Youghiogbeny

APPALACHIAN RIVER

Tim Palmer

PITTSBURGH

WEST VIRGINIA

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84 § Youglviog/aeny: Appalachian River

According to the Corps’ estimates, the dam would have reduced
the 1936 flood in Pittsburgh from 46 feet to 45.2 feet. In 1972,
during the Hurricane Agnes flood, it cut the crest by half a foot.
Combined, ten reservoirs in the Pittsburgh flood-control system re-
duced the 1972 flood by 12.1 feet. Army Corps figures indicate that
Youghiogheny Dam prevented more than $93 million in damages as
of 1979.

Benefits have accrued from Youghiogheny Dam, but benefits to
whom? Direct beneficiaries of river navigation—a small part of the
dam’s justification——are the barge companies. Between 1957 and
1976, federal aid to navigation totaled $9 billion—more than aid to
all other transportation modes combined, according to the Congres-
sional Research Service. Federal subsidies provide 43 percent of the
barge industry’s revenues, compared with 3 percent for railroads. In
its National Waterways Study, the Army Corps recommends that
$22 billion more be spent on navigation during the next thirty
years. Additional billions will be needed for maintenance.

Navigation improvements by the Army Corps have been built en-
tirely at taxpayer expense. User fees, until 1981, were nonexistent. In
that year, a four-cent tax on barge towboat fuel was levied, to rise to
ten cents in 1985, which will recover less than 25 percent of ongoing
outlays for the dams, locks, and canals. Two-thirds of all tonnage on
the Ohio River consists of coal, oil, and petroleum products, and the
Federal Trade Commission reported in 1978 that four of the nation’s
top ten coal producers were subsidiaries of oil companies.

Dilution of pollution accounts for 8 percent of Youghiogheny
Dam benefits. This is also called “water quality control.” When
runoff is low, increased flows from the dam dilute acid mine drain-
age, sewage and industrial waste. Darn planners considered this a
valid purpose in the thirties, but in 1972, stopping pollution at its
source became federal policy. Dilution benefits can no longer be
cited to justify dams. Source clean-up can work for sewage and
industry, but to counteract the Casselman mine acid, emergency
releases from Youghiogheny Reservoir remain essential. Reclama-
tion work may someday eliminate the Casselman threat, but that is
years—maybe generations—ahead.

Flood control from Youghiogheny Dam helps anyone who has
flood plain investments below. Owners of the undeveloped flood
plain also benefited, since the dam reduced flood risks and yielded
profits when previously worthless land was developed.

The Dam § 85

Youghiogheny Dam was built when the best reservoir sites were
available. Most of these have now been developed, and new flood
control dams are criticized as uneconomic. Since 1936 the federal
government has spent more than $10 billion for flood control, but a
1966 study by the Federal Flood Control Task Force directed by the
prestigious water policy analyst, Gilbert White, reported that in
spite of federal spending to halt floods, damages continued to rise.
The reason was that development on the flood plain went una-
bated: every home kept dry by the Army Corps was offset by a new
house in an area still subject to flooding. Behind dikes or levees,
people were lulled into a sense of security that was false and they
built more homes. But in June 1972, floods overtopped a Susque-
hanna levee around Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. Eighty thousand
people were displaced and the homes of 20,000 destroyed. North of
the Youghiogheny, the Army Corps channelized Stony Creek and
the Little Conemaugh River in Johnstown after the 1936 flood, but
in 1977, high water killed another eighty-seven people. Even below
dams, residents are not as safe as they sometimes think. Pactola
Reservoir was built only fifteen miles above Rapid City, South Da-
kota, but below the dam a deluge hit in 1972, causing one of the
deadliest flash floods in the nation’s history.

In the 1970s, federal policy began to favor nonstructural flood
control, for example, flood plain zoning, where new construction is
directed away from hazardous areas. Recognizing that the best
damsites have already been developed and that new dams are too
costly, President Carter in 1978 adopted water policies calling for
such nonstructural measures as zoning, relocation, flood proofing,
and improved flood warning.

The building of Youghiogheny Dam started in 1939 with the
excavation of sandstone, shale, and siltstone in the narrow gap
above Confluence. Contractors completed the emergency spillway
and began the dam itself, but because materials, labor, and money
were needed for the war, the Army Corps halted work one year
later. Until the dam was built as high as the spillway, a major flood
could have filled the reservoir and poured over the breast of the
dam, destroying it. At a meeting in 1942, Army Corps officials
argued that failure of the dam could cause damage as great as an
enemy bombing raid. They decided to finish the job.

Confluence boomed with 500 men working around the clock,

86 § Youg/aiogbeny: Appalachian River

packing 18,000 cubic yards of shale a day to finish the dam before
the spring floods of 1943. They completed most of the project early
that year, except for the half-mile-long Route 40 bridge that was
delayed because priority on steel was given to ships and tanks.

With full operation in 1948, the dam became part of the plumb-
ing system that keeps Pittsburgh dry during floods and water flow-
ing during drought. It is, in essence, Pittsburgh’s dam, built for the
urban good, and it reinforces a fact of life along the Youghiogheny
and throughout the Appalachians: to be in the mountains means to
be out of the mainstream, but it also means to have resources taken
away. Loggers cut trees, mainly for use elsewhere. Coal was hauled
away, leaving only yellow streams of acid mine drainage. Railroads
shuttled local people, but mainly they hauled out raw materials.
The coke industry that thrived on the lower Youghiogheny at Con-
nellsville was a cornerstone to the steel empire of Pittsburgh. The
mountains were a colonized territory, nourishing Pittsburgh’s indus-
trial growth.

The dam is just one more chapter: through a political process and
the Army Corps of Engineers, the river, the land, and two towns
were permanently flooded to avoid temporary but costlier flooding
of Pittsburgh and other towns. For the city’s good, the government
bought the land, even though there were mountain people who did
not want to give it up.

If you want to see the Youghiogheny River, you can go look at it:
the source at the high ridge, Swallow Falls, Sang Run and the wild
river, Friendsville, Confluence, Ohiopyle, Connellsville, and on to
McKeesport. For 110 of 132 miles, seeing the river is no problem so
long as you can drive, walk, paddle, swim, and maybe trespass and
be shot, or bit by a rattlesnake. But twenty-two of the miles are
different because they are buried and there is no way to see them. It
won’t be long—twenty or thirty years at most—until all the people
who remember the dammed part of the river are dead. What is
down there under today’s reservoir? What went on when that was a
river and a valley?

Elsie Spurgeon, a retired schoolteacher in Confluence, used to live
at Jockey Hollow, across the river from Somerfield, now under
thirty feet of water. “Nobody wanted to move,” she says. “Not one
person. We were very happy there. It was an old town. It meant a
lot to us; a lot had gone on there.”

The Dam § 87

Elsie has her mind on more recent history, but the things that
people did along that stretch of the Youghiogheny began about ten
thousand years ago. Underneath’s today’s reservoir lie twenty
known archaeological sites, and this may be a small fraction of
them all. Indians probably forded the river near Somerfield when
they first entered the area.

In 1753, George Washington passed the site of Somerfield, which
explorers called the Great Crossings, just upstream (south) of to-
day’s Route 40 bridge. In 1754 he again camped at the Crossings.
Because it blocked the path and forced travelers to wade, the
Youghiogheny became a landmark and a challenge on the trail
west. On May 18 Washington wrote, “The waters being yet very
high, hindered me from sending forward my men and my baggage
wherefore I determined to set myself in a position of defense against
any immediate attack from the Enemy, and went down to observe
the river.”

Washington was one of the earliest (perhaps the first) white men
to canoe down the Youghiogheny. He explored the river because he
thought it might offer the easiest route to Pittsburgh. On May 20 he
wrote: “Embarked in a canoe with Lieut. West, three soliders, and
one Indian; and having followed the river along about a half a mile,
were obliged to come ashore, where I met Peter Suver, a trader,
who seemed to discourage me from seeking a passage by water; that
made me change my purpose of causing canoes to be made; I
ordered my men to wade as the water was shallow enough, and
continued myself going down the river. Now finding our canoes
were too small for six men, we stopped and built a Boat; with
which, together with our canoe, we reached Turkey-Foot.” The
account is confusing. Parts of Washington’s journal may have been
omitted or incorrectly translated after the book was later left at Fort
Necessity and confiscated by the French. But it appears certain that
Washington canoed from Great Crossings to Turkey-Foot—the site
of Confluence. Then beyond.

The Somerfield-to-Confluence section, now dammed, was prob-
ably similar to the Youghiogheny below Friendsville, where the
river runs in quick riffles, tightly shaded by beech, hemlock, and
sycamore. Washington would have seen rocky mountainsides alter-
nating with broad flood plains that were later farmed.

He paddled around Big Bend—halfway between Somerfield and
the dam. Here is the largest, widest expanse of water in the reser-

88 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

voir, but until 1943 it was a gravel—bottomed stream making two
bends through meadows encircled by mountains. On topographic
maps, it appears that the Youghiogheny’s Victoria loop, down-
stream between Confluence and Ohiopyle, is almost a carbon copy
of the submerged Big Bend.

In June 1755, Washington again forded at the Great Crossings
with General Braddock and his army. Captain Robert Orme wrote,
“The 24th of June we marched at five in the morning, and passed
the second branch of the Yoxhio Geni, which is about one hundred
yards wide, about three feet deep, with a very strong current.” After
their defeat on the Monongahela, Braddock’s survivors retreated,
and on the day the general died, his men crossed to the eastern bank
of the Youghiogheny where they cached supplies, probably near
today’s Somerfield marina, so that the wounded and stragglers
would not starve and die on their return to Cumberland.

In 1912 the Flood Commission of Pittsburgh described the area:
“From Friendsville to a point several miles beyond Confluence, the
valley widens considerably, and the stream, for the greater part of
the distance, flows in level flood plains, which are in pasture or
cultivation and alternate from side to side.” The 1931 topographic
map shows the river winding more than it does below Friendsville
or Confluence. Farmers worked many stretches, especially the flats
at Horseshoe Bend one mile above today’s dam, and at Big Bend.
Army Corps records list 1,000 acres cultivated, 430 pastured, and
1,300 wooded. Dirt roads and the Confluence and Oakland Rail-
road followed the shore to Friendsville.

Some of the region’s pioneers settled along this stretch. Captain
Evan Shelby, in 1769, started Shelbysport, Garrett County’s largest
town until after the Civil War when the railroad spurred Oakland
to prominence.

Another early settler was John Potter, who left New Jersey in
1787 and settled on the west side of the Great Crossings at Jockey
Hollow. Potter family lore says that he was a captain in the revolu-
tionary war and rode in Washington’s boat during the crossing of
the Delaware on Christmas Eve, 1776. How Potter discovered the
Youghiogheny site is unknown. Maybe he was traveling west,
stopped to dry his clothes after fording the Youghiogheny, and
stayed. Or maybe soliders who had been across Braddock’s Road
twenty years before during the French and Indian War told him
about the beautiful, isolated valley.

The Dam § 89

Potter operated a distillery near the Youghiogheny, served as jus-
tice of the peace, and in his log cabin he housed travelers, including
soldiers dispatched to quell the Whiskey Rebellion in Uniontown.
He wrote a 251-page book published in 1820, titled An inquiry
concerning the most important truths, namely: what God is—where
he dwells—what that knowledge of God and Christ is, which is life
eternal: what the atonement is, and for whom made: how an inter-
est therein is obtained, and respecting predestination and the Meth-
odist doctrine concerning it. Potter had four wives (three died be-
fore he did in 1826) and nineteen children, eight dying as infants.

Potter built a Youghiogheny bridge which was burned after some-
one dumped a barrel of tar on the wooden deck and struck a match.
No one knows the motive. A three-arch stone bridge was built in
1818, north of today’s Route 40 crossing. Under the reservoir’s
surface, the stone bridge still stands, and when the Army Corps
drops the water to a very low level, the old relic appears like a
muddy spook from John Potter’s days.

In the late 1700s Jockey Hollow had nine houses, a store, a
blacksmith shop, and Flanigan’s Tavern on Braddock’s Road.
Nearby, John Piper laid out a racetrack, which may be where the
name Jockey Valley came from. A flour mill stood there, though the
first in Henry Clay Township was near the mouth of Tub Run, now
underwater near the Army Corps’s Tub Run recreation area. In the
1930s, a dozen or more families lived here. Today, the Jockey Hol-
low picnic area sits at the reservoir’s edge.

Somerfield, on the east side of the river, was founded by Philip
Smyth in 1818 and was first called Smythfield. Being on the Na-
tional Road (which became Route 40 in the 19203) the community
prospered. “It was a great little town,” Elsie Spurgeon says. Her
father ran a store in Jockey Hollow, and Elsie began teaching
school in the 19205. “There was the McCullough store and Jim
Hook’s store,” she says of old-time Somerfield, “and a Methodist
church, drugstore, and garage. The Great Crossings Inn was there,
and so was the Cornish Arms, which was a noted hotel.” President
William McKinley vacationed there during several summers. “In the
twenties there was a new school where I taught, and a bank that
closed in 1929 with the crash. Dr. ]acobs’s old flour mill was there.
There must have been a hundred houses, and they were nice. It was
nicer than Friendsville and the houses were bigger. No shacky
places like you can find in Confluence. Senator Endsley’s house was

90 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

there, and Bob Augustine’s house was a mansion. The Confluence
and Oakland trains stopped, and when I was real young I remember
people would come to town with wagons and teams of horses, and
they’d load lumber onto the trains. It was quite a busy place.

“We had a rope swing below the bridge, and there was a deep
hole where a few people drowned over the years. There were some
shelters on an island where we’d have picnics, and on up river there
were Presbyterian and other church camps. Then farms like the
Colyer’s and Glover’s and others went clear up to Friendsville, and
we figured it would be that way forever.”

While Elsie Spurgeon knew the Somerfield area of the old
Youghiogheny, George Groff, another retired schoolteacher in Con-
fluence, knew the lower end. “Kids from town would walk up there
all the time—up the dirt road, then duck down over the bank to the
river. There were swimming holes and deep fishing holes: the
Hanna hole, Flannigan, and Flat Rock hole. It was quite a bass
fishing stream. I remember a twenty-two-inch smallmouth I caught.
Later on I took gangs of kids up there and we’d camp a few weeks
every summer and live on fish. We’d pole a flat-bottomed boat—it
was shallow with gravel, but had deep holes. There were no steep
rapids anywhere up there, not even at the dam site. We’d stay at the
old Hannah place, a big Victorian farmhouse that the Clouses
owned. There was a Tiffany lamp in there four feet around and I
often wondered what happened to it. There had been log booms at
different places—chains of logs in the water where they’d catch
timber as it came floating down the stream. Then they’d pull it out
and cut it in the sawmills.

“Back before my time, excursion trains from Pittsburgh would
come, and guys from the livery stable in Confluence would meet
people and take them to the river up above the dam. There were
farms along some sections. The river bottoms are the good farming
areas around here with soil that washed off the hillsides, six feet,
ten feet, even deeper.

“The first I heard talk of the dam was in the thirties. Men would
sit in my Uncle Dokie’s store and talk about it. Eventually someone
would say, ‘Ah hell, they’ll never build it.’ J. Buell Snyder was the
congressman in Washington, and he’s the one who pushed it. He
was a Democrat, and up here it’s three to one Republican. People
up here didn’t want it. They didn’t like being run out or told what
to do. You know how people hate changes anyway. I never heard of

The Dam § 91

anybody opposing it though.” These people were unlike the West
Virginians whose objection to the West Fork dam caused the Army
Corps to look elsewhere.

“People just resigned themselves to it,” George continues. “The
last time I was up there with a bunch of kids, we weren’t really
thinking much about the dam. We were thinking about the war. We
were concerned about the draft.”

Elsie Spurgeon’s family thought about the dam because they had
to move. She recalls, “Neighbors would come over and gather in
my dad’s store and some would say, ‘There’s going to be a dam and
they’re going to take our houses,’ but most people thought that was
the weirdest thing and that it would never happen in our times.”

Country store skeptics in Confluence, Somerfield, and Selbysport
declared, “They’ll never build that thing,” and they would have
been right, but then the flood of 1936 made this project a pushover.
Because of the Depression, and the floods, and the war, decisions
came rapidly. Action was the priority, and in two years the Army
Corps designed the dam and began construction—a process that
now takes at least a decade.

Elsie continues, “Next thing we knew, the government came in
making arrangements to buy all the property. Some of the business
people downtown held out for more money, but most took what
they offered. No one tried to fight it. In these little towns there isn’t
enough push to retain anything.”

“The old country boys, they didn’t organize like they do today,”
George Groff reflects. “If that was today, someone would get ahold
of it. Times have changed.”

Elsie says, “The worst of it was that it came during the Depression.
The bank closed and Dad lost his money. The Army Corps of Engi-
neers bought our house. It was close to Christmas time and my brother
came in and said they declared war and it about killed us because I had
three brothers. Those things all happened about at once.”

The Army Corps listed acquisitions of 115 buildings in Somer-
field (population 142) and Selbysport (population 150), 8 mills, 20
stores, 77 farm buildings, 25 cottages, 3 schools, 4 churches, 7
“oil” stations, a camp, hotel, theater, and 185 graves. For farmland
they paid $55 to $100 an acre, for woodland $35, and for town
lots, $600 an acre. This was before government relocation assis-
tance: the Army Corps bought the homes and the locals were left
scurrying for cover.

92 § Youghiog/aeny: Appalachian River

In Pittsburgh—below the dam instead of above it—the outlook
could not have been more different. Enthusiasm ran high. A head-
line in the Pittsburgh Press on December 29, 1943, said: “Gigantic
Youghiogheny Dam at Confluence Completed, 9-Million-Dollar
Flood Control Project Cuts 17-Mile Swath Through Somerset
County.” The reporter wrote, “Today the great dam stands as a
monument to the ingenuity of Army engineers.”

“We didn’t visualize the water at all,” Elsie recalls. “It was the
breaking up of the town that we thought about. We were very
close, and then people scattered like the wind. Eight or ten families
came here to Confluence, but it was hard to find housing. Some
went to Addison. Some to Uniontown. Jim Hooks is in Connells-
ville. The people who owned the Great Crossings Inn are in Florida.
You hardly ever see any of them now, except when there’s a funeral
of someone from Somerfield. Then it’s a homecoming.”

I ask what she thinks of the dam today.

“It’s sort of a blessing. It could have been selfish to try to save
our homes. The dam slows down the floods now, and people from
all around come here for recreation.”

The Army Corps of Engineers reports that 1,122,589 people
visited Youghiogheny River Lake in 1980. Three hundred motor-
boats are moored at the marina which floats above old Somerfield
foundations, 500 motorboats are tied at 101 private docks around
the lake, and many more boats are shuttled up for weekend use
only. The Army Corps says that “boaters consider the Youghio-
gheny the best power boating and waterskiing lake in western Penn-
sylvania.” Corps data show that of fifteen dams in the Pittsburgh
District, Youghiogheny ranked first in numbers of water-skiers, sec-
ond in boaters, third in fishermen, and fifth in total use.

Youghiogheny Reservoir is so busy that on weekends there are
only 6.5 acres of water to a boat (there are 2,840 acres total in the
summertime pool). “Optimum” density is considered 8.5 acres,
which means that the lake is crowded. The Army Corps does not
encourage more motorboaters, and will not expand the three public
launch areas.

Fisherman also flock to Yough Lake, known for its walleye and
smallmouth bass. Other species are the northern pike, tiger muskel-
lunge, largemouth bass, and fish that anglers brag less about: the
northern hogsucker, black Crappie, channel catfish, golden shiner,

The Dam § 93

white sucker, carp, and minnows. Yet the Army Corps reports that
the reservoir is not highly productive. Corps ecologists use the term
oliogotrophic, which means low in nutrients, or infertile. They say
that the fluctuation in pool levels is an “adverse influence” during
fish spawning periods and prevents the growth of weed beds. With
few plants, insect life is sparse, and without insects to eat, fish are
few and stunted. Most fishing is done from boats on weekdays,
since the banks of the reservoir are muddy, steep, and without
access, and on weekends the lake is busy with water skiers. Swim-
ming is popular at the Somerfield and spillway beaches. Three
campgrounds fill up during weekends, June through August.

In its 1979 Master Plan Update, the Army Corps says that recre-
ation demands exceed capability. “The Youghiogheny River Lake
project has extremely limited potential for accommodating addi-
tional recreational facilities because of site constraints including
steep topography, poor soils, limited land between the lake and the
government property line, limited access opportunities and other
factors.” In other words, the lake is about as popular right now as
it ought to get.

Many landowners around the reservoir cut their timber, then sold
lots to visitors who had discovered the lake and wanted a piece for
themselves. Along with motorboats, cabins proliferated. Hundreds,
owned mostly by Pittsburgh area residents, dot the mountainsides.
People come for vacations, summer weekends, and for hunting in
the fall.

Red Jordan was one of the first people to come here for fun.
“Thirty years ago a friend and I hadia motorboat that we’d put in
at Somerfield,” Red recalls. “We had one of those surfboard saucers
that you pull behind, and we’d go out in that thing all summer long.
We put a chair on it and stood up. We took it out one day when it
was snowing. Big army coat overtop a life jacket that’d float you
from here up,” and Red draws a line beneath his bushy mustache.
“We were crazy.”

Red is now gray but still crazy. He is a retired plumber with
arthritis, but he lives at his Big Bend cabin until the snow flies. He
likes it better than his Monongahela valley home at Elizabeth. He
doesn’t do much; doesn’t need to. Red has mastered the art of
relaxing and takes it easy, either alone or with his wife, Aggie.

His cabin——small and warm, white frame with red trim—arrived
in large pieces. It had been built up near Sugarloaf, above Ohiopyle.

Down the River

River Miles

Site (from source)
Silver Lake 1.0
Pleasant Valley 4.0
Charcoal Hill Gap 14.5
Snowy Creek confluence 15.0
Crellin 15.2
Little Youghiogheny

confluence 19.5
Oakland bridge 19.8
Miller’s Run confluence 22.8
Swallow Falls 27.0
Deep Creek confluence 27.8
Deep Creek Dam outlet 29.2
Sang Run Bridge 33.0
Site of Kendall 39.5
Friendsville 42.0
Youghiogheny Reservoir

(upper end) 43.0

Site of Selbysport (now flooded

by Youghiogheny Reservoir) 45.0
Site of the Great Crossings

(now flooded by

Youghiogheny Reservoir) 51.5
Route 40 bridge 51.6
Site of Somerfield and National

Road crossing (now flooded

by Youghiogheny Reservoir) 51.7
Jockey Hollow (now flooded by

Youghiogheny Reservoir) 52.0

River Miles
Site (from source)
Big Bend 55.0
Youghiogheny Dam 59.0
Jim Prothero’s house and
River Path headquarters 59.8
Confluence 60.0
Casselman River confluence 60.4
Ohiopyle State Park,
upper boundary 61.8
Laurel Hill gap 61.0-71.0
Sugarloaf Mountain 65.0
Victoria Flats 67.0
Elephant Rock 70.0
Ohiopyle 70.5
Ohiopyle Falls 70.8
The Loop 70.8-72.5
Meadow Run confluence 71.2
Kentuck Mountain 71.5
Dimples Rapid 75.0
Jonathan Run confluence 75.5
Stewarton 77.5
Bruner Run take-out 78.0
Ohiopyle State Park,
lower boundary 79.0
Indian Creek confluence 81.5
Exit from Chestnut Ridge gap 86.0
South Connellsville 86.5
Powerhouse Dam 87.2
Connellsville 88.0

ix

94 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

“But the kids liked it here. They liked the lake,” Red explains. In
the family, the kids enjoyed a lot of jurisdiction; there are five of
them. The Sugarloaf house cost fifty dollars. “I had thirty-five and
told the owner, ‘I’ll pay you the rest next week.’ ” Red cut the
dwelling in two and hauled it on a flatbed truck to this mountain-
side. For two years he improved it. “Those windows—they’re from
a church. But those ones-——they’re from a bar. You can see through
’em all. That redwood—I took that off a house back home, and that
pipe—that was left over from a job. Didn’t spend five hundred
dollars on the whole thing.” For twenty—seven years the cabin has
been the site of good times at Youghiogheny Reservoir.

When Red, Aggie, and their children first came here, they didn’t
have a boat club membership, and at Big Bend, you are nobody if
you are not a boat club member. You may not moor a boat, nor
may you set foot on the dock, and the only alternative is a quag-
mire-shoreline. You must be on the water to enjoy it. “We went
down swimming,” Red says. “The kids wanted to jump off the
dock and I couldn’t blame ’em. A sign said Members Only, but the
kids begged, ‘Just one, Dad.’ I finally agreed. ‘Okay, just once.’

“Right after they jumped off, somebody on the hill yelled, ‘Get to
hell outta there.’ I looked up but couldn’t see anybody. I said, ‘Hey
kids, take another jump,’ and the guy somewhere up the hill yelled,
‘Get to hell off the dock or I’ll come knock ya’ off.’ So I said, ‘Hey
kids, you wanna jump again? Well jump again.’ Then I yelled back
up the hill, ‘You come on down and try to knock me off this
dock!’ ” That’s the way it was in the early days at Big Bend. Red
joined the boat club as soon as he got a boat.

For twenty years, Red never knew who had threatened him for
his trespass. Then in 1974, only one day after he retired as a plum-
ber, he walked down to the dock. “All the sudden I was hit with
this attack of pain so sharp I couldn’t stand it. I passed out. Hell of
a way to start retirement, isn’t it? It was the arthritis but everyone
thought I had a heart attack. As I came to, I could hear voices, like
they were real far away. A woman was crying. Couldn’t see any-
body. Just a fog. Then there was this voice that finally came clear. It
was Loftus saying, ‘Hey Red, ya think ya can still punch me out?’ ”

Red has proved that even with stiffening arthritis, he can have
fun. It only requires special planning. For example, several of the
Jordan children—now adults—arrived with a motorboat in tow for
a weekend of water-skiing. Rather than have Red walk to the dock,

The Dam )5 95

the team of sons reasoned it would be easier for him to board the
boat at the cabin, ride in it on its trailer down the rocky hill, and sit
there while his capable red-headed children backed the trailer into
the lake and launched. Red agreed, “I guess so.” All went smoothly
until the critical moment when the trailer entered the reservoir and
the boys lifted the front end. The boat—with Red on board—would
not slide backward into the lake. It was stuck. Only by rocking the
trailer up and down and giving their father a disrespectful mechani-
cal-bull-ride did they finally wrench the craft free. The kids have
inherited Red’s sense of humor: “Isn’t it awful how old people are
treated these days,” one son commented while his brothers huffed
and puffed with the trailer and Red clutched his plumber’s hat and
fumbled for a handhold.

People like the Jordans visit the reservoir all summer to ride
motorboats, water-ski, swim, fish, and escape from the day-to-day
of wherever they are from. Many are escaping from the heat and
the crowded mill towns along the Monongahela and Ohio. It is easy
to see why they enjoy the place, and it is easy to see why they leave
in the fall. The road into Big Bend is steep, narrow, and rough in
one of the most snowed-upon regions of Pennsylvania. The power
fails. Nobody is around. The lake is drawn down for spring floods
when Pittsburgh’s dryness depends on empty space in the reservoir
to catch runoff. Like residual soap in a half-drained bathtub, a wide
mud ring encircles what remains of the lake, and by nearly anyone’s
standards, it is ugly. The festive, Vacation atmosphere of summer is
replaced by an icy silence. People staying for the winter must be
ready for the hardships and isolation.

The Hutchinsons are the only people who live year-round near
the lake at Big Bend. Bob is in his seventies; Evelyn, her sixties.
Bob has had a heart attack; Evelyn has a bad hip, but she is
recovering. She began swimming in the lake only a month after
her operation. They own a four-wheel-drive vehicle with a snow-
plow; Bob is the Big Bend road crew. Their water supply comes
from a spring; their heat from a wood-burning stove with electric
backup. They keep a CB radio but can reach almost nobody from
their sheltered mountainside.

Bob is a Youghiogheny native. His relatives were among the first
settlers along the lower river near Dawson, below Connellsville.
The sixth generation still farms there. Bob first discovered this part
of the river as a child. “The bass fishing right down there was the

96 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

best,” he says, pointing to the lake, to what used to be the river.
Spiker’s Hole was his favorite.

Evelyn also traveled to the Youghiogheny in the early days.
“When we were in high school down at Brownsville we’d come up
to Somerfield and go out on an island for picnics and to swim,” she
recalls. “It was nice, but now more people enjoy it with the lake.”

When the dam was being built, before the United States entered
World War II, Bob piloted B-25 ’s across the ocean to Britain. He
worked on development of the atomic bomb in Los Alamos, New
Mexico. He also worked as a highway engineer and a commercial
airplane pilot.

In 1948, while living at Brownsville on the Monongahela, the
Hutchinsons bought their cabin at the reservoir so they could get
away, so their children would have a place to play. Bob and Evelyn
moved here full-time in 1975, but they have yet to retire. Bob sells
heavy hardware, driving to businesses, mining companies, and con-
struction outfits throughout southwestern Pennsylvania. This cou-
ple doesn’t stay at Big Bend because of convenience, but because
they like it. Evelyn says, “I’d go crazy in town, nothing there to
look at. Here I have the woods and the birds and raccoons and deer
that come up in the yard. The kids love to come back in the summer
and water-ski. This is a place where we can all get together.”

The reservoir divides the Youghiogheny. Above, it is Maryland’s
river; below, Pennsylvania’s. The Mason Dixon line, surveyed in the
17605 and later the demarcation between North and South, crosses
the reservoir above Somerfield, and it divides more than the juris-
dictions of states. People of the upper river travel to Oakland, Cum-
berland, and Baltimore; lower residents to Uniontown, Connells-
ville, and Pittsburgh. The river is mostly uncontrolled above, but
below the dam, the Youghiogheny is governed by the gates in an
eighteen-foot tunnel that enables men to turn the water on and off
like a spigot.

The dam divides the river, and it also divides people. There are
those who know the Youghiogheny only as a reservoir—as a place
to motorboat and water-ski. Others know the Youghiogheny only
as a river—a place to canoe, kayak, or raft, a flowing waterway. A
few people know it as both. My brother, for example, water-skis at
Big Bend, and he canoes and kayaks in the whitewater. But he is
rare. Most people prefer either the lake or the river.

The Dam 3" 97

On a quiet weekday in the summer, I paddle my canoe out onto
the reservoir. I practice bracing and cross-stroking. It is mainly
exercise that I am after. Along the shore, mud clouds the water, but
ten feet out it is clear, metallic green where the hillside falls deep.
Rain is coming. The wind picks up and dark triangles of waves
reflect the sky’s silver. I get the urge to paddle, so I stroke far from
shore. In a canoe, you sit low on the water; you can feel as much in
it as on it. The expanse of Big Bend suddenly seems huge; it engulfs
me. I look around and enjoy the sensation of a vast circle of water. I
accept the reservoir for what it is, for the good that it does, but my
mind drifts back in curiosity about what was here; about how we
have changed this piece of land, about the river and the life than ran
100 feet below where I float.

What is down there today is a lot of mud—four feet deep in much
of the reservoir. Each year, 197.8 acre-feet of mud settles to the
bottom. In thirty years mud has totaled 5,935 acre-feet, taking up
2.34 percent of the reservoir’s space. At the end of 100 years (the
proiected life of the dam for interest-payment purposes) there will
be 19,780 acre-feet of mud, thirteen feet deep, according to an
Army Corps study in 1975. If the dam lasts long enough, the lake
will eventually fill with mud.

As reservoirs go, this one is okay. It lessens floods by half a foot
in Pittsburgh, dilutes acid mine drainage, and raises the flow for
rafters. But I feel no magic in the place. People have fun here—so
do I—but I feel no power or fascination for this big valley gorged
with water that is stored and released according to those graphs in
Gene Amocida’s downtown Pittsburgh office.

Anybody who worships nature would pay homage someplace
else, and people who worship material things would go someplace
else, too. Maybe to the upper Ohio Valley, which is what this dam
is for. By building the dam, we were able to improve upon Pitts-
burgh, since it was built on the flood plain, but this place did not
need improving. This part of the Youghiogheny would have suited
me fine when George Washington canoed it. It seems that the place
has vanished forever.

This dam is the closest thing to permanent that has been built
along the Youghiogheny River. The dam will last hundreds or thou-
sands of times longer than houses, bridges, or roads. Sections of the
Pennsylvania Turnpike, abandoned in the 1960s, are already yield-
ing to poison ivy, blackberries, and sumac. It will take longer for

98 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

the dam to disintegrate, but it is not really permanent. It requires
upkeep all the time. In 1981 the Army Corps fixed the eighteen-
foot-diameter tunnel. The original concrete walls were wearing out,
so they were replaced with stainless steel.

It strains our imagination to think of things collapsing, but look-
ing into the deep waters of the reservoir, my mind wanders off in
that direction. Scientists say that the earth is 4.75 billion years old,
and that many mountain ranges have come and gone. The rocks
around me are 500 million years old. If this were represented by a
string 500 feet long, written history would occupy only one-tenth of
an inch. People have lived along the Youghiogheny for only 10,000
years.

Modern technological society is just over 100 years old, already
showing the ability to self-destruct, showing a death-wish to outdo
an Ohiopyle Falls kayaker. What we regard as permanent may be
only a blink of time in the larger scheme of things. All things
considered, we may not survive as long as the dinosaurs, which we
hold up as one of nature’s inventions that did not work. They
roamed for 135 million years, compared to our two or three million
so far. Society as we know it will probably fall into ruins, and when
it does, nobody will take care of nuclear waste dumps, and nobody
will take care of Youghiogheny Dam and Youghiogheny River
Lake.

Even though the outlet tunnel is shiny stainless steel today, it will
eventually collapse or will fill with rocks and waterlogged timber.
But the river will keep running, and with no outlet, the reservoir will
fill to the brim in a rainy year or two and all the water will exit over
the emergency spillway. Then in a few years, maybe less, the 17,000
cubic yards of cement that protects the dam and makes the spillway
smooth will crack, and chunks of it will break out like the potholes
that infest the roads of western Pennsylvania. Picture, for a minute,
the full flow of a flood-stage Youghiogheny screaming over that
spillway and plucking slabs of concrete from the water’s spectacular
path. Ten-foot chunks will be tossed like toys. In no time, the river
will begin to slice into the heart of the dam itself, and from that
moment on, the dam’s days will be few.

Maybe a few years from then—maybe 1,000—the river will wear
its channel deep, rolling the Army Corps rocks like dice downriver
and digging a slot in the 184-foot pile built during a forgotten
World War II. Like the river’s cutting of the mountains, it will cut

The Dam 3" 99

the dam, only this dam will be cake. It is, after all, nothing but
loose rock and dirt, compacted only by a contractor’s earth roller;
not by the eons. The dam will not go one grain at a time the way
the Pottsville sandstone goes from Backbone Mountain. The dam
will go in hulking chunks. Someday there will be nothing but an
exciting rapid 1.2 miles above Confluence, and above there, the
bass will be superb and the riverbottom soil rich, and if any natives
are around, there may even be a ford across the Youghiogheny at
the Great Crossings, the way there was for almost 10,000 years.

Route 40 and Somerfield before flooding by Youghiogbeny Reservoir

Ceremony celebrating a survey for a flood control dam, Sornerfield, 1938

youghiogzmy above confluence, before dam consm.a;on,1941

old foundation at Millkun, Yougbiogheny Reseruzr

George Groff

Water skiing, Youghiogbeny Reservoir

Pishéfman at Confluence‘

Youghiogheny near Victoria

x § Down the River

River Miles
Site (from source)
Broadford 91.5
Dawson 94.5
Linden Hall 97.0
Layton 101.5
Layton Islands 102.0
Banning 105.0
Jacobs Creek confluence 105.8
Smithton 107.5
West Newton 1 13.0
Sewickley Creek confluence 115.5
Sutersville 1 1 7.0

River Miles
Site (from source)
Buena Vista 120.0
Boston Bridge 128.0
Versailles 128.0
McKees’port 130.0
Fifth Avenue Bridge 131.8

Monongahela River and the

end of the Youghiogheny 132.0
Pittsburgh and the Ohio

River 147.6
Mississippi River 1,113.0
Gulf of Mexico 2,082.0

Kaya/zer ]olm Lichter at Drake Rapid

Yougbiogbeny above Obiopyle

Fisherman at Ohiopyle

Chapter Five

The Confluence

long the river, below the dam, the first house belongs to Jim

Prothero, who bought it in 1977, soon after he was married.
For all he knew, the town of Confluence was going to be home
forever.

There is a certain animation about Prothero: he will point,
scratch his head, tilt back his cap, cross his arms, clap his hands,
shrug his shoulders, and laugh loudly. People enjoy his company.
His smile covers his face and pinches his eyes almost shut. During
his guiding days, some people called him “Smiley.” He is quick to
laugh, and, without trying, good at getting others to join him. He
can lighten friends’ loads and make strangers comfortable.

Prothero is as blonde as a Swede, his hair——just noticably thin in
front—is two inches long and always rustled by the wind or dishev-
eled for some other reason. A few of his grin-wrinkles at the eyes
are permanent, and his forehead easily furrows. He is thirty-one.
Unlike a typical river guide, he works indoors too much for a tan in
1981. About five-foot-ten, he stands solid and muscular, heavily
built but not fat. He always wears glasses, and usually a cap. He
carries coffee around in a thermos, smokes cigarettes but tries to
hide them, and to his oatmeal he adds sugar but calls it “white
death.”

In 1977, Prothero came as a newcomer to Confluence, but he was
no stranger to the Youghiogheny. Since 1973 he had been working
for a rafting company called Mountain Streams and Trails in Ohio-
pyle, twelve miles downriver. He guided raft trips, but more impor-

106

The Confluence § 107

tant to Ralph McCarty—the company owner—he maintained the
equipment and buildings. For this he was qualified, having grown up
in the Prothero Electric Company of Beaver, thirty miles northwest
of Pittsburgh, and graduated from Pennsylvania State University in
architectural engineering. He could wire, plumb, build, and in gen-
eral take care of things. He put these skills to work while still pad-
dling on the river a few days a week when he could splash around, be
a showoff in his kayak, meet girls, and watch the scenery.

Several things led him out of Ohiopyle. There was the ordinary
burn-out; guides seldom last longer than three or four years. There
was a disenchantment with Ohiopyle itself and with the crowds of
people that came to run the rapids. “It was a rat—race down there,”
Prothero says. “Millions of people, the money makers living off the
thrill seekers, eighty customers a trip and you had to keep them
moving. Few people had much in the way of roots or ties to the
place.

“I liked working on the river, but Ohiopyle got to be a dead end.
At Mountain Streams and Trails we had a lot of bosses, a lot of
experienced guys. Ralph McCarty owned the company and his son,
Mark, managed it when he came back from Vietnam. Fish [Bob
Seiler] took care of scheduling the guides, and Al Davis had been
around a long time too. Too many chiefs, and you knew you’d
never move up, because Mark was there, and Mike——his younger
brother—was coming right behind him.”

Then came his marriage. Cindy had worked in the gift shop at the
Falls during her last summer in high school. A few years later she
returned for a river trip, met Jim Prothero, and eventually stayed.
They lived in a cabin outside Ohiopyle: wood stove, snowdrifts,
water from a spring, an outhouse, and a frigid winter. Cindy had
always been a city girl, a Pittsburgh girl, and the changes didn’t
come easily. Later she became accustomed to country living, but the
cabin was a bit much. They looked around for something else.

Prothero wanted a river business of his own, and in those days he
did not have to look far. The Youghiogheny above Ohiopyle is one
of the better beginner and intermediate canoeing rivers in the East,
especially during summer when other streams dry up. The twelve
miles from Confluence down is the right length for a one-day trip,
but also long enough for two days if you go slowly, hike, and look
around. No road follows the river. After the first three miles, no
houses remain because both sides are Ohiopyle State Park. Class II

108 § Youghiog/aeny: Appalachian River

rapids are excellent for the intermediate paddler and, except in high
water, are not too hazardous for a beginner with some experience.

In 1977, few people had discovered this reach, now called the
“middle” Yough, but Prothero could imagine more coming; in ad-
dition to the river being so suitable, Confluence is near Ohiopyle,
which had become the most popular whitewater boating site in the
nation with park visitation of more than one million in 1977 (2.3
million in 1980). Yet few canoeists were experienced enough to run
the difficult rapids below Ohiopyle. A canoeing business on the
gentler middle Youghiogheny seemed to be a sure thing.

Jim had only been to Confluence once or twice, but Cindy
worked near Ohiopyle at a rehabilitation center, and while taking
boys to the doctor’s office in Confluence she noticed that the two-
story house across the bridge from town was for sale. Lance Martin
and Wendell Holt, who own rafting companies in Ohiopyle, had
looked at the property but decided against buying it.

The Protheros bought the house and nine acres for $40,000 and
moved in. Cindy filled the place with antiques that they bought at
auctions all over the mountains. She intended to open an antique
and crafts shop. They worked out plans to remodel the house.

The typical river-thrills trip was not Prothero’s idea. He wanted
to get people down the river, but also to create new opportunities,
to offer a program that would lead to something more for the
customers. He saw his section of the Youghiogheny as a place for
discovery, a place for people to begin doing their own river trips,
and he named his business River Path.

The beginnings were modest: Prothero bought twenty-five canoes
and rented them for $20 a day. He planned to develop facilities and
skills for additional programs, but the status of these remained
somewhere between a dream and a plan. As a profit-making river,
the middle Youghiogheny had potential, nothing more. Remember-
ing his first summer, Prothero says, “There was some money com-
ing in, but a lot of money going out. Those canoes didn’t come
cheap, and one drive over the mountain to Ohiopyle to shuttle the
customers back cost ten dollars.” In 1978 he made $3,000 and
spent $15,000. Only a family-backed loan sustained cash-flow.
With enough business, plus an instruction program and an equip-
ment store, River Path might pay its way, but that would be some-
time later.

To make ends meet, Prothero started a contracting business, “Do-

The Confluence § 109

mg what I knew how to do,” he says. He bought more tools and
equipment, hired some help, and went to work building and remod-
eling houses near Confluence. He always had jobs, but between the
two businesses he labored sixteen hours a day, always pushing.
“That’s what I thought you were supposed to do,” he says. “My
dad had always worked that way; when you have your own busi-
ness, you work until things are done. If somebody called during the
middle of dinner and said their furnace broke down, I went to fix it.
Looking back, that’s not the way I’d do it again. Now I’d wait until
we’d finish dinner.”

He was doing hundreds of things for the first time: hiring men,
framing a split-level house, doubling insulation, mulling over tax
forms. Sometimes he would lose money on a job and see all that
time spent for nothing. He would fall asleep at his desk when he
tried to work up estimates at one o’clock in the morning. It was a
lot of labor and pressure. Partly because of this and maybe due to
other things, the Protheros split up.

Jim sat in the old house with twenty canoes chained to the fence
and orders for two houses to build. “It throws you for a good one,”
he says. “Everything I had planned on was gone.” The first week
after the breakup, Prothero assigned his crew to gut the house. They
tore out the interior walls and ceilings as preparation for remodel-
ing, though Prothero knew that the future floor plan would be
different from what had been considered. He landed more contract-
ing jobs and rebuilt houses in Uniontown.

“I wanted to see if I could make it in the real world,” Prothero
says, the “real world” being something other than the river. He had

grown up building things; doing that was the reality of life. He was

also living in a community where the basics are the important
things; in Confluence, the essential things count, almost to the ex-
clusion of everything else. Does that mean that river trips are too
frivolous to be a part of the “real” world? Is the real world made of
nuts and bolts, of keeping the truck running and the roof water-
tight, or doing work that people have to have done—work that they
are more willing to pay for than canoe trips? Prothero was not the
only river guide to ask these questions, not the only one to resolve
them—for the time being——on the side of tradition, work ethic,
money, and security.

Staying in Confluence didn’t feel right anymore. The place was
too rural, too remote to make it on his own. To go so far out, it

110 J Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

seems that most people need a partner. There is too much work for
one person and not enough play. There are no support groups, and
few young adults. In Confluence, family life is the big thing. This
town could be a good place for a couple or a family, but for a single
person it is lonely.

In the summer of 1980, Jim’s father talked to him about the
electrical business. The Prothero brothers, sisters, and cousins had
no interest in inheriting the company, successful though it was.
Would Jim come back to help run the business? A career and a
steady income waited for him, and it looked better than living
alone, scrambling for building contracts in a depressed housing in-
dustry in the most depressed counties of an economically declining
state. It was hard to leave the river, but harder to stay, so Prothero
returned to Beaver. He did not give up the river business; he still did
what he could to keep that dream alive.

Every Friday night from May to September he drove up to Con-
fluence, two-and-a-half hours. He rented canoes, repaired gear, ran
shuttle, then returned home at midnight on Sunday. Even with mar-
ginal attention, the business began to flourish. It paid the bills but
no salary.

While all this was happening to Prothero, Jim Wilson taught high
school shop in Washington, Pennsylvania. Like Prothero, he trav-
eled to the Youghiogheny on weekends, but his reason was to catch
trout. After fishing at Yough Dam four or five times, Wilson began
to wonder what was down below. While driving over Sugarloaf
Mountain from Confluence to Ohiopyle, he pictured the river in
that lonely gorge, parallel to the road but two miles away, inaccessi-
ble. He imagined twelve miles of trout pools, and curiosity got the
best of him. The next time he went to Confluence, Jim Wilson
rented a canoe from Jim Prothero.

The fishing wasn’t bad but the paddling was excellent. Wilson
rented again, stopping to talk with Prothero for half an hour, and at
the end of the day, helping him load boats at the take-out. Wilson,
whose marriage had also recently dissolved, returned to do odd jobs
at the River Path house.

Early in 1981, Prothero suggested that Wilson become manager
of River Path. He had the seasonal freedom of a school teacher and
could stay in Confluence from June through August. So it was
agreed that Wilson would take care of the place and rent canoes
seven days a week instead of Prothero’s two. Prothero provided the

The Confluence § 111

land, house, and equipment; Wilson invested his time as manager.
They agreed to split any profits. With Stoney’s Beer bottles in hand,
a leaky raft exhausted on the lawn, and a pile of house—remodeling
rubble out back, they laughed loudly at the prospect of money.

Prothero was already an accomplished open canoeist, and Wilson
became one. There were days when they finished the last shuttle
from Ohiopyle to Confluence, then tied Blue Hole canoes on top of
their cars and drove to Ohiopyle to run the Loop (a 1.7 mile section
of the river with good rapids) at nine o’clock. “You like to paddle
in the dark?” I ask, and Prothero says, “With five shuttles on Sun-
day, that’s the only time we can do it. You get good night-vision
and good ears.” For a stunt, they both Eskimo-roll their canoes-
they roll the boat upside down, stay in it underwater, then roll it
back upright with the use of their paddle.

Prothero and Wilson have combinations of talents. Wilson is a
craftsman on a small scale. He rebuilds the wooden gunnels of the
River Path fleet and repairs paddles. Prothero is a builder. He will
reconstruct the house into a shop, office, and living quarters.
Eventually.

Prothero has a way of talking that makes people feel at home. He
answers the telephone, listens for awhile, then asks, “How much
experience do you have?” He listens, then says, “Sounds like what
you need is a pound of confidence. We can fix you up with that. . . .
Yeah, we’ll give it to you when you pick up the canoe.” You can get
more free information and advice from Jim Prothero than from a
preacher, although the advice is vastly different. He will stand in the
lawn talking to somebody for twenty minutes about canoe design.

Wilson is a teacher, and it shows. When he starts a group of
beginning canoeists, he talks for fifteen minutes on technique and
safety, covering everything important. Most rental dealers just take
your money, require you to sign a waiver in case you die, then point
to the river. When Wilson rents to a group of beginners during high
water, he paddles along as a guide, for no extra charge.

Prothero’s and Wilson’s dream is for River Path to become an
outdoor center. They have started a school for canoeing and kayak-
ing. They would like to guide paddlers on other, little-known rivers,
and in 1982, they offered Casselman trips for rafters. Someday they
hope to begin overnight expeditions where people can get more of a
feel for river traveling. “Let’s see what else is there besides thrills,”
Prothero suggests.

112 § Yougbiogbeny: Appalachian River

“We want to be more than a rental shop,” Wilson says. “We
want to help people and to have fun doing it. Over on the Delaware
there are outfitters who rent twelve hundred canoes a day, but they
forget how to hold a paddle. It’s nothing but a business. We don’t
want that to happen here.” Yet they know that if one of the big
outfitters in Ohiopyle wanted to try, it could start a giant-rental
program at Confluence. “With their mailing lists and promotion
and bucks, they could blow us right out of the water,” Prothero
admits.

Prothero came up here to escape the commercialism of Ohiopyle,
but it could catch up to him. What would he do then? “The minute
it becomes crowded like the lower Yough or the Cheat, my reason
for coming here is gone. Maybe we’d have to go find a new river.”
He requires elbow room; he needs to get away. But Jim Prothero is
an enigma. He wants to leave the crowd, yet his business depends
on a certain amount of crowd. It is a contradiction, but then, this
river and its people are full of contradictions. Prothero says, “Some
of us have tried the idea of living in a cabin where you don’t see
anybody. That doesn’t work. Crowds of people don’t work either.
There’s something in between those two.”

One of Prothero’s goals permeates the modern recreational
Youghiogheny: the re-creation of discovery and adventure, over and
over again in the same place. He says, “We can’t go off and run the
Amazon. Close to home, we have to learn how to enjoy and experi-
ence places, and to somehow do that without ruining them.”

Like Prothero’s house, the rest of Confluence is old, and it, too, is
somewhat gutted. One generation ago there were five hotels. Only
the Dodds Hotel remains, housing older men as long-term renters.
Elsie Spurgeon says that two of the best general stores of the region
were here. “Confluence had shops of all kinds,” George Groff re-
calls. There was a small hospital and a bakery where they sold fresh
bread Monday through Saturday. People worked in a sewing fac-
tory, a chair factory, a printing shop, a bottling plant, and a cold
storage plant. A tannery did enough business to pollute the river for
many miles. All this happened when the railroad was the way to
travel. Both the Baltimore and Ohio and the Western Maryland
stopped here, making Confluence, deep in the Appalachians, the
equivalent of a modern interstate highway intersection, although
much more liveable.

The Confluence § 113

Some turn-of-the-century railroad towns are bordered by today’s
main highways, letting old burgs thrive in spite of changing transit.
Not Confluence. Here, the more the railroads declined, the more
the town declined, because by road it is out of the way. Route 40 is
seven uphill miles south, and from there it is still a long way to
anyplace of economic note. Somerset, along the Pennsylvania Turn-
pike, lies twenty-five mountainous miles north, and of all turnpike
towns, Somerset is one of the most remote.

Confluence became a backwater within Appalachia, a place by-
passed, nestled down along the river in a mostly forgotten valley.
Call that good—out of the mainstream—or call it bad. “lt’s a shut-
in place,” Elsie Spurgeon says. “We used to have the trains, but
now there is no way out but by car. No bus service. To go to
Monroeville yesterday, I had to hire somebody to take me.”

Confluence was out-of-the-way when Christopher Gist came
through as one of the first explorers. He was a friend of George
Washington’s and in 1750 worked as an agent for the Ohio Com-
pany of Virginia, a frontier real estate firm. Gist was one of the first
settlers west of the Alleghenies, clearing a plantation beyond Ches-
nut Ridge, south of today’s Connellsville. On November 24, 1751,
he crossed the Youghiogheny, calling it the “south fork,” and
calling the site of Confluence “Three Forks” and “Turkey-foot.”
Laurel Hill Creek joins the Casselman River only a quarter mile
above its meeting place with the Youghiogheny. These three streams
were known as the South, Middle, and North Forks of the Youghio-
gheny. Even without aerial views, imaginative explorers saw that
the pattern where the three streams met resembled the toes of a
turkey, and the name Turkeyfoot stuck. Today, local governments
include an Upper Turkeyfoot Township and a Lower Turkeyfoot
Township. A Turkeyfoot Area Medical Association is trying to re-
cruit a doctor and pharmacist to an abandoned storefront in
downtown Confluence, so far without success. Students from Con-
fluence attend Turkeyfoot Area High School, but would like to
change the name.

George Washington Visited the site in 1754 during his canoe voy-
age from the Great Crossings. At the confluence on May 21, he
wrote: “Tarried there some time to examine the place, which we
found very suitable for the erection of a fort, not only because it
was gravelly, but also because it was at the mouth of the three
branches; and in some places there was a good tough bottom on

Historical Events
Along the Youghiogheny

8000 B.C. First Indians arrived (date approximate).
1600 A.D. Monongahela Indians lived in the basin.

1737
1751

1753

1754

1755

1765

1769

1775
1784

1787

1789

1794

First reference to the Youghiogheny on a map.

Christopher Gist explored the Youghiogheny at the site of
Confluence.

First journey of George Washington across the headwaters.
William Stewart lived at the site of Connellsville.
Washington’s second journey, including the first recorded
Youghiogheny canoe trip and his surrender at Fort Necessity.

English General Edward Braddock’s defeat by the French and
Indians at the Monongahela.
David McKee settled at the site of McKeesport.

John Friend settled at the site of Friendsville; William Crawford
at Connellsville.

Evan Shelby started Shelbysport (now flooded by Youghio-
gheny Reservoir).

First record of the Mitchell family in the Ohiopyle area.
George Washington’s final Youghiogheny journey, including
his search for a canal route to the Ohio Valley.

John Potter settled at Jockey Hollow (now flooded by Youghio-
gheny Reservoir).

The first iron furnace was built near Jacobs Creek (probably
the first furnace west of the Alleghenies).

Whiskey Rebellion.

xi

114 § Yougbioglveny: Appalachian River

which to build it.” Like Pittsburgh, Confluence would arise at the
meeting place of rivers, but unlike Pittsburgh, there was to be no
fort. The site never became significant or strategic enough for any-
body to care.

Among the first settlers were the brother and father of John
Friend—the first white settler in Garrett County, Maryland. Only a
few people followed. They all evacuated in 1763 for fear of Indian
raids during Pontiac’s war, but about ten families returned in 1765
and 1766 in spite of government warnings that Indian land was
off-limits. Population reached 1,031 in 1920 and has been stable
since. In 1980, 968 people lived here.

Despite its steady population, Confluence has enjoyed cycles of
boom during the lumber, mining, and railroad eras, but now it is
bust, a typical Appalachian town. No trains stop here. There is a
Ford Garage, a bank, a post office, a laundromat, two grocery
stores, two gas stations, and a restaurant named Viola’s. That is
about how things stack up. Alice’s is one of the local places to
drink, though along the main street, near the railroad tracks, there
are several bars.

Dr. Edwin Price, semiretired, keeps an office in the forty-year-old
hospital building. Dark wainscoating climbs five feet up the walls.
Brown bottles populate shelves and cabinets. In its wire cage an
electric fan sits ready. Tiny flourescent lights are circle—shaped like
halos without angels. On a squeaky glider in a sun porch, I peruse a
two-year—old U.S. News and World Report while I wait to interview
the doctor, who soon appears with his dog. We talk mainly about a
National Wild and Scenic River proposal for the Youghiogheny, a
designation that the doctor and many Confluence residents fought.

The two Confluence grocery stores are adequate for meat and
potatoes. Frozen and canned vegetables they have. I hunt for fresh
vegetables and find wrinkled green peppers and yellow-tipped broc-
coli. The celery and carrots are okay. When I check out I ask the
woman at the cash register, “When’s the fresh produce come?” She
smiles and says, “Just about every day.” I ask if they have tortillas.
She smiles more and says, “Noooo.”

The hardware store is something else again. Maybe it reflects
priorities in Confluence. First things first. You can find almost any-
thing in the hardware store.

On the nearest radio station, American Top 40 is sponsored by
the Somerset Milling Company, “For all your animal-feed needs.”

The Confluence § 115

Country and western normally dominates air time. Uniontown’s
WASP is the next-closest station.

Twenty-three percent of the people in town are sixty-five or
older, one of the highest such percentages outside nursing homes,
Florida, and Phoenix. Statewide, 12.7 percent of the people are 65
or older. Median income in 1970 remained less than $6,000. In
Somerset County, unemployment averaged 10.3 percent in 1980
(statewide it was 7.6 percent). Figures are unavailable for Conflu-
ence, but it is worse. Twenty of the 253 families collect welfare
checks.

While many of the young people emigrate, some are unable to
move, and other are stubbornly or lovingly determined to stay.
They like the quiet, the fishing, the hunting, and the friendly neigh-
bors. But jobs are scarce. George and Jane Groff’s son worked
construction and commuted to Johnstown, to Pittsburgh, and for
one summer to Du Bois, two-and-a-half hours one way. Other men
drove daily to the coke plant (it is now closed) in Clairton, one-and-
a-half hours, or to U.S. Steel’s tube plant in McKeesport.

George Groff stayed as a Confluence high school teacher for
thirty years even though he was offered better jobs in the city.
“Here it’s too nice. It’s easy to teach. No city or ethnic problems
out here.”

The largest source of jobs is the Faymore Manufacturing Com-
pany, a sewing factory hiring 120 people. More than 18 percent of
the labor force is employed in manufacturing. Only 2.9 percent
work in mining, in spite of there being 330 strip mine permits in
Somerset County. Eighteen percent are employed in trade, 12 per-
cent work in transportation, 11 percent are “professionals,” and 9
percent are in public service.

If you are looking for a quiet place and you can do without a
movie theater, a clothing store, a book store, a hospital, a bakery, a
bus station, and a job, this may be the place. If you are looking for
a good buy in real estate, do like Jim Prothero did and go to
Confluence. Properties will be turning over. There are many fine
homes. They are plain, simple, and 100 years old, but they may
outlast the new stripped-down ranch houses that sell for $60,000.
New houses built in Confluence between 1970 and 1980 totaled
two, but eight mobile homes lighted here.

People are friendly, but in a mixed way. At the hardware store,
they are happy to help you with anything, and they know all the ins

116 J Youg/aiogbeny: Appalachian River

and outs to guide you to what you need. At the Ashland Station,
through a haze of smoke, they would hardly talk to me at all, but
Jim Prothero went in, lit a cigarette, and talked for twenty minutes
about the mechanic’s plans to rent a motor-home for a Colorado
elk hunting trip. When I went to the district magistrate for a vehicle
registration renewal form and told the woman it was for a van, it
was as if I said something wrong. She asked where I was staying. I
said my brother’s cabin at the lake. “Who’s that?” she wanted to
know.

I knocked on Elsie Spurgeon’s door because I wanted to interview
her about old Somerfield. She cracked the door, then reluctantly let
me in. After she learned that I am related to a friend of hers from
Ohiopyle, everything was okay.

Prothero says, “Once these people know you, they are the friend-
liest in the world. They’ll do anything for you.” At Viola’s they love
Prothero. A wiry old man was cleaning up around us because it was
closing time. Jim said, “Bet you’d like us outta here,” but the man
said, “No, take your time. Tastes better that way, ha ha.” After Jim
and his wife had separated, he ate at Viola’s twice a day. By habit
he appeared at closing time, but they forgave him because he bused
tables and washed dishes.

Over the months, I did some time at Viola’s myself, although I
avoided late hours, and the dish-washing staff always seemed ade-
quate. In the morning, local men (only a few women) crowd the
place for breakfast or coffee.

“Know of any old Fords around, ’68 or ’69? Need a manifold.”

“Try that place up in Fairchance . . .”

“How many’d he git?”

“Foun”

“Jus’ four?”

“The limit’s four, Harry.”

“When we’d get four, we’d make another trip. Used to make
three, four trips . . .”

“Flurries up your way?”

“Flurries hell. An inch or more! October fifteenth goddamn I
don’t like it.”

When Viola returned from Texas, what she had seen was the
topic of the week. “Flat!” she said. “People fall asleep at the wheel
all the time. They drive thirty miles to go to the store. And expen-
sive! Coffee, sixty cents. A hamburger for $2.95. Meat—can’t buy

The Confluence § 117

it! Guess they can afford it. They make money on those oil rigs, but
you can have it. I couldn’t wait to get back home.” Back to moun-
tains and gradient: even if it is literally an uphill struggle, it is home.

The first morning I went to Viola’s, I forgot my wallet and had
no $2.02 for my egg, homes fries, toast, and coffee. “Don’t worry
about it. You can pay us any time,” said Eleanor Augustine, the
waitress, who had never seen me before.

One other day I met Reverend Arthur Gotjen——the Methodist
minister who also preaches in Ohiopyle. He is probably forty-five
but looks younger and wears a beard. Gotjen started out studying
biology at West Virginia Wesleyan and worked on a government-
funded project identifying coastline habitat world-wide. Then he
learned that the Department of Defense was the sponsor and that it
wanted the inventory so it could determine which herbicides to use
where. “The whole world!” reverend-to-be Gotjen said. “Something
basic is wrong here.” He decided to deal with the basics, he aban-
doned the biology program, and he entered theological school. Life
sciences remain an interest; a few years ago he taught biology part
time at Garret Community College near Deep Creek Lake. He re-
cently opposed a toxic waste dump along the Casselman.

Reverend Gotjen was asked to deliver an invocation at a 1977
meeting of government officials and 600 angry residents over the
possible designation of the Youghiogheny as a National Wild and
Scenic River. Instead of the usual, he read the 1854 letter of Chief
Seattle: “The rivers are our brothers. They quench our thirst. The
rivers carry our canoes and feed our children. If we sell you our
land, you must remember and teach your children that the rivers are
our brothers and yours; and you must henceforth give the rivers the
kindness you would give any brother. This we know, the earth does
not belong to man; man belongs to the earth.”

The Original Confluence was rich in the life of the river. Girthy
silver maples and Sycamores shaded these lowlands which were
blanketed with sandy soil delivered by the floods. Willows were
tangled near the water in thickets, excellent habitat for the beaver,
mink, muskrat, and maybe otter. Songbirds, ducks, geese, and
shorebirds were plentiful. In a land of mountains and gorges, the
river at Confluence created a great oval basin. Indians camped and
built villages——-one of them along the Casselman upstream from
today’s senior citizen housing project.

