To say the gap is in the Poconos is redundant, because ‘pocono’ means water gap in the Lenape language. The whole area was supposed to be inundated by a flood control project, but that was deemed too expensive. Which is great, because the park service preserves big, beautiful, wooded, hilly land on both the New Jersey and Pennsylvania sides. There are at least seven named waterfalls with trails—above is one of two easily seen on Dingmans Creek Trail—, more hikes including a section of the Appalachian Trail, an exceptional bike trail, many campgrounds, some historic buildings and more. A brown bear crossed the road in front of me, so there’s definitely wildlife here too.
Technically, the 35 of 40 miles of river itself is a separate park, and the gap is the land plus 5 miles of recreational river. If it were up to me, I would combine this with the Upper, Middle and Lower Delaware River parks, and make all four into one National Park. That’s been proposed, but some residents oppose it. Traffic or something. I found it easy to drive around, but crossing the river gets you a toll. If we want to preserve species, we need to start being much more aggressive about preserving our rivers and forests.
Inside the Zane Grey museum in Lackawaxen PA, there are a couple of photos Grey took that make me extremely envious. One is him in 1920 sitting under Rainbow Bridge—which is a park site that I honestly can’t figure out how to visit—, and another is of his three masted schooner Fisherman in 1932, on one of his many adventures at sea. Grey introduced the world to the great American West, writing dozens of novels selling millions of copies in several languages along with movie and TV adaptations. I consider myself a bit of a traveler now, but many times I’ve reached a remote place, only to find that Grey beat me there by 100 years, on horseback or by boat. My grandfather and uncle inspired me with their travel stories, and I now have their journals of their trips out west with me to compare notes (thanks Nim!). I also have a decent collection of Zane Grey ebooks, although I read them mostly for the journey descriptions. Zane and his wife loved this place on the Delaware River, and I’m sure he’d have loved to see so many people taking their families out on small boats right off his front porch.
This is the middle of the river, in the middle of the park, in between the upper and lower sections of river, between Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Fortunately, it was calm enough that I got a mostly undistorted panorama, but there are a few fun class I rapids on the 10 mile section I paddled from Bushkill Access to Springfield Beach ($10 parking). The river is gorgeous, and I saw at least a half dozen bald eagles. It was surprisingly easy to catch the free hourly summer weekend ‘river runner’ shuttle to bring my kayak upstream. The driver let me bring mine inside folded, but other paddlers I saw put theirs on the canoe/kayak trailer.
The bus is also called the ‘Pocono Pony’, and it’s a lot of fun to chat with other riders. I was bragging about how many parks I had visited, when the guy next to me said he had been to all of them. He’s a riot, and he was on TV for #413. We chatted on the bus & river and compared notes. Well, mostly he chatted. In his old job, I think the conversations were mostly one-sided, since he’s a dentist. I enjoy meeting interesting folks, especially when they’ve got a great sense of humor and can teach me more about our parks.
Christmas night 1776 was a bad one. The Revolution was going poorly for the Americans. The British Navy had taken New York City and controlled the whole area. Some American militiamen were heading home, and the British had reason to believe they would win the war soon. Their regular army left Hessian mercenaries in charge of camps along the Delaware, but as the river was filled with dangerous ice flows, patrols were limited. Not that the German soldiers were drunk, mind you. They were professionals, and they were keeping careful watch, despite the storm.
George Washington wasn’t going to let the weather or river stop him. He wrote ‘Victory or Death’, and loaded his 2,400 troops and 18 cannon into sturdy river cargo boats which made repeated trips across the Delaware River (see photo) from Pennsylvania on the right to New Jersey on the left. Two other crossings had been aborted, and the storm was getting worse. It took longer than expected, but by around 4 am, his troops (and horses) climbed the hill and began marching south towards Trenton. The Hessians fought back, and the British reinforced. But Washington won three battles, two in Trenton and one in Princeton, before making camp in the mountains. The war would not be over as soon as everyone thought.
The New Jersey side of the crossing has a large wooded park on a hill, with trails and a small museum with some interesting artifacts. The Pennsylvania side has a museum, replica boats and some historic buildings along the river. I took the photo above from the narrow bridge as I walked between them. The lower section of the Delaware is either a full park unit or an affiliated multi-partner site, depending on who you ask or which website you check. There are roads and a fair amount of development on both sides, so it’s not particularly wild or even scenic in stretches. The designation seems aspirational to me. But our rivers do need more protection, and there are many interesting historic places on both sides of the river. Congress did authorize parts of the lower Delaware as ‘wild & scenic’ in 2000, but if you paddled it, you’d go in and out of those every few miles. There are no federal facilities, so although the park website calls it a ‘unit’, I don’t think it counts towards 424. Still, just in case I’m wrong, and out of respect for our first Commander in Chief, I humbly post.
