburg. I walked every square inch of the borough in about 20 minutes. I also hiked many of the local trails within driving distance of my apartment. Walking every day in exhausting heat and traffic no longer had allure. (It never did).

I finally got my bike here one weekend, but there was one problem – where do you ride in Altoona? In the same traffic I walked time-and-time again? That didn’t sound fun.

I heard someone mention a nearby rail-trail a few weeks back. For those unfamiliar with them, rail-trails are just as the name suggests – old railroad beds are torn up and replaced with asphalt, gravel or other smooth materials so people can hike, walk and bike them.

It took some searching to find one near me since rail-trails are notorious for being located in relatively desolate locations. My search ended when I found one, the Lower Trail, just a minute or two away from Canoe Creek State Park.

            The thought of riding a rail-trail was exhilarating. I’ve had so many great memories of the Lehigh Gorge rail-trail back home. That one, which spans about 26 miles from White Haven to gorgeous Jim Thorpe (the town, not the athlete), follows the Lehigh River. On most days during spring through fall, you can see many bikers, kayakers and white water rafters, most of which are amiable folk who wave and yell "hi" with every passing. There are also the occasional bridges and trains, which gives the trail the feeling that it’s still a rail. I was anxious to experience this all again – this time in western Pennsylvania.

           I noted a couple details when I pulled into the parking lot. What I thought was the “Lower” Trail is actually pronounced like “flower.” The name comes from attorney T. Dean Lower. This is one of the only times I’ll ever commend an attorney, but Lower deserves the praise. The community saw the potential for a rail-trail along the Juniata River. Lower was an enthusiast for the outdoors, so he pulled some strings and managed to obtain the property from Penn Central Corp. to Rails to Trails of Central Pennsylvania Inc., most of the funding coming from his wallet.

The Lower Trail is 16.5 miles long, but the piece purchased in ‘89 was 11 miles and spanned from Williamsburg to Alfarata. The remaining 5.5 miles of trail was obtained in 2004, which extends from Williamsburg to the Hollidaysburg trail head where I now found myself.

The trail is privately managed by Rails to Trails of Central Pennsylvania Inc. with the help of donations from the public. That made me a little wary since the Lehigh Gorge trail is part of a state park and has a few spots in desperate need of renovation. If a state park had trouble managing a well-traversed trail, then what would the condition of this one be under private ownership?

           

I found out later that I had no reason to worry. The trail is composed of crushed limestone for the majority of its length, and it is evenly dispersed. There is also a two-mile asphalt section going through Williamsburg. Two miles doesn’t seem like much, but there were times on the 26-mile Lehigh Gorge trail where I would’ve killed for asphalt after hitting soft patches of dirt that can fling a person of a bike, in addition to the large potholes.

Every couple of yards, there are benches and picnic pavilions – almost all of them with a mounted name plaque of a contributor to the trail. The frequency of rest stops is a blessing, I won’t lie. There were designated bathrooms at certain points, as well.

   The trail still has its fair share of nature.

The entire trip went through a grove of trees and followed the banks of the Juniata River. There is supposed to be an abundance of wildlife around the trail, but the only thing I came across remotely close to an animal was a snake, which I ran over with my bike. (That was enough wildlife for one day.) I did hope to see a deer, beer or an eagle at some point, none of which crossed my path.

            What I found most interesting about the trail was the history of the area.

The Juniata River serving as a division of the Pennsylvania Canal. The canal was dug by hand from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, making it the first connection between the two major cities of its kind. The business and trade this canal generated is what converted my new home of Hollidaysburg from the trucker stop of the early 1800s to an essential point for the exchange of goods and people across the state of Pennsylvania for a few decades.

            The part of the canal I found myself riding along wasn’t the main canal but one of the five divisions that connected to it. This one, called the Juniata Division, started at a junction with the Susquehanna River at a place known as Duncan’s Island and eventually connected with the Hollidaysburg terminal. This division of the canal spanned 127 miles all together.

The Juniata Division started operation on Nov. 27, 1832. The main portion of the canal didn’t even open until March 1834, so the Juniata Division was alive and kicking before the main project was even finished. Oh, and just in case you were wondering about cost, the Juniata Division of the Pennsylvania Mainline Canal alone was $3.5 million alone.

But the cost was worth it, right?

       Sure … except for the fact that the Pennsylvania Railroad bought the Pennsylvania Canal in 1857 and decommissioned it. Most parts of the canal were victimized by neglect and flooding. Somehow, the Juniata Division survived until about 1888.

The ghost of the Juniata Division’s former self can still be found along the Lower Trail where stone locks exist to this day. These locks controlled the water levels so barges could access higher and lower parts of the canal.