118 § Youghiog/veny: Appalachian River

The meeting of the Youghiogheny and Casselman is now
bordered by the B 8C 0 railroad on the north and the abandoned
Western Maryland right—of-way on the south. Willows still grow
redolent on the southern shore of the Youghiogheny. The point of
land between it and the Casselman floods often, so it remains with
trees and grass, but houses sit close behind. Laurel Hill Creek enters
the Casselman amid the peeling-paint homes and sagging two-story
buildings of the downtown fringe.

We have reached mile 60—almost halfway through our 132-mile
journey from the beginning to the end of the Youghiogheny. Since
its Backbone Mountain source, the river has flowed north from
West Virginia and Maryland. Here at Confluence it takes a bend to
the west and then northwest. We have left the southern, upper river.
Now we face Pittsburgh. The river will cut through the final moun-
tains and then will wind out through the foothills.

Along the entire Youghiogheny there is no other place where
waters meet as they do here from the north, the south, and the east.
At this one spot, the branches collect and become a mature river,
200 feet wide. The point of land between the Casselman and
Youghiogheny—a mile below Jim Prothero’s house and at the edge
of Confluence—is a quiet place of change, of meetings, of flowing-
together.

We can stand on the Route 281 bridge and look downstream to
where the river bends and disappears behind steep slopes, beneath
high ridges.

Below here the Youghiogheny is hundreds of time larger than its
headwaters. It does not have the pollution from Oakland, nor the
dangerous rapids of the upper river. It is not dammed by the Army
Corps of Engineers. It does not run in big whitewater as it will
below Ohiopyle, nor as the lazy water that will drift on down to
McKeesport. Instead, this is the undeveloped middle Youghiogheny
of riffles and rapids, rocks and sand, all surrounded by green. It
does not warn of danger, but drops easily, invitingly through the
mountain. It is a place for people to come along and relax, to enjoy,
and to learn about river life. It is the singing river.

Chapter Six

The Singing River

No longer can I stand on the bridge in Confluence and be con-
tent watching the Youghiogheny flow west. It is time to see
where the green current goes, to drift along, to explore the shores
from here to Ohiopyle, to run the rapids. It is time to join the river.

After packing my canoe I am off on a lonely trip, 227 years after
George Washington canoed here and wrote, “We also found other
places where the water was rapid but not so deep, and the current
smoother, we easily passed over them, but afterwards we found
little or scarce any bottom. There were mountains on both sides of
the river. We went down the river about ten miles.” Washington
would have walked almost twenty miles back to the Great Cross-
ings on May 22 and 23, but the record of that is lost. After the
French made off with Washington’s journal at Fort Necessity, their
translator, apparently having no interest in New World lay-of-the-
land, omitted notes about the return trek, writing, “From the 22nd
to the 24th the Journal contains nothing but a description of the
country.” A description of the country is what I am after, but
unfortunately, Washington’s manuscript has never been found.

Today, June 21, is the longest day and the midpoint of the year, and
it is the day when my Youghiogheny journey will take me past the
exact center of the river, halfway from source to end. In some ways,
today will show me more of the river than any other day. This is partly
because the middle Youghiogheny is natural and unpopulated, partly
because it is gentle and invites me to look around, and partly becausel
am alone and have little else to do but to notice what is here.

119

120 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Eight or maybe ten times I have canoed this part of the river with
friends in groups of two to thirty. Today, I wouldn’t go alone if
there was anybody here. I would rather celebrate this place and the
solstice with friends, but as it goes, none of those types are around.
Going alone is okay too, just me floating with the ducks.

From the dam down to the Casselman, the river gently riffles.
Shorelines on the left grow willows; on the right, lawns are mowed
by people who live there and feed the ducks with the pleasure of old
men and young children who scatter bread to pigeons in Philadel-
phia. Most of the birds are mallards, but they cohabit with snow-
white ducks and mottled mongrels in pairs and half-dozens and
flocks of twenty. Canada geese waddle here and there. To water-
fowl, the Youghiogheny promises refuge as it slips past town. Be-
yond the homes I will see the merganser—a duck that does not
mooch off riverside residents. Fisherman wade the shallows and
cast flies, lures, or bait. Rainbow trout have been stocked by the
Pennsylvania Fish Commission and they thrive in the clean, cool
water from the dam.

The Casselman River joins a mile below Jim Prothero’s house,
where I began. It is a scenic river with Class I, II, and III whitewater
for canoeing during high runoff, but the rapids are the only life. The
Casselman is without river creatures; it is polluted by mine acid that
for fifty years killed the Youghiogheny, too.

Since the Devonian era when Somerset County was tropical, the
coal and over—lying shale had been buried and inert. The water that
ran off the mountains was pure, and the Casselman was the best
bass stream to be found. During World War I, mines were opened,
exposing sulfur- and iron-filled strata to air and water, and the
result was like a chemistry experiment gone berserk. Sulfuric acid,
iron oxides, and other poisons belched from the mouths of mines
and nearby springs. Coal Run below the Shaw mines, Buffalo Run,
and the Casselman were bathed in acid, potent enough to kill fish
all the way down the Youghiogheny. In 1947, the state began seal-
ing some of the worst mines. Old reports claim that acid discharges
fell from 870 tons in 1937 to 185 tons in 1950, but the abandoned
mines still discharged at a pH of 2.5 to 3.0 (A pH of 7 is neutral,
while lower figures indicate acid; 7.8 is about optimum for most
fish, though few streams are that high.) Dilution with fresh reser-
voir water helped, but the polluted Casselman still banned fish from
the Youghiogheny.

The Singing River § 121

In 1965 a Fayette County citizens groups organized to lobby for
more state reclamation. The leader of the group, Samuel Magic of
Uniontown, prophetically announced that with state help, the
Youghiogheny and southwestern Pennsylvania could become one of
the best recreation areas of the East. The Shaw mines were nomi-
nated as a priority when reclamation money became available under
Project 500 (a $500 million bond program) in the 1970s, and the
state Department of Environmental Resources adopted a goal of
returning trout to the Youghiogheny.

By 1976, $3,778,000 had been spent sealing and daylighting. To
seal a mine, state contractors cemented shut the openings and
pumped cement into seams in the rock. An underground reservoir of
acid water resulted but was contained inside the mine. Surface water
ran off without entering the mine. To daylight the mines, areas were
dug up and regraded, filling the tunnels that had held air and water.

The program was successful: half of the acid from the Shaw
complex was eliminated. This was not enough to restore the
Casselman, but it was adequate to transform the Youghiogheny.
The state stocked fingerling trout in 1973, and two years later
anglers from all over western Pennsylvania spent 12,000 fishing-
days below Confluence.

Even nationwide, this is an outstanding success story in river
reclamation, but it may not last. Tests for pH in 1981 indicated
climbing acid levels, probably from leaking seals and maybe aggra-
vated by new strip mines. “With the right combination of rain and
runoff, we could lose the Youghiogheny in a matter of days,” said
Andrew “Bud” Friedrich, chief of the Division of Abandoned Mine
Reclamation in the state Department of Environmental Resources.

Jim Ansel, the Waterways Patrolman in Fayette County for the
state Fish Commission, said that the Shaw mines are the most seri-
ous pollution threat on the Youghiogheny, and that the seals could
disintegrate any day, wiping out the river. “More Work needs to be
done up there,” he said.

Because of limestone in the basin, Laurel Hill Creek is alkaline—
the opposite of acid—and helps buffer or neutralize mine drainage,
but it is less than half the Casselman’s size. The creek drains state
forest, game, and park lands (Kooser, Laurel Ridge, and Laurel Hill
state parks cover 20,000 acres and draw half a million visitors a
year), but new mining also threatens this basin. Other than Laurel
Hill Creek, the Youghiogheny has almost no buffering capacity.

122 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Even a slight rise in acid could poison the river for miles. The trout
that dart under my canoe live by a slim margin.

Friedrich said that the department is considering more work at
the Shaw complex, but that there may not be enough money to save
the Youghiogheny. All the advances of the last twenty years could
disappear in one big rainstorm if the seals fail or if new mines are
not adequately inspected and controlled by the state.

At Confluence, the Youghiogheny has flowed sixty-one miles, the
Casselman, fifty-three. The addition of it and of the thirty-mile—long
Laurel Hill Creek increases the basin acreage by more than 100
percent. The volume of water more or less doubles: more with
runoff from storms, less during dry spells because the Casselman
shrinks to ankle depth while the Army Corps keeps the Youghio-
gheny higher by releasing reservoir water.

After rains, the Casselman surges mud-pie brown, and its silt
clouds the Youghiogheny like cream in coffee. Even down below
Ohiopyle, if you step out of a raft and sprawl as it tackled around
the ankles, thank the Casselman’s mud for the greasy footing and
the splash you make. All the way to Connellsville, twenty—six miles
below Confluence, Casselman mud is slippery like banana peels
carpeting rocks, and is easily seen during low water. Today, the
Youghiogheny turns slightly tan with the Casselman mix.

Riffles increase. Waves slap the canoe and threaten to splash in as
I drift sideways, soaking up the morning sun. There will be nine
good rapids (Class II) and many small ones as I travel through
Laurel Hill gap to Ohiopyle.

The rapids occur where bedrock is the hardest, and they go back
to the mountain’s birth, 300 million years ago. These are old moun-
tains. In comparison, the St. Elias Range of Alaska is only 20 mil-
lion years old. Geologists say that this land was south of the equa-
tor. As the continent drifted north, mountains buckled up for 50
million years while the river—already flowing north and west—
continued to cut its path; it is an antecendent river, meaning it
predated the mountains. While the rising of Laurel Hill was unpre-
dictable and chaotic, resulting from unrest deep in the earth, the
wearing-down of the land is as steady as gravity. Geologists esti-
mate that 200 million years ago the Appalachians reared as tall as
today’s Alps, but three-quarters of the original rock has worn away,
most of it going down the river like the Casselman silt.

The Singing River § 123

For every inch that Laurel Hill grew, the Youghiogheny stub-
bornly wore one inch away, slowly and elegantly creating a gap in
the mountain crest that continues from here northward for forty
miles (the Conemaugh River sliced an even steeper gorge through
Laurel Hill near Johnstown). Where the river crosses outcrops of
sandstone—the hardest rock in the mountain—water erodes
slower, more rocks remain, and whitewater is the result. In this
way, the Youghiogheny decorated the mountain with rapids. White-
water can also result from tributary streams that wash rocks into
the river, congesting it and forcing the current to flow faster against
the opposite shore.

So I am paddling through a water-sculptured gap in Laurel Hill.
One mile below the Casselman, the mountainsides rise 960 feet at 45
degree slopes. Beyond my line of sight, they climb another 740 feet. I
pass Ramcat Run where George Groff’s father caught forty trout in a
day. At the first sharp right bend, the mountain crowds the shores.
The valley has narrowed from a one-mile width at Confluence to 150
yards. Here is Ramcat, the first rapid. I dodge some rocks, rise with
the waves, and splash into the troughs around the bend. I am eaten
up by Appalachians, by this high ridge and its rutted slopes.

In its full length, the Youghiogheny cuts through four major
mountains in the Allegheny Mountain Section of the Appalachians:
through the Negro Mountain and Winding Ridge complexes be-
tween Crellin and Friendsville, next through Laurel Hill, and finally
through Chestnut Ridge below Ohiopyle. Except for the lower half
of Chestnut gap, this section through Laurel Hill is the widest and
most open of the four, offering more views of the mountain, a
wider river, and gentle rapids that average ten feet of drop each
mile. This is about the average gradient for the entire Youghio-
gheny. Width varies from 80 to 300 feet.

Here below Confluence is the first section of river where I am
able to paddle a boat and look around. The upper Youghiogheny
raft trip was a White-knuckled struggle for survival; up there you
are busy all the time saving your neck. Down here you have time to
do anything, and the choice of doing nothing, which raises a ques-
tion: what do you do with a river?

Swim here in summertime, fish like those men below Confluence,
hike along the shore, ski on the old railroad bed, picnic at a river-
side park, camp in a shaded woods that opens like a frame to the
water, predict the weather and plot the stars, cook breakfast over a

xii
1817

1818
1825

1828
1830s
1840
1848

1851

1853
1865
1871

1891
1892
1906

1912

1914
1915
1919
1920s
1924
1925

1935
1936

1936
1938

1939

§ Historical Events

National Road completed from Cumberland, Maryland, to the
Youghiogheny.

Philip Smyth founded Somerfield (now flooded by Youghio-
gheny Reservoir).

Army Corps of Engineers began their work on rivers by clear-
ing the Ohio River channel.

Samuel Potter built a gristmill near Ohiopyle.
Coke production began in Connellsville.
First darn built at Ohiopyle for water power.

Two dams and a four-foot.-deep channel completed from the
Monongahela to West Newton.

B 86 O Railroad opened from Baltimore and Cumberland to
Oakland.

Railroad opened from Cumberland to Wheeling.
Flood waters destroyed the two dams below West Newton.

Henry Clay Frick began development of coal mines and coke
ovens near Connellsville.

Railroad tracks were completed up the Youghiogheny, connect-
ing Pittsburgh to Baltimore (this later became the B 86 O Rail-
road line).

Ohiopyle House hotel opened.

Confluence and Oakland Railroad built to Kendall.
Opening of the Preston sawmill in Crellin.

A hydroelectric plant at the Ohiopyle Falls brought electric
lights to Ohiopyle.

Flood control report prepared by the Flood Commission of
Pittsburgh, recommending a dam on the Youghiogheny.

Western Maryland Railroad line completed through Ohiopyle.
Coal mines in the Casselman basin polluted the Youghiogheny.
Holt’s store constructed in Ohiopyle.

Connellsville coke production ended.

Deep Creek Dam built on a Youghiogheny tributary.

Shelby Mitchell and Hugh Rafferty were the first known
boaters to run the rapids below Ohiopyle.

Tygart Dam (on a Monongahela tributary) was authorized as
the first large dam to be built solely by the Army Corps of
Engineers.

Pittsburgh and Ohio Valley flooded.

First Flood Control Act passed by Congress.

Flood control act passed authorizing West Fork Dam in West
Virginia (to be replaced with Youghiogheny Dam).
Construction of Youghiogheny Dam began.

124 J Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

wood fire, bake dessert in a clutch oven, take pictures to capture the
scene and carry it home, check out birds through binoculars,
scrounge to see rare plants or to eat tasty ones, lie in the sun on a
sandy beach, make love, talk with friends, explore tributaries, sift
through the ruins of earlier homes, turn over stones and hunt for
fresh-water creatures, admire unusual rocks, snowshoe on snow
covered ice, bicycle along a civilized river, paddle a raft through
dangerous rapids, daydream through easy rapids, row a raft, load a
canoe and travel for a week, see, smell, listen, touch, feel, and
maybe even taste is what you might do. Just get out of the car no
matter what. Just get close to the real thing.

There are a lot of ways to go, and one way for the most contact
without quite joining the fish, is to travel in a canoe. The boat lets
you drop the role of spectator. You are swept along in the river,
subject to its whims, to its sights. You become a part of the river,
but it is a part that you want to control, at least enough to stay dry.
This means that skills are needed, and the middle Youghiogheny is
the place to learn.

Jim Prothero and Jim Wilson give canoeing lessons to small
groups and single people on the Confluence-to-Ohiopyle section of
river. In a joint project with the state park, River Path has offered
canoeing clinics. They start with the basics of safety: Wear a life-
jacket. If you tip over, don’t float downstream of the canoe because
when it is full of water it weighs 2,000 pounds and can pin you
against a rock. If you swim through a rapid, keep your feet
downstream and float in a lounging position so that your head
doesn’t bump into rocks, and so that your feet are high and don’t
get snagged between rocks in the riverbed. They tell you to kneel,
not sit, when you paddle through rapids. This lowers your center of
gravity and allows better balance.

They teach the basic strokes: forward paddling and back pad-
dling, then the draw stroke when you reach out from the side and
pull the paddle in to the gunnel (the top of the side of the canoe).
The draw stroke pulls the canoe sideways. The J stroke is used by
the person in the back (stern) of the canoe who turns the paddle
blade outward in the design of a J at the end of the stroke. When
done on the left side, this pushes the front of the canoe to the left.
The J stroke is essential in solo paddling because it keeps the canoe
going straight. In an hour, people have learned new skills that are
effective, useful, and fun.

The Singing River § 125

Once these strokes are mastered, Prothero teaches the physics of
whitewater and how to survive in it. All instability is resolved by
moving downstream, a principle that applies to the soil and rocks
up where this river begins, and a rule of immediate clarity in rapids.

Leaning correctly can make the difference between floating and
swimming. You don’t lean your upper body, but instead, you put
weight on one knee or the other to tilt the hull (bottom of the
canoe). When you are angled sideways to the flow, you lean
downstream, exposing the bottom of the canoe to the current,
which “lifts” the boat and carries you away. If you hit a large rock
sideways, you must lean toward the rock. This keeps the canoe
from “climbing” the rock and tilts the hull to the current which
then lifts the boat rather than pushing it farther onto the rock. Once
you begin to lean confidently and aggressively, you get the feeling
that you are not only kneeling in the canoe, but wearing it, though
this takes time.

Next, Prothero and Wilson teach the brace. If the canoe is tipping
to, say, the left, you place your paddle on the left side, turn the
blade flat to the surface of the water, and slap or push down on the
river. This raises the left gunnel and stops you from tipping.

One more move for the advanced paddler is the cross stroke. For
this, you switch sides to paddle or brace, but you do not change the
position of your hands. This is awkward, but shortens the time that
the paddle is in the air and unavailable for bracing.

When rocks are few, you can point the canoe the way you want
to go and then paddle forward to move left or right. But when
boulders come like buckshot, pointing and running often does not
work. Instead of going faster than the current, you need to go
slower, allowing more time to maneuver. This is done by back
paddling and “ferrying” from one side to the other. If you want to
go left, you point the canoe to the right, then back paddle. As I
paddle down the Youghiogheny, this is how I navigate Drake, the
second rapid.

Take a closer look at the river. At first it seems that the water is
running downstream, all together. But it’s not. The speed of the
current changes all through it. If there were no bends or rocks, the
fastest water would be near the middle and near the surface where
shoreline and riverbed friction is least. On a bend, the faster and
deeper currents are usually on the outside of the turn. Rocks change
the speed of the flow. If you crouch down near the surface and look

126 § Yoaghiogheny: Appalachian River

straight across the river where there are rocks sticking up in the
water, you can see the different speeds of current.

A rock splits the flow and creates a “vacuum” immediately below
the rock where water swirls upstream. This is an eddy—a patch of
slower current or upriver current. The faster the flow and the larger
the rock, the stronger the eddy. In big water they can bulge higher
than the rest of the river, an unpredictably boiling soup. Where the
eddy starts is called the eddy line or fence. At the line, the current
shifts aburptly from downstream to upstream. Eddies can be minia-
ture refuges inside a rapid; a canoeist can suddenly stop by turning
into the eddy. Then he can rest, or plan his route, or move, say, to
the right by exiting on the right. Then he has used the slackwater of
the eddy to move across the river—something that a strong current
prevents. Understanding intricacies such as eddies allows a canoeist
to flow with the river instead of fighting it.

Eddy turns are basic in running “technical” water—-rapids with
complicated currents, mazes of rocks, and the need to jog left and
right. This is unlike “big” water or “heavy” water—powerful rap-
ids with whitecap rollers and deep troughs. There are exceptions,
but western rivers typically offer big water, while Appalachian runs
are technical——sometimes more rocks than water. The Grand Can-
yon of the Colorado is the epitome of big water, and the Yough-
iogheny above Friendsville is the epitome of technical water.

It is time to do an eddy turn. In Drake Rapid, there is a rock
sticking two feet out of the water. At a 45 degree angle to the
current, I paddle toward the eddy below the rock. When the front
of the canoe crosses the eddy line, I lean upstream, because the
current in the eddy is running that way. I brace on the upstream
side. The eddy current throws the bow upriver toward the rock
while the stern is still shoved downstream by the main current. The
canoe spins 180 degrees and I sit facing upstream in the eddy with
the bow nestled against the rock. Without doing anything I sit while
the river rushes past on both sides.

The ultimate in canoe-play is surfing. It is similar to ocean surf-
ing, except there, the wave moves and the water stays still; in a river
the water moves and the wave stays still. To surf in the Youghio-
gheny, I find a good symmetrical wave, maybe one-foot high. I face
upriver and paddle onto the wave so that the bow is upstream of it.
This causes the front of the canoe to be lower than the back, even
though I am facing upriver. While gravity pulls the canoe down the

The Singing River § 127

wave, the current races underneath. The river becomes a treadmill
and I sit surfing upriver at the same speed that the current flows
downriver and there is something illusionary in it, something that
defies the world as we know it.

The rapids are fun, and challenging, but the river is more than
this. Boat handling is a way of getting here; it is the ride in. The
canoe is a tool. To me, being here is the main thing, and I just sit
around a lot, enjoying the place. Here at the Rock Garden, the river
cuts through the gorge with a special power; the Youghiogheny has
carved the land and is still changing it today. The river makes the
place come alive. It is the circulatory system. It generates mist in the
morning and is golden at sunset. It shines, cools, hisses, and allows
us to travel without effort.

You can have a good time on a one-day whitewater cruise, but
that is too fast to get a feel for the place. There is a sense of
surroundings, a contact with the land and water than doesn’t hap-
pen during a quick trip downriver. One day is recreation, but two
days is living there. There is a lot of river life that you don’t see
until you spend the night. You pick a campsite. You unload, sit in
the warm sand or on a rock that catches the afternoon sun. You
cook, wash dishes, watch the stars, grab a sweater, and wait for the
moon to rise. The river takes over. You fall asleep listening to
water. A beaver might swim in front of the campsite at dawn. Then
you build a fire and drink tea or coffee with friends while you cook
breakfast. Instead of only passing through on a sunny afternoon,
you have come to stay awhile, to know the place, to allow it to
affect you.

Some people don’t want changes in their lives. They stick to the
things they know. Opening the door to new experiences can loosen
the grip on old habits, even old prejudices. New experiences can be
threatening. But traveling rivers is a way to see something new and
to change the pace. There is something about staying along a
river—new water flowing past every second—that makes life seem
youthful and renewable. “There is a whole world that I never knew
existed,” one river traveler said. Others say, “It’s the peace.” “It’s
the excitement.” “It’s living on your own.” “It’s making friends and
learning to live with other people.”

Except for the excitement part, people almost never say those
things about one-day trips. Yet camping along the middle Yough-
iogheny violates state regulations. From Ramcat Hollow to Bruner

128 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Run (seven miles below Ohiopyle), the Youghiogheny shorelines are
part of Ohiopyle State Park where you legally camp only at a site
on Kentuck Mountain equipped with flush toilets. “We have prob-
lems with people leaving trash,” the park superintendent, Larry
Adams, says. “Did you see those trees cut down near Elephant
Rock? We figure that was done by campers. There are no sanitary
facilities out there and if camping is allowed, problems would get
worse.” But most of the trash sites are where people drive in to the
river. This is illegal on the south bank’s abandoned railroad grade,
but some people do it anyway.

Other rivers heavily used by campers show little abuse. For ten
years, canoeists have been staying overnight along Pine Creek in
north-central Pennsylvania, and most visitors carry their trash
home. The Stanislaus River in California was, after the Youghio-
gheny below Ohiopyle, the most traveled whitewater river in the
nation. About half of its boaters stayed overnight, yet because com-
mercial outfitters kept clean campsites, the canyon was spotless.
Above the Youghiogheny, the Laurel Ridge Trail winds seventy
miles from Ohiopyle to Johnstown with backcountry campsites
every eight miles or so, located so rangers can drive in for mainte-
nance. There are many ways to deal with the problem. Larry Adams
sees the value in overnight river trips, and wants to develop a canoe
camping site on the middle Youghiogheny that would be accessible
for maintenance by driving up the Western Maryland railroad
grade.

At the Rock Garden, Laurel Hill rises up on both sides and insu-
lates me from the rest of the world; civilization seems far away.
Except for the railroad. Along most Appalachian rivers, trains are
inescapable. "Except for the 1.7-mile Loop below Ohiopyle, Chessie
System tracks run along the river’s north side throughout the state
park. Six or more trains travel past on weekdays, fewer on week-
ends. The Western Maryland Railroad was built on the south side,
but the Chessie System bought it and stopped service in 1975.

Through the Public Utility Commission, the Western Pennsylva-
nia Conservancy learned that the twenty-six-mile right-of-way
from Dunbar (near Connellsville) to Confluence was for sale, and
after negotiating for three years, they bought it for $150,000 (ap-
praisals listed market value at $1.6 million). The stretch through
the park was resold to the state, which intends to improve twelve
miles from Confluence to Ohiopyle as a bicycle trail. Larry Adams

The Singing River § 129

hopes that money will be approved to do this in the early eighties.
State park planners expect 40,000 bicyclists a year. The state
could later extend the trail downriver to the park boundary or to
Connellsville, only a one-hour drive from Pittsburgh. George
Groff, in the 19203, walked the railroad from Confluence to Con-
nellsville in one day, but not many hikers do. “The bike trail
would open the area to many people while not taking away from
the wilderness of the gorge,” Conservancy President John Oliver
says.

There are other opinions. “It will draw more people to an area
that is already heavily used,” warns Ralph McCarty, owner of an
Ohiopyle rafting company that serves 13,000 people a year. In
1981, state park rangers estimated that 44,000 canoeists, rafters,
and kayakers paddled this middle section of the river. With the
Delaware and Clarion, it is among the most-floated streams in the
state.

Some canoeists argue that the Confluence-to-Ohiopyle reach
offers Pennsylvania’s finest intermediate canoeing, and has enough
use. They say that the river is essential for their sport, but is not
needed for a bicycle trail; further, that a bike trail closer to an
urban area could take cars off the road by serving “commuter”
needs. Some fishermen forsee an influx of picnickers at the best
trout pools and argue, “You don’t need a good trout river for
bicycling.”

Larry Adams answers, “The qualities of the river that appeal to
paddlers are the same things that attract nonpaddlers, and they
have just as much right to see and use the river corridor.”

If the goal is to keep this section of river wild, or to reserve it for
uses dependent on the natural qualities of the place, then the bike
trail may be a bad idea. If the goal is to offer recreation to the most
people, then it seems to be a good idea. “The goal is to provide for
as much recreation as we can without hurting the resource, and
without interfering with other uses of the river.” says Larry Adams.
“To allow cars or four-wheel-drive vehicles or motorcycles up the
trail would interfere and would be incompatible with the wildness
of that river. But to allow bicycles will not be a problem. I would
see it as drawing some additional use to the park, but spreading use
out, too. It would put less emphasis on the Falls area. Since every-
body wants to see the river, this would give the more ambitious
something to do.”

130 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

After eating lunch at the Rock Garden, I climb back in my canoe
and drift down to the islands. Youghiogheny islands are scarce. Up
above Friendsville is one. Above Ohiopyle lies a rocky one fifty
yards long. Below Dawson on the lower river, four islands are low
and skinny. At Broad Ford there is one, a quarter-mile long. The
two largest islands, each about half a mile long, are below Layton.
There are small ones at Banning and below Buena Vista. Right
here—halfway between Confluence and Ohiopyle—is the second
largest pair of islands in the river.

Whether they are in the Caribbean, Lake Superior, or in an Appa-
lachian river, there is something special about islands. They float
without going anywhere; they tread water. Being here is like being
on a boat that doesn’t rock. Island are getaways, but more than
that. Maybe the heritage of Huck Finn and Treasure Island counts
for something. Maybe islands make good refuges since outsiders
arrive only by boat. Except in cartoons about the shipwrecked, no
one arrives by accident. The continent is so vast, so settled, so
complicated, that when you step onto an island, you feel you’ve
escaped and at the same time arrived. The frontier was lost 150
years ago and now there are no places for fresh discovery, yet
islands give the illusion of it. I beach my canoe and explore.

An island is small enough to call one place. You can see the
whole thing; walk around it. Stopping at an island is like singling a
person out of a crowd. You can know a person and you can know
an island.

This one happens to be carpeted with poison ivy. Silver maples
crown the place and bury it in shade. They thrive on wet, sandy,
flood plain soil. They grow fast, but are weak, and so the wind,
snow, and ice break limbs, to be scattered on the ground. The
island and shoreline plants are “riparian,” meaning they are special-
ized to grow along rivers. For example, royal ferns are leafless for
one foot above the ground to allow for high water. Sycamores-
largest of the riverfront trees—can be flooded for weeks and will
not die if two feet of sand is deposited around their trunks.

From the island, you can look up at the mountains, and even
from a distance you can tell that the plants up there are different:
red oak, red maple, and sugar maple dominating; also shagbark
hickory, beech, tulip tree, black cherry, white oak, northern red
oak, basswood, dogwood, and black locust. Hemlock darken a few
north-facing slopes. Botanists call this the “mixed mesophytic”

The Singing River § 131

forest (diverse plants with ample water). There is variety because
here the beech/maple of the North meet the oak/hickory of the
South.

People are drawn to edges, and islands are mostly edge; from
everyplace on the island I can see and hear the river. In a small
clearing that campers have made I lie down and fall asleep for
awhile.

Below the islands the Youghiogheny runs calm for three miles.
Slow rivers have a good monotony, moving but undemanding.
There is nothing that I have to do, nothing that I have to think
about. I can just sit in the sun.

Afternoon headwinds sometimes make you work to travel this
part of the Youghiogheny. Not today. Today is aimless cruising, a
lazy afternoon break, but any sense of monotony is an illusion. I see
a lone osprey up there, circling on thermals 200 feet up. He eyeballs
the water and will dive with wings half-closed, plunging into the
river with feet extended, then flying away with a small fish clutched
in inch—long talons. Since the state improved the Casselman, the
entire food chain has benefited: more caddisflies, mayflies, and
stoneflies feed more fish, which bring fishermen and osprey. Yet the
fishhawk remains uncommon here. The one I see is probably a
roaming juvenile—they travel for a few years before settling down.
None nest along the Youghiogheny, but if the water stays free of
mine acid, they may return to live at the top of dead pine or maple
snags.

The fur bearers are also a comeback species. Beaver and mink
thrived, then faded almost to extinction here. Youghiogheny habitat
is not the best: in many areas the water is swift and the edges too
rocky for plants and animals. Willow——a favorite food of the
beaver—grows along the shore but not in wide thickets. Other
beaver meals are aspen, birch, hazelnut, and water lily, and most do
not grow here. With few animals to begin with, uncontrolled trap-
ping and shooting easily killed the rest. State regulations now limit
the killing of fur bearers, and few mountain residents are bothering
to run winter trap lines, so some of the beaver and mink have
returned.

Rattlesnakes we still have. They are one of three species of poison-
ous snakes in Pennsylvania, grow three to four feet long, and eat
mostly rodents—63 percent of their diet. Rattlesnakes along the
Youghiogheny were legendary. From the Sang Run area, Meshach

132 § Youglviogbeny: Appalachian River

Browning wrote Forty-four Years of the Life of a Hunter in 1859,
and said of rattlesnakes, “I was at all times prepared to receive their
attacks; for before leaving home I always took hay, or long grass,
and twisted it into a large rope, with which I wrapped my legs up to
the knee; and this they would never bite through. When thus pro-
vided, I would go where I pleased in daytime; but being afraid they
would creep to me in the night, if I was where I thought they were
numerous, I would stuff leaves around my legs, inside of my pants,
and sleep with my moccasins on; and making my dog lay down, I
would lay my head on him; knowing that then no snake or animal
could take me by surprise. Both ends being thus fortified, I could
sleep as comfortable as if I had been in the most secure house and
on the best bed in a city.”

The upper river, from Sang Run to Friendsville, remains a rattle-
snake haven: rocks everywhere, wet and cool in midsummer, few
people. Rusty Thomas admits, “Those rattlesnakes are the one
thing I’m scared of.” Yet along most of the Youghiogheny, they are
never seen. Only a generation ago, boys from Ohiopyle swam
around the Loop and saw many rattlesnakes on the rocks. No one
sees them there now. In 1978, the Western Pennsylvania Conser-
vancy released a study that said the evidence “strongly suggests that
the animal is declining, perhaps irreversibly, wherever hunted.”

Besides the osprey, a few other birds keep me company on this
trip: crows hunting carrion, barn swallows darting after bugs, and
kingfishers, blue and white, on waterfront limbs and looking into
the water. They fly out and plunge straight down, catching min-
nows in their beaks. They also eat crayfish, mussels, frogs, and
lizards. .

The merganser is a duck often seen here. Females have a red
head, males, lustrous green. When flying, their heads are not up
looking around like the mallard’s, but low to the wind, the crown
swept back, the body arrow-shaped in the line of flight. They zoom
past, forty miles an hour. Mergansers taste fishier than probably
any other duck, so hunters have ignored them. It shows: this may
be the most visible wild duck coast to coast. Unlike the mallard,
mergansers will not crowd the lawn in Confluence for bread
crumbs, but hunt in the wild for crayfish, mollusks, frogs, insects,
and fish. A study along trout streams shows that low-grade and
rough fish made up 40 percent of the merganser’s diet. They dive
deep, swimming fast and long underwater. Along the shore I once

The Singing River § 133

found a merganser stranded in a ball of fishing line, tangled like a
backlash from a casting reel. The duck flopped in an effort to
escape, but it went limp as soon as I held it. I unwrapped the line.
The feathers on the right wing were broken and tattered and I
thought that the duck would be helpless, that it could not dive, but
when I set it in the water it disappeared like a torpedo for the other
shore.

Two miles below the islands, the Youghiogheny begins a great
horseshoe loop. This is the midpoint of the river, halfway from the
source to the Monongahela. I’m not even aware of the loop until I
notice the sun, ahead of me, then on my left, finally behind. To the
southwest, the steepest slope slants at an almost unclimbable angle
for 800 feet, tapers off, then tilts out of sight for another thousand
feet to Sugarloaf—2,960 feet above sea level—the second-highest
mountain in Pennsylvania. Unlike the flat summit of Mount Davis
(the state’s highest mountain), Sugarloaf’s top is the apex of a ridge,
1,600 feet above the river. The gorge yawns to a half-mile width
and the river describes a peninsula holding 200 acres of bottomland
called Victoria Flats.

Early settlers discovered a salt spring here that attracted deer. In
the late 1700s, people collected the water and boiled it down for
table salt. In 1912, Thomas Meason began commercial production,
gleaning ten pounds of salt from every barrel of water. Three thou-
sand bushels were made over the next seven years by pumping from
a well near the spring.

In one of five farms that dotted the flats, Harry Shipley lived
through most of this century. He would grab his rumpled hat and
worn-out coat and amble down the tracks two-and-a-half miles to
Ohiopyle, where he would drink at the Ohiopyle House and spin
tales of exaggeration. Truth is in some ways dispensable in the
mountain taverns, and as another old-timer says, “Harry Shipley is
the greatest teller of lies that ever was.”

Loud and boisterous, Shipley would say, “One morning it was so
cold that when I opened the doors in the hayloft the pigeons flew
out and froze right there in the air. Two o’clock in the afternoon
’till they thawed and flew away. . .. We were loggin’ across the
river from the farm where the mountain is so steep that we sharp-
ened the end of the logs and gave them a push down the mountain
and into the river. ’Cept one got goin’ so fast that it went clean

1943
1949
195 1

1956
1958

1959

1961

1962

1963

1963
1964
1968

1973

1975

1978

1979

Historical Events § xiii

Construction of Youghiogheny Darn finished.

Mine acid spill in Snowy Creek killed fish to Friendsville.

Ferncliff Peninsula at Ohiopyle was bought by Edgar J. Kauf-
mann and deeded to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy.
Jean and Sayre Rodman were the first rafters below Ohiopyle.
Bob Harrigan and John Berry were the first known canoeists
below Ohiopyle.

Torn Smyth, Dave Kurtz, and Bill Bickham were the first
boaters to run the upper Youghiogheny from Sang Run to
Friendsville.

Keister tract near Ohiopyle was deeded to the Western Pennsyl-
vania Conservancy.

Secretary Maurice Goddard of the Pennsylvania Department of
Forests and Waters announced the intention of establishing a
state park at Ohiopyle.

Project 70 passed a statewide vote, approving money for state
park acquisitions.

The beginning of Ohiopyle State Park was announced.

First commercial raft trip at Ohiopyle.

Ohiopyle House hotel burned.

National Wild and Scenic Rivers Act passed Congress, which
included the Youghiogheny as a river to be considered.
Regulations adopted to limit the numbers of guided rafters at
Ohiopyle.

Western Maryland Railroad discontinued.

Maryland State Wild and Scenic Rivers Act passed, designating
the upper Youghiogheny as a Scenic and Wild River.

National Wild and Scenic River study undertaken.

Chessie System Railroad officials closed the Stewarton take-out
to whitewater boaters.

Bruner Run take-out opened for whitewater boaters.

134 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

through a chestnut tree and the heat of it started a fire and burned
the rest of the woods down.” Ask Shipley what happened to his
father and he answers, “We had our cows on the other side and
we’d go over there to milk ’em. One day it was so hot that the milk
spoiled before we could get it into the rowboat, so while we were
crossin’, all these flies followed us, and the trout in the river came
jumpin’ in after the flies and piled up in the boat so heavy that we
sank and pappy drowned.”

Early in this century, Victoria residents rode the train to Ohiopyle
and Confluence, or they drove a rutted wagon road beside the
tracks. When the train no longer stopped, most people abandoned
their homes. Only Shipley stayed, thinking up tall tales inspired by
solitude. Then in the late sixties, the state bought his farm for the
state park, and he moved into an old hotel in Confluence.

Six buildings still appear as tiny squares on the topographic map
of Victoria, though they have been torn down. You can leave your
canoe and search for the farmhouse foundations of the Harbaughs,
Holmans, Burnworths, and Shipleys.

During the early 19703 State park planners considered Victoria
Flats for a recreation area with a campground, picnic area, and a
beach. They even investigated the possibility of a monorail for access,
but dropped the idea because of its multi-million-dollar price tag.

Two-thirds of the way around the Victoria loop, Long Run enters
on the left with cool spring water from Sugarloaf. lt’s a good place
to hike. In the middle of a trip down the river, exploring a side
stream is like suddenly going back to the headwaters.

Near the end of Victoria, the Youghiogheny drops over two small
ledges and forms a rapid called Victoria Falls. “]im’s Pool” is be-
low, where Jim Wilson caught a twenty-two-inch trout on one of
his first canoe trips. The river jogs to the right in a Class II rapid
with waves that can swamp a canoe. Another good rapid and sev-
eral small drops follow. Then, on the horizon half a mile away
looms a giant rock. Its back is humped and one end bulges like a
petrified elephant fording the river. The Youghiogheny beats
against the thirty-foot-long pachyderm before boiling left or right.
Like most rapids on this stretch, the easiest route is to the right
through fifty yards of symmetrical waves. To the left, the gradient is
delayed by a natural dam of boulders piled from the shore to the
elephant’s butt. The river plunges through a five-foot-wide chute
that angles with a jolt to the left.

The Singing River § 135

Earlier in the summer, when the river ran a foot higher, Jim
Wilson guided a group of canoe renters. Most of the customers did
well, so Wilson set them up for a thrill by coaching them for the run
to the left of the elephant.

Four boats negotiated the drop. Then a pair of paddlers drifted
toward the belly, which, like the real thing, is undercut, tapering in
as its rib cage dips underwater. Wilson knelt in his canoe below the
chute and pointed left, but the paddlers just stared at the Elephant,
then slammed into it, failed to lean, and flipped to the upstream
side, clinging to their boat as the current pushed it against the rock.
They bounced around like sneakers in a washing machine and then
the boat broke loose, smacked into smaller rocks, and washed into
the eddy. The next pair of canoeists also overturned. The paddlers
swam the rapid without trouble, but the boat cross-body-blocked
the elephant. Half of the canoe filled with current pushing right, the
other half with current pushing left, cramming the boat against the
flat stomach. The hull buckled and creased in a stiff backbend.
With help from four athletic canoeists, Wilson grunted and heaved
on the underwater boat, but it didn’t budge. He left it there and
planned to return the next afternoon with air bags to be shoved into
the bow and inflated, forcing water out and making that end lighter
so he could heave it off the rock. This he did not have to do. The
next day, a group of guys salvaged the canoe and were loading it—
conspicuous by the River Path emblem—into the back of their
pickup when Park Superintendent Larry Adams happened by on
patrol. He told the guys that the canoe belonged to River Path, and
that if they were hauling it out of there, they should drop it at the
Ohiopyle take-out. Then he followed their truck down the river in
time to catch them turning to high-tail across the bridge and disap-
pear. The driver spotted Adams, turned around, and dumped the
boat at the take-out.

By the time I pass the Elephant, the sun is dropping behind Ken-
tuck Mountain. It has been the longest day of the year and I have
been on the river for most of it. The largest rapid is ahead. To the
right, the current makes a letter Z. Evening light is soft and blue as I
drop into the foam and shy from a deep trough where the Yough-
iogheny turns in a dogleg. I catch an eddy, listen to the river bub-
bling, then reenter the mainstream. I draw to the left and nose-dive
a ledge which marks the rapid’s end. I drift under the new cement

136 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

bridge built in 1973, replacing an old steel truss bridge, which had
replaced a covered bridge from the 1800s.

Finally I have reached Ohiopyle. Seventy-one miles of river above,
sixty-one below. This is the center in more ways than miles. Here is
where most people meet the Youghiogheny. Here is the state park,
the Falls, and the start of the popular whitewater rafting run. There
is no place like Ohiopyle, no place that even comes close. Most
river recreation sites are simply remote access areas, but here is a
community, an old Appalachian settlement, a river town since the
first settlers arrived.

Chapter Seven

Ohiopyle: The Old Days

e last president to visit Ohiopyle was George Washington, and
that doesn’t even count because it was in 1754, long before he
took office. Having embarked in a canoe at the Great Crossings and
camped at the site of Confluence, he paddled downstream and
wrote, “at last it became so rapid as to oblige us to come ashore.”
When the man who would win the Revolution and lead the new
nation got to the bend in the river that would become Ohiopyle, he
gave up and quit. It was that kind of place.

In the mid 1700s, southwestern Pennsylvania was scarcely ex-
plored or settled. The Appalachians insulated the land from en-
croachment by the English to the east, and the French, barred by
the Iroquois Indians, did not venture so far up the Monongahela
and Youghiogheny from their western outposts. Indians were
scarce, due to wars between the Iroquois and other nations in the
1600s. Trying to escape from white civilization, Shawnee and Del-
aware people fled to this region in the 1700s, but they were too
scattered to attract missionaries or traders. So it was a blank spot
on the map, and within this wild region, Ohiopyle was one of the
last communities to be founded, around 1770. Philadephia and Bal-
timore, less than 250 miles away, were settled more than 100 years
before.

Ohiopyle is like Confluence and like an island—to get there, you
have to want to get there. Through the years, it remained at the
edge of society. In this sense, it was a Shangri La, insulated by
topography. The mountains surround everything. They make the

137

138 § Yougbiogbeny:Appalachian River

place what it is; they create a world apart with the river in the
center. All roads out of Ohiopyle are climbed in second gear. All
roads into Ohiopyle burn the brakes. Why would anyone want to
go there? But as Jim Prothero said, this place was a magnet for
escapees; still is. Ohiopyle is out of the mainstream, an alternative
to the larger group. It is a place that is different, and it attracts its
own breed of people who are also different.

Nobody knows for sure when or why the first Mitchells came to
Ohiopyle, but historians agree that they were among the earliest
white settlers. Family lore says that James Mitchell led a rebellion
against the British in northern Ireland and was caught. Before he
was banished to an island, his two sons, James and Thomas, sailed
to America and pursued some unknown path that ended at Ohio-
pyle. A second story, perhaps a continuation of the first, says that
James Mitchell fought for the British in America in the French and
Indian War and was rewarded with a land grant. Still another tale
has James Mitchell a colonial officer in the Revolution, but seven-
teen James Mitchells served, and which of these came to Ohiopyle,
if any, is unclear.

What we know is that James Mitchell appears in records of the
Turkeyfoot Baptist Church, September 14, 1775. Tax books show
John Mitchell owning land near Ohiopyle that year, and James
owning fifty acres four years later. So whatever story you believe,
the Mitchells have tenure; for over two hundred years they have
lived on the mountain west of the Youghiogheny. A friend of the
family named the mountain Kentuck (Cain-TUCK), since it re-
minded him of his native Kentucky.

Simpson Mitchell owned a farm on Kentuck where the boaters’
parking lot is now located above Bruner Run. Thomas Mitchell’s
place was nearby, where Tom Faucett lived in a cabin.

Faucett fought under General Braddock in 1755. When Braddock
was ambushed, he ordered his men to stand in the open and fight
like English soliders—like sitting ducks. Braddock struck his own
men with the flat of his sword for hiding behind trees. One of these
men was Tom Faucett’s brother. Tom Faucett said that he then shot
Braddock, though nobody admitted to seeing this. Faucett selected
Kentuck as a place to keep a low profile until his death, sixty-seven
years later at age 109.

Tilgham (“Tim”) Mitchell was born in 1854. He married Cora

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 139

Jackson, and their first son, Shelby, was born in 1908 in the Ohio-
pyle house that is now the office for Ralph and Mike McCarty’s
Mountain Streams and Trails rafting company. Tim Mitchell
amassed a small fortune by logging and operating sawmills around
Ohiopyle and along West Virginia’s Cheat River, so in 1916 his
family moved into a rambling Victorian house in Ferncliff Park, on
the peninsula of land formed where the river makes a two-mile loop
at Ohiopyle. This is where Shelby and his brother Emlyn (“Oudie”)
grew up.

Today, Shelby is white-haired and hale. He is as sharp as an old
fox, though he claims he can’t remember things the way he used to.
He will name dozens of people who have done all manner of right
and wrong in Ohiopyle, and when there is a name he cannot re-
member, he says that his memory is failing him.

“Old Ohiopyle was a very different place,” Shelby recounts.
“There was none of this rafting business. But we sure had a good
time. Right there at the Falls, on the Ohiopyle side, sat the old
power plant—a big three-story building that was first used as a mill,
later changed by the Kendall Lumber Company to make electricity
for their sawmill and for lights in the town.”

The Falls that Shelby speaks of are Ohiopyle’s unchallenged cen-
terpiece: eighteen feet high with more water than any other falls in
Pennsylvania. Few falls in the East are as large. At the Kendall
power plant, turbines were turned by the force of water as it came
down a race, or wooden sluice four feet high and eight feet wide
that ran 400 feet along the shoreline from a spot near the bridge.

Shelby continues, “Bunch of us boys’d jump in the race and swim
the whole way through it, then reach up and grab the sides to get
out just before we got to the power plant.” One day Bill ]oseph’s
son drowned in the race.

Shelby and other kids swam in the Falls. Without Youghiogheny
Dam, the summertime water level was lower than it is today, and
they dove in from rocks on either side. “There were a lot of people
who drowned in that river,” Shelby recalls, adding that he has
recovered a few bodies. “With old man Tharp and my brother
Oudie and other guys, we’d go out in a rowboat below the Falls
and drag the bottom with a big hook. If we couldn’t find ’em,
sometimes we’d set off a charge of dynamite. That’d bust their gall
bladder or something, supposed to make ’em float up, but it never
worked much for us.” People from town gathered at the Falls want-

140 § Yougbiogloeny: Appalachian River

ing to see the body when the Mitchells or other men recovered it,
and there were some grisly rewards. “My brother saw a head come
up and sink again, so he dove down and hooked the body under the
arm and we pulled it in. One time there was two fellas drowned.
Found one at the Western Maryland Bridge but didn’t find the
other for days. He washed up below the High Bridge, two miles on
down, and the crows had picked his eyes out.”

There was one known suicide in the river: Dolly Marietta jumped
in at the old Route 381 bridge on a snowy day and drowned. Some
would say that a second suicide involved Shelby’s and Oudie’s
pony. “We had him tied up near the house and he broke loose.
Tracked him across Ferncliff and the tracks disappeared into the
river at the Briner fishing hole near Cucumber. Never found ’im.”
Maybe the fact that the rambunctions Mitchell hellions had painted
the pony like a zebra had something to do with its plunge to death.

“That river’s a whole lot better now than it was,” Shelby says.
“There were no fish—the tannery in Confluence and the mine’d
killed ’em all. We’d cut ice in the winter and pack it in sawdust.
People’d come’n get it, and the hotel and different places had it, but
then we got a typhoid epidemic. A lot of people died, maybe from
that ice, some thought. That was back around World War I. They
buried Sam Shipley’s wife and daughter in the same casket.”

The Mitchell house at Ferncliff was a local mansion, testament to
the wealth that could be taken from the old Appalachian forest.
Shelby counts the rooms: “Three in the attic, then seven upstairs,
then downstairs there was one, two, three, and the kitchen, break-
fast nook, the big billiard room, and downstairs, and the wine
cellar. Altogether I guess there were about twenty-two. A stuffed
deer head hung over one of the three fireplaces, and young Ed
Jackson was afraid to go in that room.”

The house no longer stands. The Mitchells were troubled with
electric line overloads, and somebody told them to put pennies in for
fuses. One day when Shelby returned from Connellsville where he had
been fixing up houses that his father rented, he rounded the sharp bend
above Ohiopyle and discovered nothing but smoking ashes and three
fireplaces where the house had stood. He had planned to get married
the next day, and an inconvenience like this was not going to interfere.
As scheduled, he and his girl friend, Kitty, traveled to Oakland,
Maryland, where they didn’t have to get a license or suffer a three-day
waiting period as they would have to do in Pennsylvania.

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 141

On the foundation of the burnt house, Shelby had a twelve-room
house built during the Depression for $6,000. He sold this to the
Western Pennsylvania Conservancy in 1961; eventually the house
became part of Ohiopyle State Park and was remodeled by the
Pittsburgh Council of American Youth Hostels to sleep twenty—two
guests. Shelby and his wife, Lois (his first wife died), moved to a
new house along Chalk Hill Road on Kentuck Mountain where
they now live.

Over the years, young Shelby earned a reputation. “An ornery
hellion, that’s what he was,” says Dr. George Dull, an old acquaint-
ance from Connellsville. “Those kids up there at Ohiopyle’d do
anything. They were wild.” Sometimes it got rough. My father, Jim
Palmer, spent summers at Ohiopyle, and remembered going into a
bar with Shelby, who was twelve years older. They snuck out when
bystanders started getting hit with bottles. Shelby was unbridled: a
cat-teasing, rattlesnake-taunting, rope-swinging mountain boy. But
he was a child saint alongside his kid brother, Oudie. Oudie was
always getting into fights. When I mentioned the Mitchells to
George Groff, upriver in Confluence, he thought and said, “Mitch—
ell? I knew a Mitchell.” Oudie?, I asked. “That’s it, and he was an
ornery one.” And downriver in Connellsville, an old-timer says.
“Orneriest in the world.”

Oudie tended toward the footloose. One day he planned to cross
the bridge to Holt’s store, so he asked his mother if there was
anything she wanted. Cora gave him two dollars for groceries.
Shelby recalls, “The last I saw him he was up between the tender
and the baggage car on the B 86 O headed toward Pittsburgh.”
Nobody saw him for two years. After a couple of days Cora asked,
“Anybody seen Oudie?” After a week or two nobody gave it any
thought. “He left so damned often,” Shelby says. Oudie home-
steaded in Alaska. Later he enlisted in the navy and deserted. “They
just figured he got drunk and fell overboard,” Shelby says. “One
day he showed up in the barn. My dad got Sam Kendall, the
congressman, to get him officially out of the navy.” Later, Oudie
enlisted in the army air force, became a B-26 tail-gunner, flew in
battles over Germany and Africa, and was decorated with a flying
cross for “extraordinary achievement while participating in aerial
flight.” Ohiopyle claims no residents who became senators, million-
aires, authors, movie stars, or professional athletes, but it has a
rambling scrapper who excelled as a tail—gunner.

142 § Youghiog/veny: Appalachian River

One of Oudie’s schemes was to drive a truck, so he bought his
own rig from Seamons, the Mack dealer in Uniontown. An initial
venture was to carry vegetables across the country, but Oudie was
delayed——he has not confessed to the details—and the load spoiled.
He was $6,000 in the hole, so he returned the truck to Seamons,
gave them the keys, and walked away. He tended bar in Connells-
ville. Eight times he was married. Shelby once received a call from a
girl in Wyoming who said, “Oudie was going to marry me but he
never came back.” Shelby advised, “Well let me tell you something,
you just forget about it.” In 1981 Oudie manages an apartment
building in Mount Lebanon, a wealthy suburb of Pittsburgh.

“What made him so crazy?” I ask his older brother.

Shelby answers seriously and without pause, “Heredity.” I am
not altogether comfortable with this since Shelby’s and Oudie’s
mother and my great-grandmother were sisters.

Oudie traveled, never resettling in Ohiopyle. Shelby traveled too,
but always returned. First, his parents shipped him by train to Get-
tysburg Academy for high school. “I got so damn homesick; every-
time I’d hear that railroad whistle I’d ’bout cry.” When he returned
for Thanksgiving, a crowd of people met him with hugs and old-aunt
kisses at the Ohiopyle B 86 0 station. “After school, three or four of
us went to Toledo to work in the Willys plant. It was assembly-line
work——all the same. Most of us came back home.”

Why do some people leave and some stay? People go for the
obvious reasons: in Ohiopyle there are no jobs for electrical engi-
neers or assembly-line workers. There are hardly any jobs at all.
Some people want to make money, not only a living. Maybe they
marry somebody from the outside. Some people leave to get more
action than these usually quiet mountains offer.

Some people stay because they never get to see—or to be comfort-
able——anywhere else. Some stay because the mountains simply feel
right. The up and down is a unnamed ingredient for mental health.
They would go nuts in the drained swamps of Florida five feet
above sea level, or in the Central Valley of California where the
horizon disappears as it does on a calm day in the mid-Atlantic, or
in Texas where humdrum landscape is interrupted only by roadside
sprawl. Shelby says, “You know, you can take the boy out of the
mountains, but you can’t take the mountains out of the boy.” Here
in southern Pennsylvania people develop personalities to match the
landscape. The result, for some, is a powerful sense of belonging.

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 143

Somehow roots grow deep on these rocky mountainsides. Shelby
says, “I had a good home here. I liked Ohiopyle, knew everybody.”

In 1929, Shelby and his mother moved to Hollywood, California.
He worked in a hardware store until they returned a year or so
later. In 1960 he and Lois traveled to California and thought about
staying. “I looked at a hardware business in Oroville where they
have that big dam, but they already had five other stores.”

Maybe competition was only an excuse. Lois says, “Shelby didn’t
like anything that wasn’t Ohiopyle.” Speaking for herself she says,
“We came back over the mountain and nothing ever looked so
good as those elderberries and blackberries. Nothing ever looked so
green as the way it does here.” Take Interstate 80 from San Fran-
cisco to New York, and the greenest things you see are the moun-
tains of Pennsylvania. So Shelby and Lois came home to stay.

Over the years Shelby has accumulated experience worth many
nights of yarns. He worked in his father’s sawmills, then ran the
logging and milling business himself. While in California the first
time, he was offered a job playing minor league baseball in Mon-
tana (a girl he was dating had arranged for the tryout), but he
declined. He enforced the law as the Ohiopyle policeman in the
thirties. “One night we had to haul this drunk away from a dance
at Ferncliff; put him in jail and he set fire to his cell.” For years,
Shelby sat on the borough council. He worked as a brakeman and
fireman for the B 85 O from 1940 to 1943, then operated coal
mines, finally finishing his diversified careers by owning and man-
aging an asphalt paving business.

“In those days,” Shelby says, “I could pretty much decide what
kind of business I wanted. Then I did it. Young people don’t have
those opportunities today. The timber up here is gone. The econ-
omy is poor. The mafia runs this county. The choices aren’t here the
way they used to be.” This is a turnaround of the post-Depression
notion that young people have it so good. The economy of the
eighties has changed a few things.

One of Shelby’s most profitable and interesting careers was that of
a coal miner. One mile south of Ohiopyle, to the right of Route 381
near the Dinner Bell Road, the Potter family owned mines first
opened in 1877. In 1943 the Potters decided to reopen the coal
diggings and hired Shelby to manage the venture. “Goldie Potter said
if she got five dollars a day she’d be satisfied,” Shelby remembers. “I
ended up earning her $1,000 in royalties a month.” It had been a

















































































I


144 § Yougbiogheny: Appalachian River

custom mine——small, with a coal vein three feet thick. The coal had
been marketed locally, but when Shelby took over, he sold it to the
New York Transit System, shipping the black cargo out on the
B 85 0. Business flourished and forty men were soon at work. Other
people found jobs serving the mines: local men cut locust trees for
posts and beams to support the roofs of the tunnels. Loggers drove
truckloads of posts into town and bartered against their grocery bill
at Holt’s store. Then Charlie or Bob Holt sold the posts to miners.

With augers five inches in diameter and powered by diesel-gener-
ated electricity, Shelby’s men bored into the bottom of the coal
seam. Then with a six-foot cutting bar, something like a chain saw,
they sliced from one hole to the next, making a horizontal slit
beneath the seam so that the coal was hanging from the ceiling. Into
the slit went a stick of dynamite. The miners retreated as the blast
would “shoot down” the coal—the seam would crumble and fall.
Shelby then climbed into the blasted area with a safety lamp to
check for gas. He sometimes found “black damp,” air that was very
low in oxygen and high in carbon dioxide, snuffing his lamp. With
added ventilation, the miners resumed work, scooping the fallen
coal into a cart pulled by a pony, a horse being too tall, on railroad
tracks to the outside. When the seam became uneconomically thin,
the miners did a “retreat,” mining out the pillars and ribs of coal
that had been left intact to support the roof. As they pulled this coal
out, the roof caved in.

Water from the mines flowed into a pond, then into Cucumber
Run and the river. “It ran red with iron and acid,” Shelby recalls,
“but no one ever thought about it.” I ask if the miners were fisher-
men, and if they saw that the acid was killing fish. “There weren’t
any fish in the river back then anyway,” Shelby answers.

“Today, it’s all strip mining. We’ll be losing our well out here one
of these days. Lots of people out here on Chalk Hill Road’ll be
losing their water. When the miners blast, it cracks the rock and the
water runs on down someplace below. They might start deep [tun-
nel] mining out here again. I don’t own the minerals here, but I
want to buy the coal under this house so they don’t go mining there
and having the foundation crack and be full of holes.”

Shelby’s mother, Cora Jackson Mitchell, was one of six brothers
and sisters. Stonewall Jackson, the Civil War general, is said to be
further back in the line, and Cora’s mother, Isabel Armstrong, is

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 145

said to be related to Indian fighter John Armstrong and to the early
settlers of Armstrong County, Pennsylvania. In 1897 Goldie Jack-
son, one of Cora’s sisters, married Dalton J. Potter, whose family
was another that came early to Ohiopyle.

John Potter settled in 1787 in Jockey Hollow at the Great Cross-
ings, now flooded by Youghiogheny Reservoir. Nine of his children
moved to California and the West, but Amos and Samuel stayed.
Amos became one of the first schoolteachers in the area. In 1828
Samuel married Sarah Leonard, moved to Meadow Run near Ohio-
pyle, and built a gristmill. In 1832 he built a sawmill and buck-
wheat/corn flour mill powered by water from Meadow Run. His
son, John B. Potter, expanded the mill in 1852. George Potter—
John B.’s brother—lived next door and operated a split chair fac-
tory in 1860, building several hundred chairs a year. His son,
Charles, became an architect and designed the Mitchell house that
is now the American Youth Hostel.

Early in the 18905, John B.’s son, Dalton J. Potter (who was to
marry Goldie Jackson in 1897), built a three-story mill in Ohiopyle.
Dalton operated the mill into the 1930s, grinding buckwheat, bag-
ging it, and shipping it out. The mill remains as a historic landmark,
with three sets of grinding stones and with the steam engine that
powered them. Flour bags say “Youghiogheny Mill—\X/arranted
Pure—Buckwheat Flour—D.J. Potter—Ohiopyle, Pa.” When Dal-
ton worked the mill he became covered with dust from the grinding,
and the kids in town called him “the ghost.”

Although their mill was in Ohiopyle, Goldie Jackson Potter and
Dalton continued to live at the Meadow Run farm above today’s
parking lot for commerical rafting customers. From 1900 to 1914,
they sold goods in a store adjoining their kitchen; their place served
as a gathering spot for a dispersed community of farmers and log-
gers. It was an idyllic valley site: open fields along the ancient flood
plain, green mountains encircling, and Meadow Run, clear and
cool, fifty yards from the door.

Only the foundation of the house remains at the junction of
Meadow Run and Potter’s Mill roads. A ramshackle wagon shed
survives across the dirt road from the mill site. To refrigerate milk,
John B. Potter built a stone springhouse, still in excellent condition,
though flooded with water and populated by frogs. The Methodist
church, founded by John B. Potter and still in use, is a two-minute
walk away.

146 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

The Potters led dual lives. They lived in the country and caught
fish, cut wood, and rode horses. They dug coal from “ground hog”
mines in the mountain behind the mill, and children dug clay that
they fired into marbles. But on Sunday afternoons, Dalton played
his violin following a dinner of frog’s legs and fresh trout. The
family and guests played croquet on warm August evenings when
the smell of corn tassels in the field was strong.

The Potter’s income was based on the grain mills, and therefore
on farming; it relied on a continuing harvest rather than on extrac-
tion, like logging or mining. Yet in stubborn consistency with the
Youghiogheny theme of resource use, abuse, and failure in long-
term productivity, the farms would become worn out and super-
seded by technology rendering local agriculture unnecessary, un-
competitive, and almost extinct.

