Walk the run

Well over a year ago I wrote about John Chatham and the feed mill he constructed (circa 1800) not far from the farm. That post included an image of a beautiful stone wall which formed part of an extensive series of locks which ran from the mill to the Susquehanna and allowed Chatham to move and receive material via that water course. Chatham’s Run originates high in the mountains of the Tiadaghton State Forest and just north of where it passes the town of Woolrich there is a reservoir which serves that small community. Because it is isolated and quite pretty, Joanna and I have visited the reservoir on several occasions. Our Pennsylvania weather is still horrid. Cold, wet, and all the while with little sun to lighten the heart. I was out with the camera today and thought I might try my luck at the reservoir. Gates had been secured for the weekend so I parked the truck (ducked the fence) and walked the half mile to the water. As I rounded the final bend in the access road I could see that the Reservoir was iced over. Not to be thwarted I turned and walked the Run where it emerged from below the dam. Because November and December were especially wet and because January has been a little less so, the water level has fallen and this has resulted in the formation of ice islands atop rocks and boulders which lay exposed within the stream bed. We had flurries overnight which blanketed the irregularly shaped formations. We woke to a bit of blue sky and sun, but clouds began to gather just as I arrived. I had high hopes for brilliantly illuminated shots but as I look over the number that I took, the one below is the only one which proves that the sun did shine, however briefly. I enjoyed my time at the Run, however dark it might have been. I was alone with only the sound of the rushing water for company. The stillness was interrupted by light gusts which set adrift snow which had fetched high up in the trees overnight. The ice was, mostly, thick enough to bear my weight and I was happy to walk from island-to-island looking for points which would afford good vantage. It wasn’t only for lack of sun that there was little color showing, for the riparian wood was, in large part, deciduous. A few evergreens added what muted color they could. The rushing water was mesmerizing. I particularly enjoyed watching as it would lap against the undersides of the islands, for when it did their crystal fringes would, instantaneously, disappear … and then, as if by magic, reappear when the water subsided. Although I was careful to look where I placed each step, I knew Joanna would worry if she knew that I was island hopping, alone, in such a secluded place. I had walked up stream for fifteen minutes and then turned and retraced my steps to the point where I had entered the stream bed. I climbed the bank, walked the trail, and ducked the gate. I stepped into the truck which had solar heated a bit in the fading sunlight. I like this image of Chatham’s Run. I hope you do too. You may click the image for a larger view.


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