The railroad where the trail stands today is nonexistent other than the wood and metal bridges that intersect the Juniata River in certain sections. Other than a few stone structures, bridges and plaques, the history of this region flowed down river years ago.
     Perhaps it was for the better.
     The Lower Trail is alive with walkers, joggers and bikers today. It serves as a place where the people of Blair and Huntingdon counties can get away from the hustle and bustle of highway traffic, honking horns and road rage.
     The trail seems to have an effect on the people using it. Out of the 50 some people I saw on the trail that day, only two didn’t respond to me as I passed them by. The rest had a smile on their face and returned a hello or asked how I was. I even rode along side a couple from the Gettysburg area who claimed to have ridden just about every rail-trail that exists in Pennsylvania. We exchanged tips about other trails and state parks that were worth seeing, and we gave our goodbyes when they realized how annoying I really was. The fact that they took time from their trip to have a 15-minute conversation with a complete stranger made me feel elated. I think other people feel the same way once they enter the woods of the Lower Trail.
     I also noticed that the trail does not acknowledge age. From what I noticed, the majority of people riding/walking/jogging the trail were elderly. I know it was a Friday in the morning when most people have work, but this is also during the summer. I expected to see more kids on the trail since there was no school to occupy their time.
   Whatever the circumstances, the number of seniors astounded me. Most of them were in their late 50s and early 60s. What floored me was when I saw a woman of about 85 riding a bike with a group of people ages 40 to about 70.
    I know people my age and younger who can’t ride a bike a mile without losing breath, and here was someone’s grandma showing up the rest of my generation. It’s great to see this. I’ve seen my fair share of seniors go into homes and spend the rest of their days engaging in a vegetative lifestyle. Any excuse to get them out of the home, even for a few hours, does more for these people than you know.
     The Lower Trail is needed near Altoona. In a city where drugs and violence are reported on an almost daily basis, there needs to be a place where the residents can take their kids and feel safe. The trail is also promoting history and fitness, which are two things I think we need to emphasize more for the younger generations.

Little Free Library

The Little Free Library in Hollidaysburg.

One belief I always stand by is that you will never know enough about your community until you’ve walked every inch of it.

If someone tells you, “Yeah, I’ve been to Philly,” and goes on to say how he or she spent the whole time drinking in one bar, then chances are that person didn’t get to see everything the city has to offer.

I mention this because I found a captivating piece of work right here in Hollidaysburg, and unless I walked by it, I would’ve never known it existed.

I was on one of my routine walks through town. As I passed by one house, something caught my attention. If I didn’t turn around, I would’ve missed it.

Definitely a "Little" Free Library.

Sitting in a corner like a ninja in Johnstown was a wooden box with books in it. I didn’t know what to make of it at first. It wasn’t much taller than I was. It was sitting there, not on a street corner, but by someone’s house.

Then I noticed marker writing on the plastic roof of the box: “Little Free Library.”

Well, this is neat, I thought to myself. The owners of this house decided to build a little bookcase for people to borrow books. When I looked again, I saw the plaque providing a website name.

That’s when I realized this wasn’t just some random person who felt like being generous to Hollidaysburg. This was something bigger.

I put my curiosity to the side for a while since there were more pressing issues that day – such as if I wanted a tuna or peanut butter jelly sandwich for lunch.

A couple of weeks later, a few of us from the paper got together on the front porch of my apartment to have drinks. During discussion, the one reporter brought up how Hollidaysburg should have a Little Free Library.

I thought this was odd because I knew there was one just down the street from where I live. That was the second indication that these Little Free Libraries had more significance to them than I originally thought.

About a week ago, I made a trip to State College in search of the perfect hoody (I’ll explain another time.) I walked by a newspaper stand for The Centre County Gazette. I took one and looked at the front page. Sure enough, there to mock my procrastination was a story about a new Little Free Library opening at the Easterly Parkway Elementary School. What really got me was the quote in the story from the 6-year-old, Cecelia Corro, who cut the ceremonial ribbon.

“This makes my school even better,” she said in the story. “This will help students who don’t want to use something electronic or something that uses power. Reading just uses brain power.”

Hearing about a child promoting books and literacy is one of the best feelings in the world. This was the inspiration I needed to look into Little Free Libraries and write this post.

What I found on the website warmed my heart even more.

Little Free Libraries aren’t just some random wooden boxes popping up in Hollidaysburg or State College – it’s a global trend.

Little Free Libraries is an organization that has two core ideals, according to its website: “to promote literacy and the love of reading by building free book exchanges worldwide,” and “to build a sense of community as we share skills, creativity and wisdom across generations.” Those are two philosophies I can stand by with ease.

What I didn’t realize was the concept of the Little Free Library has outlived everyone reading these words.