At the Meadow Run farm, Goldie and Dalton had two daughters,
Mildred and Adalene. When Mildred was sixteen and Adalene five,
the family moved to Ohiopyle. Under huge maples, their white house
featured a front porch with a two-person wicker swing that faced the
Falls. Mildred boarded five days a week with family friends in Union-
town while she went to high school. There she met James Palmer,
whom she later married. He became a banker and they moved to
Belle Vernon, Los Angeles, and finally Rochester, thirty miles from
Pittsburgh. After her husband died in 1952, Mildred returned to
Ohiopyle for the summers: back home again living at the old Potter
house where she watched and listened to the Falls from the spacious
front porch. She was my grandmother, and her house is where I
stayed, as a kid, when I escaped to Ohiopyle to run loose in the
summer. The site of the old Potter house is now marked by the
clothes-changing building and parking lot for private boaters.

Adalene Potter met Bill Holt even before the first grade. Through
elementary school he saved her a seat, then copied her math
answers when the teacher wasn’t looking. The partnership, begin-
ning during World War I, would continue for some time. Bill and
Adalene began to go together. In 1933 they drove to Philadelphia to
see two friends, Eunis and Pone Moore. “They talked us into get-
ting married, so we did, right then,” Bill explains. The newlyweds
returned to Ohiopyle. “Adalene’s mother just about to killed me,”
Bill jokes, or maybe doesn’t joke.

Bill and Adalene bought the ]ackson’s house in Ohiopyle and

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 147

lived in it for thirty-three years until it was torn down by the state
for the realignment of Route 381. Today, the new brick Baptist
church stands near their old homesite. In 1968 they moved into
Bill’s father’s house—a stately, fifteen-room building of white frame
and green shutters that overlooks the Youghiogheny.

Bill and Adalene ran the general store in Ohiopyle for most of
their lives. They were the last of eighty years of Holts as Ohiopyle
merchants.

During the Civil War, Thomas Holt cut marble in Pittsburgh.
After many years of this, he suffered a disease similar to the coal
miner’s black lung. His doctor advised him to abandon the city and
to go where the air was clean. So this family of Holts came up to
the mountains. John W. Holt—a brother—who lived with his wife
Kiziah in a house on the site of Kaufmann’s department store, also
moved to the Ohiopyle area, settling on a Beaver Creek farm.

Setting a pattern to last three generations, John Holt opened a
store in Ohiopyle. In 1895 he built a new store along Front Street
near the bridge, and the Holts prospered. In 1918 and 1919 they
built a large brick building across the street and sold Dodges and
Chevys where Falls Market is today. When the old general store
closed, Bob and Charlie Holt—two of five children—each went into
business, Charlie converting the car showroom into Holt’s Depart-
ment Store and Bob remodeling an adjoining building. The two
operated side by side as cut-throat competitors for the rest of their
lives. They didn’t speak to each other. For twenty years they didn’t
set foot in each other’s store. Bill Holt—Charlie’s son—did not
enter his uncle’s store.

“Why not?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Bill says. “Just the way it was.”

The Western Union Office was in Charlie Holt’s store, and during
the early years of World War II, Bill delivered telegrams that said
mountain people’s sons had died in France, Italy, and Africa. Then
Bill himself was drafted while managing his father’s store, even
though he was thirty—six, had two children, and was legally blind in
one eye. The explanation may be that Uncle Bob sat on the draft
board. Bill did basic training with spry eighteen-year-olds, then was
appropriately appointed supply officer on Angel Island in San Fran-
cisco Bay.

Both of the stores did well, though old-timers recall Charlie being
better liked. Eventually Bob grew old and his eyes went bad. He

148 § Youghiogheny:Appalachian River

sold the store to a man from Mill Run, but only on the condition
that he would not resell to Bill Holt. The Western Pennsylvania
Conservancy bought the store, razed it, and sold the empty lot to
Bill, who moved his gas pumps from the front of his store to the
side where they stand today. “They had been on the state’s right-of-
way,” Bill explains. “We always had pretty good pull with those
guys, especially my dad did, but as your old friends die, it gets
tough. You have to find new friends or else move the pumps.”

Through the fifties and sixties, Bill and Adalene Holt’s depart-
ment store was the mainstay of Ohiopyle. They stocked almost
everything: a complete line of groceries, quality hardware, clothing,
even appliances. The store shone spotless. “When customers
weren’t here We’d clean shelves from one end to another,” Adalene
says, “and as soon as we were done we’d start over again.” Every
day Bill was there in a white shirt and necktie at the cash register,
butcher counter, or wherever, but now and then he had to do field
work.

An old man from the mountains near Dunbar bought a TV and
never made payments, so Bill ventured out to reclaim the set. Those
people were what one could call hillbillies. Bill politely explained it
all and finally said, “I hate to do this, but since I didn’t get any
money, I’ll have to take the TV back.” The grizzled man stood up
and walked slowly to the mantle above the fireplace, picked up an
eight-inch hunting knife, touched the razor edge with his thumb and
said, “I don’t reckon ya’ will.” The TV suddenly faded to the incon-
sequential. Bill agreed, “I don’t reckon I will either,” and he got out
of there lickety-split.

The Holts’ store was more than a place to buy everything you
needed. “Part of what we did was just listen,” Adalene recalls.
“Everybody would come in and you’d hear all about their lives.
They’d pour out their troubles and we’d listen.” That was part of
the general service of a general store.

They worked long hours, 7 A.M. to 9 P.M., six days a week. Either
Adalene or Bill was always there. “We really couldn’t turn it over to
anybody,” Adalene says. For recreation and to get away, the I-Iolts
bought a lot at Big Bend on Youghiogheny Reservoir where they
parked a trailer and built a cabin next to Red Jordan.

After a lifetime of running the store, Bill and Adalene reached
retirement age, and in 1975 they sold the business to Leo Smith
from the Washington, D.C., area. Bill had been elected mayor of

Obiopyle: The Old Days § 149

Ohiopyle for three terms, but retired halfway through his third
term. “Mainly Adalene and I wanted to travel after we sold the
store,” Bill explains. They wanted to visit their daughter in South
Carolina and their son in Cincinnati. Both had moved from Ohio-
pyle because of careers. “There was nothing here for them,” Ada-
lene explains.

Today, Bill is seventy-four, Adalene seventy-three, many years
from their acquaintance in the first grade. Bill says, “Adalene and I,
we’ve had some scraps, but we always managed and did all right. I
wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for her. She’s taken good care
of me, all through the years, today especially. I can’t get around, my
eyes are so bad. I can’t drive. Adalene keeps me going. We’ve had a
Very good life together.”

The Holts’ fifteen-room house is next to the store and overlooks
the river. Adalene manages her second and third stories as a guest
house, renting rooms to people who raft on the river or who come
to see Fallingwater, the house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, four
miles north.

“This summer,” Adalene says, “we had a lot of embassy people
from Washington. We don’t advertise at all, word just gets around.
Last year we must have had a dozen or more people from the state
department.”

That is about all Adalene has time to say, because she is en route
to the clothesline with laundered sheets and is supervising a clean-
ing lady in the kitchen, and most importantly, is readying the
minute book for the Daughters of the American Revolution which
will meet in Confluence tomorrow. “She needs to slow down,” Bill
says. Bill follows this advice himself. “Adalene has arthritis, and the
place is a lot of work. She checks the cleaning and the beds and
goes around redoing half the stuff. She has to have it just so. Ada-
lene, she always wants everything in the house to be perfect.

“We’re looking for another house. This one is too big. We need a
smaller place. We don’t want to leave, but might have to go to
Uniontown.” Adalene catches wind of our talk and says, “I just
don’t know how I’d leave. This is our home.”

In the late 1800s and early in this century, Ohiopyle was an
industrial town, its economy based on coal and timber. The place
was called “Falls City” until 1881 when it was incorporated as a
borough and named Ohiopyle. The name had been spelled Ohio-

150 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

9

pehhele, meaning “beautiful falls,” “beautiful flowing water,’ or
“white frothing water” in one of the Indian languages.

Along with raw materials of wood and coal, a cornerstone of
Ohiopyle industry was water power from the river. Henry Fry first
attempted this in about 1842. Above the Falls, he built a log dam to
divert water for a sawmill, but like Elijah Friend’s enterprise at Sang
Run, a flood obliterated the dam before the first log was cut. An-
drew Stewart then constructed a dam 400 feet above the Falls and
built a wooden raceway to channel water to a mill. This mill burned
before one dollar was made. A sawmill actually opened at the Falls
in about 1850, making Stewart one of the first local industrialists.
Later a gristmill was built, and in 1865, a planing mill. Stewart
built a sawmill near the river at Stewarton in the 1870s. He had
served eighteen years as a congressman and received the 1848 Whig
nomination for Vice-president.

In 1879, the Falls City Pulp-Mill began operating, powered by
water. A new 400-foot-wide dam was built across the river to trap
and divert the flow.

In the early 1900s, the Kendall Lumber Company converted the
pulp mill into a hydroelectric plant to power its sawmill on Sugar-
loaf Road, and in 1906 it added a network that brought electric
lights to Ohiopyle. Shelby Mitchell recalls that “in the winter you
could tell whenever the ice would build up in the raceway, because
the light would go dim. Not enough water was getting through to
make power. Finally somebody’d have to go down and knock the
ice off.” This was done by the person who first became fed up with
darkness.

The Falls City Shook Factory, for production of barrel parts, stood
at the mouth of Meadow Run where the state park superintendent’s
house is today. Other industries of the late 1800s included the Falls
City Spoke and Hub—Works where wooden wheels were made, and
the Fayette Tannery built by Amos Potter. Grain milling at Potter’s
mill and elsewhere also spurred the local economy. Before 1900,
much of the town was centered at the lower end toward Meadow
Run. Five or six hundred people lived in and near Ohiopyle.

The railroad was critical to economic health. The Baltimore and
Ohio (the first commercial railroad in the country) was incorpo-
rated in 1826. Its planners proposed a Youghiogheny line which,
like the Nemacolin Path and the National Road, would connect the
east coast with the Ohio Valley. The route was from Cumberland,

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 151

Maryland, to Wheeling, West Virginia, with only a spur to Pitts-
burgh. The Baltimore—to-Cumberland section was finished in 1844,
but public opinion and politics stymied the Youghiogheny route.
Pittsburghers preferred the Pennsylvania Railroad line being built
from Philadelphia directly to their city; southwestern Pennsylvan-
ians opposed the B 86 0 because it would reduce National Road
traffic and deplete roadside business.

B 86 O officials failed to secure an extension of their construction
deadline as required by Pennsylvania law and were forced to scrap
the Youghiogheny plan. They continued laying tracks to Wheeling.
Meanwhile, the Pittsburgh and Connellsville Railroad Company in-
corporated in 1837 to connect those cities via the lower Youghio-
gheny. This route opened in 1855, and in 1871 the line was
extended up the Youghiogheny to the Maryland boundary and
Cumberland. When the B 86 O leased the line four years later, it
began operating the route it had originally planned to build. In the
1970s the B 85 O became part of the Chessie System.

The Western Maryland Railroad Company began building a com-
peting line from Connellsville to Baltimore in 1911. This followed
the south and west side of the Youghiogheny from Connellsville to
Confluence. The last train passed on May 21, 1975: the Chessie
System had bought the Western Maryland and discontinued service.
The old Western Maryland Bridge still spans the river at Ohiopyle,
and the abandoned High Bridge towers at the lower end of the
Loop, one-quarter of a mile away.

Trains hauled coal from Ohiopyle to Pittsburgh and Baltimore.
The railroads were the steadiest local employer, and they became an
inescapable part of everyday life. Bill Holt says, “We used to go
down and watch the B 85 O’s Capitol Limited go through. It was
nonstop from Pittsburgh to Washington, and it was fast.” Ohiopyle
students rode the train to high school in Connellsville. The B 85 O
stopped at Ursina (near Confluence), Confluence, Victoria, and
Ohiopyle; then at Bear Run, Stewarton, and Indian Creek, all be-
tween Ohiopyle and Connellsville.

Because the town’s economy hinged on extraction, its future was
doomed. This cornucopia of riches could last only so long: the coal
was nonrenewable, and the forest, too, was managed like a mine;
they sawed everything as fast as they could sell it. It was cut-and-
run without regeneration and without sustained yield that would

152 § Youghioglaeny: Appalachian River

allow smaller yields of lumber forever. “You just didn’t think about
those things, understand?” Shelby Mitchell says. About the time its
economic base faded, Ohiopyle emerged as a tourist town. To hear
about those days, I visited Gwen Waters.

Born in 1897, Gwen Holt Waters is a first cousin of Bill Holt’s.
She lived along Beaver Creek where the original Holt emigrants had
settled, but her family moved into town when Gwen was five. She is
now eighty-five, standing straight with bright blue eyes, her white
hair pulled back in a bun. Listening to her, I don’t get the history of
big names or big money, but the story of what life was like along
the Youghioheny. There was an early wave of tourism, quite differ-
ent from today’s, and dependent, like the town’s economy, on the
railroad.

“We used to go down and meet the excursion trains from Pitts-
burgh,” Gwen says. “A bunch of us girls would go, may eighteen of
us. We’d go over right after Sunday school at eleven o’clock. There
must have been a thousand people on one train with lots of cars. It
was something for us to see all of those people. I was sixteen,
maybe seventeen.” I ask if the girls were looking for boyfriends.
“No. No No.”

I ask, “So it was a bunch of country girls going to see the city
people?” and Gwen answers, “Yeah, that’s what it was, that’s what
it was.”

The tourists—mostly Pittsburghers but some from Cumberland,
both cities being about seventy-five miles away—came for one dol-
lar, round trip. Some stayed the day, others overnight. Local
farmers, including the Shaffers, Morrises, and Grindells rode down
in horse-drawn surreys to the B SC 0 station to meet city guests
who boarded at the farms for a few days, or sometimes a week or
two. “People would get home-cooked meals and relax and loaf
around the farms,” Gwen says. The Rainer Hotel stood at the upper
end of town, above today’s post office on land now owned by the
Pittsburgh Diocese of the Catholic church (a site where housing for
the elderly has been proposed). Next to the hotel was a small
amusement park where local kids rode a five-cent merry-go-round.
Donner’s Excursion House, known for good food and the piano
playing of its owner, did business nearby. Brady’s Boarding House
kept urban visitors on the north side of the river where Wilderness

Voyageurs rafting company owns land today.
The Ohiopyle House—the oldest hotel—stood along the B SC 0

Obiopyle: The Old Days § 153

tracks near the Mitchell house at the edge of Ferncliff Park. It began
as a large farm building and was converted into a tavern and hotel
by Andrew Stewart in 1871. Horses were boarded underneath.
Owners enlarged and remodeled again and again, and through 100
years the landmark evolved from the primitive barnlike establish-
ment to an elegant hotel. In the early 1960s the Western Pennsylva-
nia Conservancy owned it, contracting management to the Mariet-
tas and later the Whipkeys. T

Choices were many for lodging, but the Ferncliff Hotel was the
queen for overnight accommodations. It rose four stories and ram-
bled for 101 feet before angling into two wings, 75 feet each. “It
was a really beautiful place,” Gwen says. “There was a big archway
going down a long walkway.” Fountains decorated the grounds.
They boasted of 800 electric lights, a dining room seating 150
people, and an indoor bowling alley. Outside, guests played on a
baseball field and tennis courts. According to travel columns in
newspapers, “Every want of the visitor, tourist, and summer guest
would be fully met, and the romantic spot cannot fail to become
one of the most enchanting resorts in the country.” Out back, a hot
spring attracted those who sought restoration of health, but when
the hotel was demolished, workmen disclosed an underground pipe
connecting the spring to the hotel’s basement boiler.

“The orchestra from Connellsville would come up and play,”
Gwen says. “People would dance in the evening at a pavilion right
along the river below the Western Maryland Bridge. We’d go over
and watch the people dance. That was something. They were
dressed up fancy. We didn’t dance, except now and then we’d get in
on a cakewalk or square dance. Then Reverend Porter would come
over and chase us. Oh, he didn’t want us dancing. He thought it
was terrible. Ask Bill Holt about Reverend Charles Porter. We ran
down by the river and he never found us down there.”

This was long before rafters or kayakers discovered the Yough-
iogheny; long before the invention of such equipment. I ask Gwen
what people did. “All through the park they’d picnic, you know.
Some would walk out to Cucumber Falls. They just liked to get out
for a good time, and they had it too. They’d run all through the
woods; get out of the city and relax.” People escaped. The hotel
proclaimed that “those who would like to flee to the mountains
need not go far.”

Gwen continues, “Harry Marietta from Connellsville ran the

 

154 § Yougbiog/oeny: Appalachian River

Ferncliff for awhile and he was a great one for entertainment.
That’s when they had the most dances. It was nice here in the
summer. A lot of people coming and going.”

“Did you ever want to get out?” I ask. “To move away and be
one of them?”

“No. We were satisfied to live here. Those were good days, yes.
You weren’t afraid. Everybody was jolly. People sat on their
porches and talked. We really enjoyed life. My dad played the
violin, and he’d yell out the upstairs window to Jenny Eney across
the street: ‘Hey Jenny, strike up a chord,’ and Jenny would play the
piano over there and dad would play his violin over here. They’d
have a tune going back and forth across the street and you could
hear it all up and down. Each evening a lamplighter’d come down
the street, starting up the gas streetlights. It seems like a dream now,
when you think back.” For people to know their home so well, to
accept it so fully, and to love it through the years and through the
changes is rare among the mobile generations that follow Gwen
Waters.

Everything was not idyllic. Most people had outhouses which
worked fine, but in 1910 or so, residents converted to flush toilets
and the water-borne sewage streamed in open ditches through
town. “Yes,” Gwen says, “it’d run down the alley and into drains,
down into the river. There wasn’t much trash or garbage. Chick-
ens’ed clean most of it up.”

Gwen’s house, next to the Holt’s, is large and full of heavy oak
antiques, Victorian furnishings, and a half-dozen cats. The rugs and
wallpaper are flowered in a faded design. Pictures of descendents
stare from fancy gold-colored frames. “I have a picture of Front
Street here somewhere,” Gwen says, and she thumbs through a box
of assorted postcards, black-and-white photos that have ripened to
yellow, greeting cards, and Kodak Brownie snapshots. Many are
portraits of young people: probably grandchildren, nieces, and
nephews, some wearing wedding gowns, some in military uniforms.
A photograph of the Baptist church is framed and propped on an
end table. Gwen’s brother, Denzel, also lives here. “Denzel, where’s
that old picture of Front Street?” Gwen asks. Denzel is sitting in a
rocker in the other room. “I don’t know,” he answers in a singsong
voice that is Denzel’s, only.

Gwen finds the Front Street photo—a scene that has disappeared.
Today’s main street is farther from the river than the old Front

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 155

Street (or Commercial Street, as it was officially called). Homes and
stores lined both sides. “Matthew Williams had a dry-goods store
on the corner,” Gwen says. “Then came the C. W. Sailor store, a
house, and the J. W. Holt store on the river side. Charlie Holt later
started his store on this side, where Falls Market is today. Daniels’,
Livingston’s, and Chuck’s stores were down there too. Toward the
river there was a blacksmith and wagon shop, and Cyrus Shuw had
a store. There was another blacksmith shop up where Bob Mari-
etta’s house now sits.” This is above today’s White Water Adven-
turers rafting office. More buildings stood on the north side of the
river across the bridge. “William Glotfelty had a store there be-
tween the tracks and the river. Across the road, Tommy Glotfelty
had a barber shop and ran a taxi service with a Model T Ford. The
Kendall Lumber Company also had a store on that side, then Bur-
dett 86 Saylor.” Later, Whipkey’s Restaurant was on that side.

“Down at the river, in the summertime, it was like Atlantic City,”
Gwen says, not referring to gamblers. “All the visitors would go
swimming, and everybody in town, too. Visitors went on the other
side, town people on this side.” Tradition still has the local “beach”
on the town side of the river, above the bridge. “Lots of people
would go in the big hole under the old bridge, and boys’d do
flip-flops from a rope swing there. Especialy in the evening, people
in town would go down and swim after supper. The water was
warm, and such a nice rocky bottom. The people from Pittsburgh
had bloomers down to their knees, but us Ohiopyle girls’d just go in
with our clothes on. We’d take off what we could, then jump in the
river with our long dresses on. We eventually got bloomers too, but
that came later. Took awhile to catch on, and for us to afford them.
The boys, they’d go skinny dippin’ up at the island [at Z rapid]. The
girls never went. They did the peepin’. We could stand on the
bridge and look up. They were so far up, you couldn’t tell who they
Were, but you could tell they didn’t have clothes on.”

Gwen says, “We’d take the four o’clock or six o’clock train to
Connellsville and see a movie: Charlie Chaplin or W. C. Fields. We’d
take the 8:17 morning train to Connellsville, then an electric street-
car to Uniontown, and make it back to Ohiopyle at either 8:30 or
midnight. That was fun. It was the only way in or out of town.”

There was more interaction with Connellsville then because
Ohiopyle students took the train to high school. Dr. George Dull of
Connellsville says, “We knew each other more in those days.” After

15 6 § Yougbiog/oeny: Appalachian River

the roads were improved and more people owned cars, Ohiopyle’s
orientation switched to Uniontown, which is about the same dis-
tance, but a larger city where economic decline did not come so
soon as in Connellsville.

I ask Gwen what she did after she got out of school.

“We didn’t do anything,” she says. “I stayed home and worked
around the house, eventually got married. Some of the young
people went over to the hotel and worked, but I never did. I always
had enough to do helping around home. It’s different now. People
and the town and everything.” Gwen laughs, “Make you feel like
you’re getting old! We used to spend evenings roasting apples, pop-
pin’ corn. We’d get together and pull taffy, boys and girls both, just
for fun. Now people say, ‘What for?’ but that’s all we had to do.
We’d have a good time. Today, it’s different. It’s a different class of
people.”

The resort-hotel era endured only as long as the railroads brought
customers. “Everybody started buying automobiles,” Gwen ex-
plains. “To buy a Ford didn’t cost an enormous price. Then people
quit coming on the excursion trains. When the Western Maryland
was built in 1914, the tracks cut right through the Ferncliff grounds
and kind of ruined them, so each year the hotel went downhill.”
The Ranier Hotel was torn down, and the Ferncliff followed in the
thirties. Soon the Ohiopyle House was the only hotel left, and most
of its business transpired in the bar. It had started out as a tavern,
and it ended up as a tavern.

From the 19303 on, it was hard times for Ohiopyle. The trees had
been cut and it would be seventy years before good saw-timber
would be marketable again. The thickest, richest, most accessible
seams of coal had been dug and burned. A few mines reopened,
such as the Potter mines that Shelby Mitchell operated, but most of
the new mining would come after World War II by stripping com-
panies hiring perhaps one-tenth the number of men as the old
shovel-and-auger operators. Even coal that had been dug and
loaded could not be sold during the Depression. Railroad cars, full
of coal, sat on the B 85 O siding at Ohiopyle until the cars rusted.
Moonshining, especially in the Greenbrier area beyond today’s raft-
ing take-out road, was one of the few profitable businesses. Federal
officials raided the stills now and then.

The government hired some men to build the Pennsylvania Turn-

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 157

pike in 1936 and Youghiogheny Dam in 1938. A few men worked
on the railroad, but for jobs, that was about it. The trains quit
stopping in Ohiopyle, and it became as inaccessible as Confluence.
Day by day, year by year, the old luster faded and Ohiopyle as-
sumed the poverty of Appalachia.

During the make-work efforts of the Depression, Congressman
J. Buell Snyder proposed construction of four Youghiogheny dams:
two between Connellsville and Confluence, one near Smithfield on
the lower river, and one on the Casselman. Based on a preliminary
survey indicating that a “great power project can be developed,”
Snyder introduced a bill appropriating $15 million for the dams,
which would provide “cheap electric power in Pittsburgh and all
other communities within a 100—mile radius.” He compared the
potential to that of the Tennessee River, where the Tennessee Valley
Authority had begun a flurry of dam-building that would not stop
for forty years. The bill did not pass. The West Penn Power Com-
pany also considered a dam at Ohiopyle, and later a plan to divert
water at the Route 381 bridge through Ferncliff Park, gaining an
eighty-foot drop for hydropower while cutting off the river’s flow
from the Falls and the Loop.

The Depression deepened, and even afterward poverty clung to
the region, since its resources were depleted and no stable economy
had ever taken hold. In Ohiopyle and around the mountains, frame
buildings built in the boom era of lumber and coal sagged and their
paint peeled. Woodpiles, coalpiles, and old cars concealed the
yards. Spoil piles of coal and shale from the mines dotted the woods
where oaks were struggling to survive on rocky ground that had
been lumbered and slash burned, its topsoil Washed down to Louisi-
ana. When some money was made, aluminum siding was nailed to
houses here and there through the 1960s, the shiny veneer incon-
gruous amid organic and decaying surroundings.

Young people who were skilled or talented or ambitious emi-
grated to cities of the east coast, California, and in later years the
South. Some stayed because the Appalachians were home and be-
cause they were willing to do without jobs, money, and the excite-
ment of the American mainstream, but most who could get out, left.
People grew older and the median age soared. Some people col-
lected welfare. Stonerville, once a well-kept community of twenty
houses built by the East Fayette Coal Company along Cucumber
Run, could have been in a classic 1960 photograph of Appalachia:

158 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

two-story unpainted buildings all alike, torn screens or no screens in
the windows, mangy dogs lounging on dirt streets, chickens in the
yards, children looking like rural waifs.

I first came to know Ohiopyle during the late fifties. Front Street
was still there, but many of the houses were decaying. Most of the
stores and blacksmith shops that Gwen Waters remembers were
long gone. Gladys’s Snack Bar survived, and Holstetter’s gas station
stood prominently near the Falls. Holt’s Department Store was the
center of activity. Whipkey’s Restaurant was on the other side of
the iron truss bridge that spanned lower and slightly downstream
from today’s crossing.

Raw sewage flowed down from town in ditches and seeped across
the flat rocks and into the Youghiogheny, which carried the odor of
rotting organics. Because of mine acid from the Casselman, no fish
could live.

Bobby Marietta and a few local kids swam in the Falls. About
1959 I remember the exotic sight to two men launching a raft. To
float down the river seemed to be an adventure worthy of Lewis
and Clark. Except for the pioneers of whitewater paddling, boaters
had not arrived and nobody imagined the river-running enterprise
to come. Not one person imagined that the tool to be fondled in the
hand of Ohiopyle workingmen would not be the sharpened crosscut
or the weighty pick and shovel, but a canoe paddle shaped for play.

Ohiopyle was a sleepy mountain town where a few Sunday tourists
from Pittsburgh wandered in to see the Falls by walking across a
lawn and climbing down onto the rocks. Ohiopyle was so out of the
way that fourteen—year-old kids didn’t worry about a driver’s license.

I rode my bicycle up Kentuck Mountain to see old Ed Jackson,
my great-great—uncle, and his wife, Mary. Mary cooked on a wood-
burning stove that sat next to a seldom used gas range. The Jack-
son’s house, which had been part of an old Mitchell farm, had an
unmistakable scent that has not permeated kitchens since then. It
was a country-kitchen odor, a cross between stale cookies, home-
made bread, woodsmoke, and who knows what else, but the blend
was wonderful. Two hundred feet from the porch was the old barn:
hemlock bleached golden by 100 years of sun. The place had not
been a working farm for two generations, but when my father was
twelve, spending summers at Ohiopyle, he and young Ed Jackson
milked one or two family cows in that barn and stored the milk in
the nearby springhouse.

Ohiopyle: The Old Days § 159

Ed, Mary, and I sat on porch swings as grasshoppers buzzed in
the field and afternoon storm clouds gathered in our View of Sugar-
loaf Mountain. Whenever a car rumbled past, yellow dust-cloud
streaming behind, Ed got up to see who it was. It was not that often
that he had to get up. He maintained complete knowledge of trav-
elers on that road—the same that now leads to the state park camp-
ground.

So it was that the old days of Ohiopyle, and many of the old
people, were coming to an end. “The town had pretty much seen its
life,” Shelby Mitchell says. “We had timber, and coal, and recre-
ation, but then there just wasn’t much of anything until the rafting
and the state park. Today the park’s okay. Lot of people enjoy it,
but I don’t care to go down there anymore. I like to remember
Ohiopyle the way it was.”

Shelby and I page through the Mitchell picture album, a treasure
of extinct Ohiopyle scenes: the covered bridge, the elaborate gate
that welcomed Pittsburgers to the Ferncliff Hotel, the Falls in 1890
with the pulp mill, and again in 1915 with the power plant. Front
Street included the old Holt store and a dozen houses. All of these
things are gone except for the river.

We come to a sepia—toned photo of eight men posing in front of a
small sawmill. The person in the center is handsome, with a striking
eye on the camera. It is Shelby in his twenties. Now he is seventy-
three, but the eyes are the same. Shelby looks at the photo and says,
“All but three of us in that picture are dead, and I’m ’bout half.”

I am suddenly aware of a peaceful sadness in Shelby’s old age. A
friend of his said, “Shelby’s had a hard time retiring. He’s used to
getting up at five o’clock and working all the time.” Now there is
not much to do. After a little while Shelby adds, “There’s one thing
I don’t like. Every time I get up in the morning, I’m one day older.

“Used to be, you go into most any house and there was an old
person there. Maybe two. Not now. Now they go to nursing homes.
I sure don’t want to go there, all those old people. I like it out here,
feedin’ my squirrels. There were eight of ’em this morning. I love to
watch those squirrels. You look at animals like that. They have the
same things people have. They’re no different when you get right
down to it.

“I used to go hunting, but the last time I killed a deer, I stood
there while it was dying. He was looking up at me with those big

160 § Youghiogbeny: Appalachian River

eyes and I said, ‘Now what’s the fun of killing? Isn’t it better to
live?’ These animals want to live just as much as I do. Just as much
as you do.

“They breathe, they eat, sleep. Look at them. It’s life and that’s
the thing. We’re all together, everything that’s living. Just life is the
main thing. If that isn’t it, then what is?” Shelby also talks about
nuclear war. “You watch the news and you can see that every day
we’re getting a little closer, a little closer.” We fall silent for awhile.

“I feel myself getting pretty creaky but she just keeps going,”
Shelby says, glancing towards Lois, who is scurrying around in the
kitchen. “Lois takes real good care of me.” Shelby is looking at the
mountainside of his life, and it is steep. There is a old-age sadness
from this man who was a wild mountain boy and a reckless fun-
lover, who once painted a horse like a zebra, who swam the Loop,
and taunted rattlesnakes. Shelby, who had two marriages, who
moved to California and back again twice because Ohiopyle and
the mountains were in his blood, and who cut thousands of trees
and supervised scores of loggers and miners, has grown old.

Something sparks on and off in my mind like a dream that I try to
remember when I wake up in the night. Something about Shelby
and Ohiopyle growing old together. In ten years many of its
people—-Gwen Holt Waters, Bill Holt, Adalene Potter Holt, Shelby
Mitchell—might be gone. I think of changes coming to Ohiopyle
and to everyplace, and it seems that there should be some connec-
tion between the old and the new.

Chapter Eight

The Park

From a mountain town, old and gripped by poverty, Ohiopyle
would be transformed in the late 1960s to a booming center of
recreation. Pittsburgh had been the reason for much of the use of
timber, coal, and land of the Youghiogheny basin, and that city was
also the source of efforts and money to protect what remained of
the wildness.

The Greater Pittsburgh Parks Association was formed in the early
1930s by business leaders and citizens whose goal was to improve
the city. Their modest beginning was to plant trees and shrubbery
along Bigelow Boulevard, but bigger things were in store. In a few
years the group of volunteers reorganized as the Western Pennsylva-
nia Conservancy to offer conservation education programs and to
save open space by acquiring land. Dr. Frank Preston, an amateur
geologist, spurred interest in McConnell’s Mill and the Slippery
Rock Creek Gorge thirty-five miles northwest of Pittsburgh, and
acquisition of the site in 1944 resulted in McConnell’s Mill State
Park. With a $130,000 grant from the A. W. Mellon Education and
Charitable Trust in 1958, the Conservancy directors would hire a
staff to buy open space holding scientific, natural, or recreational
value, and by 1982 the Conservancy would acquire 80,000 acres
for protection and public use. This would include much of Moraine,
Laurel Ridge, Oil Creek, and Ohiopyle state parks.

According to M. Graham Netting, Conservancy historian and
early board member, the Ohiopyle park idea began in the late
forties with Lillian McCahan, the Western Maryland station agent

161

162 § Youghioglaeny Appalachian River

in Ohiopyle. She wanted to save the Ferncliff peninsula as a natural
area.

At Ohiopyle, the northwestern flowing Youghiogheny bends to
the south, west, then north, dropping ninety feet in two miles
and returning within one-quarter mile of meeting itself. This is
the Youghiogheny’s unique and famous Loop, and like a cupped
hand, it almost encloses the 100-acre peninsula called Ferncliff.
Other than the wild Youghiogheny between Oakland and Friends-
ville, the Loop is the only section of river where no road or
railroad clings to the waterfront. Boulders ranging in size from
basketballs to houses monopolize the shorelines. Lepidodendron
fossils from 365-million-year-old club mosses are plentiful. Virgin
hemlock, fat-trunked and twisted, grow from the steep slopes
above the boulders. Ferncliff combines green and white water,
tan and gray rock, and hemlock in one of the most scenic of all
Eastern riverfronts.

Outcroppings of sandstone create the Falls and the rapids below
Ohiopyle. Like the Pottsville formation in the Laurel Hill Gap
above, rocks at the Loop resist erosion and remain jumbled barriers
in the river. Below the Falls, seven rapids rush for 1.7 miles around
the peninsula and come as close as physics allow to a paddler’s
impossible fantasy: whitewater that circles and meets itself, a con-
tinuous river.

Ferncliff is also known for its plant life. Beginning in 1916, Dr.
O. E. Jennings, an internationally known Pittsburgh botanist, ex-
plored Ferncliff, calling it a “botanist’s paradise.” Other scientists
joined him hunting unusual plants and comparing notes in the
evening at the Ferncliff Hotel. They found eighty-seven species
and varieties of woody plants. Logged in 1911 and selectively cut
in 1947, the peninsula is shaded by oaks, hickories, tulip trees,
and beech, but the rare plants are what has drawn attention:
Barbar’s Buttons (Mars/Jallia grandiflora) and Carolina tassel-rue
(Trautz/etteria caroliniensis), grow no place else in Pennsylvania.
Slender blue iris (Iris prismatica), autumn willow (Salix seris-
sima), and buffalo-nut (Pyrularia pubera) normally grow to the
south and are scarce in this region. Paul Wiegman, director of
the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy’s natural areas programs
in 1982, says that the north-flowing river is unique in its transit
of southern seeds to a northern gorge, protected by its deepness
from the coldest weather. Frost damage is minimized and humid-

The Park § 163

ity maximized by inversions that breed fog. “It’s a northern ex-
tension of southern climate,” Wiegman says. The Monongahela
also flows north, but its valley is too wide to offer a protective
microclimate.

In 1948, Lillian McCahan wrote to Charles F. Chubb at the
Conservancy, asking if it could acquire Ferncliff. Chubb replied that
it could not, funds being depleted by the McConnell’s Mill project.
She also wrote to the Pennsylvania Department of Forests and
Waters. An official responded that Ferncliff was too small to be a
state park.

McCahan became even more concerned in 1951 when the Fern-
cliff owner, Alex Mead, prepared to sell the peninsula for $35,000.
A prospective owner planned to cut the timber and build an amuse-
ment park (a 337—lot subdivision had been plotted there earlier).
The West Penn Power Company’s Industrial Development Depart-
ment also advertised the site as a good location with ample water
for small industry. In 1951 McCahan wrote to Dr. William Mayer-
Oakes, a Carnegie Museum anthropologist from Pittsburgh whom
she had met in Ohiopyle. l\/layer-Oakes discussed the proposal with
M. Graham Netting, then serving on the Recreation, Conservation,
and Park Council of the Allegheny Conference on Community De-
velopment. With Charles Chubb of the Conservancy, Netting ap-
proached Edgar J. Kaufmann, owner of Kaufmann’s Department
Store in Pittsburgh, about acquiring Ferncliff. Kaufmann had spent
weekends at nearby Fallingwater—his vacation home—and knew
the area. He agreed about the importance of Ferncliff, and he
bought it from the Mead heirs (Mead had died suddenly) for
$40,000. In 1951 the peninsula and the Ohiopyle House Hotel were
turned over to Conservancy ownership, beginning a Youghiogheny
involvement of unrealized consequence.

The Conservancy coupled a commitment to saving outdoor “mu-
seum pieces” of natural history with a growing interest in river-
fronts. John Oliver, president of the group in 1982, says, “We set
out in the sixties to determine which rivers had the greatest recre-
ation and natural area potential. The Youghiogheny was high, espe-
cially after the cleanup of the Casselman. The gorge is unique and
close to Pittsburgh.” With the nucleus of Ferncliff, the Conservancy,
in 1958, announced its dedication to preserving more of the area,
the first objective being to save the Youghiogheny gorge from fur-
ther mining, logging, and land development.


O/aiopyle and Route 381 bridge, 1908

Femcliff Hotel, about 1920

Logging crew on Kentuclz Mountain, Shelby Mitchell in center (wearing vest), Oudie Mitchell
on right, 1933

Shelby Mitchell

Bill and Adalene Holt

Hépylé nd the Léofi, aitt I01(p/904(4)‘ fnrom nifihtown e.alSta.f1dard)

Cucumber Falls

 % I from .s‘z°nc%le K

Meadow Run waterslide

Railroad Rapi

172 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Conservancy leaders soon realized that the potential of the Ohio-
pyle effort demanded a long-range view, and that with a plan, they
might persuade state officials to create a park. How much land
should be bought, and where, and what should it be used for? What
kind of park could Ohiopyle be? What kinds of activities would be
possible? How could the key assets—Ferncliff, the Loop, the
gorge—be protected from encroachments? For planning, land ac-
quisition, and park development at Ohiopyle, the Conservancy re-
ceived a $100,000 grant from a Mellon trust fund, and in 1959 they
hired a firm called Community Planning Services. For one year, the
planners, including David Fahringer (now a partner in the land-
scape architecture firm called Farhinger, McCarty, and Grey), ana-
lyzed the land, then recommended park boundaries. The Conser-
vancy president, Charles F. Lewis, was involved in all decisions.

Because the gorge was a priority for protection, the acquisition
border was extended upriver to Ramcat Run where the gap in
Laurel Hill begins, and downriver past Bruner Run on the south
side of the Youghiogheny. Increasing riverfront open space in Ohio-
pyle was also a goal, so more house acquisition was added to the
plan. “The north slope of Sugarloaf had excellent slopes for skiing,”
David Fahringer says, “so we included part of it. Baughman Rocks,
east of Ohiopyle, was an excellent overlook, so the boundaries were
enlarged to protect scenic areas there. Tharp Knob ridge [Kentuck
Mountain] was a good useable area for camping and a golf course.
The high overlooks there are very good. Jonathan Run is a beautiful
stream, and Meadow Run had potential for some small lakes. We
tried to avoid good farmland. I think only one active farm—-one of
the Mitchell farms—was included.”

The Conservancy also consulted Fahringer about the relocation of
Route 381 (Front Street). The state Department of Transportation
planned to relocate the road against the mountain with a 100-foot-
high bridge spanning the Youghiogheny at Z Rapid. “It would have
changed the scale of development,” Fahringer says. “With big arches
and cuts in the mountain, it wouldn’t have fit with the setting.” The
new bridge was finally built directly upriver from the old one.

The planning study recommended that a state park be estab-
lished, confirming what Dr. Jennings had said the decade before:
“For a combination of rushing rapids, water falls, picturesque
rocks, wooded valleys and gorges and rhododendron thickets, no
park in the state is the equal of this region.” From 1951 to 1959,

The Park § 173

the Ohiopyle idea had grown from one of preserving Ferncliff as a
natural area, to protecting the Youghiogheny gorges above and
below Ohiopyle, to providing a large recreational park.

In 1959, the West Penn Power Company gave to the Conservancy
river frontage from the Route 381 bridge to Meadow Run, includ-
ing the old raceway site that led to the Kendall power plant. Con-
servancy officials called the gift the “most significant” they had ever
received.

The Conservancy announced in the spring of 1960 that the borough
of Ohiopyle would vacate an unused right-of-way along the river and
that plans were being drawn for a parking lot, picnic grounds, and a
trail. The Conservancy bought and razed six buildings to expand
riverfront open space, and the dealings soon snowballed.

In 1961, Mrs. Albert Fraser Keister sold to the Conservancy 589
acres containing two miles along the river and one mile of Cucumber
Run. This included the outside shoreline of the Loop, today’s Great
Gorge Trail, and forty-foot Cucumber Falls. Protection was under-
way, but destruction continued nearby: in 1961 a strip miner exca-
vated an abandoned deep mine, releasing acid and iron, painting
Cucumber Run orange and killing fish for sixteen miles to Connells-
ville. A few years later, an abandoned Cucumber strip mine was
replanted by Boy Scouts supervised by Ralph Abele, who later be-
came executive director of the Pennsylvania Fish Commission where
he worked for water quality protection along the Youghiogheny. In
1962, “Keister Park” was increased by 987 acres, extending it to the
mouth of Jonathan Run and to Tharp Knob on Kentuck Mountain.

Conservancy and state officials agreed that land would be resold
to the Commonwealth in a pattern to become routine: The Conser-
vancy would resell it at cost plus carrying expenses (including taxes
and lost-interest payments) to the state when the slower wheels of
bureaucracy would catch up. What the state would do with the land
was undecided.

With Fahringer’s plan, the Conservancy approached the Com-
monwealth of Pennsylvania about making a state park, and be-
tween the years of 1955 and 1979, this meant approaching Dr.
Maurice Goddard.

The son of a lawyer-turned-minister, Maurice Goddard was born
in 1912 in Lowell, Massachusetts, grew up in Kansas, attended high
school in Toronto, Canada, then moved to Portland, Maine. He
studied forestry at the University of Maine in the 1930s, when

Chapter One

The High Ridge

(‘It seems that most people who came up here were trying to get
away from something,” Prothero said. “They were renegades
or dropouts——people trying to escape. Or maybe they were the
hunters, the ones who were looking for something, and they
thought this would be a good place to find it.” I had figured Jim
Prothero came to the Youghiogheny River of southwestern Pennsyl-
vania to guide raft trips, since that’s what he did for five years after
he arrived, but he corrected me. He came here after he broke up
with a girl friend. He needed to get away, and there is nothing like a
daily soaking in whitewater for a change of pace. River guides at
Ohiopyle are responsible for eighty people on a busy day, and there
is no time for a past or a future. It is day-to-day, exactly what this
man needed.

That was a long time ago. Since then, Prothero has seen some of
the Youghiogheny. He has guided two hundred commercial raft
trips and spent five years renting canoes on the reach from Conflu-
ence to Ohiopyle. For sport he has kayaked the dangerous upper
Youghiogheny. But in all this time, he had never been to the head-
waters. This river that had brought escape, pleasure, and live-
lihood—he had never seen where it starts. Few people have. Maybe
he was just avoiding the work at his riverside house in Confluence,
but when I said I was going to search out the beginning of the river,
in May of 1981, Jim Prothero said he would come along.

From maps, I couldn’t tell if our final destination was in Mary-
land or West Virginia. But somewhere up there, close to the border

3

174 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

resource managers faced constraints of the Depression but also a
growing concept of public responsibility. From Aldo Leopold and
others of that era, a philosophy of conservation gained a foothold
in the schools. In the forties and fifties, emphasis would turn to-
ward resource marketing and production, but in the thirties a crop
of young foresters emerged ready to do public good, some of them
with almost missionary dedication. Goddard graduated in 1935.

In his first year out of college, he taught at Mont Alto, where
Penn State University sent its forestry freshmen. After several years
in military service as a lieutenant colonel, Goddard returned to
Penn State and served as chairman of the Department of Forestry
from 1952 to 1955, when Governor George Leader appointed him
secretary of the Department of Forests and Waters. In 1971 Gover-
nor Milton Shapp appointed him secretary of the newly formed
Department of Environmental Resources (DER), incorporating re-
sponsibilities for public lands, water, air, mining, and recreation.
For twenty-four years, Goddard was the state resource manager.
Across the country, probably no other chief resource official—fed-
eral or state—has held office longer.

Many of Pennsylvania’s laws and policies for conservation and
environmental protection were enacted while Goddard was in of-
fice. Not much happened before, and not much since. He saw a
host of new controls for clean water, clean air, and strip mining.
Many accomplishments in conservation would not have happened
without Goddard. Back in 1962, eight years before a wave of envir-
onmentalism swept the country, Goddard said: “We must recognize
first of all, that we cannot go on desecrating this globe and expect it
to be a very livable place by the year 2000.”

In a few cases, environmentalists fought Goddard. For example,
he staunchly supported Tocks Island Dam on the Delaware River,
but in 1978 this section was added to the National Wild and Scenic
Rivers System, to remain free—flowing. Together, Goddard and the
conservationists were sometimes defeated. They opposed the con-
struction of a huge tower at the Gettysburg Battlefield, but the state
lost in court. Although strip-mine laws were adequate on paper,
enforcement was sometimes a sham because of ineffective or cor-
rupt bureaucrats who were entrenched beneath Goddard. But over-
all, he accomplished much for conservation, especially considering
that Pennsylvania was an industrial state, old in every way, politi-
cally conservative, and economically declining.

The Park § 175

Goddard combined technical expertise, a grasp of seemingly infi-
nite detail, and the political savvy to survive under Republicans and
Democrats alike (he has always been registered Independent). Down
to technicians in the field, employees called Goddard “the boss,”
and in later years, they respectfully called him the “old man.” He
spoke in a deep voice and called everybody by his last name. Most
people were not impressed with him as a warm and compassionate
leader; he was almost feared, and seldom seen by many employees.
His direct manner threatened some security-conscious bureaucrats
who shunned confrontation or accountability. “So what are you
going to do about that?” Goddard would demand of his deputies
and bureau chiefs. Yet he would back them to the hilt when the
politics got hot. The legislature was ready to vote to fire Bill Eich-
baum, the department’s chief attorney who sued the big polluters:
U.S. Steel, Bethlehem Steel, and other industrial giants. Goddard
called off the legislature by offering his own job in place of Eich-
baum’s. In these big poker games everybody knew that Goddard
did not bluff. He is universally remembered for candor and honesty.
His positions were clear, he played no guessing games, employed no
devious plots, and for this he was respected. Today, Goddard is a
living encyclopedia of Pennsylvania’s environment and its protec-
tion, and for that matter, of state government since 1955.

When asked about his greatest accomplishment, he does not
name a park or a dam or a cleaned-up river. He says, “Civil Ser-
vice.” He explains, “There were about twenty different states where
the chief forester came from Penn State University, but none of the
best people would work here. It was too political. Every four years
employees were replaced by appointment. First thing I did was to
change that. You can’t build a park without competent people.”
Now, out of 3,200 employees, only eight are not civil service. The
secretary was one of the eight, and was replaced with the former
state chamber of commerce director when Republican Governor
Richard Thornburgh of Pittsburgh took office in 1979.

The state park system in Pennsylvania is regarded as one of the
nation’s larger and better ones, and to consider it is to consider
Maurice Goddard. He set a goal of one park within twenty-five
miles of every citizen, and he met it, opening forty-one new parks,
Ohiopyle being one.

The same year that Lillian McCahan asked the Conservancy and
the Department of Forests and Waters to buy Ferncliff, Frederick

176 § Youglaiogberzy: Appalachian River

Law Olmstead, Jr. (son of the landscape architect who designed
Central Park in New York and Fairmont Park in Philadelphia)
surveyed the state’s recreation needs. He recommend a park in the
Ohiopyle region. Goddard was thus ready to listen when Conser-
vancy President Charles F. Lewis arrived, enthusiastically promot-
ing the Ohiopyle idea.

In 1962, at the Conservancy’s dedication of the Keister additions,
Goddard declared his hope “to create a full-scale state park here at
Ohiopyle—-one which will be almost unmatched in natural scenic
beauty anywhere in Pennsylvania.” In 1963 he said: “Through the
efforts of the Conservancy, we have been able to acquire an impor-
tant nucleus which will be expanded as rapidly as possible. I hope
that all citzens of Fayette County will realize that this marks a new
day for economic revival and better living.” About the acquisition
of the old coal-mined lands, he said, “It marks the end of waste and
destruction and the beginning of real conservation and profitable
recreation.” No one had any idea just how profitable recreation
would become. One year later, with maps signed by Governor
Scranton, Goddard announced the beginning of an 18,500-acre
park at Ohiopyle.

In 1981, Goddard reflects, “Until the mid-fifties, parks were
much easier to establish because the state already owned the land.
They simply changed state forests into state parks.” Since God-
dard’s belief was that parks should be accessible to people, the
remote state forests did not always provide adequate sites. Private
land, closer to towns and cities, had to be bought. “We hated to
condemn land,” Goddard says. But sometimes he approved con-
demnation anyway, striving for the principle of the greatest good
for the greatest number of people.

The problem with the state park proposal at Ohiopyle, and with
the other forty-one new parks Goddard wanted to start, was lack of
money. So to buy the land, Goddard initiated Project 70. “It was
obvious to me in the sixties that if we didn’t acquire those areas
soon, we never would. The value of land was escalating rapidly.”
Goddard wrote in Water, Land, and Life (the Conservancy’s maga-
zine), “If remaining areas of scenic beauty and recreational poten-
tial are to be saved, they must be saved now. Tomorrow will be too
late.” He says that large-scale acquisition couldn’t happen today.
“You couldn’t raise the money and people wouldn’t support buying
the land.” And it couldn’t have happened earlier, either. In the

The Park § 177

19303 Governor Gifford Pinchot tried to pass a $25 million bond
issue for parks, but the legislature rejected it. Goddard’s presence in
the department and his timing on the bond proposal were perfect.

The program was called Project 70 because 1970 was the target
date for the park acquisitions. By coincidence, $70 million was the
amount approved, but not until two consecutive legislatures, and
voters in a 1963 general ballot, approved a constitutional amend-
ment which was needed because of the amount of state indebted-
ness that would result.

It was Goddard’s idea, and Goddard who sold it. He delivered
500 speeches on the topic in 1961 and 1962, working harder on
this than on anything in his career, visiting each of the sixty-two
counties at least three times. “It was a lot of hard work,” he recalls.
Goddard doubts that Ohiopyle would have become a state park
without Project 70; there wouldn’t have been enough money. On
the 1963 general ballot, Project 70 won by 140,000 votes. “It was
close,” Goddard says.

Ohiopyle was the first public hearing under Project 70, and this
was the first park to receive the money. “We didn’t have any real
serious problems,” Goddard recalls. “There was a lot of support.”
In Water, Land, and Life, Goddard said that it was the “easiest
series of meetings he had ever attended with property owners who
would lose their land.”

Conservancy officials touted Ohiopyle’s potential as a natural
area and also as a resort. With boosterism typical of the early
sixties, the group announced that “a site will permit the building of
one of the most beautiful golf courses in western Pennsylvania,”
and it wrote that plans were being drawn for “a modern hotel and
restaurant, the largest and most modern in the region.”

A 1964 issue of Water, Land, and Life carried a story titled
“From Blight to Beauty at Ohiopyle.” It said, “This total undertak-
ing is being achieved at a minimum of disruption of the way of life
in the area.” Regarding a 4,75 8-acre acquisition in 1965, the publi-
cation said that only four dwellings were involved. “This illustrates
the care which the Conservancy has exercised in attempting to build
parks to as great an extent as possible out of economically unpro-
ductive and unused land.”

So far, the Conservancy’s approach had been to receive donations
and to purchase land from people who were anxious to sell. But
with Goddard’s commitment to a park and the passage of Project

178 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

70, the acquisition program tracked a new course. David Fah-
ringer’s plan was pursued vigorously. Mountain land and most of
Ohiopyle’s Front Street were bought. The Conservancy’s agent dealt
with almost the force of government. A local resident complains,
“The Conservancy was okay until they got the power to condemn.”
In fact, the Conservancy never had condemnation or eminent do-
main powers, but to some people, only hairs were split between the
Pittsburgh group and the state.

On Kentuck Mountain, Ed ]ackson’s wife, Mary, had died, and
in 1968 the Conservancy bought his place. Old Ed moved in with
his son, Ed, down the road. So it was that young Ed, his wife, six
kids, and Old Ed lived in a six—fireplace house built in 1871 by
Martin Mitchell—Shelby Mitchell’s grandfather.

“Through the grapevine, we heard the state was going to buy our
place,” Ed says. “You could see that the Conservancy started in
Ohiopyle and kept moving out. I don’t think anyone really knew
what was going on. Then we got a letter from the state saying
something like ‘your place will be bought.’ They offered twelve
thousand some dollars.” The same thing had occurred in Somerfield
for Youghiogheny Reservoir in the 1930s, and was repeated in
several dozen homes around Ohiopyle. Ed Jackson says, “Most
people just took what they were offered. They’d say, ‘You can’t
fight the state.’ But I decided to appeal. We hired an attorney in
Uniontown and he said the place [130 acres with a house and barn]
was worth $130,000 because we could sell it off in lots. Turned out
we got sixteen thousand something.” The additional money was
little more than fees for attorneys. Many people agreed that Union-
town lawyers were the only ones to profit.

“We didn’t exactly want to leave,” Ed remembers. “It was kind
of hard. You had your whole life back there. I didn’t think too well
of the park, but didn’t get too angry because there wasn’t anything
you could do when all was said and done.” The Jacksons bought a
few acres near Chalk Hill Road and built a house for $21,000. To
do this, they borrowed $5,000 at 6 percent interest in 1968. “Most
people were that way,” Ed says. “To get resettled, they had to
spend more than they got for their old places.”

Ed’s father and wife have since died. He is sixty-five and retired
after having a heart attack. His kids are grown but live nearby; one
is next door. “I’m getting to like it out here,” he says of his new

The Park § 179

house. “There are good neighbors. But I miss the old farm. There’s
lots better hunting there. I go out hunting here, but I’m not satisfied
until I go back to the farm.” At the entrance to the state park
campground you are standing on the land that was Ed ]ackson’s.

Maurice Goddard was right: state representatives heard few com-
plaints, but Ohiopyle people complained plenty among themselves.
They agreed that farmers could starve while trying to coax a living
from the rocky, worn-out soil and no-account cornfields of this up
and down land, but they still didn’t understand why the state was
elbowing in on them. Ed Jackson says, “There was only one full-
time farmer then, but we still figured the state had enough without
taking the old places.”

People complained about losing Front Street and with it, the
town’s basic identity, run down though it was. “They didn’t have to
take so much of the town,” Adalene Holt says. “Front Street could
have been fixed up and made into shops. Look at places like Wil-
liamsburg. They could have kept what was here.”

It was difficult for people to move. A few years later, the state
began relocation payments: if the state bought your house, it would
pay your cost of resettling. But in the sixties there was no such help.
You got market value and fended for yourself. “A lot of those old
houses were falling down,” Bill Holt says. “They weren’t worth
more than $3,000, so that’s what people got. But they needed more
than that to buy a new place. Most of those people were up in years
and they died soon. The move was real hard on some of them.”

Bill Forrey, director of state parks, says that the'old farms were
needed. “Not everybody wants the high density recreation areas
around town,” he says of the park users. In a few cases, the state
bought the land and leased the homes back to elderly owners so
they wouldn’t be uprooted. “But not too many people asked for
that,” Forrey says. If people didn’t ask, the state didn’t offer.

“And in town, it made a lot of sense to get the buildings away
from the river,” Forrey explains. “The river is such a strong asset,
we wanted to open it up and relocate the road away from it.”
Goddard says, “We had to get access to the river.”

Ed Deaton, the Bureau of Parks’ landscape architect for Ohio-
pyle, says, “I think the town adds a lot of character to the park; it
tells you that this place has had a history. We saved what we could,
but if we hadn’t bought Front Street, it might have forced us to
develop Ferncliff, and traffic would have been congested all the

180 § Yougbiog/veny: Appalachian River

time. I think we did the right thing, but obviously I’m not a resident
who was displaced.”

“We wanted to keep what we could of the town,” Forrey adds.
“We had a water and sewer system built at no local expense, even
though it would probably have been cheaper to buy everybody
out.” More than $700,000 of federal and state funds were spent on
the sewage treatment plant and its lines which serve the park and
the town.

Maurice Goddard says, “The private property owner didn’t suffer
financially. Emotionally maybe, but not financially. If anything, we
erred on the high side.”

Fern Colborn, who grew up and lives near Mill Run (eight miles
from Ohiopyle) can see the local view. She has been president of a
local water company since 1955, dealing with land owners and
their problems. She was also on the Conservancy board of directors.
She says, “There isn’t an honest person who was moved who won’t
tell you they got full value for their land. Many got more than they
would get on the open market. It just comes down to the fact that
the community didn’t want to be moved.”

Mark McCarty, owner of Laurel Highlands rafting company, saw
the transformation of Ohiopyle as he began guiding raft trips in the
late sixties. “In the short-term it hurts because it’s your land. But it’s
also kind of nice of have an eighteen-thousand-acre playground.”

Bob Marietta, an Ohiopyle native and co-owner of White Water
Adventurers rafting company, says, “The houses on Front Street
were falling down anyway and sewage was running all over the
riverbank. Nobody can look down there today and say that the
park isn’t beautiful.”

Yet discontent ran deep among many local people. The Ohiopyle
House—the oldest and only remaining resort hotel——was owned by
the Conservancy and had been improved in 1963 with renovated
floors, ceilings, bedrooms, furnishings, and a new kitchen. On No-
vember 13, 1964, the thirty—seven-room showcase of restoration
burned to the ground in a fire of “undetermined origin.” The day
before the blaze, a Conservancy employee had been threatened at
the hotel. No guests were inside. Many local people think that the
fire was lit by somebody trying to “get even.” In later years, the ill
feelings would be aimed at other programs of the government,
whether or not they involved land acquisition; a proposed national
wild and scenic river designation would go nowhere.

The Park § 181

In the seventies, park and open space programs at both state and
federal levels all over the country would encounter growing resis-
tance from residents, while budget cutbacks would reduce the gov-
ernment’s buying power. New approaches would gain favor, such
as acquisition of easements where new development is stopped but
people remain on their land. Because of lessons learned in Ohiopyle
and similar places, many of the problems of displacement of people
are now avoided in new park areas.

In 1982, Conservancy President Oliver says, “Today we would
never imply that people should sell to us or wait for their land to be
condemned by the state.” He cites the Conservancy’s recent pro-
gram——land purchases along the Clarion River of northwestern
Pennsylvania—as an example of a “modern” approach. “In some
cases, we bought easements so that people can stay and do what
they’ve always been doing. The only thing we buy is the develop-
ment rights; they can’t develop their land or sell off lots.” The
Clarion riverfront will stay the way it is and nobody had to leave.

With most of the land acquired, the Conservancy’s role along the
Youghiogheny faded in about 1970 and the state forged ahead.
Since the beginning of the open space project, twenty-nine houses
had been torn down in Ohiopyle. The Department of Transporta-
tion moved Route 381 farther from the river and then constructed a
new bridge. A sharp bend on the northern approach to town was
eliminated by slicing off the side of the mountain. “It’s the worst
thing visually that was done in the whole park,” says landscape
architect Ed Deaton.

Deaton and Jim Tabor—another state landscape architect—
refined plans, recommending that some earlier ideas be dropped.
“The golf course on Kentuck, the ski resort from Sugarloaf down to
the river near Victoria, dams on Meadow Run, and the new hotel at
the Potter House—we dropped all of them,” Deaton says. “People
hadn’t considered a lot of things, like all the traffic those facilities
would generate.”

Goddard agrees. “The so-called artificial facilities are not what I
believe should be in a state park. There’s a lot of value in keeping
Ohiopyle as natural as we can.”

“If there are to be hotels or developments, private enterprise
should do it,” says Bill Forrey. “We tried to get somebody to de-
velop a hotel, but high interest rates and the seasonal nature of
Ohiopyle have discouraged that sort of thing.”

182 § Yougbiog/veny: Appalachian River

The Conservancy’s Oliver says, “My personal opinion is that it’s
good that the state did not pursue the developments. Where we
have sites like the Youghiogheny, I like to see them stay in a natural
condition and undeveloped.” Almost everybody agreed that Ohio-
pyle should escape the mass—market commercialization that satu-
rates tourist towns from Gatlinburg, Tennessee, to Jackson Hole,
Wyoming. There was a minor outrage when Stu Van Nosdeln
opened a Dairy Queen franchise near the Falls.

The statewide parks plan, prepared in 1970 for the DER by
David Fahringer, calls Ohiopyle an “outer urban” and “resource
oriented” park. The idea is to accommodate many city people, but
to avoid a Disneyland. To enjoy the natural surroundings is the
main objective. “The river’s the heart of the park,” Ed Deaton says.
“The river is why people come.

“Traffic was still a big problem,” Deaton adds. “People parked
all over the place and carried their rafts down the middle of the
road. We saw that we had to get the commercial boater’s parking
lot out of town. We did a transportation study and came up with a
bus system.” All guided rafting customers park their cars one mile
south of Ohiopyle along Meadow Run, and outfitters’ buses shuttle
people to the put-in.

“The biggest piece was the boating system,” Deaton recalls, “and
the biggest design problem was the put-in. We have a lot of people in
a very small space. Everybody was walking across a major highway.”

The staging area—where people meet and organize—was moved
from the town park on the upper side of Route 381 to the river side
where Deaton reluctantly agreed to some additional clearing of
land. The state was criticized for cutting down trees, but the land-
scape architect says, “Honest to God, we looked at every tree and
they came out like wisdom teeth.” They paved an asphalt trail to
the river, and a small office was built where rangers can check
boaters for permits.