Ike didn’t really like his “stuffy” living room above, but it contains some wonderful gifts from around the world, including Prague above the mantle, Korea, Iran and Grant’s fireplace from the White House. Ike preferred to chat with de Gaulle and Khrushchev in his enclosed porch. My favorite room is the den, which is more of a library, but it’s harder to photograph.
The house is well-preserved in 1950’s style, with almost all original artifacts, since the Eisenhowers lived here until it was given to the park service. Mamie’s home furnishings and decor recall her devotion to Ike, their family and all their guests. Much of the site is devoted to the farm & ranch—blue ribbon Angus cattle—, with various barns and related buildings, but there are a few less common features, such as a putting green, skeet range, helipad and Secret Service office.
The ranger didn’t know that Ike was a cheerleader, but she did explain what this place meant to Ike and why they chose it as their only real home as opposed to the dozens of places they lived temporarily. Ike trained the army’s WWI tank corps here in Gettysburg, and he loved to study the battlefield. That explains a lot.
This grand Pennsylvania monument is appropriate for this critical turning point in the Civil War in July of 1863. Lee’s northernmost advance on Washington ended, his retreat to Virginia began, and with Vicksburg ending a day later, Lincoln finally had the victory he needed to prove the Union capable of winning the war. The battlefield runs right through town, with bullet-hole houses, up onto Cemetery Hill, where the Union lines held off Lee’s massive frontal assault—a reversal of the usual Union v Confederate roles. The land has been carefully preserved to evoke the day, and the park app’s auto tour tells the many stories of bravery, such as Hancock’s numerous maneuvers in the nick of time. Visiting the cemetery brings Lincoln’s address to life. This is another powerful park to remember this Memorial Day weekend.
Gettysburg has the finest museum at any of the military and battlefield parks. Particularly the park film, short films, quotations, exhibits, bookstore, and, well, everything. It’s worth paying the extra fee to the park partner that runs it. Through first rate research, they get the balance correct between views at the time and the facts. It takes longer to see than most park museums, but for once I felt I understood not just the battle, but the context and meaning behind the struggle. There’s also a phenomenal period panoramic painting of the battle, which is a historic work of art itself. And if you are able to hire a park guide to take you around the battlefield in your own car, that’s the best way to get your questions answered and make sense of the three day battle over much of the same ground. My brother and I were extremely fortunate to secure the expert assistance of our former teacher, who has many years of experience working here and to whom we are very grateful.
Many Civil War sites bend over backwards to present ethically indefensible archaic views as valid, as if they are obliged to reprint Confederate propaganda without context. But that would be like presenting ‘witchcraft’ as valid, because it was believed in colonial Salem. Not only does Gettysburg get it right, but they also clearly blame the north for their role in whitewashing history. Segregationist President Woodrow Wilson supported Jim Crow restrictions to get African Americans back to work for low wages and to win white votes. Most of the Confederate monuments I find objectionable are only 100 years old and come from this era of white northern and southern ‘reconciliation’. We still need to fix this historic problem of treating both sides as having fought for valid causes.
This is a difficult site to visit, since it’s only open seasonally, on weekends, in the afternoon, in an area with very little parking. The site is tiny, consisting of a few displays, a short film, and this recreation of his room in a boarding house here in Philadelphia. So, why do we have a site for a Polish citizen?
Thaddeus left Poland and arrived almost simultaneously with the British fleet at the outbreak of the Revolutionary War. He had military education and soon found himself employed as an engineer. Long story short, Kosciuszko was the one who chose the site and designed the fortification at Saratoga, which became the turning point of the war. He also designed and oversaw construction of the fort at West Point, which was deemed impenetrable by the British. He also joined the southern campaign and even fought in the last skirmish at the end of the war.
He returned to Poland, declared independence from Russia, and was wounded and exiled when his insurrection failed. The site here is also considered a Polish historic site. He lived in the room above for many years and was close friends with many American Revolutionary War leaders, including Thomas Jefferson. He asked Jefferson to use his American pension to free slaves through his will, but somehow the case eventually lost in court. Jefferson may have been the wrong person to entrust for that.