The organization’s figurehead, Lutie Stearns, delivered book boxes to more than 1,400 locations in Wisconsin between 1895 and 1914, according to the website.

What makes Stearns all the more admirable was her perseverance. She overcame a stuttering problem, which is likely a huge portion of why she came up with the idea. I can relate to her myself, since I was speech-delayed until about age 5 and having to receive speech therapy through a good portion of elementary school.

The website offers Little Free Library kits for sale so people can install one just about anywhere they wish within legal limits.

The one downside is the kits range in the hundreds of dollars, but I’m guessing this is where the community idea plays a big role. People can make donations through the website, and in most cases, I imagine groups collect money to buy one.

The Little Free Library in Erie.

The kits offered on the website, however, are quite impressive and vibrant. They range from Amish barns to British telephone booths. I saw one during a trip to Lake Erie that resembled a lighthouse. Unfortunately, it was not as well-maintained as the one in Hollidaysburg. It had few books to offer and was mostly filled with junk.

The one in Hollidaysburg is a little-aged and lacking color, but it’s the principle of the box that trumps its physical appeal.

What I should note is Hollidaysburg didn’t need one of these boxes in the first place. The borough has its own public library. It’s the community aspect, however, that makes the Little Free Library such a novel idea (no pun intended … okay, it was).

The Little Free Library in Hollidaysburg has a variety of books, ranging from biographies on Davy Crockett and Andrew Jackson to a field guide about birds. There’s not the selection you would have at a regular public library, but there are advantages.

This Little Free Library can fit only about
two dozen books at a time.

Most kids don’t have the patience to go through hundreds of books on shelves in a library, but hey, most adults don’t have the patience to go through hundreds of books, either. I get headaches walking out of Barnes & Noble unless I know for certain what book I want. Sometimes, a smaller selection goes a long way. Having too many options can be overwhelming.

Another benefit about the Little Free Library is you don’t need a membership to loan books from it.

One of the best things about the Little Free Library is it gives the patron a sense of charity. You can donate books without taking any in return. You know that your donation is helping a kid out there learn to read and learn a little more about the world. You’re helping children learn the concept of community and generosity. This seems like common sense, but many of these ideas are thrown away these days. Plus, you can tell a child about these concepts, but children are more hands-on and visual learners.

I write this post today not as an endorsement or an advertisement but to raise awareness. Instead, I want more people to know how great of an idea this truly is.

I wish I knew about these as a kid. I loved to read but never had the money to buy books. There was the public library in Mountain Top, but my parents had to drive me just so I could get there. If I had a Little Free Library that I was able to ride my bike to, then I would have had access to the books that I’m just now reading like Tom Sawyer or Moby Dick.

I also encourage people to donate to the cause. I plan to at some point, but I’m sure Lolita or Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf aren’t exactly “child-friendly.” I’ll donate when I get the chance to dig up some of my old children’s books.

You can find children’s books at yard sales for dirt-cheap. Buy a couple, find one of these Little Free Libraries near you and contribute.

Chimney Rocks Park

One of the limestone pillars at Chimney Rocks Park.

The chief of a Native American tribe fancied sitting on top of a rock.
In 1924, someone placed a bronze plaque on a rock.
Seventy years later, the borough of Hollidaysburg bought the area – so they could place a nicer plaque on a rock.

Chimney Rocks Park as seen from Route 36 near Hollidaysburg.

This is all the history I could find on Chimney Rocks Park, located above Route 36 outside of Hollidaysburg. If you feel cheated of 30 seconds of your life, then you and I share the same disappointment.

Out of all the resources available on the Internet this day and age, I could find only two websites providing background on the park. 
I thought I had more at my disposal when I started the search, but I realized how a typo screwed up my results.

Chimney Rocks (emphasis on the ‘s’) Park is part of Hollidaysburg, where as Chimney Rock State Park (note the lack of ‘s’ and addition of “State”) is a gorgeous state park located in North Carolina with one rock topped with an American flag. If you’re local to Altoona, make sure to add the ‘s’ so you don’t end up driving an extra 12 hours to what should be a 15-minute trip.

Digression aside, Chimney Rocks Park has only two significant websites providing history about the place. What’s even more disheartening is they’re both almost identical because they’re websites to the local governments and almost match word-for-word. 

The Chimney Rocks can be seen from several parts of Hollidaysburg.

Anyway, present-day Chimney Rocks Park is a nice escape from the clustered streets of Altoona and Hollidaysburg. The latter purchased the area in 1994 for the rights to renovate the land with a picnic area, a playground, hiking trails, fenced overlooks and parking, according to the websites. Upon request, people can rent the park for special occasions like parties and weddings.

There are two main reasons the park brings several people every day. 

