Day 96, New Tripoli Campsite to Campsite at Mile 1262.2

One reason for that was the frequent opportunities for views of the Pennsylvania landscape below.

Another reason was the shear ruggedness of the trail. It wasn’t just a section of walking over rocks. It was also climbing and scrambling over rocks, which were often jutting in difficult angles.

The Knife's Edge continued like this for about a mile. Several times as I scrambled and carefully picked each step I said to myself, “I’m so glad I’m not doing this in a rainstorm."

Later, the Dr. Jekyll portion of the trail took over when the rocks disappeared. Unfortunately, thanks to the rain of the last two days there was plenty of mud.

The Jekyll and Hyde trail continued, but had longer sections of smooth tread way. There wasn’t much elevation change in this section.

One notable thing about this section was the appearance of ripe blueberries. I had seen some wild blueberries along the side of the trail before, but these were the first I had seen that were ripe enough to eat. I grabbed a couple handfuls as I continued down the trail.

At the bottom of Lehigh Gap the boy stayed behind to wait for his uncle and I crossed the river on a highway bridge.

The trail made a turn at Pennsylvania Route 248, then followed the road for a short distance before reaching an intersection, which was presumably the safest place to cross the busy road.

This spot instantly became my nominee for the most ridiculous spot on the trail.

When two white blazes are painted together, with the upper one slightly to the left or right of the lower one, a hiker knows this is a spot where the trail makes a turn. The blazes are helpful because the turn may not be obvious without seeing them. Two such blazes were painted here on a light pole at this intersection.

Though it was a challenging section of trail, sometimes requiring hand-over-foot scrambling, the views along the way were spectacular. Soon I was able to see nearly the whole expanse of the Lehigh Valley, as well as the route I had taken to get here.

As the trail turned a corner, the remaining part of the valley and the small town of Palmerton swept into the view below.

For many years the town was a popular stop for hikers because they could stay in the town jail, which had been converted into a hostel. After forty years of operation, though, the hostel was closed in 2015.

There was an unfortunate reason for the rockiness of this section of trail, which has often been described as a moon landscape. This was a Superfund site, devastated by years of pollution. The mountainside is on the mend now, but it was at one time about as bleak a place as you could imagine.

The slope of Blue Mountain had become denuded by waste spewed from a zinc smelting factory that operated for nearly 70 years at the bottom of the mountain.

Contaminants from the smelting residue pile killed most of the foliage on 2,000 acres of land, then rain water runoff from the polluted soil eroded and washed heavy metals into nearby streams. That polluted one of the wells providing water for Palmerton residents.

Children and animals living in the area were found to have elevated levels of lead in their blood.

The smelting operation was finally shut down in 1980, leaving behind a waste pile 2.5 miles long, 500 to 1000 feet wide, and 100 feet high.

The site was added to the Superfund list in 1983, when attempts to clean up the mess were begun.

On the face of one large boulder someone had painted an American flag.

It wasn’t until 7 p.m. before the trail flattened out and I was able to walk without concern for twisting an ankle again. The trail followed the rounded side of the mountain through a scrubby patch of vegetation. There weren’t many trees here of normal height, only shrubs and stunted trees.

As I walked along the ridge it looked as if the Superfund remediation efforts are paying off. Nature was showing its resilience. In the place of a barren wasteland of death there are now signs of growth and healing everywhere.

I passed a young man who had set up camp along this ridge. He momentarily startled me with a question, “Are you going SOBO?”

Though I was confident I didn’t get turned around and was heading the wrong direction, I still had to think for a second to reassure myself. Yes, I was definitely going northbound.

The young man realized then that he got turned around while he was looking for a spot to set up camp. This was probably a good thing for him to realize, for he might have left in the wrong direction tomorrow morning.

The trail entered a section of tall grass, which was part of the rehabilitation effort to prevent further erosion.

All along the way, I was catching views of Palmerton, the valley, and the remnants of the polluting zinc plant.

Then I stopped to view the sunset. I still had an hour more of hiking before I would reach where Stick and I agreed to camp for the night, but that didn’t matter right now.

I wanted to absorb the moment. I wanted to watch the orange, purple and magenta hues wash across the clouds and sink into the valley. I wanted to revel in the climb I just finished and in the distance I had walked for the last three-and-a-half months.

Then Robert Hunter's words came to mind from the Grateful Dead song, “Standing on the Moon.”

And I thought of Kim.