The National Road, now US 40, was our first federal highway. Washington started it when he cut a road up to Fort Necessity, and he later bought property there for a tavern. But the surveyor above, Albert Gallatin, is known as the road’s father. He met Washington and suggested a straighter route, and Washington agreed, encouraging the young man to work on it.
Swiss born Gallatin bought 400 acres here on the hill near the Monongahela River and soon became Senator. Gallatin tried to moderate the local Whiskey Rebellion, but Washington still sent in troops. After criticizing Hamilton’s financial plans, Jefferson made him Secretary of the Treasury, where he reduced the national debt and finance the Louisiana Purchase, Lewis & Clark and the National Road. Gallatin and Lafayette were friends and helped bring French pressure to help settle the multi-year War of 1812 at Ghent.
Gallatin’s bucolic country estate, 10 miles of forested trails and well maintained mansion behind the statue is well worth a stop along the historic highway.
“In 1753 a young George Washington crossed the Allegheny Mountains on missions he hoped would lead to a career as a British Officer and land holdings that would make him wealthy. He was unsuccessful in both goals and his actions sparked a war that spread across the globe.”
— National Park Service
We really need a better name than the “French & Indian War”. It sounds like some colonial conflict in South Asia. Indians Native Americans were only reluctantly drawn into fighting on both sides. I suggest the “Colonial Rivers War”, because that explains who, why and where. British and French colonial forces fought over control of rivers, portages and passes linking the St. Lawrence Seaway, the Gulf of Mexico and the Mid-Atlantic Eastern Seaboard.
At the beginning, the French & British were building roads, riverside forts and sending small armed groups into the passes to scout. Washington was in charge of a British force, found a French force, and someone fired a shot precipitating a slaughter that killed the French leader named Jumonville. Jumonville’s brother, Captain Villiers, then led a much larger force seeking revenge.
So Washington’s necessity was to defend his camp, which had been chosen in a pleasant, open meadow, good for grazing animals. As you can see in the photo, the fort was built under a hill, so Washington lost quickly and badly. (Fortunately, he improved tactics later). The French accepted his surrender, but the war over the colonial rivers continued for years, as part of a broader Seven Years’ War between the French and British globally.
What anxiety or misgivings troubled me so incessantly today, I know not. Perhaps the unseasonable heatwaves dragging on interminably through the nights have robbed me of my wits by denying me the respite of unconsciousness, no matter how much gin I consumed. Even staying in the drafty old seaside cottage that I once played in as an eccentric child, only served to remind me of my age, my lack of gainful employment, my failed marriage, and the solitary road ahead of me. The storms of late have struck frequently with bizarre intensity, with lightning barrages casting ghoulish flashes on the faces of my now elderly acquaintances, as if to taunt me with signs of my own mortality.
The inexorable tides reach higher on the barnacled rocks with each passing year, and the great lawn, strained with drought, is over-crowded with groundhogs, rabbits and even passing deer seeking refuge, so desperate for food that they eat any flowering bud of beauty, no matter how small or hidden. I have long been tormented by the certainty of impending doom that renders me humorless and unappreciative of the banal social events that my family includes me in vain to soothe my awkward, sulking gloom. But now, some fiery rage is stoked in my soul, as avarice and willful neglect threaten all species with mass extinction while casual citizens busily immerse themselves in the capricious and mundane.
Certainly, knowing the tragic and unexplained death that befell the strange man who’s steps I follow from Boston to Philadelphia weighs heavily on my brooding mood. A poet, critic and editor whose genius never quite paid the bills nor protected him from loss. His wife died of consumption at 24, perhaps pre-cognizant of her fate, visualizing her flower surroundings she would not smell. All of their furnishings of course are long gone, so there’s nothing left to do but study the cracks in the walls, read his disturbing writings and let your imagination call you into the basement, where his fevered dreams dwelled too long. The crazed rantings of his characters echo in the cobwebbed corners, some quietly creaking like the stairs too treacherous to climb and some screaming in my head like the gasoline fueled monstrosities on the roads outside. How was one genius able to create the Detective, Horror and Science Fiction genres, I wonder, before once again losing myself in the melancholic realization that our future may yet become a deviously difficult to solve dystopian hell-scape of our own pollution.
Zero Carbon Travel 