The rafters’ take—out was the other big problem. Maurice God-
dard calls it the most controversial aspect of the park. Most boaters
had been taking out at Stewarton—six miles below Ohiopyle at the
site of an old logging settlement where a gravel road reached within
100 yards and a steep climb from the river. There was one major
problem: everybody had to scramble across the railroad tracks.
Fearing that they would kill somebody, Chessie System officials,
reinforced by a U.S. District Court order, announced in 1978 that

The Park § 183

nobody would be allowed to carry boats across the tracks. “We
searched every possibility for a new take-out,” Deaton says. “We
considered using the abandoned Western Maryland line and run-
ning our own trains on it, but we needed two tracks. We considered
a pipe under the railroad at Stewarton, but we needed more land.
We looked at Indian Creek, Camp Carmel, and Crooked Run. Fi-
nally we settled on Bruner Run. It had a good area on top—the old
Mitchell place—for private boater’s parking. The road system up
there wasn’t heavily traveled.”

Not everyone agreed that Bruner was the best site. Along the
Youghiogheny in Pennsylvania, mountain tributaries more than
three miles long are the Casselman River, Ramcat Run, Meadow
Run, Cucumber Run, Bear Run, Jonathan Run, Laurel Run, Bruner
Run, Morgan Run, Indian Creek, and another Laurel Run upstream
from Connellsville. Of these, Bruner was the least affected by roads,
which parallel or cross all others. Below South Connellsville, roads
are even more abundant. Bruner Run offers cascade waterfalls and
excellent water quality. The state owns most of the basin, which
includes old timber. A railroad, wagon road, and a few houses were
there seventy years ago, but these have rotted and been grown over.
To reach the rafters’ take—out, the state would pave a new road for
1.6 miles along Bruner Run.

Richard Pratt of the Sierra Club in Pittsburgh, Bruce Sundquist of
the American Youth Hostels, and others argued that one roadless
stream was not too many. “The Bruner Run area was our best for
wild-area hiking,” Pratt says. Paul Wiegman of the Conservancy
considered Bruner among the best natural areas of its type in the
region. Environmental organizations led by the Sierra Club opposed
the state’s plan to build the road.

Although not in opposition, the Conservancy offered the use of
its land along Laurel Run as an alternative. Paul Wiegman says, “At
Laurel Run, effects on residents would have been very slight.” But
Ed Deaton says that the state would have needed to tunnel under
the railroad.

While debate ensued and plans proceeded, the rafting outfitters
needed a place to take out. Stuart Van Nosdeln, owner of a raft-
rental company, bulldozed a new road across State Game Commis-
sion land and to the river below Bruner Run. He was accused of
doing this without right-of-way agreements and without state per-
mits. When the four guide companies went to court in their efforts

4 § Youghiogbeny: Appalachian River

on Backbone Mountain, the Youghiogheny River begins and our
search would end.

From its first spring at an elevation of about 2,700 feet above sea
level, the Youghiogheny flows 132 miles to the north and west,
draining 1,764 square miles (an area about the size of Delaware)
and joining the Monongahela River at McKeesport, elevation 719
feet, 15.6 miles south of Pittsburgh. In this book, we will explore
the entire river and meet the people who live along its shores.

To find the source, I drive my van to Silver Lake, West Virginia, a
half-mile-long reservoir built in 1928 by damming the Youghio-
gheny (sometimes called the “Yock”). Below the dam, the river can
be stepped across. Floyd and Edith Cowger from Fairmont, West
Virginia, recently bought the lake with its seven cottages and
twenty-five campsites. They installed a wood stove in a sagging but
comfortable cabin and moved onto their new land.

“This used to be a popular recreation site, even into the fifties,”
Cowger says. While he, Prothero, and I talk, he hones an axe with a
file, then thumbs the blade to test its sharpness. “We like it here,”
he says, “and we think other people will, too.” Though the lake has
been sold and resold by owners unable to earn a profit, the
Cowgers are hopeful. They know what they want: a small family
business on a good piece of ground. Meanwhile, Floyd finds jobs in
construction and spends weekends refurbishing cabins. He plans to
stock the lake with warm-water fish such as bass, and to have a
small fleet of boats for tourists to row, paddle, or sail. Almost at the
Youghiogheny’s source, the Cowgers are the first of many who
hope to gain a livelihood from this river.

Topographic maps show only an “intermittent” stream at the Sil-
ver Lake inlet. Prothero and I want to find the absolute beginning of
this river, so with Cowger’s permission we walk across his land and
aim upstream. The inlet is choked with mud; one—third of the original
reservoir is now a swampy delta from soil washed off the mountain.

Beavers inhabit the place. We cross one of their trails, worn
smooth by the hauling of bigtooth aspen and black willow. Like
cowboys who erase their footprints in old-time movies, the beavers
obliterate their tracks with the branches they drag. Prothero
watches everything and spots wild turkey scratchings where the
gobblers have scattered leaves during their search for bugs to eat.

184 § Youg/aiog/oeny: Appalachian River

to continue using Stewarton, the Pittsburgh Press reported that Van
Nosdeln sent his business consultant to speak against them. Then,
for $10,000 each, Van Nosdeln offered the guide companies use of
his new road. They reluctantly agreed, but the deal was canceled in
a huff when Van Nosdeln charged an added fee for each customer
that the outfitters brought. The road was almost unusable anyway
due to its slope, mud, and shabby construction.

For two years, the guide companies took out at Indian Creek
(three-and-a-half miles below Stewarton), but they didn’t like it
because the extra distance was gentler current, and tired customers
had to paddle their rafts to get home.

The final decision on the new take-out hinged on local residents,
who opposed access from the northeast side of the river because it
would mean traffic and acquisition. Bruner was the only alternative
on the other side. Cliff McConnell, deputy secretary of Environ-
mental Resources, said at a 1977 public meeting in Confluence:
“We got petitions from . . . people in the township, so we changed
and we are now working on the other side, which would be Bruner
Run.” It appeared that state officials would rather take heat from
the Sierra Club than from local residents.

Park Superintendent Larry Adams maintains, “Bruner Run was
the best all-around site, operationally and otherwise.”

State contractors built the Bruner Run access in 1978. To avoid
cuts in the mountain, the road is one-lane wide. It was designed to
blend into the surroundings, except for one bridge where the con-
tractor concocted a cement pigment that turned out pink instead of
tan. Boaters began taking out at Bruner Run in 1979.

The state built other facilities: a 225-site campground on Kentuck
Mountain, picnic areas at Tharp Knob and at the old company coal
town of Stonerville where about twenty houses were torn down, and
a headquarters near Meadow Run. The Bureau of Parks closed the
road, ballfield, and picnic area at Ferncliff when it was designated a
National Natural Landmark. The peninsula was to be a nature pre-
serve, though some local people wanted it to stay open to cars and
ballgames. The state barred four-wheel-drive vehicles in the back-
country, closing a trail from the Sugarloaf fire tower to the river. Not
wanting to walk, some local fishermen and hunters grumbled.

The Laurel Ridge Trail was cleared and a snowmobile area desig-
nated on Sugarloaf. Shelby Mitchell’s house, bought by the Conser-
vancy in 1964, was converted into a twenty-two-bed youth hostel.

The Park § 185

Policymakers and administrators like Goddard and Forrey, and
designers like Deaton, were not the men facing Ohiopyle’s day—to-
day complications. Making the place function is the job of the
superintendent and his staff.

Chuck Rea worked as superintendent from 1967 to 1975. When
a opening appeared at Black Moshannon Park in remote central
Pennsylvania, Rea moved. Jay Steck, who had worked with Pitts-
burgh city parks, served for a short time, then transferred back to
Point State Park in downtown Pittsburgh. Ohiopyle already had the
reputation of a headache park. A wasps’ nest of problems included
poor relations with local people, congested traffic, unfinished con-
struction, and inadequate patrol and law enforcement.

Local people suffered culture shock in the park’s early years as
waves of visitors descended. Gwen Waters says, “In the old days,
people came to the hotels or to boardinghouses and they stayed
awhile. Now, people just come in and they go. They don’t mix with
the local people at all.” It may have been for the best: in 1970 some
of the visitors seemed like they were from outer space. Whitewater
boaters and river guides were a new breed. There were hippies, city
slickers, and teenage kids who just got their driver’s licenses. There
were bikers and drugs.

Shelby Mitchell says, “There was a hell of a lot of riffraff and
dope?’

Bill Holt served as mayor during those troubled years, doing what
he could to help his town through the inevitable transition. One day
while sitting on his porch overlooking the new park, he was faced
with an X—rated scene—a young couple on the grass. “I yelled at
them to cut it out,” Bill says. “We have kids around here, and who
needs that? It got worse, so I started down the steps. I didn’t have
to do a thing; Bobby Marietta and two other Ohiopyle boys saw
my problem and they took over.” All it required was a swift boot in
the rear, which was an easy target. Bill says, “Our boys sent that
couple running. I remember Bobby saying, ‘If you ever have any
problems, just let me know.’ ” Bobby, a teenager, was a hell raiser,
and if he happened to have a good cause, that was fine. Bill laughs
and says, “I never called him. Honest to God I was afraid he’d kill
somebody.”

Park managers dealt with the take—out controversy. Most trouble-
some of all, they faced an explosion of popularity in whitewater
rafting. Mobs of people were trying to put in and take out at once.

186 § Youg/aiogbeny: Appalachian River

When groups of eighty or more customers would Congest a rapid,
guides from different companies shouted at each other. Safety stan-
dards were unresolved and the way rafts were piling up at the tight
rapids, someone was going to get hurt. The Youghiogheny became
the most popular whitewater in the United States, and with this
came the problems of Coney Island or a ski resort on Washington’s
birthday. Larry Adams would be the new superintendent to face
these problems and to do something about them.

Fourteen miles of the Youghiogheny flow through Ohiopyle State
Park—Pennsylvania’s largest in land area, including 18,712 acres
in 1982.

In 1968, 160,000 people came here. By 1975, this grew to
646,000 and by 1978, 1.8 million. After a decline in 1979, visita-
tion soared to 2.4 million in 1980, fell to 1.6 million in 1981, then
climbed to about 1.7 million in 1982.

A survey by Penn State University and the state park in the late
seventies found that 14.5 percent of the visitors came from Allegh-
eny County (including Pittsburgh). Fayette County (including Con-
nellsville, Uniontown, and the park itself) ranked second with 5.5
percent. Over 55 percent of the people traveled from other states:
26.8 percent from Ohio, 8.9 from Maryland, and 6.7 from Virginia.
Over half of a percent traveled from foreign countries. Larry Adams
estimates that 60 to 70 percent of the summertime boaters live in
other states. “No other Pennsylvania state park has a river that is
such a focal point,” he says. In fact, there are few other parks in the
United States that are so dominated and dependent on a river.

Visitors’ travel time from home to the park averaged 3.4 hours--
the longest of all Pennsylvania state parks surveyed.

Average years of school completed by Ohiopyle visitors was
14.75. Four years of college were finished by 42 percent, compared
with 16 percent for all state parks surveyed. Twenty-four percent of
the people—more than in any other park surVeyed—had incomes in
1981 of $10,000 to $15,000. Forty—five percent of the Visitors hold
professional or technical jobs, compared with an average of 17.5
percent for all parks surveyed. The average age of visitors was
31.7—the lowest on record.

Boating was the main activity for 33 percent of the people, com-
pared with 1.8 percent for all state parks surveyed. Thirty-fpur
percent of the visitors came to camp and 10 percent to hike.

T/7ePar/2 § 187

On summer weekends, boating and camping space fills to capa-
city. Reservations are required weeks—sometimes months—in ad-
vance. Superintendent Adams says, “I expect the popularity of boat-
ing and camping will keep growing. Weekdays may be filled up in
three or four years.”

People who go to Ohiopyle enjoy the park. They say, “It’s a
beautiful place.” “I didn’t know anyplace this nice was so close.”
“We like to swim and lay on the rocks.” “I came to hike the trail.”
“I like to paddle that river.” “It’s a place to get away.” Surveys
show that over 70 percent—higher than the state average—were
“very satisfied” with the park’s appearance and with its employees.

After fifteen years of change, and with improvements in state
management, most of the surviving local people have grown to
accept the park. Bill Holt says, “Before, there was nothing to do.
The town was dying, almost dead. There was nothing left. You had
to go out of town for work. Maybe guys could get a mining job
near Uniontown, but even that was tough, and there were no fi-
nances to go to college. People were really against the park, but the
town is better off now.”

Bill Forrey says, “The park provides jobs. I don’t think there are
as many people on welfare as there used to be.” The park, rafting,
and related businesses generated $6 million a year in the Fayette
County economy, according to a county tourism agency. Over 130
jobs (most are seasonal) are directly attributable to river recreation
and the state park.

John Oliver of the Conservancy says, “There’s a tremendous sat-
isfaction in knowing we had a hand in creating a magnificent state
park, something with national appeal.”

Ohiopyle State Park is the Appalachians, the town, and the his-
tory of logging, mining, and old-time recreation. It means looking
at the Falls, lying in the sun, hiking, camping, and swimming. It
means these things, but above all else, it means whitewater.

Chapter Nine

Whitewater

The Rapids and the Pioneers

0 you remember the first time you saw the Youghiogheny?

Steve Martin of Ohiopyle laughs. He squints his eyes a bit,
remembering how his life with whitewater began. “I was about
twelve. It wasn’t all that much fun. My dad got me a kayak and
made me come. What I really wanted to do was stay home and play
with my friends.” He was growing up near Altoona, Pennsylvania,
where his father owned a machine shop. At an early age Steve
acquired a reputation for adventurous, fun—loving antics. He rode
the cows at the farm. He jumped off roofs for the merriment. He
began skiing, and was soon sailing off bumps and doing flips. His
father was a weekend canoeist, and in an act of genius, maybe
aimed at keeping his kid off the streets, he decided to divert some of
Steve’s rambunctious energy into paddling.

“Summer of ’69 we walked down the tracks and put in at Rail-
road, then ran to Stewarton,” Steve recalls, “That way we missed
the Loop. I wouldn’t run Dimples or River’s End. I walked around
them. Then we came back to do the Loop and I flipped in Eddy
Turn and went tumbling over the rocks. I just walked out right
there. That was enough, but in two weeks I was doing all right.”

When I started to write about the Youghiogheny, in the summer
of ’81, people in Ohiopyle advised that I talk to Steve. Jim Prothero
said, “He’s been there about the longest. He’s the best boater.” I
found him on the Wilderness Voyageurs property, at the end of a

188

Whitewater § 189

skinny path that winds storybook fashion up a steep hill from Gar-
rett Street, in a little red house, upstairs on his bed, staring at the
ceiling after a day of work.

Pure Prairie League was loud on the record player. “Hey, why
don’t we go out on the porch?” Steve asked. We went out and sat.
“You want that light on so you can see your paper?” he asked and
paused. “Where you from?”

I said, “I’m a nomad now.”

“Yeah? Me too,” and his eyes lit up and squinted as he smiled.
Steve Martin stands about five-foot-nine and is trim but muscular
with arms and shoulders that bulge when he is pushing his kayak to
the limit. Sandy hair, several inches long, parts in the middle and
drops down over his head. He has a moustache and rounded facial
features. Blue eyes shine friendly.

Steve is relaxed. He is quiet. No need to fill up all the silence. He
does not have a speedy impatience for the talk, is not uptight. Yet
there are other times—times for which he is notorious—when he is
so packed with energy that he is about to blow up. He carries on
and jokes and it is like electricity crackling to an opposite pole.

Steve recalls his early days of paddling. “It was an easy way for
Dad and me to go out. I never did well in school, but Dad forgave
me because I paddled okay.” Steve began racing at thirteen, and in
two years he impressed the paddling afficionados as a budding
superstar. “They sent us to Europe, but I had a big head and didn’t
train and got wiped out. My dad didn’t push me, so I quit. There I
was, fifteen and burnt out on racing.”

“When I graduated from high school there was really nothing else
I was trained for,” Steve recounts. “I could have worked for my dad
in the machine shop, but it sounded like a better idea to come here
and work outside. We knew Lance [Lance Martin—an Ohiopyle
outfitter and no relation] and he hired me as a Wilderness Voya-
geurs guide.”

Jef Huey, Steve’s guiding partner for seven years, said, “The first
year, he made the typical rookie mistakes. It was entertaining, but
his personality got him in trouble. He had too much fun. But soon
he developed a real professional attitude.”

Martin became one of the best paddlers anywhere. He flips his
kayak end over end, shoots waterfalls, takes the most serious rapid
and plays like a kid in the tub. In Sweet Falls (a Class V drop on the
Gauley River of West Virginia) he throws his paddle into the air.

190 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

He misses catching it, tips over, and rolls to an upright position by
use of his bare hands at the bottom of the falls.

He lives with—'—is drawn to—an element of danger, seeming to
need it to balance or satiate something inside him. He has been
reckless and prone to excesses. There is very little to neutralize his
drives for adventure. Whatever the possibilities may be, he chases
them and takes the consequences. “Go all the way; do it all the
way,” he says of most anything that he is committed to, even if he
has not thought it through.

The danger catches up to Steve and he does not always escape
unharmed. One year he broke his ankle, but in two weeks he was
paddling again. The first day that he returned as a guide, he fell
while carrying a raft and broke off a tooth.

This may convey the image of machismo, of an unapproachable
crazy man, of someone nearing nuthood. That is the wrong image.
Martin has a personality—I would say charisma—that reaches out
and welcomes people.

“There is something about him,” said Jef Huey. “He can mix so
well; he’s so alkaline he can get along with anybody.”

Jim Prothero said, “In his earlier days, Steve talked to people on
the river and it was like magic to them. He was right there. He
knew what they were thinking, or feeling, or wondering.”

Steve is an uncommonly human whitewater fanatic. Neither his
strengths nor his weaknesses are buried very deeply. While others
tend to dwell on his strengths, he dwells more on his weaknesses,
especially during this summer.

Like Prothero, Martin was fleeing something else—life in the
machine shop—when he arrived here seven years ago, but he was
also attracted to this place: to whitewater and a job. Now, summer
of ’81, Steve senses that it is time to search for something new. His
tolerance for the job has ebbed, though his passion for whitewater
has not.

We are on the river. Steve powers his kayak up the guts of Cu-
cumber rapid and drops the nose into a gaping hole that sucks him
in where he sits surfing, foam engulfing him up to his armpits as he
occasionally strokes or rudders to keep equilibrium between him
and the Youghiogheny. I look at him from my canoe. He and the
Youghiogheny are the same, together. He is a part of it as much as
a rock on the bottom, a fish in a pool, or any bucketful of water

Whitewater § 191

speeding past. To explain the joy of this harmony is to push words
further than they can go. Steve Martin is not the most articulate
man in the world, but on this subject, he says it best as a wave
bursts over the deck of his boat, foam drenches his helmet, and he
shrieks above the roar of the river, “Eee-haaaa.”

Whitewater. There is something about it. I suspect that the looks
of it are part of the appeal. The sound, the coolness, the movement,
the reflections of sunlight; all of these things enter, but there is more
to it than that.

Recent studies of ions—positive and negative charges of electric-
ity in the air—have found that negative ions make people feel good.
The unusual bombardment of negative ions at high elevations is
thought to cause “Rocky Mountain high”—the good feeling that
many people enjoy above timberline. Maybe this is the source of the
idea that going to the mountains is good for your health. The
invigorating feeling that some people have following thunderstorms
may be due to negative ions, plentiful after lightning.

The air around waterfalls teems with minus ions, which may
account for some of the fascination felt near falling water, whether
it be along Meadow Run in Ohiopyle State Park or next to the
fountain in Mellon Square, Pittsburgh. Go sit on a rock at the
Ohiopyle Falls and see how you feel. Why has Niagara Falls been a
honeymooner’s hotspot all these years? Maybe it’s all the negative
ions that can boost lovers off to a good start. Negative ion ma-
chines are widely used in Europe by victims of depression. What
does all this have to do with the Youghiogheny? The rapids of the
river seethe with negative ions.

Canoeists, kayakers, rafters, and swimmers who enjoy a rapid-
fixation might be enchanted by the rushing sound, the thrill of
smashing down then surging up, the color of green depths beneath
white foam, the shower of cold water on hot days, the ability to
survive by wits and skill, and the freedom of letting life go. Yet
there is something in whitewater that defies explanation, something
that simply crazes people with pleasure. If you haven’t been in
whitewater, there are probably no words that will bring the feeling
home or make sense. If you have been there, and especially if you
had first developed some skills, and then went slowly, you may
have felt the special appeal. Whitewater becomes more than fun. It
becomes a passion in the body as well as the mind. This verges on

192 § Youg/aiog/oeny: Appalachian River

the spiritual and verges on the scientific; river magic and negative
1OI1S.

In his kayak, Steve Martin pops out of the hole at Cucumber and
he is awash and aglow with the Youghiogheny. In his element. We
paddle a short distance to Eddy Turn, where Steve-the-kid crashed
twelve years ago. Now that he has guided for seven years, the rapid
is familiar: “I kind of know this stretch now,” he says in reference
to hundreds of trips. This is the fifth rapid of “the stretch”: seven
miles from Ohiopyle to Bruner Run that are paddled by more
boaters than any whitewater in America.

From the bottom of the Falls to Bruner Run, the Youghiogheny
drops twenty—seven feet per mile. Entrance is the first of fifteen
rapids. Ledges cross at the top; three—foot waves follow. In the
lower half of Entrance, rocks are scattered like stars, whole constel-
lations of them. Some rocks lie as smooth as a baby, others point at
the sky and are jagged enough to rip a boat. It is not healthy to fall
out of a raft in Entrance because you will personally meet too many
rocks during a bruising swim. At low water, paddlers rate Entrance
as Class III rapid (“high, irregular waves often capable of swamping
an open canoe. Narrow passages that often require complex ma-
neuvering”). At high levels it rates a more difficult Class IV.

Next comes Cucumber Rapid, entirely different. It is not shaped
like a Cucumber, nor hard to find like a cucumber in the garden. It
is simply located below Cucumber Run. The run may have been
named for the Cucumber tree (cucumber magnolia) that grows
there. Or it may have been named because of copperheads, the
snakes that sometimes smell like a cucumber. Below the run, the
river is crammed into a tight space between a rock and other rocks.
Submerged boulders create holes and waves, and it is the kind of
rapid that flushes you down with little choice and no waiting what-
ever. The river goes and you go with it, hopefully favoring a route
that lies left of center.

Piddly, Camel and Walrus, Eddy Turn, and Dartmouth are
smaller drops inviting the canoeist or kayaker to play, to eddy-turn,
to thread narrow spaces between Pottsville sandstones, and to surf
on waves. Camel and Walrus is named after two rocks said to
resemble those animals, but you will need more than good vision to
see them. Dartmouth is named after the Dartmouth Outing Club
which raced here every spring before the New Hampshire rivers

THE RUN AT OHIOPYLE

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The High Ridge § 5

Shortly we find a dirt road and follow it for half a mile, but it is
too far from the river. We walk closer to the water so that we can
always spot the largest fork and follow it to the true source, but a
rhododendron jungle encloses the Youghiogheny and I almost have
to be in it to see it. With my hands, I part the branches as if they
were curtains, but they are supple; without warning they swat me in
the face. Rhododendron is the state shrub in West Virginia and the
unofficial but inescapable shrub of our small Youghiogheny.

The river splits in two. Most records say that the Youghiogheny’s
source lies in Preston County, West Virginia. Since the river comes
from the south, I can see the reason to call the southernmost branch
the source, but when I was there, the Maryland branch, coming
from the east, was nominally larger—maybe forty inches wide Ver-
sus thirty-six. We follow the Maryland branch through a maze of
fallen timber. Crisscrossed and at every angle, logs bridge the river,
two or three feet above it. I step from one trunk to another, never
touching ground except when a log breaks and I drop straight down
into the Youghiogheny, all of three inches deep. “You know how to
swim?” Prothero asks.

We are heading toward the top of the Appalachians. Backbone
Mountain, on which we walk, is the divide between the Potomac,
which flows into the Atlantic Ocean, and the Youghiogheny, whose
waters are bound for the Gulf of Mexico. It is the continental divide
of the East, and one of many northeast-southwest trending ridges
that make up what geologists call the Allegheny Mountain Section
of the Appalachian Plateaus Province. All of this is a part of the
Appalachian Mountain chain, 300 million years old, running 1,600
miles from Alabama to Quebec’s Gaspé Peninsula, spanning one-
sixth the distance from the equator to the North Pole. We are 600
miles up from the Alabama end. The summit above us is Hoyes
Crest, 3,360 feet high. It is the highest point in Maryland, a claim
that borders on the sneaky, since you can almost spit into West
Virginia.

As I fall in the water for the third time I am speared again by a
dead branch, and I wonder why it is so important to see the source.
Prothero doesn’t wonder. He enjoys the challenge of this search. He
likes to be tested, to see what he can do, to be savvy and to prove to
himself that he can go anywhere. Maybe it is part of his escaping.
Over the years this drive has led him to whitewater. First he guided
on the lower Youghiogheny in a raft, then a kayak. He tells me

194 § Yoag/Jiog/oeny: Appalachian River

thawed. Annual whitewater slaloms including national champion-
ships are still held here.

Then comes Railroad Rapid. The High Bridge on the abandoned
Western Maryland line juts through the background, but most
people never see beyond the rocks at their nose. Boulders split the
current into many Youghioghenys, each foaming over sandstones.
Charlie’s Washing Machine is a hole to the right of center that can
recycle boater and gear until clean and then some. The Frog’s Head
is a skinny route on the far right, popular with kayakers and canoe-
ists during high water. Railroad hosts plenty of spots where only 20
percent or 60 percent or worse yet, where only 90 percent of a raft
fits. The other 10 percent gets stuck tight.

That completes the famous Loop, 1.7 miles dropping sixty feet in
Class III rapids (at high water, Entrance, Cucumber, and Railroad
are Class IV) that take you within a short walk of your starting
point, only lower. During the afternoon, many people get out at
Railroad and carry their boats to their cars, parked one—quarter of a
mile up the hill (Loop trips are not allowed before two o’clock in
order to avoid crowds of boaters who are going on to Bruner Run).
The Loop is unique. There is probably no other place with such
good rapids and so short a shuttle to the starting point. This makes
Ohiopyle an excellent place to learn whitewater paddling. Many
paddlers think it is the best place, anywhere, and I agree. The
people giving lessons here———]ohn Lichter, Jim Prothero, and Jim
Wilson—should have a bright future.

The Youghiogheny runs quieter with small rapids for three miles.
Then comes Dimples. Thirty percent of the river slams into a rock
on the left shore, then splays 90 degrees to the right to pillow over
another rock. Whitecaps and more rocks follow. This rapid was
named by some of the first canoeists who scouted the drop and
discovered a sunken canoe called “Dimples.” Swimmer’s Hole and
a train of haystacks (large symmetrical waves) follow. This is the
place where people take a break from paddling and leap from a
rock to swim through the big waves. Bottle of Wine comes next—a
rapid named by canoeist John Sweet who found a half—full bottle on
a rock.

At Double Hydraulic, two giant holes lurk in the center, capable
of trapping boats. A hydraulic is where water washes over a rock
and billows into a wave. The wave breaks surflike to the upstream
side, creating a hole in front of it. The current pushes a boat into

Whitewater § 195

the hole, but its steep slope deflects the boat back upriver, and the
boat sits there, bouncing around. Eventually, a raft will fill with
water, causing it to sink lower in the current and wash through.

River’s End may be the most memorable rapid, the most danger-
ous, and sometimes the most difficult. It does not signify the end of
the trip (the take-out is still a mile away), but it does look like the
end of the river. From the upstream view, the whole thing seems to
be sucked into the horizon. The current at once plunges over a ledge
and around a blind corner, threading a narrow route between van-
and truck—sized boulders. Then come the rapids of Schoolhouse
Rock, Stairstep, Stewarton, and Bruner Run which is exciting on
the left, leading to the take-out.

This litany of rapids paints the Youghiogheny as only whitewater.
In fact it is more. It is creatures: crayfish, trout, and beaver. It is
raccoons dipping supper at night, mergansers chasing chubs, buffle-
head ducks napping on a break during migration. It is rocks: the
most boulder-riddled river in Pennsylvania. The rocks are 500 mil-
lion-year-old sandstone, the hard backbone of a 300 million-year-old
mountain that arose in the river’s path—a mountain that yielded to
the gentle but greater power of water, with this gorge being the
result. The river includes the boulders that line the shores and de-
scribe a hard outline of tan and gray instead of the fuzzy edge of
willow, grass, and mud that compose most river banks. The rocks are
like dozens of grade AA extra-large eggs, like armor between land
and water, like the earth turned inside—out. Beyond the boulders to
the 700—foot mountaintop, the gorge rises in green. It is as green a
landscape as one can find, accented with pines long ago stunted by
lightning bolts. This place could pass for the wild eastern landscapes
painted by Thomas Moran—the type of paintings that first coaxed
people to love wilderness instead of hating and trying to subdue it.

The Youghiogheny is water from West Virginia and Maryland,
from springs and fields, from woods and towns, from sewers, cul-
verts, and the back end of coal mines; water on the way to Pitts-
burgh, Memphis, and the Gulf of Mexico. To say it all, the Yough-
iogheny is a river, although the full meaning is seldom felt. The way
it is today, rapids are the main thing. They are the maker of thrills
and of dollars in Ohiopyle.

The Youghiogheny is Pennsylvania’s best whitewater that has
enough flow to be paddled all summer. The Lehigh River in the

196 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

northeast holds good rapids, but is easier than the Youghiogheny.
Compared to rivers throughout the East, the Youghiogheny is one of
the few whitewater streams that can be run all summer, but it is not
the most demanding. In West Virginia the Cheat River is more diffi-
cult (but after May it is too low), the New is several times larger and
more rigorous, and the Gauley—runnable only in the fall when water
is released from a dam—approaches the limit in commercial rafting
with Class V drops. In high runoff the Big Sandy and Blackwater are
extremely formidable, perhaps outdone only by Maryland’s upper
Youghiogheny. Western Maryland’s North Branch of the Potomac
and Savage rivers are more demanding than the Ohiopyle run, but
not regularly boatable. Tennessee’s Ocoee River is comparable to
Ohiopyle’s Youghiogheny and is the next—most-floated whitewater in
the East with 60,000 boaters in 1981 on a four-and-a-half mile sec-
tion. The Chattooga River of Georgia has several sections, some
gentler and some rougher. The upper Hudson in New York, run-
nable only in the spring, is comparable to the Youghiogheny. In
Maine, the West Branch Penobscot and Kennebec have short reaches
with larger waves and steeper drops. In the West, rivers that are
boated are typically larger and less technical: higher waves and fewer
rocks. California’s South Fork of the American, less technical than
the Youghiogheny, may be the country’s second-most-floated white-
water. The Stanislaus of California was probably second only to the
Youghiogheny in popularity until 1980, but was flooded by New
Melones Dam in 1982.

George Washington looked at the rapids of the Youghiogheny
and decided not to go boating below Ohiopyle. Then some time
elapsed. Over the next 169 years somebody probably tried to float
the river, but I have found no record or memory of it. Then came
Bill Holt in 1923. He and two other Ohiopyle kids, age fourteen or
so, cut the finest Ferncliff peninsula saplings and nailed the green
wood together, lashing with bailing twine for extra strength. They
spent a week working on their raft. They covered the deck with
canvas that Bill found in the upstairs of his father’s store, and they
fastened on a box full of food and bedrolls. They were runaways,
prepared to go wherever the river would take them; to the un-
known reaches of the Youghiogheny, maybe beyond. They put in at
the cobblestone beach below Entrance. In less than a minute, Cu-
cumber Rapid was upon them. They hit the first big hole and in a

Whitewater § 197

matter of seconds, the raft disintegrated, dumping boys and gear to
the waves. The runaway was cancelled and the kids raggled on
home unsatisfied, resigned that the B 86 O was the only way to get
out of Ohiopyle.

As near as I can discover, Shelby Mitchell and Hugh Rafferty, age
sixteen or so, were the first to run the rapids below Ohiopyle. In the
mid 1920s they built a boat out of tongue-and-groove flooring that
they tarred to block leaks. They launched it below the Falls and
paddled away. Shelby recalls low water requiring them to drag over
rocks somewhere near Bear Run. By Indian Creek they had enough,
so they abandoned the boat, pushed it with a kick into the river,
and jumped the train home. Aside from these, and maybe other
Huck Finn adventures, boating on the Youghiogheny did not begin
until the mid 195 Os.

In his younger days, Sayre Rodman, a Pittsburgher, dated a girl in
Baltimore, and to get there he took the train. The B 85 O climbed
up the Monogahela and then turned eastward through the dis-
tended mountain gap that for over a century had funneled travelers
between the east coast and the Ohio. The B 86 O climbed through
the Youghiogheny gorge, and from the right side of a car Rodman
eyed the river and the rapids between Connellsville and Ohiopyle.
He remembers that it looked “interesting,” but it held no special
allure to him. Young Rodman in the forties was addicted to gradi-
ent, but not the whitewater kind. He was a mountaineer, seeking
high peaks since he had enrolled in summer camp at Estes Park,
Colorado, at age sixteen. He learned surefootedness on rocks and
frequently climbed with Barry Bishop, a noted mountaineer whom
he met at summer camp.

Jean Winne, another Pittsburgh area native, attended college at
Slippery Rock in 1949. Jean says, “I had a roommate who would
come in late Sunday afternoon, suntanned or muddy but always
smiling. She was a rock climber and a caver, and she looked like she
had so much fun that I decided to go too.”

Sayre had learned the rudiments of rock climbing at Estes Park,
Jean had learned them at McConnell’s Mill (bought by the Western
Pennsylvania Conservancy only five years before) near her college,
and a few years later the two adventurers met at a Pittsburgh Ex-
plorers Club meeting. They married in 1955.

“We climbed with a bunch of batty dynamite-slingers from

198 J Youg/Jiogbeny: Appalachian River

Washington, D.C.,” Sayre recalls. Dynamite? “These people were
crazy. Good climbers, but they did stuff that we gasp about today:
things that are very poor practices, things that are intolerable today.
If a cave entrance wasn’t big enough, they’d blast it open. This sort
of led them to recreational dynamiting.”

Sayre and Jean are both telling me this story, competing some-
what, and when Jean gets going on an episode, Sayre interrupts
over some possibly faulty detail. I listen while they resolve matters
of accuracy, then I get Jean to finish. I am only a writer but after
awhile I feel like a referee.

One of them says, “Rock climbing would get pretty cold in No-
vember, and one weekend those D.C. guys said, ‘Come on back
here later in the winter and we’ll show you how we have fun
then.’ ” So it was that Jean and Sayre Rodman began whitewater
rafting.

In February 1956, twenty-four—year—old Jean and thirty—two-year-
old Sayre ran the North Branch of the Potomac, Gormania to Kitz-
miller, on the other side of Backbone Mountain from the Yough—
iogheny source. Sayre says, “Those dynamite-chucking freaks didn’t
even wear life jackets, let alone wet suits. Water was high and
they’d pump up their boats and say, ‘Go,’ so we went.”

“We got hooked,” Jean says. “We bought a six-by—twelve—foot
army surplus raft for fifty dollars, and up east of Pittsburgh we ran
Crooked Creek with loud shouts of glee.” Another rafter of note—
Edward Abbey—attempted Crooked Creek as his first downriver
experience.

“That was fun but we obviously had only two choices,” Sayre
adds. “Get another raft or get divorced.” For fifty dollars they
could afford another cotton raft, and from then on, the Rodmans
each rowed separate boats.

“Sitting in the back is no fun,” Jean explains. “Rowing is the fun:
deciding where you want to go, then doing it, just right.”

Sayre adds, “Back then everybody rowed in solo rafts.” By
“everybody,” he means perhaps a dozen people who were the pio-
neers of rafting in the eastern United States. “Nobody paddled in
teams like they do today.” Unbeknown to Sayre, a revival of rowing
rigs is beginning in the early 19803.

“We were up for something challenging,” Sayre continues, “and
then I remembered the view out the train window.”

In early summer 1956, Jean and Sayre drove up to Ohiopyle,

Whitewater § 199

parked their car beside Castle Rock near the Meadow Run Bridge,
and lugged their two rafts to the riverbank. “We didn’t know what
was down there,” Jean says. “We had no idea, except for looking at
topo maps.” I ask if they scouted the rapids. “Oh, no,” Jean
answers. “Except for a few, like Left Angle Corner.” After some
descriptions and counterdescriptions, We determine that this is to-
day’s River’s End.

“We named only a few rapids.” Sayre says.

“The names didn’t stick, did they?” I ask.

“Of course not,” he answers. “We never told them to anybody.”

After Entrance came Cucumber, which the Rodmans called
Naked Lady. Sayre says, “We ran through the rapid and came into
that big pool below, and there was this couple skinny dipping.
Back in those days you’d never expect to see anybody on that
river, but those two got a surprise. They went running into the
woods.”

At Railroad Rapid the Rodmans stuck their boat in the same
chute where commercial passengers hang up today; they failed to
turn left after the first big drop. They rowed sixteen miles to Con-
nellsville, not knowing of any other take-out. Jean says, “It was a
great river, sheer fun and not hard work. It was delightful, an
incredible, joyful resource.”

“It didn’t seem risky,” Sayre adds. “It was a real scenic river.”

Why raft the Youghiogheny? Jean reflects, “It was a fondness for
exploration. I loved going back in remote areas, feeling that it was
your river. It’s the idea of getting away.”

Sayre says, “In rafting or climbing you can create the illusion that
the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s just you and the river.
There’s an incredible joy in getting out there and looking as far as
you can see and knowing nobody else is there.” The reasons for
rafting the Youghiogheny would change over the coming years.

Jean says, “Part of it is knowing you are on your own.”

I ask if the thrill is important.

Sayre answers, “It’s not the thrill. That doesn’t have much to do
with it. It’s a feeling of mastering something, of a complex flow and
the interaction of your skill. Of coming down a river and doing it
well. You get in a rapid and it’s just you and a problem——how to
get through it. Doing it right gives a feeling of satisfaction. It’s the
combination of these things: a tremendous pleasure of technique
taking you to a wilderness. That’s perfect.”

200 § Youghiogheny:Appalachian River

To row a raft, the Rodmans sit in the middle, face downstream,
and pull on the oars. Almost constantly, the rower is doing up-
stream ferries—pointing the front of the boat the way he does not
want to go, say to the left, and rowing against the current. This
pulls the boat to the right and also slows the descent, allowing more
time to maneuver. Unlike an inexperienced crew with paddles, one
rower can gain precise control. He can quickly pivot the raft 90
degrees by pushing on one oar and pulling on the other. He can
catch eddies. He can accelerate by pushing on the oars in big holes,
“punching” them so that the raft does not get recirculated and
stuck in the hydraulic. The oars must be planted where there are no
rocks, and in skinny chutes, oars must be “shipped,” or swung in
against the raft so that everything fits. Camping gear is easily car-
ried on a rowing rig—a rigid frame of wood or metal that holds the
oarlocks and a seat for the guide.

Rowing is common in the West, but most Easterners paddle their
boats. This way the raft more easily threads the eye between
crowded rocks. Less skill is needed, letting novices run difficult
rivers. Most importantly, paddling involves all of the people in the
raft; everybody does the work, and most people have more fun.

Other popular craft on the Youghiogheny are kayaks and white-
water or decked canoes. The kayaker sits in the boat with his legs
stretched ahead of him and strokes with a double—bladed paddle.
The C-1 or single person decked canoe looks much like a kayak,
but the person kneels and uses a single—bladed canoe paddle. A C-2
is a decked canoe for two people. Kayaks and decked canoes offer
advantages: they are fast, maneuverable, and watertight: waves
wash over the top of the boat but not inside. If the paddler tips
over, he can stay in the boat and roll himself upright by use of his
paddle.

Open canoes are a different matter. In large rapids, these older,
traditional craft are more difficult to paddle than kayaks or decked
canoes. Open canoes are larger, slower to turn, and as the name
says, they are open, allowing waves to fill the boat with water.
Unlike rafts that you can stop to bail water, swamped canoes sink
low and become uncontrollable. An advantage of canoes over
decked boats is that they can be easily loaded with gear for camping
trips. However, the hardboats—the canoe, kayak, and C-1—do not
bounce off rocks, but crash with consequences sometimes serious.

Two of the earliest hardboaters to run the Youghiogheny below

Whitewater § 201

Ohiopyle were Bob Harrigan and John Berry from Washington,
D.C., who pioneered many of the difficult runs of the middle Appa-
lachians. They also initiated decked boats in the country, starting
out with a tarp over and open canoe and later designing a C-2 that
they called the Berrigan. Berry’s Eskimo—roll of a homemade C-1
was the first in America (one of the next people to roll—Dave
Kurtz—consulted with Berry by telephone to learn the technique).

“We heard about the Youghiogheny through the writings of
Walter Burmeister,” Harrigan recalls. Based on canoe travel, or
roadside scouting and topographic map research, Burmeister wrote
canoeing guidebooks for most of the eastern United States, but in
the fifties he was just starting and had produced only a mimeo-
graphed copy, which Harrigan and Berry read. Burmeister says that
he ran the Youghiogheny below Ohiopyle alone in a foldboat——a
large collapsable kayak—about 1955, but he did so many of these
trips that he does not recall details.

In June 1958, Harrigan, Berry, Osgood Smith, and Jim Johnson
canoed the Loop, with only Harrigan and Berry running all the
rapids. A few weeks later the two men returned and paddled from
Ohiopyle to Stewarton. At Dimples they found the remains of a
wooden canoe with AYH on the bow, so somebody else had al-
ready attempted the run. “It was a very beautiful river,” Harrigan
says. “One of our favorites. You had a feeling of owning these
rivers, of possessing them. Not just anybody could go down.”

Knowing nothing of Harrigan and Berry’s trip, a small group of
paddlers from State College, Pennsylvania, also discovered the
Youghiogheny in the late fifties.

Like many people on the Youghiogheny today, Dave Kurtz came
from the Midwest. With his first Explorer Scout canoe trip in
Michigan at age fifteen, he was hooked, summer of ’47. Seven years
later at Penn State University, he met Tom Smyth, an avid canoeist.

In central Pennsylvania, Kurtz and Smyth canoed the West
Branch Susquehanna, Moshannon, Beech, Loyalsock, Penns Creek,
and Black Moshannon in its rocky, wooded canyon of the north-
central highlands. “We were paddling down through the trees in
open boats and I upset and swam half a mile,” Kurtz recalls. He
kept journals of these trips, including a summary for the 1950s
titled “Log of upsets.” On this list, the Youghiogheny appears
prominently.

202 § Yougbioglaeny:Appalachian River

It was an age of river exploration. “We’d check out some topo
maps at the library and start looking for rivers,” Kurtz recalls.
“We’d mark where the contour lines crossed. We’d measure the
watershed to see how large the river might be, then we’d load the
car and go.” They had no guidebooks, no advice, no experience on
these streams. When they launched, they didn’t know what they
would find. It was high adventure, anachronistic to modern day
Pennsylvania. There was a thrill in going somewhere no one had
gone. The American frontier was explored 200 years ago, but in
choosing the paths of whitewater rivers, these men were able to roll
back time and explore the land in a way never done before. Today,
people do this in Chile and Tibet, but just twenty—five years ago,
Kurtz and his friends needed to go only to the Youghiogheny.

Kurtz, Smyth, and Bill Bickham drove to Ohiopyle on May 30,
1959, parked their car at the Falls, and put their boats in the river.
They survived Entrance. After scouting Cucumber, they lined the
top of the rapid from the right shore (they tied ropes to their canoes
and walked them through). They attempted the lower half and
Kurtz upset. He says, “Smyth ran with the philosophy that if you
upset it was a bad move. I carried that for life. A lot of people now
think it’s fun to tip over.” About the rest of the trip, Kurtz’s log
humbly says, “There are more nice rapids for several miles.” They
took out at Indian Creek.

The three adventurers had another escapade planned for that
weekend. They parked a car at Friendsville, drove to Sang Run, and
set their three old aluminum Grumman canoes in the river again.
This was probably the first descent of the upper Youghiogheny.
They lost only one of the three boats.

Why canoe the Youghiogheny? Kurtz answers, “It’s exciting. Just
to get through it you have to think. And it’s getting out into nature,
real nature. You feel the power of it. You can see nature by being
really close to it. Not like a state park where somebody has made
the trails. Only the river makes the trail.

“I like to think of harmony. Here is the natural world. Are we
going to fight it or learn to live with it? When we run rivers we are
learning to live with it, to flow with it. We were not trying to
conquer the river. That was not the point at all. We were enjoying
it. After awhile, a big part of the fun gets to be starting other people
out and taking them down the rivers.” Kurtz started Paul Grabow,
who works at Ohiopyle. He and Jef Huey—Steve Martin’s guiding

Whitewater § 203

partner—won the 1980 national championship in C-2 slalom (fast-
est through gates) and wildwater (fastest time straight downriver).
Kurtz has started dozens of paddlers from his State College explorer
post, and many of them advanced to the Youghiogheny. In 1981,
twenty-seven years after their first canoe trip together, Dave Kurtz
and Tom Smyth share an office at Penn State University.

After Jean and Sayre Rodman pioneered the Ohiopyle rafting run,
they invited their Washington friends up to row the river on the
condition that they brought no dynamite. Then they recruited Pitts-
burghers. “Other than our party, we’d never seen anybody,” Sayre
says. “The Casselman acid was still strong and there weren’t even
any fishermen.” In 1959 the Pittsburgh Explorers Club rafted, and
were followed one year later by a student group from Carnegie
Tech. Small groups of canoeists began to paddle the route. In 1962,
an article by Pittsburgher Ivan Jirak, titled “Great Gorge Challenges
Rapids Runners,” appeared in the Western Pennsylvania Conser-
vancy’s magazine. The Rodmans led Pittsburgh boy scouts down
the river, but they still saw no other groups. Jean says, “I don’t
remember seeing a soul until the commercial rafting started.”

Commercial Rafting

Lance Martin was a sixteen—year-old Explorer Scout from Pitts-
burgh’s suburban North Hills when he first saw the Youghiogheny
in 1958. For fifty dollars, the Scout Council had bought an army
surplus raft, and Lance and his friends shot the rapids, or bounced
through the rapids, or whatever.

After five years, and with scouting days behind him, Martin was
still doing this. Sitting around a campfire outside Ohiopyle one night,
he and his friend, Karl Kruger, wondered, “Would anyone pay us to
do this?” People pay for stranger things: to ride in glider airplanes, to
ride Kennywood roller coasters, to raft the Grand Canyon, to raft
Pine Creek near Wellsboro. “Let’s give it a try,” they agreed, and the
decision began a chain of events as momentous to sleepy Ohiopyle as
the Bessemer process was to Pittsburgh, as the dark coal mines to
Uniontown, as the acrid coke ovens to Connellsville.

While some say the changes were like the railroad chugging
through Oakland and belching a welcome prosperity as it went,
others say it was significant like Youghiogheny Reservoir drowning

6 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

about paddling a waterfall of forty-five degrees, more or less, in
Banff Park, Canada. He almost died. I say he was crazy and he
agrees. Prothero now paddles open canoes which are much more
difficult in rapids than kayaks.

What difference does this spring make? The Youghiogheny sips
from thousands of springs. Seventy percent of the river’s flow ema-
nates from groundwater that seeps down from springs. Why is the
Source so important? I think it has to do with beginnings. To me
they are important times, important places. Finding the beginning
of the river has something to do with grasping the whole thing, with
understanding this part of the earth. After seeing the source, I will
know the river better when I launch my canoe or my raft seventy
miles downstream at Ohiopyle, or when I stand on a sandbar in the
shadow of the U.S. Steel tube mill where the Youghiogheny dumps
without grace into the Monongahela at McKeesport. Maybe it is
like holding a baby. Even though there may be little similarity be-
tween infant and adult, somehow the person is known better, or
known more completely, if you know him when he is young and
then see him grow. A river shows all of its ages at once. Right now
we see its birth. Farther downstream we can see it as a child, then as
an adult, and finally in old age. A river offers a chance to see the
natural process, to see the workings of life. It involves changes,
growth, cycles, setbacks, and healing, and eventually includes us
whether we want to be included or not.

Something here also involves gradient and elevation. There was
an ancient belief that rivers flow from the center of the earth. That
idea may entice those interested in myths, but to me, the reality that
rivers come from the highest places on earth is more powerful. To
go to the top of the river is somehow alluring. If this river began at
the end of a flat plain I would not be so drawn to its source. The
fact that I must climb to reach the beginning of the Youghiogheny is
an extra attraction.

To some people, gradient has an appeal wherever it is found:
mountains, cliffs, sand dunes, waves, skyscrapers, balcony seats,
waterfalls, whitewater rapids. Some mountain people become edgy
in the flatlands. They would rather look up to peaks and down to
valleys, nap in the shade of a cliff, be confined between the walls of
a canyon, or free as the wind in the limitless space on top. Gradient
is what makes mountain people what they are. These old hills—the
Appalachians—were our nation’s original symbol of gradient, and

204 § Yougbiog/2eny:Appczlacbz'an River

the old town of Sommerfield. Some say the changes were a mix of
good and bad, like timber magnate Rolland P. Crellin coming to the
headwaters town of Sunshine and hiring all the men but stripping
the woods bare. Some say they wish commercial rafting had never
happened, others say it is better than nothing. Some saw it as an
end of a quiet way of life, others saw it as the beginning of an
exciting life. “This is what Ohiopyle was to be,” says Shelby Mitch-
ell with an acceptance of fate. Whatever, however, the changes were
inevitable, given the Youghiogheny and given the yearning in our
culture for a good thrill.

Martin turned twenty-one in 1963 and had begun a career as an
Olivetti office equipment salesman in Pittsburgh. Lance, his wife
Lee, and Karl (who worked for the Red Cross) guided the first
passengers down the river, marking the start of commercial trips on
the Youghiogheny and the birth of the biggest commercial white-
water-running scene in the nation, perhaps in the world. In 1968,
5,000 people ran the river below Ohiopyle. In 1978 there were
95,000, and in 1982 over 150,000. Most of these were customers
with a guided group or in a rented raft. Over $4 million is collected
each year by five Ohiopyle businesses that together own more than
a thousand rafts. Poor in some ways, Ohiopyle is likely the wealthi-
est American town in number of boats per capita. Rafting employs
about one hundred people, and many more if you count “spin-off”
enterprises such as the Mill Run Campground, Glisan’s restaurant,
and state park permit-checkers. When you talk whitewater in Ohio-
pyle, you’re talking big business, but it started with Lance Martin,
Karl Kruger, and Lee Martin in a remarkably small way.

From Bob Marietta, Lance rented a room on the third floor of the
Ohiopyle House, and from Bill Holt, he rented a single-wagon ga-
rage, now demolished but then sitting next to Bill’s house where the
red brick Baptist church is today. Inside, Lance blew up two surplus
rafts with Holt’s electrolux sweeper. They took a few hundred
people down the river in 1964. The Youghiogheny entrepreneurs
printed a brochure and the news spread by word of mouth. “Go
raft the Yough.” Martin and Kruger named the company Wilder-
ness Voyageurs.

Meanwhile Ed Coleman had been rafting the Youghiogheny. He
taught high school chemistry and joined as a third partner, but
spent most of the summer guiding his own canoe trips in Canada.
“Ed came back and we had differences,” Martin says. “He thought

Whitewater § 205

we bought the wrong kind of life jackets. There were other prob-
lems, so we bought him out for a nominal fee. I think it was a few
hundred dollars.”

Martin and Kruger were among the first outfitters to run white-
water trips in the East. Perhaps their only predecessor was venera-
ble Ed McCarthy who turned fifty—five when Lance was twenty-one
and had been commercially guiding on Pine Creek through the
Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania near Wellsboro since the year be-
fore the Rodmans first rafted the Youghiogheny. At seventy-three,
McCarthy was still leading paddlers down Pine Creek, long after
Lance and others delegated on—water jobs to younger hands.

With McCarthy, Martin and Kruger were probably the first out-
fitters anywhere to offer trips where the customers paddled their
rafts. In the West, where river trips had been popular for years,
boats were rowed by guides, and the customers just sat up front and
watched scenery, or just fished, or just got wet and shivered. Lance
says, “We quickly found that guests enjoyed paddling and getting
their own rafts to the end of the river. People said that the trip was
as exciting as bigger water out West because our boats were smaller
and the customers got to do the work.”

Today Martin sits, cigarette in hand, on the porch of the mobile
home that is the Wilderness Voyageurs office. He is trim with very cur-
ly hair, eyes that still shine like a Boy Scout up to mischief. He laughs a
lot, cracks jokes at anybody. I can see how Martin sold plenty of Oli-
vetti office equipment and plenty of raft trips. He is confident, a good-
timer, and it is no wonder that people on his trips had a good time too.
He is also a businessman who just happens to be working a river.

“It was literally a hobby for three or four years,” Lance says. He
corrects himself: “It was a wine party. We’d do trips, then come
back and have hot pickles, Mogen David, and play guitars. We
charged no deposits. We’d be sitting down there waiting for forty
people and nobody would show up.”

In 1967, 1,600 people ran the river with Wilderness Voyageurs.
“Karl and I had our differences,” Martin reflects. “He was more
laid back, wanted to let things happen. When we had started, sitting
around that campfire, we decided that when it wasn’t fun, we
wouldn’t do it, but my definition of fun changed. I didn’t want to
let things happen, but to make them happen, so we split up.” This
all had to do with money, and regarding money, many differences
of opinion would flourish in coming years. The ways that people

206 § Yougbiog/Jeny: Appalachian River

looked at the Youghiogheny would depend on whether they were
after money or whether they were not.

Without any of his original partners (except Lee, his wife, and
they would eventually split up also), Martin launched a full-time
river business. “My job in Pittsburgh was easy; I’d sell for twenty
hours a month. I had gotten a promotion with a car, all that crap,
then bagged it.” He was the first of many to drop out and come to
the Youghiogheny for its whitewater. “After the split with Karl, we
concentrated on making more money. All that means is we didn’t
drink so much wine.”

Everything became more businesslike. Lance recalls, “In the early
days, Karl, Jon Dragen, and I used to challenge the entire group to
throw us out of the raft at once, and they never could do it. The
customers might get two of us out, but then one of us would climb
back in. We used to dive off rocks. We don’t do any of that now———
too much chance of getting sued.” The business prospered.

Wilderness Voyageurs had outgrown Bill Holt’s garage, so Lance
bought other properties, including Whipkey’s Restaurant. For one
year he leased it as a restaurant, then converted it into an equipment
store. Like the Conservancy, Martin bought more parcels, one by
one, until he owned most of the land along Garrett Street across the
river from downtown Ohiopyle. Perhaps more symbolic to the early
years of commercial rafting, he was on the other side of the tracks.

Martin’s holdings now include several trailers, a red house on the
hill for guides, a white house along the street, and a large cement
block garage and boathouse built in 1975. For the best visibility in
town, Martin rented the old Potter Gristmill above the Falls from
Bill and Adalene Holt. Inside the mill, he sells boating equipment
and tee shirts.

In every year but 1980, Wilderness Voyageurs generated more
business than any other company. “We had a head start,” Martin
explains, “but that doesn’t count much now. We like to think we
are a little more particular in the way we run a trip. If people
notice, they come back. Some outfitters don’t realize they’re in the
hospitality business. They think they’re trucking turkeys down the
river. We’re there to make the trip enjoyable.”

Wilderness Voyageurs has a reputation for being organized and
efficient. The warehouse is almost spotless, in contrast with the
clutter of other river houses. Steve Martin says, “Yeah, it’s too
clean. It doesn’t need to be this clean. I don’t like things this neat.”

Whitewater § 207

Guides from other companies say, “They are the clean-cut college
kids.” They are also good paddlers. Jon Lugbill, world champ C-1
slalom racer in 1981, went to Wilderness Voyageurs when he
needed a job.

For years, Lance Martin’s employees were warned not to asso-
ciate with other guides. Wendell Holt, co-owner of White Water
Adventurers (another rafting company), says, “Lance’s guides
weren’t allowed to come over here, but one time they did.” Proud
of his piracy, Wendell smiles and blinks his eyes and says, “We
hired four of them.”

Turnover of Wilderness Voyageurs guides is rapid. This is partly
because they are the lowest paid in Ohiopyle, and partly because
the company recruits college students who are competent but who
regard guiding as more a lark than a profession. Steve Martin is an
exception in lasting seven years, and says, “You do a good job and
you’re rewarded. Last year everybody got a $300 bonus.”

In 1981, Wilderness Voyageurs guided 18,000 people down the
Youghiogheny——3,000 more than any other company.

Ralph McCarty grew up near the water. It was Lake Erie, with no
rapids, but it would still make McCarty a water person. His brother
piloted a charter boat for fishermen and Ralph labored as a pot
(cabin) boy, chipping 150 pounds of ice into garbage cans to keep
dead fish cold. Every Sunday, lanky young Ralph, carrying two bags
stuffed full of walleye without ice, boarded the midnight Grey-
hound and returned to his home in Cleveland. “I’ll tell you, I had
no problem getting a seat to myself,” he recalls.

Ralph may be one of few kids to take up sailing during the
Depression. “Getting onto or into or closer to the water was the
name of the game,” he says. He met his wife, Martha, on a sailboat.

McCarty has an unusual way of talking: colorful, animated, witty,
and corny. He calls his home in Monroeville the “head shed.” World
War II is “World War eye eye.” He does not read the “writing on the
wall,” but the “scroll on the wall.” For a rafting customer to be
dumped overboard and caught between the boat and a rock is a
“Hertz donut” (hurts, don’t it?). A paragraph of his speech might
incorporate the unlikely wedding of all these terms. Ralph has broad
interests and they merge together like sardines in a can.

After a World War II military career when McCarty ran “reha-
bilitation” programs including horseback riding in the California

208 § Youghiogheny:Appalachian River

desert and yachting off San Diego, he opened a machine shop near
Cleveland and with Martha he settled down at Mentor Headlands:
“Three hundred feet of Shangri La at the edge of the lake. The
kids——Maureen, Mark, Meg, Mike, and Mary—started growing
skin between their toes.” So how did Ralph McCarty get into the
river business at Ohiopyle? “It’s like the girl in the house of ill
repute. She had a bachelor’s diploma from Smith on the wall. She
had a Ph.D. from MIT on the wall. I asked, ‘How’d you ever get
into a business like this?’ and she said, ‘Just lucky I guess.’ ”

I press for the real story, which Ralph seems to have forgotten or
else habitually buries in bullshit. But I make headway. Through his
sailing, Ralph became involved in the Red Cross and served as a
volunteer small—boat instructor. People asked for canoe lessons. In
response, Ralph ordered an eighteen—foot fiberglass boat with wood
trim, but when it arrived, the Red Cross treasurer stubbornly re-
fused the bill. Ralph was stuck. He bought the canoe himself, and
that boat led him toward an unexpected future.

For weekend escapes, Ralph took Mike, age eight, on local river
trips (“Mark was a rebel,” Mike recalls, “but I was younger, sub-
missive, and a better paddling partner”). They did the Grand River
near Cleveland, the Ashtabula, Conneaut Creek, and the Cuyahoga.
Eventually the McCartys tackled whitewater: the Cattaraugus in
New York, French Creek, the Connoquenessing, and the Slippery
Rock in western Pennsylvania. Small rivers, each, but preparatory
ones. Amplified and maybe enhanced across the humdrum flats of
Ohio, tales of the Youghiogheny—enticing and reckless—reached
the McCartys. When they went to see it in 1966, they met Lance
Martin and arranged an outfitted trip for their church group. The
McCartys later returned when the state park was only starting, and
the “Mad Hatters” canoe club, organized by Ralph, camped at the
construction site amid stockpiled drain and sewer pipes.

Meanwhile McCarty-the-machinist made it big as an inventor of
the “extruded hone process” designed to take burrs off metal. The
process amounts to silly putty with an abrasive added, forced
around metal to smoothen its edges. A Pittsburgh firm bought the
invention, and it was arranged that the McCartys would leave
“Shangri-La” and move to the Steel City so Ralph could manage
the honing. Going to Pittsburgh, in the Appalachian foothills, hap-
pened to cut travel time to the Youghiogheny by 70 percent.

Inventors, as a class of people, don’t enjoy working for somebody

Whitewater § 209

else; they are creative types. Ralph says, “Ten years of anything is
enough. I ran machine shops for fifteen.” He was ready to drop out.

His son Mike says, “The schedule was getting to him, but Mom
valued the nine—to-five security. She never really got into the river
stuff, but resigned herself to it. It’s what Dad was going to do.
Mom still worked hard doing the bookwork.” While Ralph’s oldest
son, Mark, fought in Vietnam and Mike attended high school,
Ralph left the machine shop, started a business called Mountain
Streams and Trails, and invested his savings in rubber ducks.

Simply called “duckies,” they are inflatable rubber kayaks with a
fiberglass deck that, in rapids, keeps them from folding up like a
hide-a-bed gone berserk. Always thrifty, this child of the Depression,
Ralph found a team’s supply of hockey helmets and bought them for
his kayakers. He added life jackets and paddles and that was all he
needed. The McCartys began business on Connoquenessing Creek,
then came down to the Youghiogheny. Ralph assured Lance Martin,
“I’m not going to compete. You do rafts, I’ll do kayaks.”

Early on Saturday mornings, Mike and his sister Meg propped
signs up at the old bridge advertising lessons and trips. “It didn’t
really take off though,” Mike says. “To drum up business, we went
to sports shows. We bought one raft—a pig boat called a Black
Mariah.” With this they became the first outfitter on the Cheat
River.

Ralph says, “Solo kayaking was to be my great contribution: to
show people how to get down the river on their own. But it was not
profitable enough to stay alive. The Washington Canoe Cruisers
would come up. Eighty of them would go on raft trips with Lance
and six would come with me; it don’t take no brick wall to fall on
me. Meanwhile, Ed Coleman was running trips. Then Wendell Holt
came over to me in Whipkey’s Restaurant and said, ‘Guess what?
We’re getting into the rafting business.’ I went back to Lance and
said, ‘Since everybody’s doing it, I may as well too.’ ” So began the
McCarty rafting empire.

In 1969 Ralph hired Sue Spindt, the second woman guide on the
river (only Lee Martin worked earlier). Women guides came early
to the Youghiogheny, though there were never more than three or
four at once, and few women work as guides today.

