A few years back, the Lovely Miss Brenda and I rode the Johnstown Inclined Plane down to the FolkFest (now the Ameriserv Flood City Music Festival) while The Boy (Budd/Zach), who was along for the ride, insisted on hiking down the Yoder Hill trail. When he caught up with us later, he encouraged me to make the trek myself, which I finally did a month ago.

I’ve been intrigued with urban trails ever since Budd’s Mom and I lived on Boston’s Riverway, and would walk the Olmstead greenway over to Fenway for a Sox game, or up to Jamaica Pond for, well, whatever it was we used to do on summer Sunday afternoons there. I also enjoyed late, when we moved to Waltham, biking the trails along the Charles (love that dirty water) in either direction. There’s something secretive about being surrounded by green while catching glimpses of skyscrapers and apartment buildings through the foliage. The Inclined Plane Trail took me back, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Best advice I can provide is to plan your hike so you ride the Inclined Plane up the steep Yoder Hill and walk down the trail. Much nicer views between, say, November and April, when the leaves are down. Check it out in the Inclined Plane Trail gallery here or by clicking any of the images below.

The Allegheny Highlands show some impressive fall foliage. Among the reasons for moving back to Johnstown, PA: I can look out my bedroom window and see sights that some people will travel hours and hours and miles and miles to see. Of course, some years are better than others. Most of the shots below are from oh-eight and oh-nine. Only 1 from oh-ten(?). Yeah, they’re a little overaturated and intense, but I only ever got to shoot 1 roll of Velvia before switching to digital, and besides, it’s all the rage these days. Once I started editing, I just couldn’t stop pushing buttons. Thought I’d better get them up before I do any more damage.

You’ll notice a few moonrises (I’m a little obsessed) and a dawn or two. The last shot, from just a few weeks ago, is part of a project I’m hoping to unveil in the Spring.These are all taken in, or just outside, Johnstown. There are a pile more, from further out, to be culled and edited. They’ll get posted next. Then, maybe I’ll tell you about the time, last Winter, when I fell into the Clear Shade Creek.

I got down to the creek about 7:00am and found a couple of folks and 2 dogs camped on the banks, but no fishermen. My original assumption was that fishermen don’t get up as early as photographers do. It was only when I got to work the following Monday that I learned Opening Day doesn’t start till 8:00am. It was my first jaunt down the 1/4 mile long Fisherman’s Path (accessed from Clear Shade Road) and I found myself about 50 yards further upstream than I had ever been. So this was the splash dams that my brother and his buddy, Larry Kmeil, had talked about: a broad glade of ponds, reeds and shrubs right in front of my camera. With no fishermen around, I took a few shots of the Creek and the adjacent John P. Saylor Trail and headed out. Ascending out of the glen, I finally saw my first fishermen of the day, on their way down to the creek.

The photo of the Flight 93 Memorial is certainly the non sequiter it appears to be in this gallery, but I wanted to scope the fishing action along the Stonycreek, and thought, while I was in the area, I’d try to reshoot a photo I had taken a couple years before and wasn’t happy with. Who knew they had moved the Memorial across the road and completely altered the composition? As for Opening Day, anglers dotted the Stonycreek from Shanksville, near it’s source, down through Kantner, Hooversville and at least as far as Hollsopple. Thirty years ago, this river was orange and dead. Now look at it. Hollsopple looked like a real fine party going on, and I regret I didn’t have more time to spend there.

One more point to make (okay, a couple more): heading back to Johnstown along 403 and feeling a little peckish, I was trying to work out a scenario for lunch. Cheap and lazy as I am, with my time as well as my money, I hesitated to stop at Sheetz or some other “fast food emporium (there’s a reason they call it JUNK food). Well, God bless the Conemaugh Township Fire Department. Making my way through Tire Hill, there stands a woman at the side of the road waving a sub in my face. Hallelujah! Good food cheap AND quick. Pretty smart having a sub sale on Opening Day,

Finally, if you’re interested in learning more about trout fishing in the highlands, check out the Mountain Laurel Chapter of Trout Unlimited. Good info and pics and a chance to join up.

Enjoy the photos.

(It’s a long article, so just a reminder that the gallery, as always, can be found at the end of the post.)

Sandyvale Cemetery, in Johnstown’s Hornerstown neighborhood, is one dreary place in early April. Grey clouds cover the early spring sky; winds lurch down the Stonycreek valley from the top of the Allegheny Front, and the place is acres and acres of little beyond acres and acres.