Hollidaysburg as seen from the Lower Overlook at Chimney Rocks Park.

The first is the view. The park sits on top of a small mountain (more of a big hill, but you get it – It’s high up) overlooking the valley below. From certain spots, visitors can see miles of nothing but green, rolling hills, the entirety of Hollidaysburg with its historic buildings and the outskirts of Altoona. I’ve visited my fair share of overlooks, but this one is beyond impressive.

What makes it all the better is you don’t have to climb anything to appreciate the view. Two parking lots reside just a few seconds from the park. From there, a gravel trail through a field takes you to what’s known as the Lower Overlook. The most physical activity required is getting in and out of your car. This makes the overlook convenient for people of any age or physical state. I make fun of the local government’s lack of historical background on the area, but I give it credit for its intuitiveness to choose this spot for a public park.

The second reason to visit Chimney Rocks is the rocks themselves. You can see the rocks from almost any angle in downtown Hollidaysburg. They protrude from the north face of the mountain and just sit there in solidarity among a blanket of green. They don’t look like much, but they're large enough in size to be seen from a few miles away.

If you’re smart, there’s an easy-access, wide trail starting between the two parking lots that will take you right to the rocks. If you’re ignorant like myself, you can start from one of the side trails that is about eight inches in width, contains heavy plant growth, usually has mud, is filled with cobwebs and provides all sorts of ways to mutilate yourself. To my benefit, there are other side overlooks accessible only by these tougher trails, but I wouldn’t advise anyone who lacks hiking experience or has a disability (I didn’t consider my mental handicap at the time) to attempt them. 

The view from one side of Chimney Rocks Park.

They are tough, and they are dangerous. No matter if you take the friendly trail or the death trail, they all lead back to these rocks.The rocks themselves, I found, aren’t as big as I figured. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not a pebble in your shoe, but they’re not the Cliffs of Dover, either. They have a resemblance to Stonehenge, just much rougher in texture and lacking the organized placement. It’s just a bunch of jetting limestone pillars extending from the ground. This is another reason why I keep obsessing over the park’s history. How did these rocks end up here? They protrude on this side of the mountain but almost nowhere else. Why? How long have they been around? Erosion doesn’t seem to have affected the rocks by much, but I wonder if they were much bigger decades or centuries before. They’re relatively close in position – just in one cluster. Why this spot? 

None of this is explained.

What I also found out was it’s near impossible to take a great picture of them. They’re mostly surrounded by trees, which also block much of the sunlight above, creating a shadow almost any time of day. Even with my powerful camera, I had to mess around before I could get a decent shot. Without Photoshop, my best pictures still contained darkness. 
I wouldn’t let this discourage you from seeing the rocks, though. They’re a sight to see, but they’re not worth bringing your entire family up there and spending the money to hire a portrait photographer to design your next Christmas card.

The view of Hollidaysburg from the top.

The trails eventually lead to the Upper Overlook, which is where the best view is at. The area has a concrete slab with fencing around it for a safe view, but there’s not much stopping the average idiot (yours truly) to go around and sit on the small, pants-soiling high rocks. The pictures I got from this spot were great, but if anyone was around to take pictures of me taking pictures, I’d have some embarrassing Facebook photos to explain. I had about a dozen mild panic attacks because the feeling of vertigo is constant. Any wrong twist in my posture would have sent me plummeting to my death screaming, “I should’ve seen this coming!” 
But It was worth it, and all at the cost of one soiled pair of boxers.

If I’m correct, this is what the locals refer to as the “Chief’s seat,” where according to legend, the local Indian chief overlooked the valley and issued attack commands. There’s never any mention of what tribe existed here, if it lived on the mountain or why it left (My guess is ‘Murica). 
I might be wrong about the seat’s location, but it’s the only place I can see someone sitting on a rock. It’s the widest out of the other pillars and the most accessible. Any other option would require a great deal of balance, insanity and the biggest pair of stones (pun intended) to attempt climbing and mounting these pillars of death.

The historical plaque at the top of the park.

Also at the overlook is the original plaque placed here on Oct. 17, 1924. I tried to read what is inscribed on it but to little avail. The plaque has been vandalized beyond belief (That is NOT my name on there in white) and has faded into a greenish hue with age.

The white star that can be seen at night during the holiday season.

If you decide to venture far enough, you’ll find hidden among the brush a 20-foot-tall white star with light bulbs attached. The borough lights the star every year for the holiday season. It’s not much to look at on a hot and muggy summer day, but it warms the soul on a frigid Pennsylvania winter night.

That’s my story of Chimney Rocks Park. I wish I had more. I wish I knew more. It’s such an interesting place because of its splendor and mystery. If anyone can provide me with additional information (free of charge), I would be forever grateful.