As the business grew, more help was needed, so Ralph arranged
for members of the Cumberland (Maryland) Explorer Post to move
en masse to the big gray house where Shelby Mitchell was born. It

210 § Yougbiogbeny: Appalachian River

was rented from next door neighbor Elmer Wolf. “Elmer didn’t like
the noise,” Mike recalls. “We were in here singing while we did
dishes and Elmer came over and yelled, ‘Cut out that caterwalling.’
Then Greg Green moved in.” Green is a black man. “Neighbors
didn’t like the young people. This black guy. To make a long story
short, Elmer didn’t renew the lease.” Ralph searched for new
quarters for the housing of his guides and office.

The Laurel Lee had been an institution. Only four miles north of
Ohiopyle toward Mill Run, this bar sat down from the road so that
when you drove past you saw mainly the roof. It was a totally
unimaginative, rectangular box of cement block and red brick.
These things made it seem like an end—of-the-road—place, a secretive
place. It didn’t belong there, next to the Western Pennsylvania Con-
servancy’s Bear Run Preserve. But it was an institution, none the
less, and being the only bar short of Route 40, it attracted men
from the surrounding hollows and ridges. It was rough, and they
said that if you could see over the bar they’d serve you at the Laurel
Lee. If guys from Ohiopyle didn’t show up in the Connellsville bars
and a good rumble was overdue, then Connellsville guys journeyed
by pickup caravans to the Laurel Lee. They looked for trouble and
they found it.

As fate would have it, fire engulfed the place in 1967. A charred
shell soaked in the rain and the snow until 1971, when in a seem-
ingly courageous move, Ralph bought the Laurel Lee ruins. The
McCartys set out to rebuild the place and Mike immediately
dubbed it the “Last Resort.”

“It is the last resort,” Mountain Streams and Trails guides say,
though nowdays it is simply called the “Resort.” Burnt timbers can
be seen, but it offers free housing for the staff who have bedrooms,
a kitchen, and an activities room that once featured a pool table.
True to its heritage, the Last Resort became a party place, and
tradition had it being a mess, somewhat worse than the usual clut-
ter of guides’ stuff and wrecked boats. Ralph never liked it that
way, so now and then he prodded his employees to clean up. Once
too often he arrived to a sinkful of foul plates, cups, and saucers.
He grabbed an armload of the reeking plastic ware, dumped it in
the parking lot and ran over it with his car.

Now and then Ralph would be that way. Impulsive. “Mac at-
tacks,” recalls Jim Prothero who worked there. He says, “Back then
all the guides lived at the Resort and Ralph cooked breakfast. When

Whitewater § 211

it was ready he’d yell, ‘Come out or I’ll kiss you,’ and let me tell
you, that brought everybody out. Ralph is eccentric, no doubt, but
now that I’m running my own business, I find myself remembering
things that he said——principals about how to do things, and I’m
using them. I’m repeating some of the things Ralph used to say.”
For an example, Prothero says, “He was on our cases all the time
about being careful with equipment, so we ‘weren’t making old
things out of new things.’ I use that line and philosophy in all my
talk-ups to people renting canoes or taking lessons.” Prothero adds,
“Ralph’s inventiveness and ability to hear the different drum always
fascinated me.”

Jim Prothero began his Youghiogheny career with Mountain
Streams and Trails in 1974 when guides received room, board, and
$300 a summer. “I hitchhiked up,” he says, “and after walking half
the way from Farmington, I finally arrived at the Last Resort. There
was kind of a moat around it because it had rained a lot. As I
walked down the driveway, Cass [Cashmere P. Chestnut, a guide]
came running around the corner of the building shrieking, and right
behind him was Lucky with a bucket of paint. Those guys were
total space cadets.” Prothero was taking a term off from school and
didn’t have anything to do. “When I saw the problems at the Re-
sort, and the opportunity to use my hands working on it, and then
the river, I decided to stay. They didn’t ask any questions and I
didn’t need any. That was the year of the gas lines, and life looked
pretty bad for the world, but I started feeling good. I was going to
be a river guide.”

Prothero, who started renting canoes at Confluence four years
later, was not the only Mountain Streams and Trails guide to de-
velop his own business. Tom Love owns a raft repair service near
Donegal. John Lichter, who guided and later managed the staff,
teaches kayaking in Ohiopyle. Al Davis sells equipment and tee
shirts to river runners throughout the East. John Brown excells as a
kayak builder.

Greg Green——the first black man to guide on the Youghiogheny-
was hired by Ralph in 1969. Mike recalls, “The normal rafting
crowd was a shock to many of the local residents, but a black man?
What you see now in Ohiopyle as a tourist town is different from
what you saw back then. I remember walking out of Whipkey’s
Restaurant with Greg and somebody saying, ‘Hey nigger, get outta
here,’ and Greg grabbing a paddle out of the truck and going after

212 § Yougbiogbeny:Appalachian River

the guy.” Eventually Green was accepted. Today, he contracts with
two of the four Ohiopyle outfitters to take rafters’ pictures which
customers then buy. Green has expanded his market, hiring photog-
raphers and building a rafting-photo business that reaches to
Maine.

The character of the guides has changed over the years. Tom
Love says, “Ralph called the old-style guides the ‘Huck Finns.’ ”
Love was one of them. “The Huck Finns were hippy types: long
hair, rope belts, and cutoffs. Ralph decided to phase out the Huck
Finns and bring in the ‘tennis crowd’ for a preppy image. He
wanted everybody in gym shorts and uniform life jackets. But you
know, the early days were when the guides would fix the trucks,
patch the roof, rebuild rafts, anything.” The guides packed lunches
for the customers and the production line wound through the Last
Resort kitchen and into its bathroom, where bread was stacked on
the back of the commode. “Now the guides only want to paddle,”
Love says.

Mark McCarty managed the Ohiopyle operation under his
father’s supervision, but the two argued stubbornly, so when
another company—Laurel Highlands River Tours—came up for
sale, Mark bought it in 1978, clearing the way for brother Mike to
manage Mountain Streams and Trails.

Mike had guided since he was a high school junior in Monroe-
ville, his first trip being a duckie expedition on Connoquenessing
Creek. “I’m really glad my dad got me away from that suburban
scene,” Mike says. “My values switched to Cucumber Rapid. I
came to value the river more than anything in the city.” In 1972
Mike guided Sargent Shriver and his wife, Eunice Kennedy Shriver,
down the Youghiogheny. “Dad made me and Tom [Love] get hair-
cuts for that one,” Mike recalls. He also remembers the Shrivers’
raft flipping in Railroad Rapid. It was high water after the Hurri-
cane Agnes flood.

After graduating from Grove City College in 1977, Mike moved
to Ohiopyle and operated the “trails” part of Mountain Streams
and Trails, starting a backpacking and cross-country skiing pro-
gram that failed to prosper. He began managing the rafting com-
pany in 1979. The McCartys bought the house that Ralph had
originally rented from Elmer Wolf, and Mike and his family now
live there, upstairs from the rafting office.

Ralph is still around during weekends. On Sunday morning he

Whitewater § 213

hustles at the put-in, pacing long-strided back and forth with the
speed of a dish-stacker in a cut-rate cafeteria, occasionally hefting a
raft, welcoming the world to the Youghiogheny, and tipping his
three-cornered Revolutionary War hat (Ralph is a colonial history
buff, specializing in the travels of George Washington in southwest-
ern Pennsylvania).

Today, Ralph and Mike McCarty own hundreds of rafts—three
complete fleets for the Youghiogheny, Cheat, and Gauley. Customers
return again and again; in 1982 one man repeated for the nineteenth
time. Like the other companies, Mountain Streams and Trails hires
about twelve full-time Youghiogheny guides in the summer. Another
one hundred are employed on the Cheat in the spring. Ralph says
that his company ranks as the world’s largest rafting business in
numbers of customer-miles (“eight trips around the earth at the
equator”) and numbers of customers—20,000 a year on three rivers.
In 1981 they guided 13,000 people down the Youghiogheny.

Along with teaching chemistry nine months a year, Ed Coleman
had been running wilderness canoe trips in Canada when he started
rafting the Youghiogheny and when he entered a brief and doomed
partnership with Lance Martin and Karl Kruger. After that falling
out, he started his own Ohiopyle business called Laurel Highlands
River Tours.

He bought an old three-story building in Mill Run, eight miles
north of Ohiopyle, where he housed equipment and staff. The
guides lived downstairs; Coleman, his wife, and children slept up-
stairs, and he maintained order with few similarities to the Last
Resort. “It was kept up real nice all the time,” Kevin Grady remem-
bers, “because they lived there.”

Grady, who guided for Coleman, says, “He was different, but he
had his act together as a business. He wasn’t only into running trips
on the Youghiogheny. He did all that Canada stuff, and last I heard
he was thinking about some South American trips. He explored
around. He wasn’t really that bad a guy, just a little unusual.”
Other employees say that he preached and moralized to the guide
staff. Coleman was a born-again Christian and did not run trips on
Sunday. Partly because of this, Laurel Highlands did not grow into
a rafting giant. “While other companies were booming in the mid-
seventies, Laurel Highlands was marking time,” Grady says. “It
didn’t seem to matter to Coleman how many people he took down

The High Ridge § 7

it is an essential element in the story of this river. Prothero and I
climb higher.

Discovery may also be what I am after; finding something new.
Maybe I am driven by what drove the old explorers, maybe by mod-
ern restlessness, or maybe they are the same. I want to go somewhere
I have never been. The 1700s are considered the age of exploration
for the Appalachians, but these mountains are as new to me, today,
as they were to Christopher Gist and George Washington in the
1750s. Those explorers hit only the highlights. Since I plan to see
every mile of the river, I may as well start at the top.

Beginnings, gradient, discovery: all could be reasons for this
climb. Prothero is content to say, “I just want to see it.”

We come to the mossy remains of two concrete dams. One is
eight feet high, another is four feet high, but neither hold water any
more. I automatically see dams as problems. They block the flow,
bury the riffles, stop the migration of fish, warm the water by
ponding it, collect mud and silt. They are piles of cement dumped
into my river. My bias is clear. I would hope that to dam a river,
there would be some very good reasons. Prothero, on the other
hand, does not judge, does not get angry. He only wonders why,
and how. He has a fascination for man-made stuff. He has the eye
of a tinkerer. He is a tinkerer. While I wonder how to blow these
dams up, Prothero looks at them closely and notices their shape-
narrow at the top and wide at the base. He wonders how far into
the hill they extend. He decides that this one is not rooted deep,
because all the water seeps through underneath. He wonders how
the builders carried the cement up here, and of course, he wonders
what the dam was for. Later I learn that it was built in the 1920s
for a trout-rearing pond.

As we gain elevation, the stream remains a junkyard of fallen
logs, but thick shrubbery is left behind and I enjoy seeing the sky.
We can walk up the mossy, loggy bed in a ravine about six feet
deep and twelve feet wide, or we can walk above the ravine where
the greenbrier—viney with sharp spines—is healthy. It’s a good
substitute for barbed wire. We take the ravine.

Before I started this trip, I had a vision of the Youghiogheny
headwaters. They would be clean enough to drink, tucked away in
a wild corner of the Appalachians, a sweet untouched spring. What
I found were hundreds of acres that had been clear-cut twenty years
ago. Every 200 feet an old logging road, now paved with grass and

214 § Yougbiog/aeny: Appalachian River

the river. Whatever he did was enough. He was having a good time,
but his wife hated the lifestyle—packing up with three kids and
moving at the beginning and end of every summer. And Ed was
teaching college chemistry at Indiana [of Pennsylvania]. He didn’t
have the time that it takes to really run a river company.”

Two Laurel Highlands guides and later a Wilderness Voyageurs
guide approached Coleman about buying the business, but nothing
happened. Among the other outfitters, Coleman seemed to get
along best with Ralph McCarty, so when Ralph’s son Mark asked
Ed Coleman about buying the business, he talked, and in 1978
Mark bought the company.

Through high school, Mark McCarty had paddled a kayak as a
volunteer safety boater for Lance Martin. After graduating in 1966,
Mark attended college for one year. He intended to work in the
machine shop for his father, but he went to Vietnam instead. Two
years later he resumed guiding for Ralph and managed the company
until he bought Laurel Highlands.

Outfitting in Ohiopyle is a family affair. Mark of Laurel Highlands
is son of Ralph and brother of Mike McCarty. Mark married Linda
Marietta, daughter of Bob Marietta who is co-owner of White Water
Adventurers. Her brother Bobby manages that company. Ralph’s
daughter, Mary, married Stuart Van Nosdeln—son of Stu Van Nos-
deln who owns a fifth rafting company (though he does not provide
guided trips). Lance Martin is the only outfitter without family cross-
over. In Ohiopyle, Appalachian town that it is, half the people seem
to be related, and this goes for newcomers. As Mark began to build
Laurel Highlands, the family worked to his advantage: Mike sent the
overflow from Mountain Streams and Trails, and the Mariettas sent
overflow from White Water Adventurers.

While each of the other companies has a distinct personality,
Laurel Highlands does not seem to have any apparent trademark
since Ed Coleman left. Unless, superficially, it is their new Avon-
brand rafts bought in 1982 and especially designed for the Yough-
iogheny. Some people think that Wilderness Voyageurs and Laurel
Highlands run the best trips. “Laurel is more easy going than other
companies,” says Blake Martin, a White Water Adventurers guide.

“We’re just your basic, solid river company,” says Kevin Grady,
manager for Mark McCarty.

From 5,000 people a year, Laurel Highlands grew to 13,000 in
four years. Jim Prothero says, ‘‘If you’re looking at rafting compa-

Whitewater § 215

nies during the last few years, it is Mark who has made something
out of nothing.”

Wendell Holt and Bob Marietta grew up on Ohiopyle. The earliest
Holts had arrived in 1895, and the Mariettas came from Mill Run
during the first World War. Unlike Olivetti salesmen, machinist-
inventors, and born-again chemistry professors, these two were
about as local as two can get.

One night Holt and Marietta drank at the Ohiopyle House and
talked and said, “We’ve been here all our lives, may as well get in
on this rafting.” So they got an old suicide raft—a cheap yellow
one——and Wendell, Bob, Bob’s eighteen-year-old son Bobby, and
Bobby’s friend Johnny Spittle went down the river. They survived
and bought three more rafts, and White Water Adventurers, owned
by the unlikely partnership of Holt and Marietta, was born in 1967.

The Holts, as a clan, are respectable, God-fearing merchants and
town leaders. Wendell talks fast, slurring words, saying “huntin”
and “su’cide raf’,” and while talking at this rapid pace, he blinks his
eyes again and again. He has one of the friendliest personalities in
Ohiopyle; he is always there with something to say. I walk in the
store and there he is at the counter next to Leo Smith. “Hey Tim,
look at this.” Wendell thumbs through a magazine and stops at a
picture of a 1952 Ford truck. “I gave one of these to a guy up here.
Some others wanted to buy it, but I gave it to this fella. He’s
rebuilding the whole thing. Gonna be like new.”

Like most local men, Wendell once left Ohiopyle, hunting work
in big-city industry the way Appalachian youth and laid-off miners
have been hunting for three generations. He landed a job in a car
assembly plant near Cleveland, but like Shelby Mitchell, he returned
to Ohiopyle. “Everybody used to joke and laugh and call us hillbil-
lies and say Ohiopyle was the boondocks,” Wendel says, “but now
everybody wants to come here and stay. Why’s that?”

By trade, Wendell is a carpenter. He built houses, then became a
cabinetmaker, working on gun closets, custom doors, and furniture.
Carpentry, however, would not compete in the Ohiopyle of the
future. Wendell’s old woodworking shop, one block from the Falls
and next to Potter’s Gristmill, was converted into the Holt and
Marietta rafting office. With other purchases and additions, White
Water Adventurers occupies a choice location. Anybody passing
through the park sees their headquarters.

216 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

White Water Adventurers is a family business. Becky Holt, Wen-
dell’s wife, comes from Farmington. She married a country car-
penter and ended up with 15,000 customers a year, 200 rafts, fif-
teen river guides on the payroll, tee-shirt sales in the thousands, a
campground off Route 40, and a very decent income. She stands
tall, pretty in a simple way. She has a welcoming smile, maybe the
warmest smile in Ohiopyle. Wendell says, “Any customers who are
problems—people who want refunds and stuff like that—we let
’em talk to Becky.” She tries to negotiate fairly and they quit being
angry. Becky also keeps the books. She carries a charm of being
young; a charm of being old. Other than real mothers, she is the
only woman that river guides call “Mom.” Not that she is old
enough; not that she looks it. She doesn’t even look old enough to
be the mother of Gary, Wendy, Brenda, and Todd.

In the summertime the four Holt kids are always in the White
Water Adventurers shop, or in the store, or on bikes around town,
or jumping in the Youghiogheny at the swimming hole above the
bridge. Wendy and Brenda are learning to kayak, taking lessons
from John Lichter. In 1981—her first year paddling——fourteen-year-
old Brenda won third place in a Pennsylvania Cup race.

The Mariettas are different. Wendell Holt is tall, Bob Marietta is
short and almost old enough to be Wendell’s father. They are Ohio-
pyle’s Mutt-and-Jeff. Bob’s father, Buck, was infamous for carous-
ing and brawling. “Buck was a fighter,” eighty-five-year-old Gwen
Waters remembers. He was outdone only by Bob in his earlier days.
Now there is Bobby, son of Bob.

Before World War II, Bob Marietta worked odd jobs around
Ohiopyle and cut timber. “All you needed to be in business was a
saw and a rattletrap pickup,” he says. “Then I worked on the
Squirrel Hill tunnel [in Pittsburgh] for a few years, but always came
back here.” Thirty years ago Bob’s father and mother leased the
Ohiopyle House——the only remaining hotel—from Alex Mead.
Mead also owned the Ferncliff peninsula which the Mariettas in-
tended to buy. “All of a sudden Mead died on a golf course,” Bob
says, “and the deal fell through.” When the Western Pennsylvania
Conservancy acquired the property, Bob Marietta worked as care-
taker of Ferncliff and the Ohiopyle House for eleven years.

In the summer, Bob now ambles around town in shorts and
thongs looking more Californian than Appalachian, though he
sounds and acts like pure Ohiopyle. He is friendly, but is also

Whitewater § 217

recognized as a local power figure. “Bob Marietta owns this town,”
a resident said. That is not true—the Marietta holdings are not so
vast——but Bob has combined old-time local influence with astound-
ing success in White Water Adventurers. He has come a long way
from his hell-raising days. He gets along with almost everybody,
cultivating the cooperation that he needs with the state park, the
police, the borough council, or whatever.

Bob’s wife, Shirley, also works full-time helping to run the com-
pany. Their son, Bobby, is the manager, scheduling guides and mak-
ing sure the equipment works. He is not the PR type. Some people
are scared of him because he loves to fight. In this way he is a chip
off the old block, only the chip is now considerably larger. Bobby is
built like a studio wrestler. One night he inflicted $10,000 damage
on a bar and its occupants in Connellsville.

Bobby’s style didn’t change on the river. An old Mountain
Streams and Trails guide remembers being delayed, allowing
Bobby’s group to catch up. Bobby started yelling at the other guide
to get out of the way. In front of both groups of passengers, the two
faced off, ready to duel with paddles on a big rock. Talking about
the early days of commercial rafting, a Wilderness Voyageurs guide
said, “There was never much trouble except for guys like Bobby
Marietta. He’s big and he gets his way.”

Bobby grew up swimming in the Youghiogheny, tubing above
Ohiopyle and around the Loop. At low water, Marietta, Johnny
Spittle, and other boys would swim down the river from the bridge
and slide straight over the Falls, kicking out at the top so they
would land in the foam and not be pushed down by the undertows.
“Other times we’d wade out to the middle above the Falls, holding
onto each other, then dive into the center of it,” Bobby says. Some-
times they’d get sucked under for a long time. “The water would
push down, but up too, and you’d sort of stay there a little ways
under. Then finally it’d spit you out.” Marietta and the other Ohio-
pyle kids swam all the Loop’s rapids except Railroad. “Older
kids—Lynn Orendorf and Peachy Bungard and guys like that-
they said stay out of Railroad, so we did.”

Bobby Marietta didn’t grow up rafting. No local kids did. “We’d
be playing baseball over in Ferncliff and throw stones at the rafters
when they’d carry their boats back from running the Loop,” he
says.

While we talk, Torn Finn, a White Water Adventurers guide, sits

218 § Yougbiog/aeny: Appalachian River

with us on the bench outside the shop and says, “Hey, I was one of
those boaters!”

Holt and Marietta started as a shoestring operation. “The guides
did pretty much the whole thing,” old Bob says. “We’d run shuttles,
then come back here and lead the rafts down. We had an old trailer
that we’d pile the boats onto. Every now and then it’d cut lose and
roll down through the woods at Stewarton.”

Young Bob says, “You know the foot pumps that we take along
in case of an emergency? Well, one of those is what we blew up all
the boats with.”

“One of the real crazy days was when the motorcycle gang came
to town,” Bobby recalls. “Must have been five hundred. Leather
jackets, cut off sleeves, chains, the whole works. Then the cops
came. Lots of them, helicopters even. Those guys wanted to go
rafting, so we hustled ’em around the Loop, carried the boats back
and took more.”

In 1980, Holt and Marietta’s White Water Adventurers did more
business than any other company. Most years they are second. In
1981 they guided 15,000 passengers.

This is without question the river company of the local people.
“At first they didn’t know what was going on,” an old-time
Youghiogheny paddler says. “They were a bunch of locals who
knew nothing about rafting. The guides didn’t know about pad-
dling or rescue.” But they learned. They had a reputation for drink-
ing, for showing up late, but today they tend to be the oldest guides
and include some of the most experienced and colorful. This is
partly because they get paid the most and partly because some of
them grew up here and want to stay. Ohiopyle is home.

To White Water Adventurers guides, the Youghiogheny is not an
exotic thing. As Wendell Holt says, “It’s more of a job to our boys.
Growing up here, you take the river for granted.” To them, the
aesthetics do not overwhelm. The river does not lead to much in
metaphysics. It does not offer escape. It is scarcely recreational.
What it means is a job; an income without welfare, without com-
muting to McKeesport, without the mines. It is a well-paying, sea-
sonal, exciting, challenging job with the elements and with people.

Bob Marietta says, “My boys have been pretty rough individuals.
Not renegades, but tough individuals. That’s changing now. You
have to change. Today you need a little more public relations.
People are looking for that.”

Whitewater § 219

Blake Martin, an excellent paddler and sophomore at Williams,
works for White Water in 1981 though he is the typical Wilderness
Voyageurs guide. On the river, he waves and calls out in French to
his customers, “Venez ici, donc!” (“come on over here”), and
people love it.

Still, ribald stunts continue. At Swimmer’s Rapid, Rob Baron (a
Mountain Streams and Trails guide who was fired for blowing up
the Last Resort’s pool table, and then was hired by White Water
Adventurers) found a mud-dog—a ten-inch-long amphibian envel-
oped in slime, with a tail that is like a fin and a head squashed like
an alligator. Because of these characteristics, some people consider
the mud-dog the most revolting of creatures, and they coax a
squeamish reaction from one and all. Baron was going to slip the
innocent dog into the raft of a customer who had grated on his
nerves that day. First he consulted with Needles (Bobby Daniels).
Needles said no: “Might freak ’em out and the word’d get back to
the comp’ny.” But non-paying Ohioans are fair game; they are
foreigners here. While a flatland woman was swimming in the
rapid, Baron granted the mud dog amnesty in the bow of her kayak.
She returned and nestled herself into her boat, fastened her spray
skirt securely, paddled out into the river, and only then felt the
creeping claws of the dog as it began its slow, slimy ascent on her
bare legs.

Those are the four big river companies in Ohiopyle. At about the
same price ($18 to $22 on weekdays; $25 to $35 on weekends) they
offer about the same services: trips from Ohiopyle to Bruner Run
with customers paddling their rafts, being coached by two guides in
kayaks and another two in a raft loaded with lunch and rescue
ropes.

A fifth company started in 1973. Stuart Van Nosdeln opened
Youghiogheny Outfitters where customers rent rafts, paddles, and
life jackets, but go down the river guideless. Van Nosdeln’s shop
sits between Route 381 and the river, below the Falls, and is unmis-
takably identified by a Dairy Queen sign.

When I introduce myself, Stu flashes a big smile. He is the PR
type. He wears a cap, pale blue jeans, a shirt for an Ocean City
tourist, and Docksiders. He is of medium build, and when he tips
his cap (or cowboy hat in winter), his dark hairline shows some
retreat. I guess him to be in his late forties. He takes a phone

220 § Yougbiog/aeny: Appalachian River

call and I order a milkshake that fills a Dennis the Menace paper
cup.

Stu Van Nosdeln came from Baltimore, though his parents grew
up near Mill Run north of Ohiopyle. He returned to visit relatives,
met one of Ed ]ackson’s granddaughters, got married, and moved
to Ohiopyle in 1957. He worked on the B 86 0, then became a real
estate salesman for an agency in Connellsville. This came naturally
because Van Nosdeln can spot a deal.

Take this building for example. It occupies the only slice of river
frontage that is not state-owned within miles of Ohiopyle. In the
early seventies, before Van Nosdeln became mayor of Ohiopyle, be
negotiated a no-strings—attached lease for this ground, which is
owned by the borough. “The lease is good to the year 2000,” he
says. “No, 2030. I’ll be ninety—five years old.” He laughs. I ask if it
was difficult to get the lease. “No. I just asked for it.” Details of the
agreement are unclear since the council minutes covering it have
been lost. Bob Marietta originally held the lease, then gave it up,
presumably on the condition that Van Nosdeln would rent bicycles,
not rafts. But there was little demand for bicycles, and Stu was not
one to bypass a good business opportunity. “I felt there was room
for a novice to use this river,” he says. “Heretofore, guided tours,
with the help of the state park, were the only way. Why should the
public be regimented into a guided tour?”

At least part of Van Nosdeln’s theory embracing raft renting as a
public service is sound. There are growing numbers of experienced,
physically fit, and responsible paddlers who do not need a guide on
the Youghiogheny. There are also growing numbers who are inex-
perienced, unfit, and irresponsible.

Since the days of the Rodmans, experienced boaters had seen
burgeoning incompetence and growing competition for river space.
The large guided trips definitely had an urbanizing impact, but
when Van Nosdeln began renting rafts to almost anybody who
showed up, an unimagined brand of chaos reigned on the Yough-
iogheny. To understate, a lot of hell broke loose. Guides from the
four companies earned their money trying to protect customers
from novices whose trust-to-luck technique in rented rafts led them
to plow straight into other boats. In 1977 Wendell Holt said, “Our
boys throw ropes to people who fall out of rafts, and only 10
percent of ’em are our own. The rest are not in a guided group.”

Cass Chestnut, a White Water Adventurers guide, later said, “We

Whitewater § 221

quit throwing them ropes; that’s not our job.” If the guide throws
the rope to a rental rafter, his attention is diverted, his rope is
uncoiled, and he is unprepared to save one of his own clients who
might also need help.

State park officials and others believed that unguided trips were
unsafe for the inexperienced, but Van Nosdeln convincingly says,
“In eight years we’ve had 250,000 people with no drownings or
serious injuries. We’ve proven it’s safe. We give a safety talk, equip-
ment handling instructions, and a plastic map so people don’t walk
out of here cold turkey not knowing what to do.” Though it is
unclear where the 250,000 figure came from (this averages 31,250 a
year, yet Van Nosdeln later says that in 1981 he rented to only
12,000 to 15,000 people), the record is impressive.

The Pittsburgh Press, August 13, 1978, carried a story about
Reverend Fred Cooley who had rented a raft from Stu Van Nos-
deln. At River’s End, Cooley’s raft hit a rock and he was
dumped into the river. Colliding with another rock, he became
pinned by the current with water washing over his head at times.
“I’m afraid I gave up at one point,” Cooley said. “If it wasn’t
for the young guide from Wilderness Voyageurs, I would have
drowned.” Jay Douglas happened to be there with a safety rope
for his customers. When he saw Cooley’s predicament, he waded
a risky route to the overweight preacher, and with the help of
two other men, saved him in a rescue that required forty-five
minutes. Meanwhile the Wilderness Voyageurs trip was short one
guide, creating additional risks for which Douglas and Wilderness
Voyageurs owner Lance Martin were responsible. Cooley con-
demned Youghiogheny Outfitters for “gross negligence.” He said,
“I think, they were irresponsible for failing to provide guides and
a safety program in terms of instruction. He didn’t tell us what
the risks were.”

Van Nosdeln answered, “We are safety conscious. We have the
best equipment on the market. We feel we do the best for john Q.
Public. We try to cater to the sense of adventure of the individual.”
About guides rescuing private boaters, Van Nosdeln replied,
“They’re just crying because I’m taking away their customers. We
don’t provide guides because they are an unnecessary expense in a
cost—conscious economy. We don’t want to get into that part of the
business at all. I’m sorry about Reverend Cooley, but accidents will
happen.”

Steve Martin

   

-s

Rafters, Cucumber Rapid

 

Canoéists ififfitrance Rdpzd

Rafters at Cucumber RLapz'cLi

8 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

weeds, fords the river, each time making a muddy goo even after all
those years. This is where the silt that chokes Floyd Cowger’s lake
comes from. The river starts in a clear-cut; it ends at a steel mill.
The miracle is that in between, it is one of the finest wild and scenic
rivers in the eastern United States. In four different sections, the
Youghiogheny offers some of the best water for expert kayakers,
intermediate canoeists, commercial rafters, and gentle-water pad-
dlers. It is one of the country’s outstanding examples of reclaimed
water quality and a return of trout. But not to get ahead of the
story.

Where is the highest spring, that elusive Youghiogheny source?
Prothero says that this hike reminds him of a training trip for
Canoe Trails. Back in Beaver, Pennsylvania, in tenth grade, he
signed up for a scouting program. Each year, a group went to
Canada for ten days, but not before intensive preparation, including
cross-country orienteering. The Canoe Trails program went co-ed
while Prothero was there, and that is where he met his heart-break
girl friend—the one who led to his Ohiopyle escape. Eventually,
Prothero was kicked out of Canoe Trails for “insubordination.” He
says, “There were a lot of good things there, but also a lot of stuff
that you grow out of, and the program doesn’t grow with you.”
When Prothero started his own programs on the Youghiogheny, the
emphasis was on growth.

Soon the river is but a trickle. In places it goes underground like a
phantom, then pops up again. Any moment I expect the flow to
give out altogether, and it does. Within a grove of tall tulip poplar
skipped by the loggers and surrounded by third—growth striped
maple, speckled alder, yellow birch, and red maple, a hemlock tree
stands with a spring at its base. Hay-scented ferns are green and
thick. At the rate of perhaps one cup a minute, the Youghiogheny
flows toward the Gulf of Mexico. This seems an appropriate
source, but above, the ravine continues, and where there is a hol-
low, there is water, at least when it rains. We keep walking.

The Youghiogheny at this altitude is a damp spot in the bottom of
a Maryland ravine. As we press upward, sink-sized pools of water
appear now and then with drops of current running through. Then,
up ahead, I finally see the highest limit of the ravine. I see where it
begins in a cavity like a tiny cirque, fifteen feet across. Above it, the
mountain simply rises to its summit, uncut and uneroded by the flow
of water. Below it, there is a channel for the Youghiogheny, continu-

Stuart Van N osdeln

B 019 Marietta Dave Kurtz

Falls Market

Larry Adams Winnie Glotfelty

Bill Calantoni giving a canoeing lesson

Equipment ready for
a commercial trip

Paul Grabow talks to commercial rafters

Railroad Rapid

Rafters below the Okiopyle Falls

2'mmar9s Rapid

]im Wilson at the ledges above Indian Creek

u;ghxz ()g/§en‘y cVzt“Brun‘i* 

232 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

One of the fatalities in recent years was a man with a group that
brought one raft of their own and rented others. The man who
drowned happened to be in the privately owned raft. In the sum-
mer of 1981, I questioned a group of rental rafters who had
Youghiogheny Outfitters equipment. They said that they had re-
ceived no safety talk and no equipment handling instructions. But
at the put-in, the state park provides a video tape conveying im-
portant information.

White Water Adventurers and Wilderness Voyageurs began rent-
ing rafts in 1977. “When they saw that they couldn’t beat me, they
joined me,” Van Nosdeln says. But that is not Marietta’s story.

“We didn’t want to rent rafts,” Bobby Marietta says. “We were
hoping to put him [Van Nosdeln] out of business, to kill it. It didn’t
hurt the guided trips, but we figured it was unsafe.” Since Ohiopyle
has an ordinance against new permanent signs, the Mariettas
propped a Youghiogheny Raft Rental sign on a wagon, parked it
next to Van Nosdeln’s shop, and waged a rental raft price war.
Wilderness Voyageurs also participated.

“We couldn’t put him out of business,” Bobby admits. “There
were so many customers that everybody rented all the equipment
they had.” Since then, one rental client of White Water Adventurers
died on the river, presumably from a heart attack. Apparently
Lance Martin, Bob Marietta, and Wendell Holt became convinced
that renting rafts is safe, because they continue to do it.

Laurel Highlands does not rent rafts. “I don’t like rentals,” Mark
McCarty says. “There’s a market for them, but there’s also a safety
factor that’s completely missing.” The economic facts are formi-
dable. Rental rafts are profitable for the outfitters and inexpensive
for the customer. But rental rafters must arrange their own shuttle
from the take-out parking lot, and if that means driving a second
car from Pittsburgh, the added costs are substantial.

Van Nosdeln became known for his antistate views. He feels that
he has been stepped on by big government. In addition to river
safety, state officials were concerned about the location of Van
Nosdeln’s shop and Dairy Queen, calling it a traffic hazard. Three
side-swipes happened on one weekend. If the topic is a new govern-
ment attempt to do something, say, to designate the Youghiogheny
a national scenic river to prohibit certain kinds of water projects
and real estate developments, Van Nosdeln responds with spirited,
stalwart views and a rabble-rousing, incendiary, almost evangelical

Whitewater § 233

way of spreading the word. Touching on the ripe topic of govern-
ment regulation, he says enough of fact, enough of opinion, that
discontent rises like a bird and the specter of control grows vivid in
the minds of mountain people who are otherwise unfamiliar with
these things.

His major current gripe is a narrower issue: “Equity for all at the
take-out.” At the end of a trip, school buses hired by the guide
companies shuttle customers back to their cars near Ohiopyle, but
independent boaters must arrange their own shuttle. Van Nosdeln
thinks that bus service to Ohiopyle should be provided for the
nonguided boaters. Park Superintendent Larry Adams counters that
guided boaters pay for their shuttle, that the state can not run
trucks for boats and gear the way outfitters do, and that more buses
on Kentuck hill would snarl traffic.

Van Nosdeln also criticizes the state for not allowing enough
people on the river. If somebody with a permit doesn’t show up,
their spot may go vacant. From a businessman’s view, this is wasted
space. Van Nosdeln could fill the vacancies with rental rafters who
fail to reserve permits in advance. Larry Adams counters that the
state doesn’t want to reject people in their telephone-reservations
system and then encourage other people to show up for an opening.
He says that if people arrive without permits, they will wait long
hours for a no—show slot. Their rafts may blow up from overheating
in the sun. When they don’t get a permit, they’ll be disappointed
and maybe try to launch anyway. The state already over-books the
permits, aiming for half-hourly launchings of sixty people. Out of a
daily maximum of 768 nonguided rafters, about 700 spots are filled
on most busy days.

Van Nosdeln admits that he is antipark. “But there’s a good side.
If it weren’t for them this river would be polluted. They just over-
regulate.”

Van Nosdeln was elected mayor of Ohiopyle after Bill Holt re-
tired. “I ran on a platform to keep the Commonwealth from taking
any more land,” he says. The state park was already acquired. “Our
country’s floundering because the economy’s beginning to slip.
Everybody knows and cares except the environmentalists. I see both
sides. The state should promote small business. They don’t. Envi-
ronmentalists deter small business.

“Would there be an Ocean City, Maryland, if it was all sandy
beach like Assateague Island? Look at James Watt [President

The High Ridge § 9

ous for 2,082 miles. And right at the back of the cirque, tight against
the mountain, is a spring measuring one foot across, two inches deep,
and edged with the yellow pollen of May.

Hoyes Crest, above the Youghiogheny source, is not a peak at all.
It is only a little higher than other places on Backbone Mountain,
which runs fifty miles from Parsons, West Virginia, northward to
Westernport, Maryland. From the crest you see only trees, with
barely a glimpse of the upper Youghiogheny Valley and the North
Branch Potomac Valley.

For a better view—to see the lay of the land—I travel a few days
later to a different apex of the Backbone: Eagle Rocks. They rise
east of Loch Lynn and Oakland, and are accessible by dirt road off
Maryland Route 560. On the topographic map it is a dramatic site.
First of all, the name. Maybe an aerie was here. Maybe eagles soar
past in the spring or fall. The map’s contour lines are congested,
crowded together, indicating the concave rise of a rocky summit.
On the map it says “quarry.”

It is evening when I turn off the highway and test my van’s
springs on the washboard road to the rocks. To what is left of
them. It seems the quarry has eaten the best of the eagle habitat.
The remaining rocks are hard sandstone surrounded by a coarse,
white, remarkable sand. An acre of the summit has been excavated
and removed for use at lower elevations. On my heels, in fact, is a
pickup with two men who will shovel half a cubic yard of Eagle
Rock super-sand and drive away with the treasure. The mountain-
top will be reincarnated as a slab on which a suburban doghouse
will sit. Even so, a few rocks remain. I scramble up the slopes of the
quarry and reach a path that lures me to where a ten-foot-square
stone catches a gale of wind and the last glint of springtime sun. To
soak up both, I climb on top.

Pittsburgh and Baltimore may as well be on another planet. To
the east the mountains are graceful; they are the smooth-topped
mountains of Maryland. Wide valleys with seas of grass lie be-
tween. Even during the Indians’ time there were grasslands down
there with buffalo grazing in them. The scene reminds me of central
Pennsylvania, or of a diminished version of Virginia’s Blue Ridge. In
all, about ten high ridges run in a northeast—southwest slant be-
tween here and the Atlantic Ocean, the easternmost mountain rising
near Frederick.

234 § Youghiogbeny: Appalachian River

Reagan’s secretary of the interior]. Look at the trouble he’s in just
for saying, ‘Let’s not buy more. Lets manage what we have.’ I agree
right here.”

Ironically, Van Nosdeln is paid by the Western Pennsylvania
Conservancy—has been since about 1970—to buy private property
from Ohiopyle area landowners. This is then resold to the state.
“He has been able to pick up some properties that we would never
have been able to get,” says John Oliver, Conservancy president.
“We found he was a very effective negotiator.”

A former Ohiopyle resident says, “When people found out that
Stu was a straw-buyer for the Conservancy, he lost some popular-
ity, let me tell you.” Van Nosdeln says that he became involved
with the Conservancy because he had seen past abuses regarding
acquisition, and that by working with the group, he thought that
local people’s views would be more respected.

In 1981, Stu Van Nosdeln rented 100 rafts to at least 12,000
people, possibly 15,000, according to his figures. This is about
equal to the number of customers served by a guide company. In
addition to White Water Adventurers and Wilderness Voyageurs,
small rental companies have sprung up in Confluence, Pittsburgh,
and suburban Washington.

Managing the River

By the early seventies, the age of river-running had come from the
explorers—the Rodmans and Dave Kurtz—to the masses. Tens of
thousands of people had come to Ohiopyle, and hundreds of thou-
sands more would come. The staff of Kennywood Amusement Park
splashed through Cucumber. Ski clubs with flask-carrying comarad-
erie scheduled summer flings. Families that treasure security in sub-
urban ranch houses where they mow the lawn and watch TV for
the weekend faced close calls at River’s End rapid. An organization
of gay weight lifters and a group of deaf-mutes were on the same
White Water Adventurers trip with good ol’ boy guides, and it was
a day full of gestures. The percentage of overweight people running
the river ballooned. Motorcycle gangs rode in, and so did the big-
car—families of governors. Fraternities and sororities came. There
were women in floppy hats and kids on drugs. The staffs of embas-
sies in Washington ventured to Ohiopyle to see what America was
like. Only a few black people came but their numbers grew slightly

Whitewater § 23 5

and it was not rare for a pair to accompany seventy-eight other
customers. A social profile reveals boaters at Ohiopyle to be white,
young, middle class, and highly educated.

Pittsburghers came. In the same way that word spreads about a
bar that is suddenly the place to go, word of the Youghiogheny
spread through western Pennsylvania. Then beyond: Philadelphians
and Washingtonians with indoor tendencies and urban quirks came
looking for a river to give them a rubber roller coaster ride they
would never forget, and nearly all of them loved it. Midwesterners
arrived, starved for gradient.

Gradient—that elixir adding spice and sweat, excitement and
change, challenge and speed. It demands youth or at least to be
young at heart, and if people can cope with it, it makes them feel
young whether they are or not. Gradient—whether shooting sky-
ward like a mountain or dropping unnervingly beneath the horizon
like a rapid——draws certain people toward it.

The urbanites from either direction-—Pittsburgh or Baltimore/Wash-
ington—were not taking resources away from the mountains as in
the lumber and coal days. Now the outsiders came to enjoy the land
and water for what it is, but the economy of Ohiopyle was still
dependent on the economies of the urban areas. If the city people
had no time or no money, then there would be no rafting business
and no jobs in Ohiopyle. The economies were willing, however, and
so the beauty of the Youghiogheny was matched only by its crowds.

Ohiopyle became one of the best-known Pennsylvania parks. Na-
tionwide it became one of the signficant state parks, like the Adi-
rondack Park in New York, Jedediah Smith Redwoods in Califor-
nia, or the ocean parks of the Florida Keys.

People came for fun and thrills in the river-showcase of nature.
They came to satisfy an urge, a need that they probably never knew
they had. And the river did this in ways that people probably never
realized, never fully discovered, in ways that they never counted.

The Youghiogheny became a hot-spot for thrills without skills,
and few people thought much more about it. It became an amuse-
ment park with nobody making a move to see that the place was
respected.

“Gang boating,” Sayre Rodman calls it.

“I looked upstream and it was nothing but rafts, bank-to-bank,”
said one visitor on Memorial Day. “It was a picture that belonged
on the last page of Life magazine.”

23 6 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

“It was kind of sad, and I don’t want to go back,” says Bob
Harrigan, the first canoeist.

It was more than sad. It was chaotic. Traffic congested when
rafters walked across Route 381 to reach the put-in, which became a
quagmire where mobs from different companies competed for space.
It was bumper boats in Cucumber Rapid. There were times when
guides from one company caught up to another group and then
shouted at the guides ahead of them. Bill Calantoni, who worked for
White Water Adventurers, says, “It was none of this, ‘Hey man, you
think you could speed your trip up a little?’ It was, ‘Hey, get to hell
outta here.’ ” There were fist fights at the take—out. From 1968 to
1978, fifteen rafters drowned. None of them were with guided
groups, most wore no life jackets, and some were drunk.

Friction between guided groups, rental rafters, and independent
boaters increased and the heat of it took away the fun. Like uncon-
trollable floating locomotives, rafts rammed kayakers and canoeists
into boulders. A paddler who had been going to the Youghiogheny
since 1961 said, “Most of the rafters don’t give a good damn about
the river. They are there only for the thrills. It’s like an amusement
park for them. Unguided rafters are in many ways the worst. The
guides at least keep their customers together with some hint of
environmental insight. You never see them throw trash. But their
trips are too large. There’s not even a semblance of a wild river.”

About the early seventies, Bob Marietta said, “You could cross
the river by jumping from boat—to-boat.” Free enterprise had
reached an extreme that brought anarchy. It was time for the gov-
ernment to manage a problem that individuals held no authority to
solve and that commercial outfitters showed no willingness to con-
trol. A certain amount of quality had been irrevocably lost before
the government moved—before a lid to save a public resource
would be put on free enterprise.

Some people criticized the state for waiting so long. Paul Wieg-
man of the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy says, “Instead of
five years earlier when the amount of use was reasonable, the state
waited until it was overcrowded. Then they reacted.”

The Youghiogheny had become the most-floated whitewater in
the country, and the solutions to its problems would eventually
make it the most efficiently-run whitewater system. In the manage-
ment of river recreation, the Youghiogheny would become unique,
but not without mistakes, failures, and compromises.

Whitewater § 237

Since boaters used state park land to put in and take out, state
officials reasoned that access could be regulated by the Bureau of
Parks. In the name of safety and environmental protection, the state
would try to limit the numbers of boaters.

How much use is enough? Jean and Sayre Rodman would have
preferred the river with maybe half a dozen small parties, spaced an
hour apart. Others found forty people per group to be tolerable, but
that day was past. Some boaters thought that 1,000 floaters a day
would have been reasonable, but on busy days, that number was
already dwarfed. When state officials took action to limit growth,
their expectations were not high. They would not save an atmo-
sphere of wilderness. They would simply do what they could to
prevent the utter chaos that results from overuse.

In 1970, 17,000 people floated the Youghiogheny, and in 1972,
45,000 (floaters in the Grand Canyon of the Colorado averaged on
14,000 a year in the mid seventies). Over half of the Youghiogheny
visitors paddled with commercial guides.

Group size had climbed to eighty (eighty customers made a two-
bus trip). Each company ran one to four trips a day, and the four
companies thrived without competition from new outfitters. While
they did not want regulations curbing their activities, they would
welcome a government ban on new companies, thus assuring them
a captive market.

The Bureau of State Parks struck a deal. They would ban new
guide companies if the four outfitters agreed to limit their custom-
ers. That was the easy part. The numbers then became the issue: the
outfitters each wanted four groups of sixty people or three groups
of eighty people a day. This represented about the maximum of
1973. The state ruled that three groups of sixty people would be
allowed for each outfitter. The outfitters promptly appealed the
regulation to the State Environmental Hearing Board.

Lance Martin says that safety and environmental protection were
not the issues. There has never been a drowning on a guided trip.
“The state arbitrarily picked some numbers,” Martin accuses. “I
wanted to freeze everybody, but allow some room to grow. I was
running four trips of sixty people then.” The state’s proposal would
have reduced Martin’s customers on his busiest days, but would
have allowed everybody else to grow. With parks director Bill For-
rey and state attorney Arthur Feld, Lance Martin and his attorney
negotiated.

238 § Yougbiogheny: Appalachian River

The Bureau of State Parks was at a disadvantage. They had no
documentation regarding safety or environmental protection, and
few precedents had been set regarding river regulation. Floaters on
some of the popular western rivers were regulated by the National
Park Service, Forest Service, or Bureau of Land Management, but
those cases were only remotely similar. Nor did the Bureau of State
Parks enjoy a political constituency. The state was without legal or
political leverage.

The “negotiations,’ as Martin calls them, resulted in three trips
of eighty people for each outfitter-——about the same number Martin
was already running on his busiest days. The limit of use was thus
established by taking the busiest day of the busiest company, and
allowing all four companies to run that many customers every day
of the year. State officials didn’t think they would need to regulate
nonguided boaters, but that was before the boom in rental rafting.

The 1973 agreement did not solve the crowding problems. Far
from it. The new rules merely assured that the busiest days would
not become even worse. Labor Day weekend crowds could be re-
peated all summer long. The regulations did not address rental
rafts, independent paddlers, scheduling, shuttle systems, or the effi-
ciency of boating on the Youghiogheny. These issues would fall to
the new park superintendent, Larry B. Adams.

9

Adams is neither an office-anchored bureaucrat nor a pipe-puff-
ing old-guard parks and forests man. He fits none of the molds, and
perhaps that is a reason for his success. My impression on meeting
him is that he is reserved, conscientious, and cautious. He is of
medium height, medium weight, and normally mild disposition. His
light brown hair is relatively short and curly.

He grew up near Lock Haven in north-central Pennsylvania and
learned something about rivers at an early age. “Some other kids
and I would take this four-hundred-pound-wooden boat on the
West Branch of the Susquehanna,” Adams recalls. “We rowed it in
floods. Once we took it over the dam; that was really stupid.”
Run-of-river dams can be dangerous because the flow over the dam
is uniform, creating unrelenting reversals at the bottom, unlike the
erratic flows at the foot of a natural waterfall where rocks break up
the current. As a kid, Adams read Jack London and Zane Gray and
wanted to work outside.

He earned an education degree at Lock Haven State College and

Whitewater § 239

completed fifty-six graduate hours at Millersville and Cornell. He
was collecting field data for his masters degree in biology. “Some
friendly loggers wiped out my research area,” he says. The study
was never finished. In high schools he taught “environmental biol-
ogy,” “micro medical biology,” and “biology and the scientific pro-
cess,” but after six years the challenge was gone. He was going to
teach in a college, but the pay cut would have been $4,000, and
teaching had not been his dream anyway. Adams’s boyhood dream
was to be a park ranger and to ride around on a horse and not see
anybody. The first part of that has come true. While we talk, the
summer of 1981, Larry Adams is thirty-eight years old and signs his
name to each of eighteen identical forms required of park rangers.

In 1974 he inquired about work with the Bureau of State Parks,
passed a civil service test, and was hired as superintendent at Shikel-
lamy, managing four small parks. He had not landed the glamour
job of the bureau, but this was the way a biology teacher broke into
a system dominated by green-uniformed career men and later by
recreation specialists with college degrees tailored to park man-
agers’ needs. “And don’t let anybody kid you,” Adams says, “a
bunch of little parks is a hassle. You have to do everything four
times and drive fifty miles to visit one of the parks.”

Only two years after Adams accepted the Shikellamy job, Chuck
Rea left Ohiopyle for Black Moshannon. From six applicants, Adams
was selected as the new superintendent. “He had a good record,”
says Bill Forrey, “and we figured he could handle the job.” With only
two years of experience, Adams was taking on Ohiopyle when the
outfitters were suing the state, the railroad was closing the take-out,
the locals were shooting mad about land acquisition, arson was sus-
pected in hotel and forest fires, the sewage plant wouldn’t work,
visitation was approaching two million, strip miners were chewing at
the boundary, and people were drowning in the river.

Not long after he got there he was climbing on the rocks below
the superintendent’s house at Entrance rapid. He twisted and broke
his leg and fell into the river, luckily splashing into a pothole full of
water so he didn’t hit his head. It was a hot Saturday afternoon and
there were about a hundred people around. Being in full uniform,
Adams brought a good laugh from one and all. What does a new
superintendent do then? He climbs out of the Youghiogheny, acts
normal, limps home, and asks his wife, Nancy, to drive him to the
Uniontown hospital.

Z40 § Youghiogbeny: Appalachian Riz/er

Adams would gain a reputation for being hard-working, strict,
efficient, and fair. One park employee says that he gives you the
help you need but doesn’t do your job. “He gives you responsibility,
but if you start screwing off he finds out about it.”

John Lichter, Ohiopyle kayak instructor, says, “He’s a pretty
good guy. He’s learned how to paddle an open boat on the river.
On Sunday afternoons he took some C-1 lessons from me because
he wanted to be able to patrol the river himself, at any water level.”

Stu Van Nosdeln calls Adams rude and uncompromising. To de-
fine a waiting area for independent boaters, Adams had a wooden
fence constructed, which happened to fall between the Dairy Queen
and the ranger check-in station. He also had a cement sidewalk
built from Van Nosdeln’s shop to the put-in area. In response, Van
Nosdeln erected a large sign along Route 381 saying that Larry
Adams wastes taxpayers’ money.

Adams says, “The hardest thing out here is the lack of support.
No citizens’ organization, no chamber of commerce. A lot of the
park visitors are from out of state, so they’re never around to put in
a good word. You’re on your own.”

Bob Marietta says, “He’s done a wonderful job. He’s solved a lot
of problems and he’s been fair. A few years ago you couldn’t work
this river but now you can.”

Adams went from small urban parks that were fully developed to
a large mountain park that was hardly operational. “There was a
lot of facility development to finish,” he says, “and more difficult: a
lot of operational development was needed. To set up an opera-
tional scheme that worked—that was the biggest challenge.”

In the mid—seventies, Forrey, Adams, and others at the state level
could see more conflicts coming. In 1975 there were 75,000
floaters. The state expected more lawsuits by the four outfitters,
they expected lawsuits by other people who might try to offer
guided trips as a fifth company, and they expected lawsuits from
private boaters. Since rental rafters were considered “private”
boaters, the state was getting ready to regulate them, and justifica—
tion was needed. To prepare themselves for all this, the Bureau of
Parks commissioned a study by Charles Strauss, associate professor
of Forest Economics, of the Penn State School of Forest Resources.

Working under Strauss, Chuck Myers, an instructor of forestry,
surveyed the management of twelve other rivers. Only two were in
the East: Georgia’s Chattooga and Maine’s Allagash. The Chat-

Whitewater § 241

tooga had 66 percent private boaters. No data was available for the
Allagash, but most of its boaters were also private. The Snake River
had no limit on party size, but among all other rivers, the maximum
group was thirty people—only three-eighths the size of the Yough-
iogheny trips. The Stanislaus of California had a maximum group
size of twenty-five. Most river management agencies had a morato-
rium on new outfitters.

A shoreline study found that “the effects of user impact are
readily apparent,” but not serious. Strauss warned that eroding
banks could result if the number of people increased.

For an economic analysis, Strauss collected information from the
four Ohiopyle outfitters, then averaged it into a hypothetical com-
pany at 1977 prices. Gross revenue totaled $262,700, about half of
it being spent on staff, leaving a net revenue after taxes of 17.5
percent of investments. The study could be criticized for being too
conservative, for example, it depreciated rafts to zero value in three
years and Ralph McCarty was still using some of his original equip-
ment, but the analysis still indicated that the outfitters could afford
to pay the state a fee for use of the park and its facilities. The four
companies were not at the edge of poverty, yet the Penn State
economists contended that the industry could not support a fifth
outfitter. They said that a fifth company would lower average prof-
its to a 4 percent return on capital.

A large part of the Strauss study dealt with acceptable numbers of
boaters. The state had already agreed to let each outfitter run three
groups of eighty people a day, so Strauss considered no less. “We
were working with a situation where the Bureau of Parks had set up
agreements,” he explains. He considered an increase in nonguided
people, since their numbers were unregulated.

The researchers spotted major congestion points, measured the
time it takes to paddle from one to the other, and constructed a
statistical and computer simulation model of this unusual transpor-
tation system. The model would predict the effects of increasing
numbers of boaters.

Strauss selected fifteen minutes as the maximum time that people
would wait while other boaters went through a rapid ahead of
them. Should the system be designed to require maximum waiting
time that people will tolerate? Fifteen minutes was a “subjective
judgment,” but that figure made possible 2,000 floaters a day with
one boat going down the river every thirty-six seconds. This was the

242 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

figure recommended by the Strauss study: the 960 guided customers
already allowed, plus an equal number of nonguided paddlers. To
hold nonguided boaters to their quota, the researchers recom-
mended a permit system.

One could argue that 2,000 is too many boaters because fifteen
minutes is too long to wait. Five minutes is often the longest I wait in
line at a grocery store, and most people do not expect grocery store
lines during weekend river escapes. But to allow less than 2,000
would mean less than half nonguided boaters, who would rise a
raucous objection, or a roll back in guided customers, leading to a
sure lawsuit by the outfitters. Supported by the Strauss study, the
state decided on a 50-50 split between guided and nonguided boat-
ers. Was there something inherently fair about 50-5 0? “It seemed
like it,” Strauss says. “Whether there is or not remains to be seen.”

Larry Adams defends the decision: “At the time the numbers
were accepted, commercial [guided] boaters were a majority. The
5 0-5 0 split allowed the private sector more growth.”

Lance Martin debates the entire differentiation. “The thing that
bothers me is that government agencies make a distinction between
commercial outfitters and individuals running the river. What’s the
difference? Our people are individuals too.”

The point is hypothetical (so far), but if there were no distinction
between guided and nonguided users, the outfitters could conceiv-
ably tie up most of the spaces if they were allowed to acquire
permits on behalf of customers. On the other hand, if everybody
had to get their own permits the way nonguided boaters now do,
then the outfitters could suffer. A national lobby of private boaters
(the National Organization for River Sports, or NORS) argues the
point: they contend that all boaters should be required to secure
their own permits from the managing agency, then choose to run
the river with an outfitter or by themselves. NORS argues that this
is more fair—everyone competes for permits under the same rules.
Commercial outfitters argue that customers should not have to do
this and that the inconvenience of getting a permit would hurt
business. The day may come on the Youghiogheny when this ques-
tion is raised, but for now, the 50-50 provision is not an issue.

A thornier question dealt with rental rafters. Many boaters regard
them as commercial customers because the renters pay money to
Van Nosdeln, White Water Adventurers, or Wilderness Voyageurs,
and rent everything but a guide. In terms of expertise, social make-

Whitewater § 243

up, and attitude, rental rafters are similar to guided rafters, but not
at all similar to most independent boaters who have invested in and
learned to use their craft. But the state regards rental rafters as
“private” boaters. Larry Adams agrees that the rental companies
are commercial, but says that inclusion of them in the commercial
quotas would be impossible. “There’s no practical way to do it.
You can’t go up to somebody and say ‘Where did you get that raft?’
or ask them for a bill of sale to prove they own it.”

The state, citing more demand by rafters (who were mostly rental
customers), accepted a formula for nonguided paddlers allowing
193 hardboaters (kayakers and canoeists) and 768 rafters. The fig-
ures are lopsided against hardboaters, even though Larry Adams
says, “They are the best safety force on the river. If there are acci-
dents, the hardboaters are the ones who save people.”

Through 1981, kayakers and canoeists seldom reached their limit.
Ranger Bill Calantoni said, “Without waiting, hardboaters can get
on the river at almost anytime they want.” But someday the popular-
ity of kayaking and canoeing will probably outstep the permits avail-
able, and paddlers will realize that 75 percent of the nonguided
boaters and 89 percent of the total boaters allowed by the state are in
rafts. If something is inherently fair about 50-50 between guided
and nonguided boaters, then how fair is an 89-11 ratio between
rafters and hardboaters? Larry Adams says, “The allotment wouldn’t
change unless the situation changes. If there are lots more hardboats,
them maybe we’d consider something else.”

Responding to the Strauss conclusion that outfitters could afford
to pay a fee to the state, and to an economic logic that says outfit-
ters should help support the facilities that they are using, the state
levied a fee on the four guide companies (rental companies pay only
sales tax). Each of the guide companies was to offer a lump sum as
a competitive bid for a ten-year term. The four highest bidders
would get the permits to use the park facilities. The state would also
collect 9 percent of the gross annual receipts. With Lance Martin as
spokesman, the outfitters objected, saying that they hadn’t asked
for expensive facilities, and that concessionaires in other parks pay
only 5 percent. Larry Adams says, “The state invested millions in
the park, and facilities for the rafters were needed. We should get a
return. They’re using public property to make a profit.” Both
groups agreed on 7 percent as a compromise. The ten-year lump
sum bids of the four companies ranged from $6,700 to $31,000.

10 § Youglaiogheny: Appalachian River

Below me is the tip of western Maryland, a part that is geographi-
cally, economically, and culturally a part of West Virginia or south-
ern Pennsylvania. More coal mines than horse farms, more food
stamps than dividend checks, more chewing tobacco than Virginia
Slims. Deer rifles; not duck hunters’ shotguns. This is remote Gar-
rett County, Maryland’s equivalent to Alaska. To the southwest I
see the massive rounded peaks of West Virginia where there are
national forests and rugged river canyons. To the north and west it
looks equally wild, a jumble of topography incised by gorges—a
wildness that runs into Pennsylvania, where the Youghiogheny and
I will be going on a journey to last a year.

Journeys are dated things. It seems that few people take journeys
anymore; instead, people simply go places. A person could travel
the length of the Youghiogheny in one hour by airplane, in three
hours by car. Some people could even walk from one end to
another in a week, and what is seen between origin and destination
may be unimportant. Not for me. For me, the going is the thing.
Look around. Talk to people. Go slowly. Enjoy it. The place will
never be the same, and will probably never again be this good.

With thoughts spurred by past journeys and by the pickup truck
full of sand heading down the mountain, I feel an impermanence
here, even on the mountain. Especially on the mountain. Everything
that is up here will end up down there at the river. Water, soil,
nutrients, rocks, trash: all of it will erode and roll from the top to
the bottom. Instability is resolved by moving downhill. That truck-
load of sand was only getting a premature ride. So will we end at
the bottom, giving in to gravity, yielding to its greater strength.

Water descends the east side of the Backbone, runs into the Poto-
mac and past the nation’s capital to Chesapeake Bay. Mountains to
the south feed the Cheat River, which with the West Fork, forms
the Monongahela at Point Marion, Pennsylvania. The north side of
the mountain sheds water to the Youghiogheny. Nearby are more
excellent whitewater rivers than perhaps in any other place in the
country: the Savage from the eastern slope of this mountain, the
North Branch of the Potomac, the Big Sandy and Blackwater which
join the Cheat, the Cheat itself, and the Youghiogheny.

Down there along the Youghiogheny are people fiercely protec-
tive of their land, and others who would sell it in a minute. There
are old-timers like Gwen Waters and Shelby Mitchell who have seen
the changes. There are newcomers like Jim Prothero who will keep

244 § Youghiogbeny: Appalachian River

Although the state had developed a better rationale for a white-
water management system, the execution became ever more trou-
blesome. When private boater permits were required on a first-
come, first—served basis, lines formed at the ranger station below the
Falls. “Once we had 400 people there,” Larry Adams recalls.
“Some of them Waited four hours. In 1978 we almost had a riot
two or three times. Over 200 people were chanting. They were
yelling that they’d throw us in the river and that they’d take their
rafts down anyway.” The rangers called Adams on the radio and he
rushed to the put-in. It was late afternoon, and no more trips were
allowed except for the Loop. “We just about had to call the state
police. We had to crowd around the girl selling tickets and escort
her to the truck to get her out of there. The people would have
taken the tokens and gone. We’re not ready to handle that kind of
thing.