Prompted by a thread in a local forum, I lurched my own self down to the city’s oldest burial ground to see what I could see. After three major floods, there isn’t much left. A couple or few dozen worn headstones, some broken, a few illegible; line Sandyvale’s only discernable avenue: a barely paved former drive stretching from the Hickory Street entrance to the cemetery’s far end near Messenger Street. Beyond the far end, on land that, at one time, was the original St. Joseph’s Cemetery, sit scores of blue and white porta-potties, adding to the dismal ambience.

Drifting along the lane, the visitor discovers a litany of names that should be familiar to most Johnstowners: Horner, Bheam, Benshoff, Strayer and more. In the center of the tract, and afforded the most consideration, is a veteran’s memorial. Sandyvale is or was the final resting place for veterans who served in all of our nation’s wars from the Revolution through World War II. A flagpole stands in the middle of a circle. Ringing the the circle are 21 flat stones commemorating the service of 20 Civil War vets. The lone standout is the white stone of Pvt. Cleveland Emerick, who served in World War I.

At the end of the lane, in another ring and offended by the porta-potties beyond, stands the statue of a young girl with the name “Jacoby” carved in the base. The statue is surrounded by additional broken and eroded markers. The remainder of the landscape is dotted with derelict streetlamps, a couple of daffodil beds and the occasional ornamental fruit tree.

Frankly, the place looks like Sodom & Gomorrah on the day after judgement, and that’s no way to memorialize the departed. Apparently the official name is now SANDYVALE MEMORIAL BOTANICAL GARDENS & ARBORETUM. A few years back an overly-ambitious plan was floated to redefine the cemetery. Immediately a few of the few surviving descendants took arms against this sea of trouble and demanded the interrees be left alone. I can’t say where the plan stands today, but certainly a bit of landscaping and a few walking paths to encourage visitors and meditation would certainly be a more fitting memorial to Johnstown’s founders than the barren plain that sits there now.

It should be pointed out that the plan posted here contains no specific reference for memorializing those currently interred in Sandyvale.

Rolled out early early last Saturday looking for some mood pictures in the morning fog. I was hoping for one of those pre-dawn shots where the sky is just starting to lighten and the fog doesn’t quite reach the hilltops?

Problem with the Highlands and Johnstown, though: it’s tough to find a vantage point high enough and the fog low enough to get the photo right.

First, I headed up the MoxhamVu overlook on Belmont Hill. Nothing but a sea of white. So I dropped down a bit and grabbed a few shots of under the fog from the top of Wheat Street in Moxham. From there, a change of tactics, and I headed up to Grandview to try and capture a mood instead of an atmosphere.

They’ve got a saying in New England: “Don’t like the weather? Wait a minute.” Well, Johnstown weather doesn’t change that quickly, but the sky and the light certainly do. I barely got a handful of shots around the cemetery entrance when the fog appeared to lift. Before packing up, I took a quick run over to the Incline Plane to see what was up there. Pleanty of fog in the valley and a brief glimpse of Cover Hill across the way. Then, a minute after I snapped the shot of the Yoder Hill, the entire hilltop socked in.

And that’s when I realized I was trespassing. I had no idea they could pop me for trespassing for taking pictures from the observation platform. Welcome to the Friendly City. Anyway, short story longer, it being after my normal 8am starting time, I packed up and headed for a beer. I’ve been in a fog ever since. Enjoy the photos.

This is Buttermilk Falls in Moxham, not to be confused with the falls in Indiana County or the town just below Idlewild Park. Either up from the bottom or down from the top, the climb is pretty much verticle, and don’t think it’s easy scrambling up or down while humping 30 pounds of photo equipment on your back (soon to become a recurring theme on LL). I’m planning to get back, though, when there’s more water running or snow falling. It’s worth the effort, especially if you enjoy the photos.

On a side note, there are 2 photos below of a Grandview statue that I refer to as the Lady in White (not to be confused with the White Lady of Beulah, or the White Lady of Ghost Town Trail, or the White Lady of Wapsononock Mountain). I know of 4 other identical statues across the Northeast and Midwest: one in the suburbs north of Boston, another in upstate New York, a third in Wisconsin or Michigan (everything was a blur) and, the one I’m most familiar with, a fourth in Lancaster, PA. As the statue in Lancaster is somewhat sheltered from the elements by trees and an urban setting, and not placed out in the open on top of a mountain; and, since she comes with a real, if not necessarily true ghost story, I’ve added a post and gallery on Lancaster’s Lady in White to illustrate the poignancy and craft of 19th century memorial sculptors.

Requiescat in pace.