“There were people getting permits [which were free] and selling
them to a rental company,” Adams says. Some people left without
tokens, and when they got to Bruner Run, the bus driver wouldn’t
take them up the hill to the parking lot.

In 1978, 95,000 paddlers came the the Youghiogheny. It was a
bizarre era. One night, the White Water Adventurers guides
brawled in a barroom with the boys from Dunbar, who hid out
the next day above the ill—fated take-out that Stu Van Nosdeln had
bulldozed. When the White Water group drifted past, the guys
from Dunbar opened fire with high-powered rifles, blasting the
water around the guides’ kayaks. Nobody was hit. The guides sent
word back to park headquarters, and Larry Adams drove to the
site. “Part of the group was still there,” he recalls, “with fishing
rods and a bunch of empty shell casings on the ground. They
weren’t young. One was in his forties. They’d been drinking. A lot
of bottles were broken on the beach. They played it real cool.
There was no way to prove they were involved.”

It was a ridiculous, difficult time. The state imposed a ban on
rafting when the water level reached four feet on the Ohiopyle
gauge. One day in February, Jesse Hall and a group of his friends
decided to go down the river when it was five feet. Clyde Burns-
worth and Dave Whipkey—two rangers—saw the group getting
ready. Burnsworth didn’t see any life jackets. He told them not to
put in, but Hall carried his raft toward the river anyway. Burns-
worth grabbed hold of one end, but to stop Jesse was like taking a

Whitewater § 245

banana away from a monkey. He came out swinging. Burnsworth
says, “He was pretty boozed up. We got in a tussle, and I had Hall
partially subdued. I told him he was under arrest, and as we walked
up the path, he turned and slugged me in the mouth, loosened a few
teeth. I said, ‘give me your nightstick Whipkey,’ but Hall took off.”
Jesse went to court and paid fines.

Larry Adams worked with outfitters, private boaters, and state
park planners. Armed with the Strauss study and several years of
experience, he proposed solutions. He formed an advisory committee
of outfitters, canoe clubs, state officials, and environmental groups in
1978 to review his proposals and suggest changes. Operations were
improved while whitewater popularity continued to spiral up.

Boosted by entrepreneurs here in the mountains, escape is a
growth industry. In 1979, 105,000 paddlers came to the Yough—
iogheny below Ohiopyle, and in 1980, 115,000. In 1981, 138,000
people ran the river below Ohiopyle while park visitation totaled
about 1.5 million. In 1982, about 150,000 people ran the river
below Ohiopyle. Twenty thousand people came to the park on busy
days. In comparison, Pittsburgh’s Civic Arena holds 17,500 people
and Three Rivers Stadium, 54,000. Since the first rafters of 1956,
over one million people have paddled the Youghiogheny below
Ohiopyle.

The gross conflicts—the fist fights and lines of irate rafters—
ceased, and with the new management plan in 1978 and 1979, the
Youghiogheny became the most efficiently run whitewhater in the
country. Below the Falls at Ohiopyle, a guide company launches
every half hour, 8 A.M. to 1:30 P.M. Nonguided boaters, in clusters
up to sixty, launch every half-hour between the commercial groups.
Except for the off—season, nonguided rafters must secure a free per-
mit in advance. Additionally, these boaters acquire a bus token for
$1.25 at the put-in, assuring them and their gear of a ride from the
take—out to the Mitchell place parking lot, 1.6 miles up the hill. On
weekends, people running only the Loop must wait until 2:00 in the
afternoon, but they need no permit. People caught sneaking onto
the river are fined $50.

All of this so that 2,000 people can go down the Youghiogheny
during one day. “It’s your punch-in, punch-out river,” Ralph
McCarty says. In 1981, 10,000 people paddled kayaks or canoes,
60,000 were on guided raft trips, 35,000 ran in rafts that the people
rented or owned, and 33,000 ran only the Loop in rafts or hardboats.

246 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

When your time comes to go, you’d best be ready because you
may not get the chance again. An early morning commercial trip at
Ohiopyle was half an hour late, and by then, another company was
due to launch. This would have meant a 160-person bottleneck and
no end of congestion. The ranger said they couldn’t go, then called
Larry Adams because the outfitter intended to put in anyway.
Adams stopped them. “I wasn’t going to back up a whole days’
launch just to accommodate one group,” he explains. He required
them to wait until 2:00 when all the other commercial trips were
gone.

River runners, as a group, are late. When a trip scheduled for
11:00 finally puts in at two, boaters say, “river time.” But that
doesn’t work on the Youghiogheny. You don’t go up there and fool
around with your gear, put in when you feel like it, and take your
time. On busy days, you move to a schedule accommodating a
statistical average of one person per 18.5 feet from Ohiopyle to
Bruner Run. Running the river takes on a certain stamp of the
insect world.

This is on weekends all summer. Weekdays see crowds, but rarely
the limit. April, May, and October include idyllic springtime and
autumn boating, totally absent the mob. Then during the winter the
place hibernates.

This part of the Youghiogheny has been forever changed by the
park and by the runners of whitewater, yet reminders of the old
days cling to Ohiopyle.

Chapter Ten

Obiopyle and the Run

Summer of 1981, Ohiopyle: population 118, plus river guides,
plus visitors who will total 20,000 today. More than ever, this is
a river town, and in the layout of things, the Youghiogheny comes
first. To enter Ohiopyle from the north, you must cross a bridge
where you see that the river sets the town’s boundaries. From the
south, your approach winds down the mountain, offering glimpses
of Entrance Rapid. From the east, you roll off Sugarloaf and only
brakes save you from the Falls.

Here are forty houses, one general store, a set of gas pumps, five
rafting company headquarters, two upstairs boardinghouses, a fire
hall, a water treatment plant, railroad tracks, an unused railroad
bridge, an empty railroad station, a closed elementary school, 550
parking spaces for visitors’ cars, a gift shop, a pickup truck full of
hoagies for sale, a youth hostel, a new brick post office, a pair of
churches, a historic gristmill housing an outfitter’s equipment store,
and a Dairy Queen. Twenty-nine houses, many of which were sag-
ging in the 1960s, are gone, and so is the raw sewage that me-
andered in ditches and in alleys to the river. Now the sewage passes
through a treatment plant first.

A three-story brick building still stands with bold, old-fashioned
letters at the top saying, “Holt’s Department Store,” but the place
has changed. There formerly were full lines of groceries, hardware,
clothing, and appliances. Groceries still populate the shelves, but
they are mostly convenience foods for quick meals and picnics.
People sit on stools to drink coffee and eat sandwiches at a counter.

247

248 § Youghiogheny:Appalachian River

From behind it, a TV stares out at the people and urges them to
stare back; in the afternoons it broadcasts soap operas. A handwrit-
ten sign on the TV warns, “Don’t ever move this TV. Leo S.”

Leo Smith, owner of an aluminum siding business near Washing-
ton, D.C., saw an advertisement for Bill and Adalene Holt’s store in
a Washington paper. “I’ve been around the world three times in the
Air Force,” Smith says, puffing on his cigar, “and this is as pretty as
anyplace I’ve seen. The store looked like it had possibilities, so I
came.” On a busy day, hundreds of people walk through the store
(now called Falls Market), and Leo sells them coffee, pop, gas, ice,
and ice cream. The store always doubled as a community center.
While it is now a less-serious place—nobody does any real shopping
there—it is even more a meeting spot, a hangout.

In the mornings, this is a melting pot for the two basic cultures of
Ohiopyle: Appalachian locals and river runners. Free news, espe-
cially on quieter weekdays, includes local skullduggery, fast-moving
rumors, government action exaggerated, clunker cars for sale, free
firewood pickings, who is sick, and who is running with whom.
Which of these topics is emphasized depends on the group doing the
talking. There is a group of kids, one of young bearded local men,
one of river runners, one of old-timers, and so forth, all in relatively
peaceful coexistence.

If old Winnie (“real name’s Bill; don’t know how I got Winnie,
just did”) Glotfelty catches a fish, that will be hashed and rehashed,
compared, debated, related to the season and water level, and
cooked six ways in the mind’s eye. Not by Winnie himself—he is
always fishing—but by others to whom his catch is known. “It’s
something t’do,” Winnie explains of his passion. “Beats drinkin’
in’a bar.” The thing that has really given him notoriety is not the
way he pulls fish in, but the way he talks to them. “Here fishey. I’m
gonna save ya’ from drownin’. I know ya’ can’t hold yer’ breath iny
longer.”

Out front on the steps, during evenings, high school seniors talk
about who is getting married. They talk about enlisting in the ser-
vice: a rare opportunity for a job, for a ticket out of the mountains,
and as for toting guns, that is second nature up here so you may as
well collect a paycheck for it. At night some kids sit on the corner
and get stoned, or on a weekend they prop a keg in the back of a
pickup.

Ohiopyle students ride one hour to Uniontown to high school.

Ohiopyle and the Run § 249

They and others from the country form a distinctive lot: the moun-
tain kids. Not that Uniontown burns any bright lights. It is a de-
pressed and has—been coal town with little to brag about but bygone
wealth and a new Pizza Hut, but culture is nonetheless cleaved by
Chestnut Ridge, Ohiopyle being on the other side. Years ago, the
same difference existed in Connellsville where Dr. George Dull re-
members his schoolmates of the 19203: Shelby Mitchell, Adalene
Potter, Bill Holt, and others who rode the train to class. “They were
the mountain folk,” Dr. Dull says. Some things about Ohiopyle
have changed little, but other things have changed greatly.

River guides act as official hosts of modern Ohiopyle. They form
a culture unto themselves. They are young in a region where the
numbers of elderly reach double and triple the national average.
Guides have sun-tanned legs in a region where men worked for
years in black coal mines or in the shade of trees.

Experienced guides earn about $50 a day, but only from April to
October. Many guides work three months at most. “The pay is
good,” says Bill Calantoni who used to guide, “and this is the nicest
place in the whole Northeast according to me, but being a guide—
it’s a rat’s life. lt’s day—to-day. Maybe you live out of a van. Maybe
you go south for the winter. That might be exactly what you want
to do, with nothing else mattering, but how long can you go on
doing that? After a while, you want some money for a down pay-
ment. You want to stay put.”

River guides burn out. They become saturated with the people
and the pace. “Our guides stay an average of about three years,”
one of the company managers says. “Then they move on to other
things. The Youghiogheny is the worst river to guide on. You have
to take abuse from the rental rafters.”

On the Youghiogheny, very few guides are “professional.” River
running will not be their career for years to come. They think they
are supposed to do something else; it strains the work ethic to
imagine guiding in the long term. It is a summer job, one for young
people. But a good guide’s experience, talent, and expertise amount
to skilled labor, to a profession. In spite of the transience, seasonal
paychecks, Yough lunches, wet shorts, and tourists repeating tire-
some questions, there are many worse ways to live.

Religion and violence are two signs of a cultural gulf between
local people and river runners, and also between two classes of local

250 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

people. Many of the older Ohiopyle natives are dressed up and
sitting in the Baptist or Methodist church, bells ringing on Sunday
morning, while surrounding them are hundreds of paddlers pulling
on bathing suits for their whitewater cruise.

Most local people are peaceful, but among a few, the violence is
blatant. Fighting is a sport. Jesse Hall and Bobby Marietta disap-
peared in a fist-filled cloud of dust at the Mountain Freeze one
night, only because they hadn’t seen each other for a while. A local
woman once beat up a woman river guide right in front of Falls
Market while ten people, including the town cop, watched. A streak
of violence runs deep. Maybe some people just can’t stand all the
peace that the place normally offers.

Some local people, while not welcoming, envying, imitating, or
for that matter meeting the transient boaters, find entertainment in
watching. The men sitting on the bench by the Falls Market gas
pumps don’t miss a thing. Part of this is freak-watching, part is
girl—watching, and part is watching anything that moves.

And the urbanites seem satisfied that Ohiopyle remains a moun-
tain town. The locals are part of the set. It is the satisfaction of city
people who enjoy bars where the locals stomp to fiddle music. The
hillbilly has become a folk hero and the tourists like to see him. It is
a unique mixture of cultures, this Ohiopyle.

Overlap with the past is strong. Gwen Holt Waters scarcely
knows me but she is comfortable, serene. There dwells an uncom-
mon peace with her that can be credited only to something inside.
Because outside, her world has turned over several times. In regard
to place, to home, and to belonging, Ohiopyle is everything to
Gwen Waters. It is the only place where she has lived, the only
place she has really known. And the Ohiopyle of her mind’s eye
remains an Ohiopyle of the lamplighter and the swimming in long
dresses. Since then, the town sputtered in economic decline, its so-
cial fabric unraveled, and more than one-third of the buildings
themselves were razed for the park. Most of her friends have died.
Tourists and boaters flood her surroundings with alien ways. She
survives and continues to do the chores, sweep the walk, feed her
cats, visit with the Holts next door, smile, and reflect on how good
life has been. “The river guides are friendly and nice. We get along
fine. Ohiopyle is a real nice place.”

It is at once very old and very new. The Potter gristmill houses
flour bags and grindstones upstairs, but downstairs it houses Kev-

Ohiopyle and the Run § 251

lar, ABS, and fiberglass canoes and kayaks for sale by Lance Mar-
tin. Gwen Waters lives in Ohiopyle and so does Jon Lugbill, world
champ C-1 paddler.

Many of the people who enter Falls Market have something to do
with paddling. Some boaters—usually Ohiopyle regulars—stop
here. A man from Ohio wears a tee shirt that says, “Rolling boaters
gather no stones.” River guides enter now and then, but most do
not hang out. It is not their kind of place, except for the White
Water Adventurers crowd which bridges the gap: local to river
runner. Wendell Holt or Bob Marietta show up daily. A part—time
guide for White Water Adventurers—Bill Heller—orders a prefab
egg-on—muffin sandwich, a slice of pie, coffee, and two cookies for
breakfast. The organic food revolution has yet to convert many
river guides here.

Anita, who began working for Mountain Streams and Trails but
now works for White Water Adventurers, is one of the few women
guides. She walks in and everybody looks. Her blonde hair falls
halfway down to her waist in two braids. Her blue eyes dance. She
glows rosy with sunburn, and her figure is one that cannot be
ignored. Guys flirt with her and she flirts back. She plops down on
an empty stool next to Heller, and he leans over and bumps his
shoulder against hers and says, “Hi Anita, looks like you could use
some Sea and Ski,” and she answers, “What are you eating, an
onion sandwich?”

Mark McCarty shows up at the store. He closed the gap between
outsiders and locals when he married Linda Marietta. His younger
brother, Mike, closed another when he was elected president of the
borough council.

Sherry Hall also bridges a gap between local people and the raft-
ing industry. She grew up in Connellsville, coming to Ohiopyle on
weekend trips as a kid. Now she attends college at Indiana State
and works for Laurel Highlands in the summer. She sees differences
between residents and the river crowd: “Local kids and guides both
have beer parties, but the local ones are worse. They go on for
days.” She motions toward the anthill-activity at the put-in. “Most
local people don’t try to get in on it. Nearly all the employees are
from other places, mostly near Pittsburgh. A lot of people here just
don’t try. You see girls fifteen years old with babies. People here
have no idea that they can do whatever they want to do.”

252 § Youghiogheny:Appalachian River

The makeup of Ohiopyle is changing. Fifteen years ago, nearly
everybody in town had been there for life. Now the river crowd is
growing, the local crowd shrinking. John Lichter’s kayak instruction
business could grow into a whitewater racing center. Who will buy
the houses of twenty widows who are in town when they are ready to
sell? Will Ohiopyle someday become a town of river runners?

Friday night, while Bill Holt rocks on his porch overlooking the
state park lawn and the river, a van stops along the main street and
three people unload a bundle of nylon cloth and a four-foot—square
basket. A crowd of fifty gathers while the three aliens blow up their
hot air balloon with giant fans. Two people then climb in the bas-
ket, launch into the sky, and disappear northeastward over Laurel
Hill. Bill Holt takes it all in, then says, “I’ve been sitting on this
porch for seventy-three years and this is the first I’ve seen that.”

Saturday is square dance night at the fire hall. The firemen and
“auxiliary” put on the show with a band and caller—old guys from
the outskirts of Uniontown. Local people attend. River guides at-
tend, but not many dance. On the porch of a house across the
street, a crowd of guides watches and howls at movies of hot-dog
boaters. Near the fire hall, a girl advances under the trees and grabs
a young guide named Bill, but the fool runs away. Two women then
clog to “Orange Blossom Special.” Mike McCarty carries his
brother’s new baby. Mike’s wife, Elaine, and twenty others in Ohio-
pyle and the adjacent Stewart Township are pregnant this year. The
median age of this old place is about to plummet.

Bill Calantoni stands about six-foot-four, weighs about 250, usu-
ally wears sun glasses, is bald, and works as a park ranger. You can
see him—cannot miss him—patrolling in the state truck, or check-
ing boaters at the put-in, or gulping a cup of coffee at the store.
When he is off duty, you can find him swimming at the Ohiopyle
beach. He loves to swim as Winnie Glotfelty loves to fish, as Steve
Martin loves to paddle, and the Youghiogheny accommodates them
all.

Son of a coal miner from Richeyville, west of Uniontown, Calan-
toni knew Ohiopyle as a kid. “This place goes way back for me,”
he says. “My old man brought me here. Then in high school, this
was the place to go with a date.” He worked in a steel mill, gradu-

Ohiopyle and the Run § 253

ated from college, and taught science in the Hill District of Pitts-
burgh. Kids had little interest in science, and there were days when
Calantoni had to hide, had to get away from the nagging world.
“Up here was my mental-health retreat,” he says of pilgrimages to
Ohiopyle in the sixties. “I’d call in mentally ill, and to cure it, I’d go
to Ohiopyle.”

The retreats overcame the advances, and Calantoni dropped out
of teaching. “It was one of those ‘leaves without notice,’ ” he re-
calls. “I had a car, a motorcycle, a nice pad, but kicked it all in the
ass.” He caught a plane to Jamaica and loafed for six months,
scuba diving and asking, “What am I going to do?” The only thing
he really knew was that he loved water. Swimming, scuba diving,
sailing, anything with water.

“I came back and had a job lined up with a strip miner. It fell
through. Good thing. I’d never do that now. I would have taken a
job teaching in a rural area, but there was a glut on the teaching
market.” No one would hire Calantoni.

“There I was, thirty—four-years—old and all that time I never said
‘forget it.’ I had never worked just as I pleased.” So Calantoni
returned once more to Ohiopyle, this time to become a river guide.

Bob Marietta of White Water Adventurers told Calantoni, “Work
awhile and we’ll see how you do.” Back then, that’s the way it was
done: work for free and maybe get hired. After a couple of days,
Marietta said, “Okay, you’re on the payroll.”

Calantoni loved it and says, “Nothing in the world mattered
except that I was doing what I wanted to do.”

Guiding at Ohiopyle was different in the mid-seventies. Especially
at White Water Adventurers. “The guides were crusty characters,”
Calantoni says. “Renegades. They drank and fought. They didn’t
wear fancy shorts like today. They wore cutoffs with half their butt
hanging out. Our life jackets were rags that’d fall off when you
exhaled. It was rat city. If you could find a roof to live under, that
was good. Now they have roofs and plumbing too. But living on the
water all summer—what could beat it?” Life was for living, just one
day after another. This went on for three years, but something
could beat it: security.

“You can do that only so long,” Calantoni adds, “but man, I
loved Ohiopyle. This is the prettiest place I’ve ever been. This is
where I’m supposed to be. What could be better than this—swim-
ming every day. Go down and sit in those bubblies. Ummm-um!

The High Ridge § 11

coming back. The whitewater down there is the most popular in the
United States, and for recreation it is the most efficiently managed,
whatever that is worth. There are gorges and towns and cities;
ospreys, rare plants, and rare people. Parts of it stubbornly show
our country’s past; parts may show its future.

Down there it looks rugged and green, but this is not an empty
region. Far from it. In the Youghiogheny basin there is one place—
only one——where you can be more than a mile from a road. All of
the land, save a few acres in two state parks, has been logged.
Counting small “ground hog” mines in the sides of hills, thousands
of coal mines have been dug and their spoil piles remain.

From Eagle Rocks I see the tall stacks of the Mount Storm power
plant to the east, burning coal and belching smoke for the mega-
lopolis. The plant sits in a valley but its stacks rise over the moun-
taintop. To the northeast is the paper mill at Luke, Maryland. You
have to be within a mile to spot it by sight, but on some days it can
be smelled the whole way to Ohiopyle, a straight-line distance of
forty miles. To the north, hidden by mountains, is Deep Creek Dam
on a Youghiogheny tributary, where the Pennsylvania Electric Com-
pany generates hydroelectricity for peaking power—mainly for air
conditioners. Beyond, in all directions but barely visible from here,
are strip mines where coal is dug. Much of it is then exported to
Japan and Europe.

Up here, it is easy to see that the Youghiogheny story is one of
use and exploitation. The region was a resource colony of Pitts-
burgh, a city made possible through the use of water and coal from
these mountains. The Youghiogheny basin was, and still is, con-
trolled in many ways by Pittsburghers. Its history includes boom
and bust, the despair of Appalachia, people fighting to take from
the land, fighting for a living, fighting outsiders, and fighting among
themselves. It is a place where expectations soared and fell, where
desires were imported with settlers and then grew in a singular,
regional way, sometimes realized, often blunted. Hopes were raised,
then abandoned as old people clung fast and young people left.
Chances to use the land in a sustained and durable way were not
realized and were passed by.

Today, there are new chances to use the land in lasting ways,
because this has been a place of recovery and healing, of forests and
waters partly reclaimed from two centuries of abuse. It is a place
full of contradictions, beginning with the ancient rocks and the

254 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Kids playing in the street at night. Only an hour-and-a—half to Pitts-
burgh if you want the bright lights now and then.”

He applied for a summertime ranger job and was hired. After
three years as a seasonal ranger, he applied for a year-round posi-
tion. “My reason is strictly selfish, I like it here.” He was hired
full-time in 1981. “Hey Tim,” he yelled with a smile from his
ranger truck, “I get to live and die in Ohiopyle!”

This Sunday morning in August is typical: foggy. Cars and vans
with kayak—covered roofs speed in from Pittsburgh. The town is in a
crescendo of activity with river guides, paddlers, and commercial
customers congregating and buzzing in a dozen locations. In the
whole country, there is no place as much a whitewater town as this.

Outfitters’ trucks, stacked high with gear, wheel into the put-in
area and guides wearing gym shorts hustle as they blow up black
and gray rafts. For the McCarty’s, Martin, Marietta, Holt, and Van
Nosdeln, days like this will offset the icy dark winter when boaters
would rather run the Everglades or the Rio Grande.

Commercial customers drive to the Meadow Run parking lot, one
mile beyond town, and at 8:00 the earliest school buses drone from
there into Ohiopyle, delivering people to the staging area below the
Falls. Independent boaters dress in bathing suits or wet suits and
carry their boats to the check-in booth where rangers like Mary
Kelly and Alan Schaefer (the first Ohiopyle ranger) labor as gate-
keepers to the river. Then the boaters pull on spray skirts, cinch
helmets, and stretch while they wait for the half-hourly release of
independent boaters.

Ten cars from Pittsburgh are stalled at the tracks while a whistle-
blowing train for Baltimore blasts through town. Church bells an-
nounce that it is 9:15 and Reverend Art Gotjen, the ex-fresh-water
biologist from Confluence, will preach.

At all times, one or two commercial companies prepare their
eighty customers for the Youghiogheny descent. A guide talks to
them for ten minutes about equipment, technique, and safety.
Charlie Granigan—a schoolteacher five days a week——coaches the
Mountain Streams and Trails passengers. He stresses the impor-
tance of life jackets. He says to pick a commander who has had
experience. “If not in a raft, then in a rowboat. If neither, then pick
someone who has an aquarium in the living room or a waterbed in
the bedroom.” More laughter. “Whatever you do, don’t pick some-

Obiopyle and the Run § 255

one who’s very bright. Creative types tend to screw this up. The
only commands are forward, backward, back left, and back right.”

As the morning wears on it grows hot, and everybody limits his
clothing to bathing suits or shorts. Traffic doubles. The parking lot
at the Falls will fill by 2:00. Almost 2,000 people will run the river
today, and among them will be me and two friends, scheduled for a
commercial trip with guide Steve Martin.

The Run

Eighteen years have come and gone since the first commercial
river trip in Ohiopyle. Today’s sixth wave of school buses brakes
onto the Route 381 turn-out lane, built for the delivery of rafting
customers who will make the run below the Falls. Steve Martin and
another Wilderness Voyageurs guide named Dan welcome the
people, instructing them to grab a life jacket and paddle, and to find
a seat on a raft. My two friends and I do as we’re told. Steve wears
blue trunks, a wool shirt because the morning is still cool, and a
Wilderness Voyageurs cap. He scrunches his face a little and sum-
marizes quietly to me, “Another megatrip.”

A rompish foursome sits next to us and one of the women
squeals, “Ouch, you hurt me already.” A man surveys the rafts
lying there on wood chips in the shade of the trees and says, “This
doesn’t look so scary.” One couple can’t find partners and they
don’t want to jump in with just anybody. Maybe they are thinking,
“Never trust your life to someone you don’t know.” They end up
with two young women who are also alone.

Steve delivers the “talk-up.” When he does this, he is not the zany
Steve Martin but the easy-going one. With good humor he stresses
safety.

In the formation of pallbearers, but playfully, we carry our rafts
to the river and get onto the largest, deepest pool of the entire
Youghiogheny—the one at the base of the Falls.

How ridiculous is this? Here are eighty people—mostly adults-
squatting over inflated rubber and trying, by the use of plastic
sticks, to propel themselves back and forth across a river that for
millions of years has been the domain of fish. What an odd flicker
this scene forms in the history of this place. We are no doubt a sign
of wealth and boredom. Is it frivolous, this emphasis on amuse-
ment? Maybe. But is it any more frivolous than a gritty steel-

25 6 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

worker’s laboring to produce the steel for the cars that are driven
on a lark to Ohiopyle or to jobs from foolishly distant suburbs?
Any less than employing garbagemen to haul away trash, 90 per-
cent unnecessary, avoidable, or recyclable? Than highway engineers
plotting roads to get us someplace ten minutes faster? What is
frivolous and what is not?

Since people are just learning to paddle, they spin like one—legged
ducks. We hear the first rapid where this river will fall out from
under us. Maybe one-third of these customers have never rafted
before, and the tension that has been building for days is about to
burst loose. “What will it feel like to run a rapid?” they are
wondering. Soon enough they will know, and the miracle of float-
ing—of sitting on top of water—will assume unimagined forms
that, in whitewater, are short—changed on stability. For others who
have been there, the mystery is less but the eagerness more.

After a few minutes, Steve and Michael Normyle—the third
guide—round us up and lead our fleet straight toward Entrance
Rapid. Steve instructs like a gas jockey who is asked directions to
such—and-such a place: “Stay in the waves in the middle, then go to
the right of the rocks, then pull out on the left after you pass all the
big waves.” It will not be that cut and dried.

The rafts seem to be sucked into the whitewater. They are buoyed
high on the waves where the bow paddlers gape down into a four-
foot hole in front of them. Then the rubber boats nose-dive and the
cold Youghiogheny drenches people and they shriek. Being a part of
a rapids brings a new sensation and nothing has ever come close.
Most people love it. Rafts collide after one becomes stuck on a
midstream rock, but everybody makes it through. When people stop
in the pool below Entrance, they are charged up from their first
adventure on the river.

What is it about adventure—this activity that makes up so large a
part of the Youghiogheny experience? Why would people want to
do something risky, let alone pay for it? Danger is not for me. I
enjoy life too much, yet it is not sitting around being safe that
brings me the enjoyment. Going places and seeing things brings me
the enjoyment, and sometimes, danger just happens to lurk in the
way.

The motion, the sound, the abrupt changes in temperature (warm
air——cold water), the wild scenery, the lack of control as the river
pushes you around—all this is part of the excitement. Life normally

Ohiopyle and the Run § 25 7

beats along at a steady pace, but then this river makes me jump and
dance. Years later I have forgotten hundreds of days but I remem-
ber the Sunday when I rafted down the Youghiogheny.

Cucumber Rapid is the next dance. Most paddlers follow Dan’s
animated hand signals, delivered from a rocky perch above the
rapid, but some people’s eyes are glued to the danger in front of
their nose and they pursue their untrained instincts. They will be
sorry. They hit one of two holes midstream. Two customers tumble
heels-over-head into the drink. One snatches a safety line thrown by
Mike (the fourth guide), and swings to shore. In his kayak, Michael
Normyle rescues the other by towing her in.

After all the customers pass, Steve Martin paddles his kayak into
Cucumber Rapid and invites the holes to devour him. Kayakers and
C-1 paddlers who have waited patiently in the eddy on the left
plunge back into the rapid and dart like waterbugs.

Small rapids follow, then Dartmouth, where whitewater racers
converge each year. During the 1981 event, Steve Martin floated by,
guiding a trip. He charged up to a slalom gate and threw his paddle
into the air and over the ropes that are strung across the river for
suspending the gates. Then he tipped himself over to negotiate the
gate upside down. After Eskimo-rolling by using his hands, he pro-
pelled himself with them through Dartmouth where he eddy-turned
and retrieved his paddle. Then he powered upriver through two or
three more gates to the accompaniment of cheers, Snickers, catcalls,
and shrugs by old Yough regulars who simply commented, “Steve
Martin.”

We land at a big boulder for lunch. Half an hour is our limit; we
must vacate before the next group arrives. It is all action. Nobody
really looks at this place closely or gets to know anybody else. This
lunch break is one of only two times when people step out of their
rafts, unless they fall out or get nudged by their partner.

Commercial rafting is not eat-and-run everywhere, but Steve
Martin says, “Here it’s the thrill. That’s what gives them the escape.
It’s very shallow, but it could be a lot more. There’s something
about river trips that we just don’t have, that we can’t get with this
many people, not with trips that are so rushed. Long trips are great.
You have time to get into it a little more. Here, you can’t point
things out to people because you have to worry about keeping your
trip on schedule. This bumper-to-bumper bullshit is just for the
dollars.”

25 8 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

At the bottom of Dimples and Swimmer’s rapids the river perco-
lates deep, so boaters stop to swim or to surf in the big hydraulic.
There must be seventy people here when we land. Kayaks and
rental rafts lining the shore could be a used-boat sale. We beach just
below. There is no vacancy among the rocks, so people have the
bows of their rafts overtop other rafts like mating turtles. Many of
us scramble up to the jumping rock where a short line has formed,
and on five—second intervals we begin an intimate union with this
swift rapid by leaping into it.

The first thing when you hit the river, you disappear. The world
turns suddenly blurry, dark, and cold. Then you pop up, unsinkable
in your life jacket. From this perspective where eye-level and water-
level are the same, waves crest like snow-capped mountains. You
hit them and they break over your head. The river engulfs you.
Being in it, instead of on it, is completely different. River power is
inescapable.

At first it feels dangerous. But this is a safe swim, with no sharp
rocks, with still—water below for recovery. The next feeling is ex-
hilaration——being swept away in the chill current that surges up
and down with you in it. And the next feeling, if you get beyond the
excitement, is a feeling of being part of the river. Swept along, you
are like the water. I let the Youghiogheny take over for awhile. It is
a giving-away of power and control that rewards the giver; it is
unexpected pleasure. I think that I am looking at this harder than
the average tourist, but the common denominator, whether Swim-
mer’s Rapid is a carnival ride or a metaphysical bonanza, is that it
feels good.

Half of our people swim through the rapid twice, and by then the
next group of eighty has assaulted the beach. Except for neoprene
and fiberglass, the place is wall-to-wall humanity. The line for
swimming could now be a line for one-dollar gasoline. People are
having fun, but it calls to mind an improved-upon Disney World.
When Penn State researchers queried rafters, they learned that most
did not think that the mobs detracted from the fun. But surveys on
other rivers found that as crowds increased, the “user categories”
changed. Simply put, a crowded river attracts people who enjoy a
crowded river. Consider the Chattahoochee: Budweiser promotes a
float on that river near Atlanta, where in one day 37,000 Georgians
paddle eight miles, and most participants say they enjoy it. Those
who are sober enough to answer.

Obiopyle and the Run § 259

Our guides sweep the area, yelling, “All Wilderness Voyageurs
passengers, let’s go!” If we linger, we will be a raft-jam in the next
rapid, because another company presses behind. We will also con-
gest the take—out and wreak havoc on the schedule of buses, dis-
patched with stopwatch efficiency to haul us back to Ohiopyle.
Steve Martin whoops it up no more.

Steve paddles alongside my raft and says, “I like taking people
down rivers. You know, I love taking people down rivers. It’s just
eighty people at once that drives me up the wall.”

We pass the mouth of Jonathan Run. It rushes transparently
clear, but a few years ago fish were killed by acid from a mine
beyond the park boundary. Shelby Mitchell told me about a ford
near the mouth of Jonathan where people waded with horses and
wagons. For a while, a ferryboat also crossed here. Only a quarter
mile up from the Youghiogheny, the run plunges over a rhododen-
dron-framed waterfall——one of the most scenic in the park. Our
group cruises past Jonathan without knowing it is there.

The guides consolidate our group and release us one by one to
negotiate River’s End Rapid. It is potentially dangerous and in some
ways challenges boaters more than any other drop, but everyone
performs well.

Half the people on the trip squeal and shout. A few water-battle.
Most paddle their best, but still bang into rocks here and there. Ten
percent check out the scenery. A few nag at their partner for not
going left, or not going right, or splashing them, or maybe for just
being there. A few are goggle—eyed and scared, but most are not as
scared as maybe they should be, and they laugh when they smash
into a rock. Some are having the best time of their summer. They
say so. We approach Bruner Run.

The take-out lies on the left and the trip ends. Yellow buses wait
as they do at three o’clock at the high school. We beach, lug our
boat up a short hill and drop them for the guides to heave onto a
truck. Without stopping—like disposing garbage and tray in a cafe-
teria check—out——we pitch our life jackets in one pile, our paddles in
another. We board the bus and leave. Trips on other rivers usually
mean loafing around, a take-out beer, fooling with gear, and wait-
ing for the shuttle car, but at Bruner, the river-to-land conversion is
the ten-minute-ultimate in efficiency. The bus climbs in a low-gear
strain out of the gorge. We drip water from soaked shorts and
sneakers, the aisle becoming a small river of its own by the time we

260 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

reach Ohiopyle. We have finished a trip that has a reputation
among river runners nationwide.

“It’s a thrill,” most rafters say.

“It’s crowded, but it’s still beautiful, and I want to come back
when it’s not so busy,” some say.

“It’s a carnival,” says guide Chris Baggot.

Lance Martin belongs to the International Association of Amuse-
ment Park Operators. Why? He says, “Not because the Yough is an
amusement park. We share a lot of the same suppliers, but mainly,
because those guys have a convention like nothing else in the world.
Can you imagine drinking New Orleans dry? Well, they ran out of
booze. Wasn’t a single drop of Scotch in town.”

The amusement parks have, in the opinion of many, come to the

Youghiogheny, while whitewater has, in fact, gone to amusement  

parks where waterslides—sliding-board rivers—are popular. Is the
Youghiogheny just a seven-mile waterslide? To some, the answer is
not obvious because the atmosphere of thrills is so thick along this
river.

Serious whitewater runners deride the amusement park mentality,
but their own focus on whitewater challenges can be just as lacking
in the bigger view: one of West Virginia’s best paddlers took a
sledge hammer to a rock in the Cheat River to “improve” it for
kayak enders (end-to-end flips). At very low water on the Yough-
iogheny the rapids change with new waves and eddies and rocks
that are unseen at other levels. The stream grows greener—a lucid,
Rocky Mountain green. But one guide paddled up next to me on a
low-water trip, and because the river was not so fast or exciting he
said, “Isn’t this a poor level?” There is a difference between looking
at whitewater and looking at the whole river.

For some, this river is a money-maker, which summarizes the
attitude and justifies many things. One of the rafting company
owners defends the building of dams: “Without that dam,” he says,
pointing his thumb toward Confluence, “there’s no way people
would be doing this.” This is true; runnable water would not persist
throughout the summer. He says, “You never hear about people
supporting dams because they get good runs downstream, but there
are a lot of dams that could do that.” He does not say that there are
already 50,000 large dams in the country, leaving few remaining
sites for whitewater boating, and that new dam proposals would
obliterate many of these. He says that a good mine-acid spill would

Ohiopyle and the Run § 261

get rid of the fishermen. “I used to canoe that section [Confluence
to Ohiopyle] regularly. After it was cleaned up I started to see
fishermen, and there’s been more damage up there since it was
cleaned up than before. One guy was fishing and there was a
branch in his way, so he grabbed it and ripped it down. Why clean
the river up? If you’d leave it alone, you’d save the cost and you
wouldn’t have all the use.”

Other company owners, however, have been important forces in
river conservation. In 1976, Ralph McCarty donated the money
from a trip to people who successfully fought Tocks Island Dam on
the Delaware. He annually gives the proceeds of a Labor Day trip
to the American Rivers Conservation Council—Washington lobby-
ists for river preservation. McCarty is the largest single source of
income for the group. Laurel Highlands and White Water Adven-
turers donate parts of holiday trips to the Rivers Council. Mark
McCarty says, “Just because we don’t have big problems here
doesn’t mean we should sit around. We should help the people on
other rivers where they’re fighting dams. Who knows when we’ll
need their help.”

What do the first Youghiogheny rafters—Sayre and Jean Rod-
man—have to say about the Youghiogheny today? “The crowds
are inevitable,” Sayre says. “Today, I don’t see any point in running
it. You pass eighty people eating lunch on a rock, and they watch
you row. Well, I don’t want anybody watching me. Me going down
the river is none of their goddamn business. Rather than get used to
a lot of people, we went to other places.”

I hear the frontier mentality speaking: as soon as a place is set-
tled, move on. I see the excitement: the adventure of exploration,
the thrill of solitude in wild places, the challenge of the unknown;
but it sounds like a pioneer wearing out one farm and moving on to
another. The Rodmans opened the way for people to follow, but
more people drove the Rodmans farther away. So today, wild rivers
of Alaska, Chile, and Nepal attract well-heeled tourists. What hap-
pens in another hundred years when the places that Sayre Rodman
explored have been opened up?

“We’re damn lucky to be living now,” Sayre answers. “We still
have places to go. For mountaineering, I feel there is at least a
hundred years of fun left in British Columbia.” But those unclimbed
peaks and unrun rivers remain because they are difficult to reach.
Sayre agrees that it is only an explorer elite which will venture that

262 35 Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

far. “Those places can’t satisfy the explorer in most of us. Most of
us have to use places close to home.”

“That’s why I like West Virginia,” Jean says.

Sayre adds, “It’s fun out West. God it’s beautiful, but I regard it
as one of the really great challenges to get the same pleasure from
West Virginia. It’s not all wild, but you get up on top of a mountain
and look out beyond the farmlands to other wild lands.”

Jean says, “We have to find these things close to home. We have
the Oakmont ‘wilderness.’ Starting right here, it’s a seven-mile hike
without crossing one yard.”

For the first time in years, the Rodmans recently returned to the
Youghiogheny, just to look around. “Amazing,” Jean says. “It’s a
step up from a roller coaster for thrills, I guess. Seeing the rafts
appear on the water was like seeing a hatch of beetles.”

Sayre says, “As long as there are other wild rivers, you may as
well let the Youghiogheny be a sacrifice area. Get a lot of man-
hours out of it. It attracts people who take great joy in going down
the rapids, and every one of those people can help you save another
river. Because of the Yough, you have a huge number of people
who have some feeling for what it means to lose a river to a dam.
Keeping the river in the form of rapids would make sense to them,
and that is tremendously worthwhile.”

Park Superintendent Larry Adams says, “I see the Youghiogheny as
an educational opportunity. It’s probably all right to have a few rivers
in the country used so heavily, so long as there’s no environmental
damage. It’s probably good for rivers generally; the more people who
see it, the more who appreciate it. Some other rivers should be kept
wild, but this one lends itself to management, and heavy use has
become accepted here. After people see the Youghiogheny, they can
understand other people wanting to preserve the really wild rivers.”

Adams struggles toward divergent ends: to host crowds of people,
and to have them gain some perception and understanding from their
being here. Yet even in times of shrinking budgets, Adams is expand-
ing the park’s interpretive programs to increase awareness of the
whole river. “Two million people a year come here. They look at the
Falls or run the rapids but don’t realize anything about the other parts:
where the river comes from and where it goes.” Adams would like to
encourage more interpretation during guided trips, so that people will
gain more insight about the river and its life, but that will be difficult.

“With eighty people, all you do is stay on schedule and keep them

Obiopyle and the Run § 263

alive,” Steve Martin says. The opinion of guides is almost unani-
mous: trips are too large.

Bobby Marietta says, “Myself, I think it’s overused. Eighty is too
many. Too many for the wilderness part.” His father says, “With
the scheduling, it’s better now, but there are too many people. Now
it’s like a carnival. Sixty people on a trip would be enough.”

Mark McCarty of Laurel Highlands says, “I think use ought to be
dropped back 20 percent. If you break it up so you don’t see the
other groups in front and behind you, it would be good.” I ask why
he doesn’t cut back himself. He says, “Well, we’re thinking about it.
But it should be a deal. We’ll cut back 20 percent if everybody—
including rental rafters—cuts back 20 percent.”

Emphatically, raft-renter Stu Van Nosdeln does not favor a cut-
back. “There’s no congestion, It’s fluid movement, like water down
the sink. It comes in and goes down the drain.”

Lance Martin says, “There are two ways of looking at it. The
Youghiogheny is within a one-day drive for a big part of the na-
tion’s population. It’s there to be used. Yes, there’s some crowding,
but most people don’t come for a wilderness experience. Do you
severely limit it for a wilderness experience or do you open it up for
most people? I happen to think in this case, the more the merrier;
use it to the maximum.”

Steve Martin says, “They’re interested in quantity, not quality. I’d
like to see a cutback. Like we used to do—forty people. Then you
could talk to people. Then you could look around and see things.
With forty people on a trip, the Youghiogheny would be a real
special thing.”

“I’m one burned-out river guide,” Steve Martin says. “I’ve
butchered my hobby bad.” I had guessed Steve to be in his late
twenties. He is only twenty-four. He says, “Yeah, I feel older too. I
feel real worn down.” It has been a long summer. Fall is here,
winter is coming, and it is time to leave Ohiopyle. Steve says,
“Winters are real slow around here.”

December through March, Steve works at ski resorts. Skiing lets
him release something inside that craves excitement, speed, the out-
side, sunshine, gradient. But he is changing. “I’ve been moving
every six months, and now I’m getting a little tired of it,” he admits.
He likes his girl friend, Karen, a lot. “I’m kind of looking for a
more settled way of living. Maybe someplace like Idaho—Sun

12 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

recent quarry as neighbors here on top. Threads of wilderness run
through it all, from the highest spring to the willow-thicket shore-
lines where the Youghiogheny nears Pittsburgh.

So the place has been sapped of its wealth, but in other ways it
has been saved. Compared with the rest of the East, parts of the
basin are a storybook wilderness. Within fifty miles of the middle
river are almost three million people; this wild river is so close to
urban centers as to be a curiosity, a magnet, a refuge.

The Youghiogheny has been the target of more escapees than Jim
Prothero. Others were Delaware Indians after being driven from
eastern Pennsylvania, the man who claimed to have shot General
Braddock in the French and Indian War, a Pittsburgher whose doc-
tor told him to flee the city and seek clean air, a schoolteacher who
could stand working in the Hill District of Pittsburgh no longer, an
office equipment salesman who would rather run the river and
drink wine, and a machinist-inventor who wanted no more of the
nine-to-five routine, and a river guide who would probably have
destroyed himself in any other environment.

Down below me there are homes, and hopes, and joys shared, and
dreams, though the dreams are often buried among hard realities.

The horizon at Eagle Rocks is golden, then red, then navy blue as
the light fades and Venus shines in the west and stars decorate the
sky. In early May it is cold and windy. A deer mouse flashes past so
fast I can hardly see it but I feel it touch my foot. Each ridge of the
Appalachians recedes in its own shade of blue. Then they all turn to
black. It is nighttime and dark, but our journey down the Youghio-
gheny has just begun.

264 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Valley—where you don’t have to go far to get your river fix. Ski in
the winter, maybe do carpentry work or guide in the summer. Here,
I don’t offer much anymore.”

Like many other people, Steve had escaped to the Youghiogheny
years ago, and like others, he has found that getting away from
something does not seem to satisfy, no matter how bad things were,
or how good they become. In the long run, escape seems to be an
unsustainable goal, because, once free, then what? Except for hard-
core fugitives, the search for something more positive sneaks into
the consciousness, building tension, breeding discontent. Steve
doesn’t know what he will do, but he figures he should be doing
something else. “I’m weak in all kinds of ways. l’ve got to try a few
things. River guiding here is all I’ve ever done.” He dwells on his
weaknesses. What he will do about them is unclear, but he is work-
ing on it. One thing he has decided: he will move away.

The escape can blend into the search, and the lucky searchers
finally arrive at a place that they can grasp, a land that they can
embrace. Bill Calantoni, for example, came here to escape and
ended up staying. But the arrival is a rare event, and belonging is a
rare feeling. Especially among this generation. It is a feeling which
we crave, usually without even knowing what we miss. Steve Mar-
tin will leave and I will not know what happens to him.

I am ready to leave Ohiopyle too, but not because I am a burned-
out river guide, and not because I want to go to the Gauley or to
ski. I am ready because I want to step into my canoe and discover
the rest of this river. I want to see the lower reaches of the Yough-
iogheny by boat, and to do it before the cool winds of autumn.

The gradient of the Youghiogheny has taken us from the top of
Backbone Mountain down through the gorges that bisect the west-
ern slope of the Appalachians. From Ohiopyle the river will take us
through another gorge and beyond. With Jim Wilson and then
Mike McCarty, I will paddle the last gap of the mountains and then
go along the foothills, skirting the towns and the mines, floating
over pools that hide walleye and bass, past the trash and pollution,
around the islands, down to the steel mills, seventy-five miles to the
inevitable bottom, to the end of our Youghiogheny journey.

It will be a good run. It is the warmest, most colorful day of the
fall when Jim Wilson and I carry our canoes on top of our heads to

Obiopyle and the Run § 265

the put-in at Ohiopyle. Across the Youghiogheny in Ferncliff Park
the ash trees shine as yellow as the morning sun. The water is
chameleonlike, reflecting the colors of the leaves. The orange-reds
of the maples blend and make a river of gold. It runs clear and
medium in level. The rocks of Entrance Rapid are outlined with
churning water as if by an artist with a white pencil. If you think
autumn is the most beautiful season, then today is the most beauti-
ful day of the year. This is the place to be.

Today is Monday and we see nobody. Not even a ranger. Wilson
and I step into our canoes and kick from the sandy beach like kids
with scooters on the street. We are adrift. The Falls lie behind us,
the boiling of Entrance below. Being a river is enough, but the
Youghiogheny is a paradise today.

Wilson and I say not a word as we let the river take us slowly to
the brink. Then we straighten our boats and dip gently over the first
riffles. The river pulls us along. Next come some waves, and our
speed increases. I feel small and insignificant, but will feel even
smaller in a minute.

The rapid begins and the gold that reflects from the maples gives
way to foam. A white-out of bubbles fizzes around me, but I am
still entranced by the strange, powerful peace of it all. The canoe
sinks lower in the aerated water. The sound increases as I drift
closer to places that roar, but I am mesmerized. A ledge is growing
larger with a huge hole to the right that would swallow me, and I
say to myself, “Okay, here we go.” I wake up and dig into the river
with my paddle and push the boat with a lurch to the left as I drop
over the ledge. Bracing to keep from tipping, I get sucked through a
trough, and then a wave wells up underneath me and I rise on it. I
draw the canoe into a tongue that misses boulders, left and right,
and now there is no stopping.

The Youghiogheny crashes all around me and I do everything I
can to stay afloat. This keeps me busy. Wilson is more casual. He
has run this many times. He is a good paddling partner. I am
comfortable in the absolute knowledge that if I capsize, Wilson will
find some way to tow my greatful body and sunken boat ashore. I
can count on him.

Wilson strokes only now and then because his paddle is perfectly
placed. His leaning causes the hull of his boat to match the surface of
the river like a mold. He personally knows all the rocks and holes,
and where he wants to be. My descent is more chaotic. Very chaotic

266 § Yoag/aiogheny: Appalachian River

at times. I am making this route up as I go, and the river is doing
some making of my route, also. I catch an eddy and let the Yough-
iogheny stream past me for a minute. Any number of things could
still go wrong and cause me to sink, but I feel very strong, very good.

While I’m doing this I forget the rest of the world. The blocking
out of everything else makes the intensity. The nine-to-five, the
turnpike from Pittsburgh, rain tomorrow, lunch today, even the last
minute and the next one—cease to exist. This feels like the ultimate
escape and the ultimate arrival. Now it is just me and the river.

Sometimes the Loop below Ohiopyle is too full of people for me
to feel it, but there rests a power in this place. Can it be that certain
places do special things to people? That places make you feel a
certain way? We all come from the earth, and before that we came
from the water. Here are the earth and the water both, and it isn’t
ruined. It is one generation improved from Shelby Mitchell’s early
days, when the forest was all stumps except for those bulky, light-
ning-rod hemlocks on Ferncliff that escaped the saw.

There is a sculpture to this place. Things converge here: the
mountains encircle us, and the loop of the river almost meets itself.
There are at once many attractions in sight. The greens, the golds,
and the white are distinct. Everything is accented.

I suspect that I could hunt all over, including every bizarre vision
that every saint has ever had of the afterlife, and not come up with
anything this good. It occurs to me that this place is perfect, a
miracle, and that if we would just take care of it . . . if we weren’t
banking on something else to be perfect . . . It is time to paddle
downriver and catch up to Jim Wilson.

We come to Railroad Rapid and, like a snow squall, the wind
showers maple leaves from the woods and onto the river. Winter is
on the way.

We are through the largest rapids when we reach Stewarton
where Jim Prothero has driven to deliver our camping gear. Wilson
and I tie in waterproof bags full of clothes, sleeping bags, and food.
We also lash a tent, fire grill, cameras in a waterproof ammunition
can, and a box holding cooking pots and a bottle of Wilson’s home-
made apple wine. We paddle for a half—hour, then make camp and
enjoy the first peaceful night in the five-day voyage to the end of the
river. We cook and sleep in the gorge that is almost a wilderness.

The next day we run half a dozen Class II or III rapids. This is the
first time Wilson or I have paddled here, so every bend brings a new

Ohiopyle and the Run § 267

discovery. One rapid surrounds a rocky island. Wilson paddles to
the left and descends a fifty-foot-long flume that ends in a giant’s
fire-hose nozzle three feet wide. His hat blows off as he glances
from the rooster tail at the end, and I call the rapid “Wilson’s Hat.”

We paddle another mile and then the gorge suddenly changes: it
becomes wider at the bottom and higher at the top. The scale is
more massive than at any other place on the river. Then, Indian
Creek from the east joins the Youghiogheny.

We have left the state park—a fourteen—mile-long sanctuary in the
middle of the Youghiogheny. In the park, this river seems to be
protected; the most serious issue may be the number of people who
should be allowed to enjoy the place at any one time. But at either
end it is different. At the upper end is the Casselman basin with its
abandoned and active coal mines; at the bottom end of the park is
Indian Creek and its coal that is mined with equal intensity.

The park has given us escape and fun and a chance to return to
nature, but looking beyond, I see the park to be a small oasis in
Appalachia. People who would save the river may have only a
tenuous grip on the future, because stip mining and acid mine
drainage threaten water quality and the View of the gorge. A solu-
tion is to designate the Youghiogheny as a state and national scenic
river, but it is more complicated than that. Above and below the
park are lands raising issues as basic as the burning of coal to heat
Pennsylvania homes, and as basic as water to drink.

The park, the mines, and the water are all tied up together in
questions that deserve public attention and debate that has for years
been lacking or been piloted by vested interests, misinformation,
and fear.

Chapter Eleven

The Mines and the River

No place along the Youghiogheny exposes the conflict between
coal mining and water as vividly as Indian Creek. It rises near
the Pennsylvania Turnpike, flows south and west to Mill Run
Reservoir, then cuts a gorge of boulders and ledges, finally joining
the Youghiogheny above Connellsville. This creek may be the most
scenic of all Youghiogheny tributaries, but strip mines riddle its
headwaters and acid drainage contaminates lower reaches. In the
twelve-and-a-half square mile basin the state has issued permits
allowing nearly eighty mines.

The technique is simple: miners cut the trees, peel back the soil,
and by use of bulldozers, back hoes, drag lines, and dynamite, they
dig to depths of sixty feet. This results in a wide trench crossing the
mountain for hundreds of yards with a vertical “high wall” on the
upper side. Over-burden (the soil and rock removed to expose the
coal) is dumped in cone-shaped piles that make town-size tracts of
Appalachia look like the South Dakota Badlands. Finally, coal from
the bottom of the trench is scraped from an eighteen—to-thirty-inch-
thick seam, dumped into trucks, and hauled away on local road
systems that often crumble beneath the heavy loads. State and fed-
eral laws require control of runoff, replacement of over-burden, and
regrading to original contours. Then topsoil—set aside during min-
ing—must be restored and grass or trees must be planted. If all this
is done properly, the site may end up looking like a healthy pasture.

Shales overlying Indian Creek coal are extremely acidic. Judging
from what they do to streams, I would sooner expect to find these

268

The Mines and the River § 269

shales in a toxic waste dump than out here deposited and buried by
the ages, but as long as they were buried, there was no problem. It
is when they are dug up that the trouble begins. Then, rainfall rinses
acid, iron, aluminum, manganese, and mud into Indian Creek and
the Youghiogheny. Runoff after strip mining speeds to six times its
earlier rate, aggravating floods and flushing silt into streams. The
earth cannot be turned upside down without consequences, and so
the problems of strip mining cannot be eliminated. If lands are
mined properly, however, effects can be minimized.

John Bradley-Steck, a consulting geologist for mining companies,
says that he is not for hire in the Indian Creek area. “You can’t
win,” he says. “No matter what you do, it’s a losing proposition
because the geology is so poor.” He concludes this by looking at
geologic maps, although various coal-company consultants hold
various views on this question.

What does experience show? Jim Ansel, a waterways patrolman
for the Pennsylvania Fish Commission, says that he has arrested, or
reported violations on, every Indian Creek mining company save
one. They fail to maintain siltation ponds, they spill acid into
streams, they backfill improperly or not at all, and they expand
mines without authorization. Much of this goes uncorrected but
little goes unnoticed.

Fern Colborn lives above Indian Creek near the town of Mill Run
where she has been president of the Indian Creek Valley Water
Authority since 1955. Her job is to guarantee delivery of water to
rural people for miles around Mill Run, and so she sees the impacts
of mining firsthand. She says, “There have been over fifty strip
mines in operation here the last five years, and I’ve seen three that
weren’t causing acid.” To be explicit, she drives her jeep over pot-
holed roads behind Mill Run and Normalville and points to the
problems. She delivers a steady, matter-of-fact itemization of people
who lost wells to acid-polluted springs, fractured bedrock, and de-
pleted groundwater; of farms where topsoil was bulldozed aside
and remains unrestored; of house foundations cracked from blast-
ing. In two cases, bankrupt miners simply abandoned their sites,
leaving a moonscape. Silt killed fish in a private trout hatchery
where the owner estimates losses during one business-busting night
at $14,000.

To get the other view, I visit several mines. Other than to say they
won’t talk to me, the operators will scarcely talk to me. One says,

270 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

“We’re a small operation. We don’t want any problems, any pic-
tures, any publicity, any anything.” One landowner who lives in
Uniontown and leases his mountain property to a strip miner says,
“The streams have always been polluted from coal outcrops. Water
runs over the coal and washes out the acid. The only way to get rid
of it is to mine the coal out of there.” He is poorly informed about
geology and history both.

What industry spokesmen say, however, is that coal reduces the
need for imported oil. Coal can lead to energy independence. Proper
operation of strip mines avoids environmental problems. The ex-
port of coal helps balance our foreign payments deficit. Mining
employs people. Coal comprises 80 percent of our domestic energy
reserves but less than 20 percent of energy used. Coal in the ground
offers nearly eight times the energy of oil, natural gas, and uranium
reserves combined. In the United States, 260 billion tons of coal
equal one-quarter of the world’s known reserves, and it may well be
used.

Along the Youghiogheny, it has been used. Some of the earliest
explorers discovered this black, burnable treasure. On October 14,
1770, George Washington wrote from Connellsville: “At Craw-
ford’s all day. Went to see a coal mine not far from his house on the
banks of the river. The coal seemed to be of the very best kind,
burning freely and an abundance of it.” Not until the 1800s did
settlers dig coal in earnest. Along with logging, mining employed
men and justified the existence of many small towns. Crellin, Oak-
land, Friendsville, Confluence, Ohiopyle, and most of the lower
river towns housed at least a few miners.

Early in the 1900s, narrow-gauge railroads penetrated the rocky,
cut-over hollows to reach the deep mines that honey-combed the
hills. These tunnels were all abandoned, but water continued to
saturate the dark chambers and then spew acid. The streams and
the river turned sterile, meaning lifeless. In the early 1900s, much of
the Youghiogheny sustained not a fish. Back in today’s remote
woods, thousands of piles of mine tailings abound.

In most areas, mining peaked between 1910 and 1945, and has
ebbed since then with sporadic booms such as in the mid-seventies.
With the decline of coal after 1945 , population dwindled by one-
fourth in Fayette County. In 1980, it ranked second statewide in
poverty and in welfare recipients. As Shelby Mitchell of Ohiopyle
said, “It is not a good place to start a new business.”

The Mines and the River § 271

Most Appalachian coal is high in heat content but also high in
sulphur (1 to 6 percent) and ash, aggravating air pollution and
causing acid rain after the coal is burned. Youghiogheny coal has
been used for electric power, metals manufacturing, and especially
for coke in steel production.

Government-funded reclamation programs such as the one along
the Casselman have improved the water; the entire Youghiogheny
again supports fish. The most recent reclamation was completed
along Dunbar Creek which joins the river at Connellsville. Trout
Unlimited——a conservation and fishing group—-persuaded the Penn-
sylvania Department of Environmental Resources (DER) and the
federal Soil Conservation Service to spend $125,000 to backfill an
abandoned mine in 1981. But reclamation, always expensive, is not
always successful. State efforts in 1980 to reduce acid from deep
mines along Cucumber Run in Ohiopyle State Park cost $900,000
but failed.

In most areas, miners extract less coal today than they used to,
but new mines still ruin streams. According to DER records, at least
eight Fayette County streams suffered new damage from acid and
erosion in 1980 and 1981. Miners hold 527 permits in the county,
though only sixty-five are active. About half of the permits involve
runoff to the Youghiogheny.

Coal mining is a resource management issue throughout the
basin. Along the upper river in Maryland, twenty-six mines lie
within five miles of the Youghiogheny, according to a map at the
Department of Natural Resources mining office in Frostburg. An
additional thirty-five mines eventually drain into the river. Unlike
the Pennsylvania coalfields downriver, Garrett County showed an
all-time high in coal production in 1967. This coincided with an
all-time low in mining employment (203 persons), due to strip min-
ing (69 percent of all coal that was mined) rather than underground
mining. Employment swelled in the mid—seventies to 740 persons or
8 percent of the county’s workers, and their presence is felt. The
laundromat in Oakland has a sign that says, “Mining clothes in
front machines only.” Miners make more money than most work-
ers; salaries averaged about $18,000 Appalachian-wide in 1980.

Economists expect the post—World War II trend toward strip
mining to reverse itself by the year 2000 due to high costs and the
depletion of strippable coal. Strip miners can reach only one-tenth
of the recoverable reserves in the Youghiogheny basin of Maryland

272 § Yougbiogheny: Appalachian River

(161,300,000 tons). In Pennsylvania, most future coal will likewise
come from deep mines, though half of it is now stripped.

Pennsylvania’s Somerset County, including much of the Cassel-
man basin, has 330 strip—mine permits and about 100 producing
mines. Mining-related workers comprise 5 percent of the county
work force (compared with 6.5 percent in farming and forestry and
22.8 percent in manufacturing). The Pennsylvania Department of
Health reports that 31 percent or 2,029 active and retired miners in
Somerset County have black lung disease. The County Planning
Commission lists acid mine drainage as the “most severe environ-
mental problem.”

Farther downriver in Ohiopyle State Park, the state does not own
mineral rights to important coal deposits, including Sugarloaf
Mountain. Park Superintendent Larry Adams says, “I suspect the
day will come when somebody will want to mine that coal.” After
the Fish Commission stocked Jonathan Run, a mine discharge
above the park killed the fish in 1971. Also above the park boun-
dary, miners are opening new sites in the Meadow Run headwaters
and near Cucumber Run. With similarities to coal strippings, an
abandoned clay mine in the park is the cause of silt in Meadow Run
after storms and lies unreclaimed with only 10 of 175 acres being
governed by the state Surface Mining Act. Most of the mine was
dug up before the law was passed.

A study prepared for the state in 1972 indicated that 160 miles of
major streams along Pennsylvania’s Youghiogheny—up to 250 dur-
ing high runoff—are polluted by fifty-nine large mine discharges.
The study cites Indian Creek as the highest priority for protection.

“Up here,” Fern Colborn says, “the record of the miners is so bad
that we can go for miles before we find a landowner—except for
absentee ones—willing to sell a mining option.” In Colborn’s jeep,
we pass a ridge-top home where she says, “These people signed an
agreement and then took a trip to California. They thought they
were going to be millionaires. They came back and got nothing.”
Another family allowed fifteen acres out their back door to be
stripped. “They bought new living room furniture and a logging
machine in time to see the miner go broke.” Now they have fifteen
acres of upside down land—piles of shale that yield mud flows to
the steps of the house.

“Enforcement is the problem,” says Jim Ansel. “Until lately, DER
had two inspectors for about five hundred mine permits.” Ansel’s

The Mines and the River § 273

boss, Fish Commission Executive Director Ralph Abele, said that
two enforcement officers are “tantamount to no enforcement.”

Colborn says, “All we’re trying to do is get the law carried out,
but of the last four inspectors, only one was any good, and the
operators complained so much he was removed.”

Peter Duncan, who was named DER secretary in the fall of 1981,
says, “The inspectors are improving. We’re getting better people
now.” Two additional inspectors were recently hired for Fayette
County, and DER’s 1982 budget revealed an expanded coal pro-
gram—one of only two increases in the department. Whether that
means more mine inspections or only more mining remains to be
seen.

“The Youghiogheny was pretty bad in the fifties and sixties,”
Ansel says. “Then it got better, but since ’75 I’ve seen it get worse.
We’ve had a pH of 5 in the river—barely enough to keep fish alive.
We’ve stocked 400,000 trout, but a lot of times we’ve come close to
losing it.” Ansel says that further reclamation and sealing of the
Shaw mines above the Casselman are the most important job.
“Then the old deep mine flume at Melcroft along Indian Creek
needs to be cleaned up. It has a pH of 2.5. The bankrupt mines are
a mess.”

The bankrupt mines fester at the edge of Ohiopyle State Park,
within the Youghiogheny gorge between Ohiopyle and Indian
Creek. One, a site above Crooked Run, was authorized by the
DER’s mining bureau even though federal law prohibited the permit
since the mine is within the gorge and the Youghiogheny was being
considered as a national wild and scenic river. “I don’t know
whether you’d call it a slip-up or whether we just weren’t aware of
the wild and scenic study,” said J. Anthony Ercole, director of the
DER’s Bureau of Mining and Reclamation. It is unlikely that the
mining bureau was unaware: DER’s Bureau of State Parks officially
opposed the granting of the permit in 1979.

Operated by the Richter Trucking Company of South Connells-
ville, the mine sat directly opposite the rafting take—out at Bruner
Run and was visible from the hilltop on the Bruner Run side. The
mine was not popular with everyone. One day a sniper with a deer
hunting rifle shot across the gorge at the stripper’s bulldozer. Nor
was the mine popular with state officials. Spoil lay too close to the
river and could slide onto the Chessie System tracks and into the
Youghiogheny. It still could. Acid seeped from the diggings. Ero-

Chapter Two

A Gathering of Waters

It may be only chance that has given us the spelling of Youghio-
gheny. The earliest reference to the river is a caption on a map
drawn in 1737 by William Mayo: “Spring heads of Yok-yo-gane
river a south branch of the Monongahela.” In 1751, a map of
Virginia and Maryland called the river the Yawyawganey. One year
later a trader’s map listed Ohio Gani. Captain Robert Orme of the
Braddock expedition in 1755 called the river both Joxhio Geni and
Yoxhio Geni. Nicholas Cresswell, an Englishman who traveled west
to acquire land for a group of Virginians, wrote in 1775 that he
“crossed the Yaughagany River at the Steward’s Crossing.” Local
petitioners for a road from Uniontown to the river spelled it
Youghiogheni in 1784, and in the same year, George Washington
spelled it Yehiogany. In 1798, Robert Proud’s The History of Penn-
sylvania referred to the “Yoxhiogany River.” Early land grants
spelled it Yohogania, and other variations were Yochi Geni,
Youghanné, and Yuh—wiac-hanne. For some reason, none of these
spellings stuck.

The meaning is also obscure. Monongahelas lived in the basin (the
land that drains into the river and its tributaries) between A.D. 900
and 1600, and after their disappearance, Shawnee, Seneca, Dela-
ware, and Erie Indians all camped and hunted here from time to time.
The word youghiogheny originated in one of their dialects. Most
historians agree that it means “a stream flowing in a contrary di-
rection,” or “in a roundabout course.” The direction of the Yough-
iogheny is unusual: north for sixty miles, then north and west. The

13

274 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

sion-control measures were inadequate, the highwall was too great,
and a road culvert was washed out and not replaced. Unable to
make payments for equipment, Richter abandoned the mine. It sits
in monumental destruction, dirt and shale oozing mud and foul
water. It is an immense scar.

To avoid such fiascos, the state requires a bond to fund back-
filling and related expenses in the event the miner defaults. DER
officials estimate reclamation costs of at least $6,000 per acre, and
this is often exceeded. In 1980, DER Secretary Clifford Jones raised
bonding rates from a minimum of $1,000 to $4,000 an acre. Then,
in a move that confounded landowners, fishermen, and conserva-
tionists, he dropped the amount to $3,000 in 1981. For the
Crooked Run mine, a bond of $40,000 may be released for recla-
mation, but the job requires much more. The only solution may be
to allow another miner to dig coal from the same site and regrade
the land when he is done.

The ability of the river to sustain fish is Jim Ansel’s main concern
about strip mining. Fern Colborn’s interests are in rural water sup-
plies, land values, damage to houses, and protection of the river.
Yet another issue is public water export. Is anything so essential yet
so taken for granted as water that comes from a tap?

Indian Creek and the Youghiogheny provide about half of the
supply of the Westmoreland Municipal Water Authority, which
consumes about 15 million gallons a day from the river and 5
million from Indian Creek via a thirty-six-inch pipe built in 1909
and running from Mill Run Reservoir to the filtration plant near
Connellsville. Expansion of the plant will allow a doubling of its
capacity to 40 million gallons a day. The plant serves Connellsville,
Scottdale, Mount Pleasant, New Stanton, Youngwood, Greensburg,
South Greensburg, Southwest Greensburg, and all of the townships
in between. Included are a glass factory in South Connellsville em-
ploying 2,400 workers, the Volkswagen assembly plant near New
Stanton, and several Westinghouse Electric Corporation plants.
About 32,000 residential customers in the Westmoreland system
drink Indian Creek and the Youghiogheny. Used by other water
companies including McKeesport, the river serves nearly 200,000
consumers.

Kenneth W. Baker, assistant manager of the Westmoreland Au-
thority, says that the Youghiogheny is a “pretty fine raw water
source. Water quality has not deteriorated in recent years, but we’re

The Mines and the River § 275

always concerned about it.” All mining applications are sent to the
Authority for comment, but Baker says, “We haven’t recommended
that permits not be issued——not yet. I feel DER is going to take care
of the problems. If we see a problem, we go to DER and they
respond.”

But at DER’s Bureau of Mining and Reclamation office near
Greensburg, a staff member says, “There is definitely potential for
problems on Indian Creek. Maybe 1 percent of the applications are
denied. To deny a permit, we must have an awful lot of evidence
that there’s going to be a problem, and that’s hard to get. The
questions of public water supply should definitely enter into the
considerations.”

Jim Ansel says, “Acid from Indian Creek could wipe out the
Youghiogheny any day, yet they [DER] keep giving out permits.”

Jerry Galiardi, legislative committeeman of the Fayette County
Sportsmen’s League called Indian Creek a “time bomb waiting to
explode.” In early 1982, six more permits along Indian Creek were
pending before the DER.

Acid shale is dug up, coal is hauled away, streams are polluted,
wells dry up, and foundations crack—all because the coal can be
sold. Ninety percent of Duquesne Light’s electricity, serving western
Pennsylvania, originates with the burning of coal. When you turn
on an air conditioner, or push the button of an automatic dish-
washer, or spend the winter in an electrically heated house without
storm windows, or take a hot shower without a water-saving flow-
restrictor on the shower head, you contribute an extra amount to
strip mining, not to mention air pollution and acid rain. It is easy to
argue that the strip miners should do a better job and keep the
streams clean—the law is even on your side in saying so. But any-
body who consumes energy from coal shares some of the credit for
the results of its mining. The miners dig coal because we use it.

The less energy we use, the less chance the Youghiogheny and
similar places will be affected. No one can change the fact that by
being alive, we consume; the point is to avoid wasteful consump-
tion. And it can be avoided without reverting to outhouses, root-
digging, or freezing in the dark. In 1979 the Joint Economics Com-
mittee of Congress and the Harvard Business School released
studies saying that by the year 2000, the nation’s population can
increase from 225 million to 300 million with a proportionate

276 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

growth in the economy, with only our present supply of energy.
Referring to many studies, authors John H. Gibbons and William
U. Chandler, in Energy, the Conservation Revolution, say that up
to 50 percent of the energy spent in the home can be saved, that
automobile fuel economy can be tripled with less than 10 percent
increases in car costs, and that projected energy needs by the year
2000 can be cut by one-third or more.

Whether it uses it or not, the DER staff has the authority to deny
any mining application that could threaten a public water supply.
Threats to the Youghiogheny gorge are another matter. Strip min-
ing in the state park would probably be opposed by DER’s Bureau
of State Parks, but permits have been issued over that bureau’s
objection by DER’s Bureau of Mining and Reclamation as recently
as 1979. Beyond the park boundary, mining rights are up for grabs,
and this includes prime sections of gorge between Ohiopyle and
Connellsville. The North American Coal Company proposed a mine
within the gorge that could eventually extend for three miles on the
northeast side of the Youghiogheny above the mouth of Indian
Creek. Other proposals may follow. Thus far, the Youghiogheny’s
status as a potential national river has prevented strip mines that
would be Visible from the river (except for the illegally permitted
Crooked Run site).

Fern Colborn thinks that the answer is to designate the Youghio-
gheny a national wild and scenic river. “This is one of the most
beautiful rivers in the East, and I’d hate to see it spoiled,” she says.
“Before long, coal strippers are going to want in there, and it could
be the end of fishing, the end of the rafting industry, and the end of
other uses of the river. Six million dollars a year are generated by
rafting and related businesses. One hundred and fifty jobs are at
stake, and I don’t know of half a dozen local people who work in
mining in the whole Indian Creek area.”

An act of Congress started the national wild and scenic rivers
system in 1968 with designation of eight rivers and the naming of
twenty-seven others, the Youghiogheny included, for study and pos-
sible designation (the upper Youghiogheny from the Oakland
bridge to Friendsville is in the Maryland Wild and Scenic Rivers
System—a similar program at the state level). Federal designation
prohibits new dams and halts federal projects that would erode
natural river values. In cases where the federal government has

The Mines and the River § 277

jurisdiction over resource developments, none is allowed on a na-
tional river if the project would detract from the stream. For ex-
ample, strip mines: when a river is in the national rivers system or is
being studied for it, Section 522 of the Federal Surface Mining
Control and Reclamation Act prohibits mining permits within the
river corridor—a narrow strip of land along each shore and rising
up to the ridges—but not including other lands in the basin.

Back in the mid-sixties when national status was first proposed,
the local congressman, Frank Malinzak, supported it, citing the
need for water quality and recreation. The Western Pennsylvania
Conservancy backed action in 1966, saying, “All members of the
Conservancy will be immediately pleased by this prospect.” The
Fayette County newspaper and the Pittsburgh Post Gazette editori-
alized for federal protection. But after the Conservancy and the
state bought lands for Ohiopyle State Park, residents vehemently
opposed anything that could lead to more acquisition of private
land. New Conservancy leaders in the late seventies changed their
position, dropping support for the designation, saying that it stirred
up more trouble than it was worth.

A federal and state team studied the river. Members rafted both
the Maryland and Pennsylvania sections in 1975, and government
representatives who were on the upper Yough trip still reminisce. It
was unique among all field trips taken for national river studies in
the Northeast. An older man from the federal mining agency fell
out and almost drowned when his hand became wedged between
two rocks. The trip required hours more than expected and the
team fell behind the Deep Creek Dam release and didn’t have
enough flow to float. With darkness approaching, they began hik-
ing out on the old railroad grade. No one had a flashlight, and to
confound the group, a tornado had swept the valley, leaving the
path—obscure to begin with—riddled with timber like a spilled
box of matchsticks. Gear was abandoned for Ralph McCarty’s
guides to retrieve later. Ed Deaton of the Pennsylvania Bureau of
State Parks remembers stumbling through the log maze with a fed-
eral official in the black of night and hearing the ominous approach
of footsteps. They grew louder. The brush in front of the two men
cracked under the weight of the mystery creature. “Finally,” Deaton
says, “this guy I was with screamed, scaring the bejesus out of one
of Ralph’s guides who was walking up from Friendsville to meet
us.” They survived and reached their vans at eleven P.M.

278 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

When the federal Department of the Interior prepared a draft
wild and scenic river study of the Youghiogheny, it found twenty-
seven miles in Pennsylvania (Confluence to Connellsville) and
twenty-two in Maryland (Miller’s Run to Friendsville) eligible for
protection. It recommended designation if the governors of the
states requested it. Both sections would be administered by the
states, not by the federal government. Federal projects that could
ruin the river would be banned, yet federal employees would not be
involved in management. The draft report recommended acquisition
of 2,500 acres of riverfront in Pennsylvania and 800 in Maryland.

Stuart Van Nosdeln, mayor of Ohiopyle in the mid-1970s, orga-
nized opposition to the program and delivered speeches against it.
Rumors spread and people expected the worst. George Groff of
Confluence thought that the federal government would condemn
land in Confluence up to the high-water mark, though that was
never proposed. In fact, the act disallows condemnation when over
half of the river corridor is already publicly owned as it is along
Pennsylvania’s section of the Youghiogheny. Dr. Edwin Price, a
civic leader in Confluence said, “I’ve heard everything about it, and
I’m fighting it from start to finish. What they’d do is take every-
thing you can see from the river. They proposed to take the whole
west side of this town. Condemn it. They were going to restrict an
area I don’t know how many miles out from the river. You
wouldn’t be allowed to remove trees or anything. Talk to Stu Van
Nosdeln. He’ll give you the whole thing. I’d be for it—for conserva-
tion of the river—but the way they take land is the problem.”

The wild and scenic river program was painted as a Communist
plot, a government takeover, a city man’s swindle, an environmen-
talist’s land-grab; no less than cultural genocide to the mountain
people.

Van Nosdeln organized Mountain Area Protection, Inc., a group
of municipalities opposed to national river status. In May 1976, a
letter was sent from six townships and the borough of Ohiopyle
protesting the national river proposal. Led by Van Nosdeln, seven-
teen elected officials signed the statement: “We believe there is an
aggressive move by Dr. [Maurice] Goddard of the Pennsylvania De-
partment of Environmental Resources to establish a monument be-
fore his retirement . . . in the form of this Youghiogheny River . . .
from Confluence to Connellsville.” The letter accused Goddard of a
“ploy . . . to regulate white water activity on what we know as the

The Mines and the River § 279

lower Youghiogheny.” Van Nosdeln had started renting rafts on the
lower Youghiogheny (at Ohiopyle) three years before. The main
thrust of the letter expressed fear of land acquisition: “We pray your
indulgence to help us who have already been crushed and dissected
by acquisitions for a vast state park which has all but annihilated us.
We can stand no more.”

In fact, Goddard objected to the national rivers system from the
beginning, and an official state position regarding the Youghio-
gheny said, “the Department is opposed to Federal designation.” At
that time, DER was concerned about the federal government med-
dling in state affairs; it was also responding to local pressure.

At a fractious meeting in Confluence on March 28, 1977, with
600 residents and several government officials, Van Nosdeln led the
attack on the program. He said, “The economic system which
transformed this country from a vast wilderness, into the world’s
most powerful and wealthiest nation, is now being controlled, re-
stricted, regulated, and criticized to pieces . . . the loss of freedom is
sneaky, quiet, and subtle. It may appear in the guise of a new form
to be filled out; a new tax to be paid; a new regulation such as this
wild and scenic rivers study . . .” and so forth. Van Nosdeln called
people to “rally around the flag and to look to God in this our hour
of need.”

The final report from the Department of the Interior in 1978
called for no acquisition in Pennsylvania but recommended local
zoning for 3,500 acres, “to assure that development Visible from the
river is compatible with the purposes of river designation.” For
Maryland, the federal study recommended 800 acres of open space
acquisition for public access and for a riverfront trail.

The only sections of the Youghiogheny that are now protected
from development, dams, and mining are the wild river from Miller’s
Run to Friendsville, where the state of Maryland regulates new devel-
opment, and Ohiopyle State Park, together totaling 38 of the river’s
132 miles. The Maryland Wild River was established through the
efforts of Senator Mason of Cumberland and down-east conserva-
tion groups. Ohiopyle State Park was established through Pitts-
burgh’s Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. In both cases, it was
nonresidents who brought about the protection. The scenic river
proposal for Pennsylvania’s section of the Youghiogheny had no
support from people outside the local area and was opposed by vocal
people within the area, and so it languished. No action has resulted.

280 S Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

In 1981, Stuart Van Nosdeln still opposed the idea. “It’s over-
regulation. Seventy percent of the corridor is already owned by the
state. It would cut back the use of land. I mean seriously cut back.
You couldn’t touch it.” I asked what the designation would pre-
vent. Van Nosdeln answered, “A lot of landowners would be ad-
versely affected. It’s that strangle hold. Here comes government
grabbing ahold of you,” and he grabbed the air with his fists. I
asked if he was concerned about strip mines. “You can’t get a
permit to strip on a hillside anyway; there’re state regulations.
There’s no way it can be done.”

Glenn Eugster, chief of planning for the National Park Service in
Philadelphia (responsible for the national river proposal in 1981),
said, “The zoning would be to avoid crowded development and
commercialization. Undeveloped flood plains would remain that
way, and other areas would have perhaps five or ten acres required
for a lot and a cabin site. Zoning would be enacted by the local
municipalities, and the kind of restrictions that we support are usu-
ally not much different than What is going to happen in those rural
areas anyway. Mainly, it gives you protection against some real
estate developer who might come in and build it all up.”

Under the national rivers system, if local townships fail to zone,
or don’t enforce the zoning, the federal agency could recommend
that the river be dropped from the system, the reasoning being: if
the local government is not doing its share to protect the stream,
why should the federal government deny options such as dams,
mines, and canals that could be in the national interest? Neither the
federal nor the state governments can zone, and neither can force
local municipalities to zone. That part of scenic river protection, in
Pennsylvania, is voluntary for local governments.

Roger Fickes, administrator of the Pennsylvania state scenic rivers
program said, “There are controls on mining—water quality, ero-
sion control, and backfil1ing—but nothing for the visual threat in
the gorge. I’m not saying ‘stop strip mining.’ I’m only talking about
a small area [the gorge from Confluence to Connellsville] where
mining could ruin the attractiveness of the area for recreation,
which is a very major industry. There are coal operators that want
in there, and short of the designation, there may be nothing that we
can do to stop them.”

The potential mining conflicts in the gorge involve several hun-
dred acres, maybe one thousand at most. The U.S. Bureau of Mines

The Mines and the River § 281

estimates that the Pennsylvania section of the gorge from Conflu-
ence to Connellsville holds 19 million tons of coal. The state’s
known coal reserves total 22 billion tons———enough to last 250 years
at 1981 levels of mining. The Youghiogheny gorge harbors about
one-one-thousandth of this. Total reserves in the gorge equal only
three months of coal at current production rates in Pennsylvania.

Fickes added, “The other protections under the state Scenic
Rivers Act could be important someday. We reviewed a proposal
for a hydroelectric dam on Meadow Run in the state park [a state
scenic river proposal is intended to offer the same protection as the
national system and includes part of Meadow Run along with the
Youghiogheny]. The company proposing it backed off, but in the
coming years, who knows what will happen unless some of our
decisions, now, are firm. If we had the state equivalent of James
Watt, we could be in trouble without the designation.” In August
1982, under Secretary of the Interior James Watt, the National Park
Service recommended revision to federal mining regulations that
could open twenty-six national parks to strip mining. Because of
political vacillations such as this (the federal regulations had been
stronger under the previous interior secretary), environmental
groups favor both federal and state scenic river designation.

Recognizing that the final version of the national river proposal
calls for no acquisition in Pennsylvania, Fickes reflects, “The public
and the private landowners can receive so much protection to keep
that place the way it is, it’s hard to see why they don’t use it. I guess
it’s a lot easier for a local person to believe what he hears in a bar
or from a friend than to believe a government agency. They see it as
one small landowner fighting a huge bureaucracy.” Fickes says that
he would rather see state designation than federal action. “I think
that we can be more sensitive to local needs and still accomplish the
same river protection goals.”

Fern Colborn says that the local hostility to the wild and scenic
rivers program is due to “greed and rumor.” She says that the
proposal does not include—never did include—the kind of land
acquisition that local people fear.

Van Nosdeln is not the only rafting businessman opposed to na-
tional designation. Lance Martin, owner of the largest rafting com-
pany offering guided trips, said in 1981, “They [the federal officials]
blew it from the very beginning—they came in here and said there is
too much use. No documentation whatsoever. To me, that was it

282 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

right there. They can stay out of here.” I don’t know what the federal
officials told Martin, but the draft national river report recom-
mended that “the application for national designation include a re-
creation management plan which incorporates regulations for elimi-
nating river congestion . . . the recreation plan should accommodate
the whitewater interests of both individual users and persons relying
on commercial outfitters.” That was not such a radical statement
back in 1976—one of the years that Bob Marietta referred to when
he said, “You couldn’t work this river,” and before Larry Adams
instituted the rafting schedule. The final wild and scenic report re-
commended that “the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania continue to
develop and implement strategies to promote safety and prevent en-
vironmental degradation of the whitewater stretch between Ohiopyle
and Bruner Run.” It called for no cutbacks in river use.

Larry Adams said, “I’d be in favor of the state and national wild
and scenic river. The federal study has been the basis for denying
mining permits near the river, but that protection will expire in
October 1982, unless the river is designated. I think the river should
be protected in every way possible. We would continue to manage
the river as we’re now doing. It would be good to have the protec-
tion to Connellsville, but the critical thing is right here in the park.”

Viewing the entire state park and its history, Adams reflected, ‘‘I
think the really important thing is that the Youghiogheny is not being
consumed or destroyed, but in fact, is being preserved and many past
abuses rehabilitated so that future generations will have the option of
continuing or even improving upon what is now being done. That, of
course, assumes that we do not allow strip mining or acid runoff
from abandoned mines to once again sterilize the water.”

Even though the final national river proposal offers long—term
protection with little to trouble landowners or outfitters, it would
be difficult for anyone to beat the antigovernment rhetoric. As Rev-
erend Arthur Gotjen of Confluence says, “Whether or not people’s
fears are well-founded is one thing, but the way they feel about it is
the reality.” With support from the commercial outfitters, a scaled-
back national river proposal that would include no acquisition of
private property could be possible which would protect the gorge
between Confluence and Connellsville from new strip mining. The
gorge would be reserved for activities that can be enjoyed nowhere
else in Pennsylvania, for a self-perpetuating economy, and for a way
of living that is found only along the Youghiogheny.

Chapter Twelve

Beyond the Appalachians

Paddling from Indian Creek toward Connellsville, Jim Wilson
and I are leaving the Appalachians. The river has carved a gap
in Chestnut Ridge, westernmost of the mountains that begin 150
miles to our east and run like giant north—south corduroy to this
spot. The river sprawls across gravel bars. It was about this unseen
path to Pittsburgh that Lewis Evans, an English map-maker in the
early 1700s wrote, “If we have it, we have the Gate of the Ohio; if
the French, they have the Gate to the sea.” He was wrong. The
Youghiogheny below Ohiopyle brandished too many rapids for the
armies of France and England. The gorge was too narrow for them,
but not for us. It is our way out of the mountains.

I don’t want to leave the mountains but curiosity has got the best
of me. By looking only at the map, I have an idea about how the
Youghiogheny ends, but I Want to see for myself. Ahead are Con-
nellsville, the foothills (which are eroded plateaus), highways, and
industry. In a few miles will come the exit of the gorge and the
beginnings of what will become the American Midwest.

Elevation and gradient of the mountain do not fade step by
step, but stay high and steep. Below the mouth of Indian Creek,
we are only three miles from the western edge of the Appala-
chian Range, yet views are more imposing than any others in all
four of the Youghiogheny gorges. Chestnut Ridge climbs 1,380
feet above the river that in some places spans more than 300
feet. The scale that was intimate has become massive. Towering
mountain slopes replace cliffs and ferns and details. Continental

283

 

Pronounced, Yock-a-GEN—ee

14 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Youghiogheny also runs in a roundabout course: north, west, then
northwest, with occasional loops and bends that cover almost 360
degrees. Another interpretation is “rough or dare-devil stream.”
That it is. Still another definition is offered in Christopher Gist’s
journals: youghanné is said to be from the Kanhawhas Indian tribe.
Youg/7 meant “four,” and harme meant “stream” or “rapidly flowing
stream.” Gist’s four streams were the upper Youghiogheny, the
Casselman River, Laurel Hill Creek, and the main stem ofthe Youghio-
gheny below the town of Confluence.

As rivers go, the Youghiogheny is no giant. It drains 1,763 square
miles, the tenth largest basin in Pennsylvania (the eleventh if you
count the Mahoning, which is mostly in Ohio). The Schuylkill
(1,912 square miles) and Kiskiminetas (1,887) are comparable in
size. In contrast, the Ohio at Pittsburgh drains 19,132 square miles,
the Susquehanna at Harrisburg drains 23,091, and the Delaware at
Philadelphia, about 10,000. The Monongahela basin, which in-
cludes the Youghiogheny, is more than four times the size of the
Youghiogheny alone.

Nor is the Youghiogheny a small river. Its total length is 132
miles, according to my measurements on U.S. Geological Survey
topographic maps (other sources, no two of which agree, list a
length of 123 to 133 miles). If the Youghiogheny were stretched
into a straight line originating at Pittsburgh, it would reach either
Erie, Cleveland, Zanesville, Parkersburg, Hagerstown, or State Col-
lege. Eighty-five of the river’s miles are in Pennsylvania, forty-two
in Maryland, and five in West Virginia.

The river carries an average of 3,000 cubic feet of water per
second at its end in McKeesport, totaling 2,522,880 acre-feet a year
(one acre—foot covers an acre with a foot of water, which is enough
to fill a municipal swimming pool, or enough to supply a family of
five for a year). From the town of Confluence downstream, there is
always enough water to float a canoe or raft.

No other river in Pennsylvania combines the Youghiogheny’s size,
water quality, wildness, and rapids. It is one of a handful of good
whitewater rivers in the East that run all summer, due to an Army
Corps of Engineers dam that saves Pittsburgh from floods and in-
creases the river’s flow during dry seasons.

Counting tributaries, there are over 1,700 miles of stream in the
Youghiogheny basin. The largest of these is the Casselman River

284 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

winds funnel into the gorge and blow like a gale instead of a
lovable woodland breeze.

The mountain is barrier enough to breed weather. Moist air from
the Gulf of Mexico, 1,000 miles away, is pushed up on the ridge
where temperatures drop two degrees or more for every 1,000 feet of
climb. If water vapor is condensing, temperatures drop five-and-a-
half degrees for every 1,000 feet. The top of the ridge is five or more
degrees colder than Pittsburgh, and less tolerant of moisture. Con-
densation forms rain and snow; the mountains are said to “rake” or
“sweep” moisture from the clouds. This is why the upper basin of the
Youghiogheny soaks as one of the wettest regions in Pennsylvania.
Jim Wilson and I look downriver—northwest—to blue sky. We look
upriver into the mountains and see cottony clouds. Wilson and I
team up against the wind: we lash the gunnels of our canoes together.
I paddle one side and he paddles the other, the same way that Steve
Martin and I rafted on the upper Youghiogheny.

Except for the upper river from the Oakland bridge to Friendsville,
the sixteen miles from Ohiopyle to Connellsville are the longest unde-
veloped section of the Youghiogheny, having even less access by road.
Only the Chessie System follows the river. No bridges cross, and
except for the old cabins at Camp Carmel opposite Indian Creek, no
buildings are seen. Among large streams in Pennsylvania (the Youghio-
gheny averages 2,540 cubic feet per second here), only the canyon of
the upper West Branch Susquehanna competes for wildness, but it
runs sterile with mine acid. Lower Laurel Run is the last mountain
tributary and the last clean stream to join the Youghiogheny. All of the
side streams below will be affected by mine drainage or sewage.

One mile above Connellsville, where the Youghiogheny leaves the
mountains, it is 900 feet above sea level. In 87 miles, we have
dropped 2,460 feet from the top of Backbone Mountain. To drop
the next 900 feet to the Gulf of Mexico we would have to paddle
1,995 miles. The gradient is over; flat—water lies ahead.

Approaching Connellsville, the railroad is uncamouflaged on the
right bank. Eighty years ago, coke ovens lined the shore. A quarry
has been dug above the tracks. A Class II rapid churns to the left of
a small island. In summertime, local kids loaf at the South Connells-
ville “beach”—a gravel bar on the right, and they swim across to
autograph a ten-foot-high rock on the left. Running out of roll-call
space, some of the younger breed have buried older cold-chiseled
names by spray-painting over them.

Beyond the Appalachians § 285

At the upstream end of Connellsville, the North Fayette County
Municipal Authority, the Western Pennsylvania Water Company,
and the Westmoreland Municipal Authority operate filtration
plants. Ten million gallons a day are allocated for withdrawal by
North Fayette (they actually took only 4.3 million on average in
1981), 1.5 million by West Penn, and 45 million (including Indian
Creek) by Westmoreland which withdraws an average of about 20
million now.

When the water arrives at the filtration plant, solids are settled to
the bottom by adding alum and allowing the water to flow through
a “flocculator” or clarifier. Because of erosion throughout the
basin, there are many solids whenever it rains hard upstream. The
water is then filtered and chemicals are added: chlorine to disinfect,
carbon to remove organisms and chemicals causing taste or odor,
and potassium permanganate to remove iron and manganese result-
ing from mine drainage. Further treatment repeats some of the same
procedures with addition of ammonia and with Calgon to prevent
deposits in the water lines. Mining problems require extra treat-
ment, but relative to most eastern water supplies, chemists consider
the Youghiogheny good water.

At the lower end of the river, the McKeesport Municipal Author-
ity is allocated 12 million gallons a day to serve that city, Liberty,
Port Vue, Versailles, and White Oak (their use averaged 10.7 mil-
lion gallons a day in 1981). Municipal allocations from Connells-
ville to the Monongahela total 68.5 million gallons daily. In addi-
tion, industries withdraw all they want; no permits are required,
although state permits are needed for industrial water returned to
the river.

Through use of Youghiogheny Dam, the Army Corps of Engi-
neers has for decades averted water shortages, but new limits of
supply are being reached as in other places: New York City wants
more water from the Delaware River in Pennsylvania, while Phila-
delphia claims that the river’s flow is inadequate for its own needs.
On Long Island, salt water intrudes underground because so much
fresh water has been pumped out. In Florida, sinkholes swallow
homes and streets when the ground caves in due to depleted
groundwater. Along the Monongahela River, drought causes water
levels to sink close to levels that would require rationing, importing
water, or reducing barge traffic.

People in water-short basins such as the Monongahela could look

286 § Yougbiogheny: Appalachian River

to the Youghiogheny for extra supplies. This has not yet happened,
but if Los Angeles and Phoenix can look to Colorado, Wyoming,
and Oregon for water, then the Pittsburgh area could look to its
backyard Youghiogheny.

Joe Chunpa of the Department of Environmental Resources
(DER) in Pittsburgh says, “In ten or twenty years, when water
companies are withdrawing the full amounts allocated, the limit
will be reached. If more water than that is taken out, we’ll have
problems: the discharges by industries and towns are all based on a
basic dilution factor—on what the river can handle. If there’s not
enough water for dilution, the wastes will be too concentrated and
it will affect the public safety and the health of the stream.”

Witli new dams being too expensive, state officials point out that
80 to 90 percent of the water withdrawn returns to the stream as
waste, and that sewage treatment should be upgraded to maintain
or increase usable supplies. But the money is not available.

An economic and faster alternative is to use less water in the first
place. The U.S. Department of the Interior reported that through
additions of plumbing fixtures costing zero to five dollars, commu-
nities have cut water use by 25 percent. Individual homeowners
have decreased consumption 40 percent. Energy costs are also re-
duced by saving hot water, one of the home’s largest energy drains.
Further, water conservation crops the cost of pumping, which in the
Westmoreland system is substantial: thirty-four pumping stations
for almost 700 feet of lift.

Beyond the plumbing fixtures, water can be saved by simply be-
ing careful. To drink water is one thing but to hose the sidewalk
with it is another. Without new hardware, Marin County, Califor-
nia, reduced water consumption by 60 percent during a drought in
1977.

Although the water shortage is near, conservation is not
pursued along the Youghiogheny. Even the state permit for with-
drawing 20 million more gallons a day by the Westmoreland
Authority (allowing it to double consumption) included few con-
servation requirements or incentives. Like electricity, water is
priced so that the more you use, the less you pay per unit.
Chunpa says, “We’ve been blessed with a lot of water, but that’s
going to end one of these days. People don’t think about water
conservation in western Pennsylvania, but sooner or later we’re
going to have a drought.”

Beyond the Appalachians § 287

Jim Wilson and I cruise past the half-mile-long Anchor Hocking
Glass plant of South Connellsville and paddle through the dead-
water created by Powerhouse Dam, eight feet high, built early in the
century for hydroelectricity but no longer used. We lug our gear
and boats around the right abutment. The river has chewed away
this end of the dam; reinforcing rods stick up where cement has
been pulverized. Sandbags retain part of the Youghiogheny.

At Connellsville, the mountains have ended and the hills have
begun. An Indian trail forded the Youghiogheny here and a
Shawnee village sat along the shore. William Stewart, a scout for
George Washington, was the first known white man to live here, in
1753.

On June 28, 1755, General Braddock made his twelfth camp at
“Stewart’s Crossing” on his way to the Monongahela. Captain
Robert Orme wrote in his journal: “We crossed the main body of
the Joxhio Geni, which was about 200 yards broad, and about
three feet deep.” They traveled only two miles that day.

Stewart left, but in 1765 William Crawford arrived and the next
year completed a one-room log cabin, now reconstructed at North
Seventh Street. George Washington visited at the cabin and on Oc-
tober 13, 1770, wrote, “Crawford’s is very fine land, lying on the
Youghiogheny River, at a place commonly called Stewart’s Cross-
ing.” In 1774, Crawford fought in Dunmore’s War against the
Shawnee Indians of the Ohio Valley, and wrote to Washington that
he was building a stockade fort around his own house. Then
Crawford fought the Delaware Indians on the Sandusky Expedition
where Connellsville’s founder was caught and burned at the stake.
(The town was named for Zachariah Connell, who had arrived a
few years after Crawford.)

Upriver from Connellsville, in the mountains, the place-names are
descriptive: Backbone Mountain, Silver Lake, Pleasant Valley, Sun-
shine (only later changed to Crellin), Oakland, Swallow Falls, Sang
Run, Confluence, Laurel Hill, Ohiopyle (“white frothing water”),
and Chestnut Ridge. Only Friendsville is named after a person.
From Connellsville down, almost all names are of men: Dunbar,
Dawson, Vanderbilt, Layton, Whitsett, Banning, Smithton, West
Newton, Collinsburgh, Smithdale, Suterville, Blythedale, Scott
Haven, Coulter, Greenock, and McKeesport. Only the names of
Buena Vista, Eden Park, and Port Vue describe the land, or what
the land was.

A‘

Fem Colborn

jim Wilson, Connellsville Dam

View downstream from
Indian Creek

im Wilson at Connellsville

The West Newton River Festival Mike McCarty

Mill workers above the Youglaiogheny

Boston, pollution discharge

   

 

292 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Boat building at Connellsville began in 1788 with flat-bottomed
barges being constructed near the site of today’s municipal building.
The iron industry started with a furnace near Jacobs Creek in
1789———probably the first furnace west of the Alleghenies. Pig iron
was loaded onto barges and floated to Pittsburgh during high
water. Farmers also shipped cattle down the river.

About 1790, Governor Mifflin contracted John Bodollet to
survey the Youghiogheny for the shipping of goods. He canoed
from Indian Creek down, finding the route blocked by Indians’ and
pioneers’ fish dams, and he urged enforcement of the 1782 law
calling the river a public waterway. Rocks, he declared, were the
greatest menace to Youghiogheny commerce.

In 1809 Joshua Gilpin wrote, “The Youghiogheny is navigable
from about three miles above town (Connellsville) to the Ohio and
of course gives an immense outlet for all the produce of this coun-
try—the union therefore of wood, coal, iron, and perhaps a variety
of other minerals with water carriage to a market down the Missis-
sippi seems to destine it to be a great manufacturing district.”

But Franklin Ellis, in his 1882 History of Fayette County said
that “the Youghiogheny in all that part which passes through Fay-
ette County, and in the greater portion of its course through West-
moreland, is not and never has been a navigable or boatable stream,
except for a very small portion of the year, the season of freshets
and high water, and even then its navigation is difficult, not to say
dangerous, for the passage of coal boats.”

The production of coke caused the phenomenal growth of Con-
nellsville during the mid and late 1800s. The “Pittsburgh” coal
seam was considered one of richest in the world and ideal for
burning in beehive ovens to convert it to the “pearl-gray coke of
Connellsville,” essential for Pittsburgh’s steel industry. A ton of coal
makes less than a ton of coke, the difference going up in smoke and
being dumped as ash, so for efficiency in shipping, producers did
the burning here, near the mines. Beginning in the 1830s, the coke
was floated by barge down the Youghiogheny and Monongahela to
Pittsburgh. Some boats continued to Cincinnati. In this way, the
Youghiogheny, barely out of the mountains, became an industrial
river. Connellsville was transformed from a quiet agricultural, lum-
ber, and mining town to an important cog in the huge wheel of the
industrial revolution.

In 1871, at age twenty-one, Henry Clay Frick, born near Scott-

Beyond the Appalachians § 293

dale along Jacobs Creek, acquired a loan from Pittsburgh’s Thomas
Mellon to form a company to buy coal and build coke ovens.
Nineteen years later Frick owned 60 percent of the region’s coal
and produced 80 percent of the coke. In 1906, ninety-nine plants
with 23,713 ovens in the Connellsville area belched acrid smoke
without end. Shelby Mitchell remembers that in the early 1900s the
sky to the west of Kentuck Mountain glowed red at night. Twenty-
one million tons of coke were produced per year, making Frick one
of the industrial magnates of Pittsburgh.

The population of Connellsville doubled in the 1860s, again in
the seventies and again in the eighties. By 1910, 32,752 people lived
here. Among a dozen hotels, the Youghiogheny House was the most
popular, and the Hotel Marietta was owned by relatives of Ohio-
pyle’s Bob Marietta. Seven banks handled the money going in and
out. An opera house provided some of the entertainment. Toll-
keepers collected money from people who crossed a suspension
bridge strung over the river in 1899.

Gwen Waters of Ohiopyle rode the train to Connellsville early in
this century to shop, to see movies, and to attend school. “It was
nice,” she recalls. “It was a booming little town with shops and
people working in the coal mines and at the coke ovens.”

The coke industry died in the late 1920s as the Pittsburgh seam
was depleted and the ten-foot-diameter beehive ovens were ren-
dered obsolete by large processing plants at Clairton that captured
valuable by—products for plastics. Connellsville has been in decline
ever since, the population dwindling to 10,307 by 1980. In Fayette
County, the 32,000 people working in mining in 1930 fell to 5,000
in 1980.

Connellsville declined thirty years before the rest of the county,
and it shows. Seventy-nine percent of the houses were built before
1939. You can find well-kept, quiet residential areas that are attrac-
tive, with people who would live nowhere else, but much of Connell-
sville is the typical worn—out mining town with the heavy look of
old—now lost—industrial wealth. It represents boom and bust.
Maybe the justification of mining towns makes this ending inevit-
able; towns that were built through the hauling-away of lifeless min-
erals look different than ones built around a sustainable economy.

Dr. George Dull has practiced podiatry in downtown Connells-
ville for over forty years and has seen his city decline from the
vibrant, industrial community of his youth to its sagging condition

A Gathering of Waters § 15

(53 miles long), draining the coal country of northern Maryland
and southern Pennsylvania. Laurel Hill Creek (30 miles) is a clean
stream joining the Casselman just above the Youghiogheny. Other
large tributaries are the Little Youghiogheny River (13 miles) from
farmland and towns of western Maryland; Deep Creek (14.5 miles)
which has been dammed in Maryland for hydroelectric power; and
Indian Creek (27 miles), damaged by strip mines but still providing
the water supply for Connellsville, Greensburg, and other towns.
Jacobs Creek (29 miles) and Sewickley Creek (30 miles) are mine-
polluted tributaries from foothill farms and old coal towns of the
lower river.

In Pennsylvania, 505 square miles of the Youghiogheny basin lie
in Somerset County, 350 in Fayette, 360 in Westmoreland, and 40
in Allegheny County. Most of the remaining 513 square miles are in
Garrett County, Maryland, and a few are in Preston County, West
Virginia.

At the lower end of the river, McKeesport receives thirty-eight
inches of precipitation a year. Somerset County, in the highlands of
the basin, receives forty-three inches and is the wettest region in
Pennsylvania. Garrett County, where temperatures drop below
freezing 150 days a year, sees forty-seven inches of precipitation,
including seventy-seven inches of snow. Throughout the upper
basin, June and July are the wettest months; November is the driest.

About 336,000 people (eight-tenths as many as in the city of
Pittsburgh) live in the Youghiogheny basin: in the Appalachian
towns of Oakland, Friendsville, and Confluence; in the coal mining
communities of Crellin, Dunbar, and Smithdale; and in the indus-
trial cities of Connellsville and McKeesport. Most of the basin,
however, is sparsely settled. The hillsides are dotted with modest
ranch houses, mobile homes, occasionally a rambling country es-
tate, and old frame houses. Average population density is 191
people per square mile, but 244,000 residents (73 percent) live in
the lower twenty-six miles of the basin in Westmoreland and Al-
legheny counties, leaving a density of only 52 residents per square
mile throughout 80 percent of the basin. For comparison, the popu-
lation density of Pennsylvania is 262 people per square mile, and
Maine—the least-populated state east of the Mississippi—is 32.

At the headwaters in Maryland and West Virginia, forests blanket
the ridges. Below these mountains, farms border much of the river
from Silver Lake to the Little Youghiogheny confluence near Oakland,

294 § Youg/viog/veny: Appalachian River

today. I ask him what it was like watching the town go downhill.
He answers, “Terrible.”

Today, Anchor Hocking Glass employs 2,400 people in South
Connellsville. West Penn Power, the railroad, the Connellsville In-
dependent Mining Supply, a sportswear maker, and some metals
industries remain. The Volkswagen plant at nearby New Stanton
employs people, though lay-offs there have been heavy in the early
1980s. “Young people move out, closer to Pittsburgh and to other
places for work,” Dr. Dull says. Census data indicates that 13.9
percent of the people are over sixty-five years old. This is only
slightly more than the state average, although the percentage seems
much higher as I walk around town. About one-third of the high
school graduates leave.

Eighty years of dirt darkens the frame, stone, but mostly brick
buildings of downtown. Paint peels. A rusty sign says, Quality De-
partment Store. A turn-of—century tailor shop occupies one of the
most prominent sites in the business district. There are shoemaker
shops and a Bible and religious supply store. A fortresslike brick
building houses the Pittsburgh National Bank branch.

In MaMa Marias Italian restaurant, three men who are perhaps
in their sixties are drinking morning coffee. Two canes lean against
one of their chairs. “If this man can last a couple of years, he’ll
straighten this country out,” one of the coffee drinkers says. He is
talking about President Reagan.

“I’m not against helping people, but the damn Three A’s [Ameri-
can Automobile Association] do more to help people than the gov-
ernment does.” The president had just furloughed federal employees
for one day. “How many employees does the government have,
anyway?”

“Seventy percent of the people in America work for the govern-
ment.” This statement reflects a point of View rather than fact.

Some local leaders are struggling to improve Connellsville. In
1980 a city council and chamber of commerce committee met to
develop a revitalization plan. A design consultant encouraged resto-
ration of buildings with architectural interest. Storefront renova-
tion, a downtown mall, and trees are being considered, but this type
of project in a depressed town has almost always depended on
federal funding and the money is not there. In 1971 a regional plan
had recommended recreational development and parks along the
river, where a new access area was built in 1981.

Beyond the Appalachians J 295

The big improvement in Connellsville is the Youghiogheny’s
water quality. “Used to be there were no fish,” Dr. Dull recalls,
“but they cleaned up enough of the acid that it’s now pretty good
through town.” Ron’s Barbershop sponsors a fishing contest. The
recent winner caught a forty-inch musky, and a nineteen-inch
brown trout was also caught. Since the water is too warm to
“carry-over” or keep trout alive from one season to the next, the
Fish Commission stocks bass and other warm-water species from
Connellsville down. The Youghiogheny Fishermen’s Association
stocks trout.

When I visit City Hall, which overlooks the Youghiogheny, I have
to look through closed blinds in order to catch the View of the river.
Yet, Dr. Dull says, “People are very conscious of the river. It’s con-
sidered quite an asset. For years, kids have been taking inner tubes up
above—sometimes clear to Ohiopyle—and floating down.” With
safety regulations at the state park, tubing from the Falls is no longer
legal, but kids can still go to Bruner Run, Indian Creek, or Camp
Carmel, and float back home. “In July there’s a river festival and a
race,” Dr. Dull says. “Anything that floats.”

Paddling in our two canoes rigged as one, which looks like a
cross between a Hawaiian outrigger and the feet of a seaplane, Jim
Wilson and I drift under the bridge at Crawford Avenue while
school kids walk across it. The Youghiogheny is about two hundred
and fifty feet wide. From here to the river’s end is forty-five miles,
dropping gently at three feet per mile.

Most of the water that is withdrawn above Connellsville for ur-
ban use is eventually returned, but it includes a few things that the
water up above does not. “From Connellsville down the river dete-
riorates,” Jim Ansel of the Fish Commission says.

The Connellsville sewage plant accomplishes primary treatment
only: solids settle for two hours and chlorine kills bacteria. Some of
them. Then the waste water is dumped back into the river. Storm
sewers collecting runoff from the streets are piped into the treatment
plant and overload it during rainfall. In Dunbar, a mining town three
miles to the south, pipes collect waste but lead only to Dunbar Creek,
so the town’s sewage hits the river raw. Dunbar is the largest town
(1,370 people) without sewage treatment along Pennsylvania’s
Youghiogheny, outdone only by Oakland in Maryland.

The state ordered Connellsville and adjoining municipalities to

296 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

install and upgrade treatment. With $121,500 from the federal gov-
ernment, engineers were hired in 1972 to prepare a plan for the
Connellsville Municipal Authority which ranks ninety-ninth on a
national priority list, but funding reductions to the federal Environ-
mental Protection Agency have eliminated the chance for an im-
proved sewage plant. Don Bialosky, DER field inspector says,
“There’s not a public health hazard, but I wouldn’t swim below
there.” For the first time since Oakland, the waters of the Yough-
iogheny are uninviting.

Below Connellsville, the river riffles slowly but steadily, and in
two-and—a-half miles we pass Broadford, where Indians and settlers
waded the Youghiogheny and where the abandoned Overholt Dis-
tillery still stands.

Another three miles bring us to Dawson, a country town of 662
people on the right bank. It has the old frame houses, the backyard
sheds, and the woodpiles of a mountain village, but also the brick,
stone, and railroad tracks of a coal town——of a western Pennsylva-
nia town. This mongrelization of makeup and architecture—moun-
tain and industrial—continues to McKeesport where the weight of
industry will gain total dominance.

Dawson is the only place on the lower Youghiogheny where
people can rent canoes. Liberty and Vanderbilt lie as small towns to
the left, mostly out of sight. A railroad roundhouse operated on the
left shore and a coal tipple on the right, below Dawson.

At an access area on the upriver edge of town, Mike McCarty
waits. Jim Wilson must quit the trip to resume teaching school, so
he lifts his canoe onto the Mountain Streams and Trails van and
returns to his own car at Ohiopyle. Mike, who could not join us for
the first three days, will paddle with me to Pittsburgh. Like Jim
Prothero who worked on the Youghiogheny but had never seen the
headwaters, Mike McCarty has never seen the end. “Someplace l’ve
never been,” he says of his motive in coming.

Mike and I leave Dawson in the warm light of early evening, pass
a string of skinny islands, and enter the most scenic reach of the
foothills Youghiogheny. Through five miles and five bends to Lay-
ton, the river cuts beneath 400-foot bluffs. Riffles alternate with
pools. Muskrats track the wet shoreline. We see a red-necked grebe
migrating south, a red-tailed hawk, a kingfisher, a great blue heron,
and a deer. But plastic trash and cans have also been with us since
Connellsville.

Beyond the Appalachians § 297

On October 14, 1770, George Washington traveled through this
area and wrote, “The lands which I passed over today were gener-
ally hilly and the growth chiefly white oak, but very good notwith-
standing; and which is extraordinary and contrary to the property
of all other lands I ever saw before, the hills are the richest land, the
soil upon the sides and summits of them being black as coal and the
growth walnut and cherry. The flats are not so rich, and a good
deal more mixed with stone.”

Except for the railroad, the flats along the river between Dawson
and Layton remain as undeveloped as they were when Washington
saw them. Mike and I camp on a rocky bar across the river from
Linden Hall. This is a thirty-seven-room mansion built in 1913 by
the daughter-in-law of James Cochran, who amassed a fortune in
coal mining and coke production. The United Steelworkers of
America operate the property as a conference center with lodging,
swimming, golf, tennis, and mansion tours.

The village of Layton lies on the right. Men worked in a brick-
yard here in the 1800s. Below the village, an old railroad bridge
that was used for hauling coal and coke has been converted to a
highway bridge. One mile up the road is Perryopolis. It is a historic
town: among other things, it housed the first bank west of the
Allegheny Mountains. After a few years it went bankrupt.

During his trips to the frontier, George Washington was attracted
to this area. On September 21, 1767, he wrote to his friend William
Crawford of Connellsville: “Could such a piece of land be found you
would do me a singular favor in falling upon some method of secur-
ing it immediately from the attempts of others, as nothing is more
certain than that the lands cannot remain long ungranted when once
it is known that rights are to be had.” In 1769 Crawford bought
1,643 acres for Washington near today’s Perryopolis. Visiting the site
in 1770, Washington wrote that it was “as fine land as ever I saw.” A
mill for grinding grain was opened in 1776 on Washington Run and
operated until 1900. Only foundation ruins remain.

Below Layton, the two largest islands of the Youghiogheny
stretch for half a mile each, shaded by mature beech, ash, and oak.
Aside from the stand in Victoria Flats above Ohiopyle, this may be
the largest bottomland timber along the river. When Bob Hutchin-
son and friends rowed a john boat on overnight expeditions to West
Newton in the 1920s, they floated to the right of the islands, but
the channel has changed; in 1981 we veer left.

298 J Youg/2z'og/aerzy:Appalachian River

Another two miles brings us to Whitsett and then Banning: coal
towns with company—style houses and a coal—town look that will be
carbon—copied many times betwen here and McKeesport. The Re-
public Steel Corporation operated the last deep mine along the
Youghiogheny on the left shore at Banning until January 1982. Ten
million gallons of polluted water a day continue to pour from the
mine and are processed in three treatment plants. Republic Steel
and the DER are trying to settle an agreement about continued
operation of the plants. One mile below Banning, Jacobs Creek,
gross with mine drainage, enters from the right.

Smithton, population 5 63, is two miles farther. The Jones Brew-
ing Company, maker of Stoney’s Beer, dominates the town, with
buildings rising straight from the river’s edge. Water for the beer is
drawn from wells across the river.

Founded by “Stoney” Jones, the brewery is now run by William
B. Jones III. Stoney’s granddaughter, Shirley, grew up here, then
acted in movies, winning an oscar for best supporting actress in
Elmer Gantry, and starring in The Music Man. The brewery re-
mains dedicated to “a pure, all-grain beer devoid of any artificial
materials and/or additives, a traditional brew much like that of the
‘old world.’ ” The fact that old Stoney was a diabetic but liked to
drink a lot of beer, may have had something to do with his natural
recipe that derives easily assimilated sugar from barley, malt, and
corn. Being unpasturized, Stoney’s is sold fresh. Ninety percent has
been marketed within seventy-five miles, but the radius is expand-
ing into West Virginia, Maryland, and Ohio. One hundred people
work here, including about a quarter of Smithton’s labor force. The
brewery is the largest taxpayer in town.

Neither the brewery, which has primary treatment, nor the town,
which treats sewage not the slightest, meets state pollution—control
requirements. In two places, milky gray effluent oozes from the
Smithton shore. It may be the foulest-smelling of all discharges to
the Youghiogheny. DER and brewery representatives are trying to
reach an agreement and a schedule for improving treatment.

Ed Hogan, Vice-president in charge of sales and marketing, main-
tains that the brewery takes out as much of the solvents from their
waste as possible, and that their discharge consists of natural food
and organic matter that can help the river. “We’re not a chemical or
coal company. We don’t deal with anything that is harmful to the
stream. Our concern is that DER not require us to build something

Beyond the Appalachians § 299

that is beyond our means. Our proposal is to spend one million
dollars over the next ten years. If that is our commitment, what is
the town’s commitment? We’re willing to do what we can to keep
the river clean, but if something is beyond our financial means,
we’d have to leave the business.” DER has supported a proposal
that they say will cost less than $1 million.

For six miles Mike and I drift slowly. We see an osprey soar
overhead and dive for a fish. By suppertime we reach West Newton.

So far this is the second-largest Youghiogheny town, with 3,377
people. Each September the West Newton River Festival draws
thousands to the downtown and riverfront. Local groups and busi-
nesses line barricaded streets with merchandise and food stands.
Craftsmen and women display goods and demonstrate skills. Kids
play games and a band plays country and bluegrass music. Down at
the river, a fishing contest lasts all day, and catches include small-
mouth bass, muskellunge, northern pike, crappies, bluegills, perch,
and rock bass. Races are held for canoes, inner tubes, and—high-
light of the day—anything that floats. The Youghiogheny has been
a common sea for many navies: Floyd Cowger’s rowboats at Silver
Lake, outboards powered by Evinrude motors on the reservoir, ca-
noes below Confluence, rubber rafts and fiberglass kayaks below
Ohiopyle, and down here at West Newton in September——a float-
able freakshow with kids and adults racing in crooked paths down
the river at the shout of “go.”

Here the Youghiogheny is not a wilderness river, and that is okay
with Mike and me. There is a time for wild rivers and a time for
pizza and beer, and we are smart enough to know the difference.
Mike guards our gear and from a black bag he retrieves two cans of
beer to cool in the river while I walk one block into town, secure
advice from three twelve-year-olds, and buy a pizza. Mike and I
then eat on an old bridge abutment at the public access area. Fifty
yards away a man is sitting in a ten-year-old car, guzzling beer and
heaving the bottles into the river where they bob right side up as
they pass us. He is about six-foot-four. I think that he is plastered,
but with only a flip of the wrist those bottles go sailing five canoe
lengths. We consider throwing our empties toward his car whenever
he throws one at our river, but decide that he will have more
empties to throw and that we would sooner drown in a rapid than
here in the West Newton flat-water. He steps out of the car and
relieves himself. He hits the horn in rhythm with the radio. Mike

300 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

visits town to buy groceries, and when he returns, the man wings
his last bottle, pitches the cardboard carton on the grass, and drives
away. We are left in trashy peace.

Although barges went downriver from Connellsville and even
from Indian Creek in the 1800s, the limit of “improved navigation”
was West Newton. In 1816 the Youghiogheny Navigation Com-
pany was incorporated, but investors apparently had no intention
of digging a channel. The charter included a section granting au-
thority to open a Connellsville bank. The Connellsville and West
Newton Navigation Company was incorporated in 1814 to build
locks, but it wasn’t until 1850 that another Youghiogheny Naviga-
tion Company constructed two dams and opened a four-foot barge
channel for eighteen-and-a-half miles from the Monongahela to
West Newton. Two steamboats were built here between 1851 and
1854. Floods and ice destroyed the dams within fourteen years, but
the Pittsburgh and Connellsville Railroad, completed in 1861, had
replaced barges anyway.

An 1875 study to extend the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal from
Cumberland to Pittsburgh by way of West Newton called for fifteen
dams in a forty-four mile section, and as recently as the 1930s the
local congressman advocated a Youghiogheny canal. Nothing is
now proposed.

Just as there were changes in the river’s character at the Little
Youghiogheny confluence, at Sang Run, Friendsville, Confluence,
Ohiopyle, and Connellsville, West Newton marks another turning
point. From here the river flows slowly. Shorelines grow grass;
there are no more big rocks. Hills no longer climb rugged or high. It
seems that the Youghiogheny should have a mature, gentle, serene
ending, but not so.

West Newton’s sewage plant dumps its load into a long flat-water
pool, and two miles below is the mouth of Sewickley Creek, bub-
bling mine acid and sewage. The cumulative effect of the towns, the
mines, Jacobs Creek, and Sewickley Creek makes a difference. The
river will not meet safe water quality standards by the 1983 dead-
line mandated in the Federal Clean Water Act, and DER officials
blame lack of funds for sewage treatment as the chief reason.

Good campsites cannot be found because railroads crowd the
shorelines left and right. Both sides accommodate roads, homes,
and cabins. Trains pass now and then, including Amtrak carrying
passengers from Pittsburgh to Washington in eight hours. The route

Beyond the Appalachians § 301

follows the Youghiogheny to Confluence, the Casselman toward the
high divide above Cumberland, and then the Potomac.

Mike and I paddle until dark when we stop at the mouth of
Pollock Run, next to the railroad. I put on shoes because of broken
bottles. Foot-thick mud borders the river. Mike steps out of the
canoe and slides back downhill. The next morning it rains and is
worse.

Two miles below Sewickley Creek is Sutersville, with the most
picturesque of all urban .riverfronts along the Youghiogheny. An old
man mows the lawn and rests while watching us. A mother pushes
a child in a stroller. One homeowner stacks firewood for the icy
winter; another rakes leaves. From our distance, this all seems to be
a hometown movie without sound.

Since leaving Backbone Mountain, I have been finding my way
down the Youghiogheny with the help of topographic maps: sixteen
sheets at a scale of two-and-five-eighths inches per mile, showing
the river, roads, houses, barns, forests, and contour lines which
describe gradient and terrain. Urban areas, where there are too
many buildings and streets to be shown individually, are red. Now,
as Mike McCarty and I leave Sutersville, population 853 and not
colored red, we cruise one mile downriver to where map number
fifteen ends and the final topo sheet begins. The map is called
McKeesport and at its top is a huge, solid, overwhelming mass of
red. We will be in it tonight.

We pass Buena Vista. Undeveloped reaches of steep slope alter-
nate with flats that are worn-out farmland dotted with coal-town
homes. One of the bends loops around the Youghiogheny Country
Club and we see a second osprey fleeing south. His winter plans,
unlike mine, are worked out well in advance. Mike and I pull our
boat north and west. An older couple paddle upriver in a home-
made canoe.

It is late in the day when we round the final rural bend of the
Youghiogheny and drift toward the Boston Bridge connecting the
town of Boston, on the left, with Versailles—population 2,15 3--on
the right. Pronounced Ver-SAILS, it marks the beginning of the
agglomeration of red that splays almost nonstop to the Point in
Pittsburgh. The only interruption is a brief gap of white where the
map says, “Mine Dump.”

About one-quarter mile long, hundreds of feet high, and sup-
ported by stone piers that are the work of artisans, the Boston

302 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Bridge is the first massive bridge to span the Youghiogheny. Above
it, a milky discharge of pollution seeps in from the left shore and
paints a ten-foot-wide stripe down the river.

The current changes. It has been slow, but now it almost disap-
pears. Only the water in the middle moves steadily, and then I
notice that the water along the shore creeps upstream: an eddy
where the lay—of-the-river says one should not be. It is a sure sign of
dam-induced slack-water. Eight miles away, the dam blocks the
Monongahela River. The Youghiogheny current, running free for
all but eighteen of its miles so far, ends right here. The last four of
132 miles lie impounded as part of the navigation system that
brings barges from New Orleans to Morgantown, West Virginia.
Two motorboats hum past.

Mike and I beach on a grassy, knotweed-covered flat. Evening
fishermen launch small motorboats from a public access area. One
man fishes in shiny shoes, knit pants, and a navy windbreaker. Two
younger guys rev up a speed boat. I walk into town where rush-
hour traffic is dense and fast. For the first time anywhere along the
Youghiogheny, I wait for the light to cross the street. My tour of
Boston takes me past a gas station, hair dresser shop, laundromat,
needlecraft store, Dari Delight, and closed deli with a sign: “Pizza
and subs coming soon.” A dog barks behind a house and a man
yells, “Cut it out.” People walk past and nobody looks at me,
nobody smiles, and nobody speaks.

Mike and I wait until dark before pitching the tent so that we
don’t attract attention—so that we don’t get chased out. The Bos-
ton Bridge is like an ink-line drawing against gray-blue skies. There
is no escape from the sounds of traffic, jet airplanes, and Pittsburgh
industry which begins half a mile downriver.

Rain falls in the night, pounds the flimsy skin of our tent, and
continues until morning when it soaks the ground and runs in
fingers to the river. We staked our tent on sand which absorbs the
water, but in other places the rain piles up in puddles. Drops hit the
river in thousands of bull’s-eyes that form and vanish each second.
Rain greases the banks. It glues sand to our shoes and is impossible
to keep out of the tent. Dampness permeates everything. The rain
leads us to dig into our waterproof black bag in search of books.

As soon as the rain quits I walk into Boston and across the bridge
to Versailles. It is an old industrial community, one among scores of
Pittsburgh satellites with dark brick buildings and two—story houses,

Beyond the Appalachians § 303

old, without the smallest fragment of fancy trim, without shutters,
without trellises for vines, without porch swings, and many without
porches. Some are shingle-covered, some are peeling their paint,
some survive within aluminum siding. Most cling to hillsides. Gas
stations crowd intersections, traffic is heavy, and the whole scene is
grim. The Youghiogheny has come to the mill towns of western
Pennsylvania.

The outside environment does not seem to count for much here.
The hills were cut and dug and notched for houses, the riverfront is
monopolized by the railroad and by trash, and the neighborhoods
reflect mill-town gray. One theory is that the people in these
Monongahela and Ohio Valley towns live inside: within their home,
family, church, job, and ethnic group. These are the important
things. Outside appearances are superfluous. To many, clean air
does not seem important. The air has been smoky or hazy for
generations. The land does not seem important. It hasn’t been much
to look at for a hundred years, and many people learn to skip it in
their View of the world.

This lower end of the Youghiogheny once ran clear, much better
than today’s chemical tap water. The river was jumping with fish,
edged by tan sandbars and fat-trunked trees. Down here, the original
river has been traded for industry, steel, jobs, and money, and the
trade has helped to pay for the livelihoods of several generations.

Mike and I load the canoe for the last day of paddling. Styrofoam
cups drift past; men painting the bridge have finished their coffee
break. The river is not much a part of anybody’s life here, and if it
is not, who can be expected to treat it with respect?

The first large industrial plant stands around the bend at the
lower end of Versailles. Next, a plant at Eden Park, then McKees-
port and Port Vue. They are old industries, and in 1981 most
operate at less than capacity. Much less. The recession is deep in the
mill towns of the Ohio Valley, and some of these plants may barely
be operating at all. Those that close may never reopen. The wave of
heavy industry that stormed this region since Carnegie and Frick is
waning, maybe dying. New demands and increased mechanization
might revive industry, or cause it to evolve into modern viability,
but maybe not. Maybe people will have to leave, the way that
two-thirds of them left Connellsville after the coke ovens closed.
The old prosperity was based on cheap resources, cheap energy, and
cheap labor, and none of those exists any more. Those things are as

16 S Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Maryland. Then the shorelines are mostly unsettled with only three
bridges in the twenty-two miles to Friendsville. Youghiogheny Dam
impounds the river for seventeen miles to Confluence, Pennsylvania,
where the Youghiogheny, the Casselman River, and Laurel Hill Creek
join. A twelve-mile reach, mostly undeveloped, forms the river’s mid-
section, ending at the town of Ohiopyle, also the site of Pennsylvania’s
largest state park (discounting Pymatuning which is mostly reservoir
and not land). Below Ohiopyle are seven miles of rapids; ten more
miles to Connellsville run wild and remote. Through this section, the
river cuts a gap in Chestnut Ridge and flows out of the Appalachians.
If you were to keep traveling west on Route 40, the next mountains
you would see would be the Front Range of the Rockies at Denver.
Below Connellsville the Youghiogheny winds for forty-four miles
around farmlands, small towns, and coal mines, finally penetrating
the urban and industrial fringe of Greater Pittsburgh.

The total gradient of the river from Silver Lake is 1,773 feet, or
13.4 feet per mile. From top to bottom, you can see almost every-
thing that the Appalachians and their western foothills have to
offer, and you can see almost everything that people can do to the
land, from preservation to utter exploitation.

As near as archaeologists can tell, people first came to the
Youghiogheny about ten thousand years ago. This was about seven
thousand years before the first Babylonian empire, which predated
the Egyptian empires. The Monongahela Indians lived here one
thousand years ago, but unaccountably vanished shortly before
white people came. The Youghiogheny became a fringe territory for
tribes in surrounding areas. Archaeologists have uncovered village
sites near the headwaters, at Confluence, Connellsville, and other
places, but little of the native heritage remains. Even Indian place
names are few, but included are Youghiogheny and Ohiopyle,
which meant “white frothing water.”

Where Pittsburgh now stands, the broad and boatable Ohio River
opened access to the entire western frontier, and for this reason, the
Ohio became the target of colonial explorers, traders, armies, and
settlers in the 17005. To the English——engaged in a westward move-
ment—the upper Youghiogheny basin was strategic; it was the
height-of-land between the Potomac Valley and the Ohio Valley.
Trails from Virginia were among the first routes leading to the
interior, and they crossed the Youghiogheny.

304 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

much in the past as Gwen Water’s Ohiopyle or Elsie Spurgeon’s
Somerfield. Except that here, we don’t know what will replace the
towns and jobs of today. And here, more people stand to lose.

Catching a river-break from the noise of the mill, six hard-hatted
workers eat lunch and wave to us from the top of a fifty-foot wall
rising from the river. The water has grown worse with every mile,
yet we see a kingfisher and great blue heron. The shores remain
mostly green with willow, sumac, and weeds.

The Youghiogheny has been a mountain creek, a pastoral stream,
a wilderness gorge, a reservoir, a canoeing and fishing river, a play-
ground, and a mature waterway. Now it takes a different image.
Now it becomes the outcast, a place for railroad tracks and hobos.
It is the broken-bottle, empty-oil-drum backside of Ohio Valley
industry. This is the Youghiogheny as it nears its end.

Up in the mountains, one could write chapters of history about
use and abuse of resources for the urban good. Logging, coal min-
ing, damming—the effects were sometimes devastating. But those
effects do not compare to what the urban area did to itself. People
died from poison air in Donora. The coke ovens in Clairton, across
the Monongahela, were one of the worst air pollution sources in the
state. The rivers were cordoned off by railroads, power lines, indus-
tries, and highways, but the water carried such waste that few
people would have gone there anyway. The rural fringe was gob-
bled by suburban sprawl. People faced some of those conditions
and made improvements, but now the system that brought those
conditions is, itself, failing. The production, the jobs, and the
money are drying up.

What kind of future is there? Will it be one of only surviving, of
trying to keep jobs, and homes, and groceries on the table? To just
stay alive may be the main thing. The best future possible may be to
perpetuate this—to maintain what we see here at the end of the
Youghiogheny. To do only that seems a difficult struggle in 1981.
Years ago when immigrant laborers came to this valley for jobs, I
suppose this place met some of their dreams. Whose dreams does it
meet now? What kind of dreams do people have for themselves or
for their land?

It is easy, down here near the Monongahela and Ohio, to see why
escape to the river up above is so important. Here where the most
people live, the river and the land are worst. If the urban riverfronts
had open space, clean water, and festive afternoons of swimming

Beyond the Appalachians § 305

and playing, would Ohiopyle be so popular? Would Youghiogheny
Reservoir be so popular? Our use of the land and the rivers where
we live has driven people away. The urban rivers are cleaner than
they used to be, and with parks here and there, the waterfronts are
used more than they were ten, twenty, or fifty years ago, but getting
away remains a weekend goal supporting a growth industry. The
economic recession may solve the problems of crowded rafting at
Ohiopyle, but not yet; 1982 brought a record year of business for
those trafficking in escape to the mountains and to the whitewater.
Temporary escape is a way of life to many people, but to growing
numbers of others, it is too great an expense.

The sense of rediscovery and recycled frontiers that Jim Prothero
and the Rodmans talked about has been applied to the moun-
tainous sections of this river, but it has not been applied at the
lower end. The challenge is greater, because the place is not so
exotic or exciting, but the needs are greater because there are more
people. If it were cleaner, and accessible, the river could be used
more than it is.

McKeesport, on the right, is the last city. It was named for David
McKee, an Irish settler in 1755 who piloted a ferry boat across the
Monongahela to the West Mifflin area. McKee was a leader in the
Whiskey Rebellion of 1794. Here near the mouth of the Yough-
iogheny, George Washington met with the Seneca Indian queen,
Alliquippa, in 1753. General Braddock camped near here, below
the mouth of the Youghiogheny on his way to defeat at Turtle
Creek in 1755. In 1776 colonial Colonel George Morgan built
thirty bateaux (large rowboats) here for the Revolutionary War.

Today McKeesport houses 31,017 people. Together with the
other Pittsburgh area cities along the bottom three miles of the
river, this is larger than all other Youghiogheny riverfront towns
and cities combined. Kids fish at a McKeesport park, and black
people sit along the riverbank. We can see steeples of seven old
churches at once.

Ahead, the bridges overlap in a tangle of steel. We pass under the
high arches of Fifth Avenue, then under the railroad where the river
is three hundred or more feet wide. Finally we reach the bottom of
the Youghiogheny. From the river’s beginning up in that clear-cut at
the source, we have arrived at the river’s end. Now, in the slack-
water of a Monongahela dam, the final shoreline on the left houses
a sewage treatment plant and the final land on the right supports a

306 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

U.S. Steel tube mill——a complex of three-story metal buildings, smoke-
stacks, warehouses, furnaces, fork lifts, railroad cars, stock piles,
trash piles, banging machinery, bells and alarms, all sprawled to-
ward Pittsburgh for a mile and all tended by hard—hatted, steel-toed
workers.

Six barges of coal are being pushed up the Monongahela by a
riverboat named the Steel Pioneer, pitching Mike and me up and
down as its wake travels under us and then washes against a beach
at the confluence. In the shadow of the bank that supports the steel
mill, half an acre of sand is mixed with small chunks of coal and
large chunks of plastic trash. The Youghiogheny disappears into the
muddy Monongahela.

This is the first time that the Youghiogheny joins the larger flow.
It will meet the Ohio, then the Mississippi, the Gulf of Mexico, the
Atlantic Ocean, and finally our river will return to the sky as water
Vapor in a rising wind that will scatter it across the globe.

Chapter Thirteen

Winter

be due/es have gone south and here I am back in Confluence.

The leaves have fallen and snow squalls begun. I needed a
place to build a fire and keep warm, and Jim Prothero said he
would be pleased to have his River Path headquarters occupied, so
home has become the second story of his old house below the dam
and next to the Youghiogheny. In ten minutes I can walk into the
heart of Confluence, which is Viola’s restaurant where I eat break-
fast now and then.

Having been vacant for ten years, the house was in poor condi-
tion when Prothero bought it in 1977. He launched a plan of total
renovation with the bold first step of stripping out the insides:
plaster, linoleum, interior walls, almost everything but the shell.
Busy renting canoes and giving paddling lessons, he has not yet
started step two, whatever it might be, so for makeshift protection,
I nail cardboard over the holes and create some walls out of a
twenty—by-thirty sheet of plastic. From the rafters, black wires hang
down like spaghetti gripping switch and junction boxes. You would
not believe that the owner of this place is an electrician. The house
will remain this way, of course, only temporarily. Only for the
winter when I am here.

I need no weatherman or windows to describe outside conditions.
The inside approximates them closely enough. Clothing forms my
first line of defense. I wear four shirts and sometimes my ten-year-
old down parka. Then the trick is to create a heat source and
position myself so that the heat hits me on its rapid exit from the

307

308 § Yougbiog/oeny: Appalachian River

house. I set the kitchen table behind the Fisher stove and burn oak
logs. When it’s icy cold, I light my Kero-Sun heater, bought on sale
from Leo Smith in Ohiopyle, and I slide it under the table where it
warms my entire working surface. Then I sit with my back two
inches from the stovepipe and my knees almost against the Kero-
Sun. Ahhhh, winter. There are ways to survive, and I have found
them. There are ways to enjoy it, and I am working on that.

In accepting Prothero’s offer, I have joined a not-wild yet not-
caged managerie, all of us seeking shelter from the elements, though
only I have been invited. It is tempting to buy a flash attachment
and launch a career in indoor wildlife photography. Every night,
half an hour after I go to bed, an opposum cruises through the
house, upstairs included. Its yellow eyes are close together, closer
than a cat’s. The first night I try chasing it away, but it plays dead
beneath the electric range. The animal’s instincts deliver an effective
and disarming defense. I smack around with a broom, then feel
stupid, trying to beat up on this foot—long opposum to make it
leave. I decide to keep my food locked up and to coexist. Invited or
not, the opposum will cause no harm that I know of.

The red squirrels have cached pine cones up above. A sparrow
who wants out even more than I want him out darts between the
rafters. The bats with their fluttering wingbeats seem to have retired
for the season, but I still find solace in an article that says there
have been only ten cases of bat-transmitted human rabies in the
United States since 1946. The article also says that 100 brown bats
eat forty-two pounds of insects in four months. If only they ate flies
this time of year.

I do not understand the life cycle of the fly, but on warm days in
late autumn they arise from the dead and set this place to buzzing.
For two weeks they crowd the windows in the afternoon and the
lightbulbs at night. They land on my table and buzz, belly-up. They
land on my book and fall in the binding between pages. They land
on the rolled-up magazine that I’m swatting them with. They are
pesky.

At least I have shelter from the snow. Except for the flurries that
come in around the stovepipe. Except for the ones that come in
around the windows. There will be snows so big-flaked, steady, and
silent that I will use my mind’s picture of them to help me fall
asleep at night. Snows to split wood by. Snows for digging out the
longjohns. Snows to remind me of sled riding. Snows for the joy of

Winter § 309

children. Snows to make me wonder what in the world summer was
like and to wonder how it could have happened right here. The
snows will remind me of the miracle that is the seasons. This cold
phase of the miracle attracts less wonderment than other phases but
is perhaps even more awesome.

I have cold running water, although it is saturated with iron. The
longer it sits on the Fisher stove to make bathwater, the rustier it
gets, just like the drainage from the mines up the Casselman. I
wonder if my water continues to oxidize and get red after I drink it.

Well, I have lived in worse places. Look at this as deluxe camping
with everything including the kitchen sink and the flies. I have a
telephone and will probably think of somebody to call. Maybe.
Through the evening a great horned owl hoots, on the lookout for a
skunk in the black winter night.

Spending early winter in Confluence, provincial as it may in some
ways be, is like living all over the continent at once. The tempera-
ture will reach 50 degrees with sunshine, then the sky will turn
cloudy and deliver rain and wet snow, all on the same day. The
weather keeps changing but the lows drop steadily lower and I pile
blankets steadily higher.

Winter weather is stormy—anything but boring—yet it leads to
boredom. Steve Martin had warned me, “Ugh. The winter is real
slow here.” Darkness is domineering. Plenty of darkness. The dark-
ness begins to push me around a little; it begins to affect the way I
feel. It will be obsidian black at five o’clock, and that makes a long
evening when alone. When those days come, I will leave Confluence
on some extended trips. While not comparing to mine, Steve’s
winter will be slow, too. He will find a job as a ski instructor in
Jackson Hole, Wyoming, but in the old—time Steve Martin way, he
will break his arm fooling around between lessons during his first
day at work. He will spend his winter sitting and walking, with one
of America’s greatest mountains for skiing in his view.

A slow winter is what I need. I have been meeting people and
exploring the Youghiogheny for months. Now it is time to hide and
write. Winter rises up around me and I feel myself deeper in it each
day. If my intent was to escape from everything else in life, I have
done it well. Maybe it is time that I call it quits to the escape and
get on with the next phase: the search. Maybe I will even end up
arriving someplace, as have a lucky few who first sought escape
along the Youghiogheny.

310 § Yougbiog/oeny: Appalachian River

The winter up on Backbone Mountain makes Confluence look
like a South Carolina retirement community. Up there at the top of
the basin, it is frigid now with winds howling, unbroken since
leaving Canada or the Rockies. Pleasant Valley farmers have
boarded up for the duration, maybe tearing down a tractor engine
or two while a wood stove and trouble-light burn in the garage end
of the barn. In Oakland, people have fortified their homes with fuel
oil and firewood and are ready for the isolation that winter brings.
Some people must leave that place from time to time, and following
the worst storms, the state police will lead convoys of Garrett
Countians down Interstate 48 in white-out conditions to Cumber-
land. Farther down the river, Rusty Thomas sees no kayakers.

The Army Corps has drained the reservoir so that the historic but
flooded Somerfield bridge nearly appears. Before the snow falls, a
few summertime residents return to comb the reservoir shores that
are now mud but were directly beneath the boat docks all summer.
The hunters find worthless treasures: a rusty pocket knife, some-
body else’s keys. One winter, Red Jordan returned looking, to no
avail, for his teeth. He had been swimming the prior July, and his
lovable Labrador retriever had jumped from the dock and onto
Red’s back, knocking his dentures out. This happened twice in the
same summer.

In Confluence, old guys in dark winter coats and red hunting
shirts show up at Viola’s each morning. In Ohiopyle, it is quiet.
Wendell Holt or Bob Marietta drink coffee at the store, and life is
slow, the way it always used to be. Skeleton crews fix rafts at the
five companies, and the office staffs—reduced to one or two women
each—mail brochures to thousands of prospective river runners.

Shelby Mitchell puts out extra feed for the birds and sits bored in
retirement. January through February, Bill and Adalene Holt aban-
don town for their daughter’s home in South Carolina. The miners
keep stripping all winter long; frozen earth is nothing but pie crust
to the temporarily superior drag line. In Connellsville, the old city
looks even more bleak with slush-streets and gray skies. In the mill
towns at the bottom of the river, the recession and the winter are a
grim team.

From Backbone Mountain to McKeesport, people hide indoors.
Not everybody——there are some who flock to Garrett and Somerset
Counties to cross-country ski if the snow is deep enough. A few
men hunt or run trap lines through the winter. In January a trio of

Winter § 311

wet-suited kayakers run the Loop in Ohiopyle, but they are the
hard core, and not from around here. Mostly people remain inside.
The apparent security of the indoors is sought too much, and be-
comes a powerful source of restlessness and discontent. A mountain
heritage of woodworking, fiddle playing, and quilting has, over the
years, served purposes, not the least of which has been to keep
people sane. Now, most people watch TV a lot. Some drink a lot,
and homes—including mine, open—air as it is—can become prisons.
Eventually, the winter gets on almost everybody’s nerves.

Ice overcomes the river, glassing shut every pool. At the rapids,
piles of ice form, one crystal at a time. On sub-zero days, ice builds
up on rocks underneath the flowing current, painting the river-
bottom blue-gray. As temperatures bottom-out in January, most of
the basin’s water is locked in ice and the river level drops. The
Youghiogheny is as clear as tap water. Not my tap water, but other
people’s. At the river’s edges, ice grows too large to support itself
and renegade chunks break away. They land on another shore and
fashion a jumbled surface like a glacier which then freezes fast. The
silence is as striking as the current’s singing was in the summer. The
fish and other life in the river shift into a winter pace, barely alive,
saving fat and energy for the long cold haul.

From my window, I see the Youghiogheny, not frozen here be-
cause of the warmer water that comes from the bottom of the dam.
Mist lies thick because the water is warmer than the frigid air.
Along the bank, an old man hunches forward with a long stride. He
looks around constantly: ahead, sideways, backward, and a duck-
billed cap accentuates this. He exhales short, steamy breaths like
stunted smoke signals in the low morning sun. He is a silhouette in
a scene all-gray.

So what has all this meant? Why write a book about a river in the
Appalachian Mountains? There are more important things to do in
1982. Here we sit with unemployment in the mountains and the
Ohio Valley reaching 20 percent, with acid rain sterilizing water
supplies and cutting productivity of the very soil, with dam builders
tackling half the wild rivers of the West for air-conditioner power,
with a federal government hellbent to serve private profit by giving
away public resources, and with international leaders playing poker
with nuclear weapons. Who cares about the Youghiogheny? All I
can say is that this is a tiny piece of the earth——a good piece—and
of everything that we have in this world, a good piece of earth

312 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

might be the most important. So for this place, I’ve written down
what I’ve seen. My version of the way it is. Or was. Maybe we can
decide what to do with this place—and decisions are being made all
the time—if we know more about it.

I’m up here because I wanted to explore the river, to know it.
Why? To be a part of it maybe. Is there anything better to be a part
of? But after all these months—after hiking _to the headwaters,
swimming through a rapid, canoeing to the end of the river——I
realize that I am still a long way from being a part of this place.
This is all unsettled and impossible, having something to do with
dreams.

Springtime, when all that life is bursting out, is the time of
dreams, of wild imaginings of what could be. But in the dead of
winter we need dreams to see us through, to pick up the pace, to
thaw some of the chill from our hearts. Right now the dream supply
seems to be short.

Along the river, I have found some people with roots and some
who can’t wait to leave. Some who have come for a day; others for
a lifetime. Some who live for their future and some who live for the
moment. Some live for the past. There are people with families,
with jobs, and others who are firmly entrenched in the welfare
state. There are people with madness and craziness that erupts in
rare forms. There are many kinds of people, but few of them would
I call dreamers. This land and these times seem not to have bred
people who use extra imagination when building their futures.
Many people are emphatically practical types and they don’t talk
about what is to come, or what ought to be, or what they are trying
to be, or what they wish were true. But maybe I just have to look
more closely. Rusty Thomas wants his children to have what he
had, growing up along the river at Sang Run, and I guess that is a
dream.

I know what Jim Prothero’s dream is. His dream and mine is to
have a good half-foot of fiberglass insulation in the ceiling of this
house. Past that, his dream is to build, here along the Youghiogheny
at Confluence, a river center where people will come to learn about
the Youghiogheny and about paddling. If he turns a profit someday,
so much the better.

Gwen Water’s dream is so much different. Her heart is still
young, and she dreams of old Ohiopyle and happiness there: of
swimming long-skirted in the Youghiogheny, of train—loads of city

Winter § 313

people coming for fun in her town, of fiddle and piano duets filling
the summer evening’s air, sweet and warm.

Steve Martin may dream of arriving someplace that is right, of a
way of life and a home that suits him. He and Karen will be mar-
ried this year.

Lance Martin, I suspect, once had a dream of building a good
business on the Youghiogheny, and that has come true. Bill and
Adalene Holt dreamed of having more time to relax, to do the
things they wanted to do. Now they have the time but they have
run out of youth, and face the day when they may have to leave
their home.

Shelby Mitchell, old Shelby, dreamed of stability, of life equaliz-
ing itself between the ups and downs, of a life that he could simply
call good. Now in retirement at seventy-three, he is stable, but
dreams of youth. And although he is secure in the mountains above
Ohiopyle, he has been away enough that he still dreams of the
return, of what he sees whenever he comes back: the ridges one
behind another fading in summer haze; the green tangle of black-
berries, elderberries, raspberries, grapevines, and greenbrier; the
green-and-white river and its rush over the Falls where he swam
countless times, the Falls and its background music that entertains
Ohiopyle. Shelby is a lucky man. He knows that he is home. What
does this place have that other places do not?

The winter crawls on at its slow, earth-turning pace, and the
darkness that came at five o’clock now comes at six. In another few
weeks, the thaw will start. A sunny day will begin to melt the cold
shell of the winter Appalachians, and water will run. The water,
once again. The ice will go to McKeesport, and in late February the
geese will sail over, heading north, maybe landing here at Conflu-
ence to join the local flock for a day or two. The streams will swell
and burst with runoff in March, and then the yellow-greens of
April, so full of life, will begin a new year along the Youghiogheny.

A Gathering of Waters § 17

This land was claimed by the Iroquois Indians after they spent
twenty years fighting other Indian nations for it. The French
thought the land was theirs; they dated their claim from 1682 when
La Salle canoed the Mississippi and declared that the entire basin
was owned by France. However, the British believed that because
they intended to settle the land, it ought to belong to them. Addi-
tionally, they claimed the land through a 1744 treaty with the Iro-
quois at Lancaster. Perhaps more to the point, prestigious Virgin-
ians, under English rule, organized the Ohio Company in 1747 for
real estate and obtained a 200,000-acre grant in the upper Ohio
Valley. George Washington’s half-brother, Lawrence Washington,
was a partner in the company. The French, Indians, and English
would fight it out.

Guided by a Delaware Indian, Nemacolin, the British built a
horse path across the eastern continental divide in 1753, linking the
headwaters of the Potomac with those of the Ohio. Called Nemaco-
lin’s Path, it probably followed ancient routes of the Indians, cross-
ing the upper Youghiogheny and its tributary, the Casselman. In his
first of four trips through the Youghiogheny country, twenty-one-
year-old George Washington journeyed this way in November
1753, carrying a message from Governor Dinwiddie of Virginia to
the French at Fort LeBoeuf (near today’s town of Franklin, Pennsyl-
vania, up the Allegheny River). The message said to stop occupation
of lands claimed by the English.

In 1754, Washington returned to the Youghiogheny with 300
militiamen. Colonel Joshua Fry was in command, but died, leaving
young Washington as the ranking officer. He left Cumberland in
early May, advancing about three miles a day. The group forded the
Casselman River at the “Little Crossings” near today’s Route 40 at
Grantsburg, Maryland: “we halted to dry ourselves, for we had
been obliged to ford a deep river, when our shortest of men had
water up to their arm-pits.” They reached the Great Crossings of
the Youghiogheny (above today’s Route 40 bridge over Youghio-
gheny reservoir), where Washington waited several days for lower
water while exploring the river below. Then he proceeded to the
west.

In late May, the first skirmish between Washington and the
French resulted in the death of nine Frenchmen and their leader,
Joseph Coulon de Villiers, sieur de Jumonville, and marked the
beginning of the French and Indian War. Washington retreated to


Acknowledgments

Sources

Index


Acknowledgments

Prom river guides and park rangers to mountain farmers and
retired coal miners, the people who have shared the stories of
their lives along the Youghiogheny are the people who have made
this book possible.

Special appreciation for true tales and hospitality goes to Shelby
and Lois Mitchell and to Bill and Adalene I-Iolt of Ohiopyle. Steve
Martin, John Lichter, Jim Wilson, and Mike McCarty were excel-
lent river guides, helping to keep me alive while I saw the Yough-
iogheny close up. They were also excellent storytellers.

Boyd Murray spent many hours, including his summer vacation,
reading the entire manuscript and noting hundreds of helpful sug-
gestions, adding greatly to the readability of the final draft. Like-
wise, Ralph Haurwitz read much of the book and offered more
comments and changes than I wish had been necessary. It is a
fortunate writer who has two reviewers such as these. Jerry Meral
and Melinda Wright also read the manuscript and contributed their
own special insight.

Ronnie James typed the book four times and filled the nearly
impossible role of my most critical yet most supportive reader.

Thoughtful reactions to ideas for the initial draft were provided
by Bonnie Piper. Draft chapters were reviewed for accuracy and
general content by many people: Tim Dugan, Garrett County Plan-
ning Director; David Wineland, Maryland Department of Natural
Resources; Larry Adams, Ohiopyle State Park Superintendent; Bill
and Adalene Holt, Ohiopyle residents; John Oliver, President of the

317

318 J Acknowledgments

Western Pennsylvania Conservancy; Paul Wiegman, director of nat-
ural areas programs for the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy;
Roger Fickes, director of wild and scenic river programs for the
Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Resources; Richard
Roos-Collins, publicist for Friends of the River in California; and
Nina Norton who grew up in Connellsville. Sections of one chapter
were reviewed by Dr. Maurice Goddard, former Secretary of the
Department of Environmental Resources, and by David Fahringer,
a landscape architect who worked under contract to the Western
Pennsylvania Conservancy and the Department of Environmental
Resources. Part of another chapter was reviewed by Charles
Strauss, forest economist at The Pennsylvania State University.

Information and reflections were especially important from those
people as well as the following: Pete Zurflieh, Rusty Thomas, Ber-
nice Thomas, Senator Edward Mason, Imre Szilagyi, George Groff,
Elsie Spurgeon, Bob and Evelyn Hutchinson, Red Jordan, Jim Pro-
thero, Ed Jackson, Dr. Maurice Goddard, Jean and Sayre Rodman,
Dave Kurtz, Lance Martin, Ralph McCarty, Wendell Holt, Mark
McCarty, Stu Van Nosdeln, Bill Calantoni, Jim Ansel, Fern Col-
born, and Dr. George Dull.

Additional information was provided by Dorothy Towhig of The
Papers of George Washington project at the University of Virginia;
Anna McNallie, Garrett County Planner; Kevin Steinhilber, coal
mining consultant; Edgar Harmon, Garrett County Environmental
Health Department; Tom Thayer, a realtor in Oakland; John Har-
rington, the Pennsylvania Electric Company in Johnstown; Gene
Amocida, Army Corps of Engineers in Pittsburgh; John Reed, Army
Corps of Engineers; Herb Wise, Army Corps of Engineers; Julia
Roberts, librarian for the Army Corps of Engineers; Brent Black-
welder, Environmental Policy Center in Washington, D.C.; Chuck
Hoffman, the American Rivers Conservation Council in Washing-
ton, D.C.; Dr. Edwin Price, Confluence; Reverend Arthur Gotjen,
Confluence; Donna Landis and Karen Saxman, Somerset County
Planning Commission staff; M. Graham Netting, Western Pennsyl-
vania conservancy board member; Paulette Johnson, Western Penn-
sylvania Conservancy naturalist; Richard Pratt, Sierra Club, Pitts-
burgh; Bob Harrigan, Washington, D.C.; John Berry, Riparius,
New York; John Sweet, State College, Pennsylvania; Carrilee
Hemington, Fayette County Planning Director; Glenn Eugster, Na-
tional Park Service in Philadelphia; Kenneth Baker, Westmoreland

Acknowledgments J 319

Municipal Water Authority; and Ed Hogan of the Jones Brewing
Company in Smithton. From Ohiopyle were Sherry Hall, Al Davis,
Tom Love, Bob Marietta, Bob Marietta, Jr., Becky Holt, Leo Smith,
and Elaine McCarty. River guides were Kevin Grady, Michael Nor-
myle, Blake Martin, Chris Baggot, Ginny Stillman, Cass Chestnut,
Phil Coleman, Tom Clark, Bobby Daniels, and Tom Finn. Bureau
of State Parks employees were Bill Forrey, Ed Deaton, Mary Kelly,
and Clyde Burnsworth. From other bureaus of the Department of
Environmental Resources were Bud Friedrich, Terry Fabian, John
McSparran, Joe Chunpa, Mark McClellan, and Peter Duncan—
Secretary of the Department. From the Pennsylvania Fish Commis-
sion were Jim Ansel and Blake Weirich.

From files of the Pittsburgh Press, I gleaned important historical
information covering a fifty-year period beginning in 1930. This
included an excellent series about strip mining published in 1981.
Youglzioglzeny State and National Wild and Scenic Riz/er, prepared
by the National Park Service, included useful information about the
basin. Stephen Schlosnagle’s Garrett County, A History of Mary-
lana"s Tableland, was helpful, as was William Curry’s Laurel Hill
Study, and Sarah Hopkins’s unpublished paper on Ohiopyle his-
tory, prepared for the Pennsylvania Bureau of State Parks. Scores of
other sources are listed at the end of the book.

Jim and Lois Palmer, Jim Prothero, and Cindy and Stan Swaintek
provided homes and shelter near the river where I was able to stay
for days or months at a time. Pat Munoz, Howard Brown, and
others at the American Rivers Conservation Council provided infor-
mation about other rivers and offered their Washington, D.C., of-
fice as a place for me to work and live for several weeks.

Mark Anderman of Williamsport, Pennsylvania, printed the black
and white photos with an undying curiosity for my adventures re-
vealed to him only in a dark room, and with a dedication to quality
in his work.

The book would never have been written without the special
interest and support of Frederick Hetzel, Director of the University
of Pittsburgh Press. Editor Catherine Marshall provided essential
help in refining the manuscript and in guiding it toward publica-
tion. I also thank Sam Hays for his brief but important role in
launching the project. A grant from the Pittsburgh Foundation
made it possible for me to survive while working full-time on the

book.

320 § Acknowledgments

I owe special thanks for the encouragement of my good friends
Kathy Garrett and Dennis Piper who read the entire manuscript,
and to Neen and Art Davis who provided insight of many kinds, a
contagious enthusiasm, and a home while I worked for several
weeks in Pittsburgh. Perhaps most importantly, I owe thanks for the
interest and love of my family.

Sources

Chapter 1. The High Ridge

Brooks, Maurice. The Appalachians. Grantsville, W.Va.: Seneca Books, 1965.

Pennsylvania. Department of Environmental Resources. Bureau of Topographic
and Geologic Survey. Pennsylvania Geology Summarized. By Bradford Willard.
Harrisburg, 1962.

Interviews

Jim Prothero, Confluence, Pa.
Floyd and Edith Cowger, Silver Lake, W.Va.

Chapter 2. A Gathering of Waters

“Boy Survives Tumble Over Yough Falls.” Pittsburgh Press, May 27, 1975.

Browning, Meshach. Forty-four Years of the Life of a Hunter. Philadelphia: J. B.
Lippincott, 1859.

Butterfield, C. W. The Washington—Crawford Letters Concerning Western Lands.
Cincinnati: Robert Clarke and Co., 1877.

Darlington, William M. Christopher Gist’s ]ournals. Pittsburgh: J. R. Weldin and
Co., 1893.

Deep Creek Lake—Garrett County Promotion Council. Garrett County and Deep
Creek Lake, Maryland. Oakland, Md., 1981. (Brochure obtainable from the
Council, Courthouse, Oakland, Md.)

“Dempsey Believes Engineers Will Favor Youghiogheny-Potomac Project.” Pitts-
burgh Press, Jan. 28, 1930.

Garrett County Planning Commission. Garrett County Comprehensive Plan. Oak-
land, Md. J

Hattery, Thomas H., ed. Western Maryland: A Profile.

Hindman, William Blake. “The Great Meadows Campaign.” Tableland Trails
(Oakland, Md.) 2, no. 1 (1955).

321

322 § Sources

Kline, Benjamin. Tall Pines and Winding Rivers. 920 Wheaton Drive, Lancaster,
Pa. (Booklet.)

Maryland, Department of Natural Resources. Deep Creek Lake State Park. (Bro-
chure obtainable from the Department, Tawes State Office Building, Annapolis,
Md.)

. Herrington Manor State Park. (Brochure obtainable from the Department,

Tawes State Office Building, Annapolis, Md.)

. Swallow Falls State Park. (Brochure obtainable from the Department,
Tawes State Office Building, Annapolis, Md.)

Maryland. Department of Transportation and the Department of Economic and
Community Development. Economic Development and Transportation Im-
provements, Garrett County, Maryland. Final report by Hammer, Siler, George
Associates, and Barton—Aschman Associates, Inc. Washington, D.C., 1980.

McClenathan, John Carter. Centennial History of the Borough of Connellsville,
Pa., 1806-1906. Columbus, Ohio: The Champlin Press, 1906.

McCombs, Phil. “Battle Rages Over Yough in Maryland.” Pittsburgh Press, Nov.
6, 1976.

Pennsylvania. Department of Forests and Waters. Pennsylvania Gazetteer of
Streams, Part 1. Water Resources Bulletin 6, by L. C. Shaw and W. F. Busch.
Prepared in cooperation with the U.S. Department of the Interior, Geological
Survey. Harrisburg, 1970.

Russell, Francis. The French and Indian Wars. New York: American Heritage,
1962.

Schlosnagle, Stephen, and the Garrett County Bicentennial Committee. Garrett
County: A History of Maryland’s Tahleland. Oakland, Md.: Garrett County
Historical Society, Inc., 1978.

Shaffer, Robert. History of Crellin, Maryland. Oakland, Md.: Sincell Publishing
Co., 1976.

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Potential Plan of Development, Water Resources in
Appalachia. Pittsburgh.

U.S. Department of Commerce. Bureau of the Census. Statistical Abstract of the
United States. Washington, D.C., 1980. (Obtainable through the Superintendent
of Documents, U.S. Government Printing Office, Washington, D.C.)

U.S. Department of the Interior. National Park Service. Fort Necessity. (Brochure
obtainable from Fort Necessity, Farmington, Pa.)

Wallace, Paul A. Indians in Pennsylvania. Harrisburg: Pennsylvania Historical and
Museum Commission, 1961.

Interviews

Tim Dugan, Garrett County Planning Director

Anna McNallie, Planner, Garrett County Planning Commission

John Nelson, Garrett County Zoning Officer

Gloria Salazar, Oakland

Edgar Harmon, Garrett County Environmental Health Department
Drew Ferrier, biology instructor, Garrett County Community College
Pete Skinner, kayaker, Albany, N.Y.

Charles Rosenbery, Penelec, Deep Creek Dam

Sources J 323

Dennis Piper, National Park Service, Washington, D.C.
Gerry Sword, Park Manager, Swallow Falls State Park

Chapter 3. Wild River

Appalachian Wildwaters. Current Events (Albright, W.Va.), Winter 1982. (Rafting
company newsletter.)

“Battle Rages over Yough in Maryland.” Pittsburgh Press, Nov. 6, 1976.

Fitzpatrick, John C., ed. The Writings of George Washington. 39 vols. Washing-
ton, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1931-1944.

Garrett County Planning Commission. Planning Commission’s Critical Areas Rec-
ommendations. Memorandum 77-12. Oakland, Md., June 29, 1977.

Gertler, Edward. Maryland and Delaware Canoe Trails. Springfield, Va.: Seneca
Press, 1979.

Hylton, William H., ed. The Rodale Herb Book. Emmaus, Pa.: Rodale Press,
1974.

Maryland. Department of Natural Resources. Capital Programs Administration,
Land Planning Services. Regulations for Wild Segment, Youghiogheny River,
Garrett County, Maryland (Amended Feb. 26, 1976). Annapolis, 1976.

. Regional Forester, Savage River State Forest. Fact Sheet. Cumberland, Md.

. General Assembly. Wild and Scenic Rivers Act As Amended in the 1976
Session of the General Assembly. Article—Natural Resources, Section 8-401
through 8-410, Annotated Code of Maryland. Annapolis, 1976.

Meyer, Eugene L. “River Rumble.” Washington Post, May 3, 1982.

Interviews

Steve Martin, Ohiopyle

Al Davis, Ohiopyle

Dave Kurtz, State College, Pa.

Sayre and Jean Rodman, Oakmont, Pa.
Phil Coleman, Ohiopyle

Pete Zurflieh, Harrisburg

Jim Prothero, Confluence

Jean Stuben, Sang Run

Bryson (Rusty) Thomas, Sang Run

Bernice Thomas, Sang Run

Residents, Sang Run area

Senator Edward Mason, Cumberland, Md.
State Delegate Decorsey Bolden, Oakland
David Wineland, Maryland Department of Natural Resources
Tom Horton, Baltimore Sun

John H. Harrington, Adminstrator, Public Information, Penelec, Johnstown, Pa.
Tom Thayer, Oakland

Keith Bachlin, Albright, W.Va.

Al Fauber, Friendsville

Karen Fauber, Friendsville

Ed Sliger, Friendsville

18 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

his camp at Great Meadows on the headwaters of the Youghio-
gheny’s Meadow Run, where he set his men to building Fort Neces-
sity. On July 3, his supplies exhausted and his troops outnumbered,
he surrendered to the French. This was Washington’s first major
military experience and his only surrender. The French let him go,
possibly hoping that the defeat would discourage British settlement.

In 1755, General Edward Braddock, commander of all British
forces in America, crossed the Nemacolin route, which was improved
and renamed the Braddock Road. He had ignored warnings about
the Indians, saying, “These savages may, indeed, be a formidable
enemy to your raw American militia, but upon the King’s regular and
disciplined troops, sir, it is impossible they should make any impres-
sion.” The army forded at the Great Crossings, waded the Youghio-
gheny again at the site of Connellsville, and proceeded to Turtle
Creek, eight miles from Fort Duquesne, which had been built by the
French at the point where the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers met
to form the Ohio. With 2,000 men and George Washington as aide-
de-camp, Braddock was ambushed by the French and Indians on July
9. He forced his men to fight in the open the way armies did in
Europe; as a result, 456 were killed and over 421 wounded. The
French and Indians lost only 32 men. Of eighty-nine commissioned
officers, sixty-three were killed or wounded, including every one
above the rank of captain but Washington. Braddock, who had four
horses shot from under him, was severely wounded and died on the
return trip to Cumberland. Three years later, the British retaliated.
General John Forbes, after cutting a road through the mountains of
Pennsylvania, routed the French and built Fort Pitt on the ruins of
Fort Duquesne. With another French loss at Fort Ligonier in 1759,
the French and Indian War ended. Pontiac’s War, four years later,
marked the last Indian effort to retain their lands in the Youghio-
gheny basin. British control was assured.

In 1784, George Washington again traveled across the Yough-
iogheny to inspect his Ohio Valley properties and to scout the re-
gion for a road or canal that would link the Potomac and the Ohio.
When he reached the Casselman River he wrote, “This is a pretty
considerable water and, as it is said to have no fall in it, may, I
conceive, be improved into a valuable navigation.” On September
25 during his return trip, Washington camped near Swallow Falls
on the upper Youghiogheny and wrote, “The little Youghiogheny
[the Casselman] from Braddocks Road to the Falls below the

324 J Sources

Carl Helmick, Friendsville
Bud Fisher, Friendsville
Emery Friend, Friendsville

Chapter 4. The Dam

American Rivers Conservation Council. A Citizens Action Guide to the Federal
Flood Insurance Program. Washington, D.C., 1974.

American Rivers Conservation Council and Environmental Policy Center. 95
Theses. Washington, D.C., 1974.

“Dam to Erase Noted Village Dating to 1818.” Pittsburgh Press, Sept. 29, 1940.

Environmental Policy Center. “EPC Urges Realistic Policy.” Washington Resource
Report, April 1981, p. 3.

Flood Commission of Pittsburgh, Pa. Transmittal to Chamber of Commerce of
Pittsburgh. April 16, 1912.

“The Great Flood.” Pittsburgh Press, April 18, 1936. (Supplement to newspaper.)

Hause, Mary. “Gigantic Youghiogheny Dam at Confluence Completed.” Pitts-
burgh Press, Dec. 19, 1943.

“Lock, Dam Conditions Cited as River Threat.” Beaver County Times, July 16,
1981.

Lorant, Stefan. Pittsburgh: The Story of an American City. Lenox, Mass.: Authors
Edition, Inc., 1975.

Louisville Today. Louisville, Ky., Sept. 1978. (Entire issue.)

Mount Vernon Ladies Association of the Union. The Diaries of George Washing-
ton, 1748-1799. Cambridge, Mass., 1925. Vol. 1, p. 83.

Potter, John. An Inquiry. Uniontown, Pa.: J. 8C T. Patton, Printers, 1820.

Schlosnagle, Stephen, and the Garrett County Bicentennial Committee. Garrett
County: A History of Maryland’s Tableland. Oakland, Md.: Garrett County
Historical Society, Inc., 1978.

Sierra Club. Engineering a Victory for Our Environment: A Citizen’s Guide to the
U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Ed. Thomas M. Clement, Jr., Glen Lopez,
Pamela T. Mountain, Charles M. Clusen. Originally prepared by the Institute for
the Study of Health and Society, Washington, D.C., 1972. (Obtainable from the
American Rivers Conservation Council, Washington, D.C.)

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Institute for Water Resources. National Hydroelec-
tric Power Resources Study: Preliminary Inventory of Hydropower Resources.
Vol. 6; Northeast Region. Ft. Belvoir, Va., 1979.

. National Waterways Study, Review Draft. Ft. Belvoir, Va., 1981.

. North Atlantic Division. Water Resources Development in Pennsylvania,

1981. New York, 1981.

. Office of Appalachian Studies. Water Resources in Appalachia. Main Re-

port, Part 1, Summary Report. Cincinnati, Oh., 1969.

. Pittsburgh District. A History of the Pittsburgh District, U.S. Army Corps

of Engineers. By Dr. Leland R. Johnson. Pittsburgh.

. Definite Project Report. Report Upon Proposed Youghiogheny River

Reservoir, Upper Ohio River Basin for the Protection of Pittsburgh, Flood Con-

trol Act june 28, 1938. Pittsburgh, Dec. 15, 1939.

Sources § 325

. Master Land Use Plan, Yougbiogbeny River Reservoir, Pennsylvania and

Maryland. Pittsburgh, 1949.

. Design Memorandum No. 1, Master Plan Update for Yougbiogbeny River

Lake. By Stanley Consultants, Inc. Pittsburgh, 1979.

. Ohio River at Pittsburgh, Pa.—Point Gage, Flood Peaks and Reservoir

Reductions. Pittsburgh [1981?]. (On file in the Army Corps office.)

. Public Information Fact Sheet, Yougbiogbeny River Lake. Pittsburgh,

1981.

. Tabulation of Visitation and Activity Participation for tbe Calendar Year

1980. Pittsburgh. (On file in the Army Corps office.)

. Youghiogheny Lake. Pittsburgh. (Brochure.)

U.S. Congressional Research Service. Federal Aid to Domestic Transportation. By
Thompson, Maflei, and Lipford. Washington, D.C., April 1977.

U.S. Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. Order Issuing Preliminary Permit
and Denying Competing Applications. Washington, D.C., May 29, 1981.

U.S. House of Representatives. Report No. 2353. 75th Cong., 3d sess., April 13,
1938.

U.S. House of Representatives. House Document 644. 78th Cong., 2nd sess.,
1944.

U.S. House of Representatives. Committee on Flood Control. Committee Docu-
ment #1. 75th Cong., 1st sess., 1937.

U.S. Office of the President. Executive Message and Executive Orders on Flood
Plain Management. 1977.

U.S. Congress. Flood Control Act offune 22, 1936. Public Law No. 738.

U.S. Congress. Flood Control Act, june 28, 1938. Public Law No. 75-761.

U.S. Water Resources Council. A Unified National Program for Floodplain Man-
agement. Washington, D.C., 1979.

 

 

Interviews

Gene Amocida, Hydrology Branch, Army Corps of Engineers, Pittsburgh
Herb Wise, Army Corps, Pittsburgh

Bo Damario, Army Corps, Pittsburgh

John Reed, Army Corps, Pittsburgh

Howard Brown, American Rivers Conservation Council, Washington, D.C.
Chuck Hoffman, River Conservation Fund, Washington, D.C.

Brent Blackwelder, Environmental Policy Center, Washington, D.C.

Jim Palmer, Youghiogheny Lake

Red Jordan, Youghiogheny Lake

Bob and Evelyn Hutchinson, Youghiogheny Lake

Chapter 5. Tbe Confluence

Curry, William, et al. Tbe Laurel Hill Study. Prepared through the Department of
Landscape Architecture and Regio'nal Planning, University of Pennsylvania,
Philadelphia, 1975.

Somerset County Planning Commission. Somerset County Housing Element.
Somerset, Pa., 1977.

326 J Sources

. Somerset County Preliminary Coal Impact Assessment Report. Somerset,
Pa., 1980.

Somerset County Planning and Zoning Commission. Somerset County Economy
Study. Somerset, Pa., 1973.

. Somerset County Initial Water Resources Study. Somerset, Pa., 1974.

. Somerset County Recreation Study. Somerset, Pa., 1975.

Interviews

Jim Prothero, Confluence

Jim Wilson, Confluence

Elsie Spurgeon, Confluence

George Groff, Confluence

Donna Landis, Somerset County Planning Commission staff
Karen Saxman, Somerset County Planning Commission staff
Reverend Arthur Gotjen, Confluence

Dr. Edwin Price, Confluence

Chapter 6. The Singing River

“Conservancy Transfers Deed for 17 Miles of River Gorge Trail Near Ohiopyle.”
Conserve (Pittsburgh) 21, no. 1 (Jan. 1979).

Craig, Neville B., ed. The Older Time. Pittsburgh: J. W. Cook, 1846.

Curry, William, et al. The Laurel Hill Study. Prepared through the Department of
Landscape Architecture and Regional Planning, University of Pennsylvania,
Philadelphia, 1975 .

Martin, Alexander C.; Zim, Herbert S.; and Nelson, Arnold L. American Wildlife
and Plants: A Guide to Wildlife Food Habits. New York: Dover, 1951.

McCoy, C. J. Poisonous Snakes of Pennsylvania. Pittsburgh: Carnegie Museum of
Natural History, 1974. (Brochure.)

Pennsylvania. Department of Commerce. Pennsylvania Forest Industries Statistics.

Pennsylvania. Department of Environmental Resources. Mine Drainage Survey,
Casselman River Basin, Somerset County. (Paper available from the department,
Harrisburg.)

. Bureau of Topographic and Geologic Survey. Pennsylvania Geology Sum-

marized. By Bradford Willard. Harrisburg, 1962.

. Office of Resources Management, Bureau of State Parks. Pennsylvania
Trail Guide. Harrisburg, 1979.

River Path Outfitters. Whitewater Canoeing, Kayaking, Rafting. Confluence, Pa.,
1982. (Brochure.)

Twohig, Dorothy, Associate Editor, The Papers of George Washington. Alderman
Library, The University of Virginia. Letter to Tim Palmer, April 19, 1982.

U.S. Forest Service. Northeastern Forest Experiment Station. The Timber Re-
sources of Pennsylvania. By Roland H. Ferguson. Upper Darby, Pa.

“Youghiogheny River Battle Vowed.” Pittsburgh Press, Nov. 21, 1965.

“Yough River Making Comeback as Play Stream.” Pittsburgh Press, Mar. 18,
1951.

 

 

Sources J 327

Interviews

Jim Prothero, Confluence
Andrew Friedrich, Chief, Division of Abandoned Mine Reclamation, Department
of Environmental Resources, Harrisburg

Ralph McCarty, Ohiopyle

Larry Adams, Ohiopyle State Park Superintendent

Adalene Holt, Ohiopyle

Bill Holt, Ohiopyle

Chapter 7. Ohiopyle: The Old Days

Ellis, Franklin, ed. History of Fayette County, Pennsylvania, with Biographical
Sketches of Many of Its Pioneers and Prominent Men. 2 vols. Philadelphia: L. H.
Everts and Co., 1882.

Pennsylvania. Department of Environmental Resources. Bureau of State Parks. “A
History of the Ohiopyle Area.” By Sarah E. Hopkins. 1977. (Unpublished
paper.)

“Shoals’ Idea Proposed Here.” Pittsburgh Press, June 6, 1933.

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Pittsburgh District. Reconnaisance Report on
Youghiogheny River Survey Report. Pittsburgh, Sept. 29, 1938.

Interviews

Shelby Mitchell, Chalk Hill
Lois Mitchell, Chalk Hill
Adalene Potter Holt, Ohiopyle
Bill Holt, Ohiopyle

Gladys Jackson, Ohiopyle
Gwen Waters, Ohiopyle

Dr. George Dull, Connellsville
George Groff, Confluence
Edward Jackson, Chalk Hill

Chapter 8. The Parlz

Jennings, O. E. Trees and Shrubs of Ferncliff Parlz. Pittsburgh: Western Pennsylva-
nia Conservancy, 1965.

Pennsylvania. Department of Environmental Resources. Bureau of Resources Pro-
gramming. A Comprehensive Master Plan for Ohiopyle State Park. Report by
Environmental Planning and Design, Pittsburgh. Harrisburg, 1976.

. A Transportation Study for Ohiopyle State Park. Prepared by Environ-

mental Planning and Design, Pittsburgh, and General Analytics, Inc., Monroe-

ville, Pa. Harrisburg, 1974.

. Bureau of State Parks. Ohiopyle State Park Attendance Summary. Ohio-

pyle: Ohiopyle State Park, 1981.

. “Recreation Areas of Pennsylvania Under the Jurisdiction of the Bureau of

State Parks.” Harrisburg, Oct. 21, 1981. (Paper on file.)

 

328 J Sources

. Bureau of Topographic and Geologic Survey. Geologic Features of Inter-
est, Ohiopyle State Park. Harrisburg. (Brochure.)

Pennsylvania. Department of Forests and Waters. Outdoor Recreation Horizons.
By David Fahringer et al. Harrisburg, 1970.

Pennsylvania. Governor’s Office of State Planning and Development. Pennsylva-
nia’s Recreation Plan. Summary. Harrisburg, 1976.

Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. “The Laurel Highlands Trail from State Game
Land 111 to Ohiopyle.” Pittsburgh, 1982. (Paper on file.)

. Summary of Conservancy’s History. Pittsburgh. (Paper on file.)

Interviews

John Oliver, Western Pennsylvania Conservancy, Pittsburgh

Paul Wiegman, Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

David Fahringer, Monroeville, Pa

Dr. Maurice Goddard, Carlisle, Pa.

Ed Jackson, Chalk Hill, Pa.

Gwen Waters, Ohiopyle

Bill Holt, Ohiopyle

Adalene Potter Holt, Ohiopyle

Shelby Mitchell, Chalk Hill, Pa.

William Forrey, Director, Bureau of State Parks, Department of Environmental

Resources, Harrisburg
Ed Deaton, Bureau of Resources Programing, Department of Environmental Re-
sources, Harrisburg
Roger Fickes, Bureau of Resources Programing, Department of Environmental
Resources, Harrisburg

Richard Pratt, Sierra Club, Pittsburgh

Paulette Johnson, Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

Larry Adams, Ohiopyle State Park Superintendent

Clyde Burnsworth, Ohiopyle

Newsletters and Magazines

Conserve: Water, Land, and Life. Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. 1969-
1982.

Chapter 9. Whitewater

Bradley—Steck, Tara. “Success Hasn’t Spoiled Ohiopyle.” Beaver County Times,
July 26, 1981.

Burmeister, Walter F. Appalachian Waters. Vol. 5: The Upper Ohio and Its Tribu-
taries. Oakton, Va.: Appalachian Books, 1978.

Burrell, Bob, and Davidson, Paul. Wild Water West Virginia. Morgantown,
W.Va.: Burrell and Davidson, 1975.

Instruction in Kayak, Canoe, C-1. Ohiopyle: Riversport, 1982. (Brochure.)

Louisiana State University. 1977 Scenic Rivers Symposium Papers. Baton Rouge,
La.: Department of Landscape Architecture, Louisiana State University, 1977.

Pennsylvania. Department of Environmental Resources. Bureau of State Parks. An

Sources § 329

Operational Analysis of the Ohiopyle State Park Float—Trip System. By Charles
H. Strauss, Charles L. Myers, ]r., Jeffrey B. Schmitt, and Donald N. Thompson.
Harrisburg, 1978.

. Whitewater Boating Operational Guidelines. Ohiopyle: Ohiopyle State
Park, 1979. (Four-page paper.)

River Conservation Fund. Flowing Free: A Citizen’s Guide for Protecting Wild and
Scenic Rivers. Washington, D.C., 1977.

Spindt, Katherine M., and Shaw, Mary, eds. Canoeing Guide to Western Pennsyl-
vania and Northern West Virginia. 6th ed. Pittsburgh: American Youth Hostels,
1975.

Sweet, John R. “Going for Gold! The Evolution of C-1 Slalom in the United
States.” Whitewater (U.S. International Slalom Canoe Association, Rochester,
N.Y.), 1979.

U.S. Comptroller General. Hydropower——An Energy Source Whose Time Has
Come Again. Report to the Congress. Washington, D.C., Jan. 11, 1980.

U.S. Department of the Interior. Bureau of Outdoor Recreation, and the Pennsyl-
vania Department of Environmental Resources. Northeast Regional States Scenic
Rivers Planning Workshop, May, 1976, Summary of Proceedings. Philadelphia,
1976.

U.S. Forest Service. Allocating River Use. By Bo Shelby and Mark Danley. Oregon
State University, 1979.

. North Central Forest Experiment ‘Station. Proceedings: River Recreation
Management and Research Symposium, 1977. St. Paul, Minn., 1977.

“U.S. Forest Service Chief Calls Equal Permits a ‘Feasible Alternative.’ ” Currents
(National Organization for River Sports), March 1982.

“U.S. National Slalom and Wildwater Champions.” Whitewater (U.S. Interna-
tional Slalom Canoe Association, Rochester, N.Y.), 1981.

Walsh, Lawrence. “Chaplain on ‘Frightwater’ Trip.” Pittsburgh Press, Aug. 13,
1978.

Interviews

Steve Martin, Ohiopyle

Jef Huey, Washington, D.C.

John Sweet, State College, Pa.

Sayre and Jean Rodman, Oakmont, Pa.
Bob Harrigan, Washington, D.C.

John Berry, Riparius, N.Y. (letters)
Dave Kurtz, State College, Pa.

Tom Smyth, State College, Pa.

Lance Martin, Ohiopyle

Walter Burmeister, El Paso, Tex. (letters)
Glen Kovak, Ohiopyle

Paul Grabo, Ohiopyle

Leslie Adams, Ohiopyle

Ralph McCarty, Monroeville, Pa.
Mike McCarty, Ohiopyle

Elaine McCarty, Ohiopyle

330 § Sources

john Lichter, Ohiopyle

Chris Baggot, Ohiopyle

Tom Love, Ohiopyle

Jim Prothero, Confluence

Mark McCarty, Ohiopyle

Kevin Grady, Ohiopyle

Mark Singleton, Ohiopyle

Sherry Hall, Ohiopyle

Bob Marietta, Ohiopyle

Shirley Marietta, Ohiopyle

Bob Marietta, ]r., Ohiopyle
Wendell Holt, Ohiopyle

Becky Holt, Ohiopyle

Bobby Daniels, Ohiopyle

Bill Calantoni, Ohiopyle

Kelly McGuiness, Ohiopyle

Phil Coleman, Ohiopyle

Ginny Stillman, Morgantown, W.Va.
Cindy Swaintek, Ohiopyle

Larry Adams, Ohiopyle State Park Superintendent
Clyde Burnsworth, Ohiopyle
Mary Kelly, Greensburg, Pa.
Charles Strauss, State College, Pa.

Chapter 10. Ohiopyle and the Run
Interviews (all in Ohiopyle)

Leo Smith

Winnie Glotfelty
Johnny Moore
Cindy Swaintek
Shelby Mitchell
Bill Holt

Adalene Potter Holt
Gwen Holt Waters
Lance Martin
Mark McCarty
Mike McCarty

Chapter 11. The Mines and the River

Davis, Arthur A. Coal and Its Consequences. A report of the Pennsylvania Land
Policy Project, an activity of the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. Pittsburgh:
the Conservancy. 1980.

Haurwitz, Ralph. “Local Fears Bar Yough River from U.S. Program.” Pittsburgh
Press, Nov. 23, 1981.

Sources § 331

. “Scenic River Rapid Shuffle Perils Yough.” Pittsburgh Press, Nov. 22, 1981.

. “State Secretly Alters Strip-Mine Rules.” Pittsburgh Press, July 5, 1981.

. “Wastelands Return to Our ‘Model’ State.” “Lax Enforcement Key to
Mine Woes.” “Dig-and-Run Strip Miners Still on Loose.” “State’s Strip—Mining
Records a Shambles.” “Residents Scarred by Strip-Mine Abuse.” “Keeping an
Eye on the Strippers.” “Strip Mine Issues Mired in Politics.” “Strip—Mine Cave-
In.” Pittsburgh Press, Mar. 8-12, 1981.

Meeting of Federal Bureau of Outdoor Recreation, Pennsylvania Department of
Environmental Resources, Concerning Youghiogheny/Wild and Scenic River
Project. Transcript by Dr. Edwin Price. Mar. 28, 1977.

Pennsylvania. Department of Environmental Resources. Policy Statement on the
Youghiogheny River. Harrisburg, Mar. 28, 1977. (Three-page paper.)

. Youghiogheny River Basin Mine Drainage Pollution Abatement Project,
Operation Scarlift. By Gibbs and Hill, a subsidiary of Dravo. Harrisburg, 1972.

U.S. Department of the Interior. Heritage Conservation and Recreation Service.
Northeast Regional Office. Proposed Youghiogheny State and National Wild
and Scenic River, Maryland—Pennsylvania. Philadelphia, Oct. 3, 1978.

“Youghiogheny Aid is Urged.” Pittsburgh Press, Nov. 29, 1965.

“Youghiogheny ‘Wild River’ Study Blasted.” Morning Herald—Evening Standard
(Uniontown), May 12, 1976.

I ntervieivs

James Ansel, Pennsylvania Fish Commission, Dunbar

Fern Colborn, Mill Run, Pa.

Kevin Steinhilber, Oakland, Md.

Nancy Dimeolo, Bureau of Mining and Reclamation, Department of Environmen-
tal Resources, Greensburg, Pa.

Stephen Beam, Penns Woods West Chapter, Trout Unlimited, Pittsburgh

Andrew Friedrich, Chief, Division of Abandoned Mine Reclamation, Department
of Environmental Resources, Harrisburg

Kenneth Baker, Westmoreland Municipal Water Authority, Greensburg, Pa.

Ralph Haurwitz, Pittsburgh Press

Ed Deaton, Bureau of Resources Programing, Department of Environmental Re-
sources, Harrisburg

Roger Fickes, Bureau of Resources Programing, Department of Environmental
Resources, Harrisburg

Dr. Edwin Price, Confluence

Stuart Van Nosdeln, Ohiopyle

Lance Martin, Ohiopyle

Glenn Eugster, Chief, Planning Division, National Park Service, Philadelphia

Chapter 12. Beyond the Appalachians

Burmeister, Walter F. Appalachian Waters. Vol. 5: The Upper Ohio and Its Tribu-
taries. Oakton, Va.: Appalachian Books, 1978.

Colelli, Camillo. “Perryopolis.” Tableland Trails (Oakland, Md.) 2, no. 1 (Spring
1955).

332 J Sources

Ellis, Franklin, ed. History of Fayette County, Pennsylvania, with Biographical
Sketches of Many of Its Pioneers and ProminentMen. 2 vols. Philadelphia: L. H.
Everts and Co., 1882.

Galley, Henrietta. History of the Galley Family with Local and Old-Time Sketches
in the Yough Region. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Printing and Publishing Co.,
1908.

Jones Brewing Company. All About ]ones Brewing Co. Smithton, Pa. (Brochure.)

McGhee, Ronnie; Mary Reardon; and Arleen Shulman, eds. Readings in Water
Conservation. Washington, D.C.: National Association of Counties Research, Inc.

Pennsylvania. Department of Environmental Resources. Bureau of Water Quality
Management. Water Quality Inventory. Pittsburgh, April 1980.

Pennsylvania. Governor’s Office of State Planning and Development. A Land Use
Strategy for Pennsylvania: A Fair Chance for the Faire Land of William Penn.
By Arthur A. Davis. Harrisburg, 1974.

Pennsylvania. State Planning Board. An Economic Atlas of Pennsylvania. By E.
Willard Miller, Department of Geography, The Pennsylvania State University.
Harrisburg, 1964.

Regional Plan for the Connellsville Area. By Beckman, Yoder and Seay, Inc. Con-
nellsville, 1971.

Swetnam, George, and Smith, Helene. A Guidebook to Historic Western Pennsyl-
vania. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1976.

Uhl, Shirley. “Amtrack Ride to D.C. a Scenic Delight.” Pittsburgh Press, Jan. 17,
1982.

United Steelworkers of America. Linden Hall. Dawson, Pa., (Brochure.)

“Yough Survey: Variety of Fish.” Morning Herald-Evening Standard (Uniontown),
Oct. 1, 1976.

U.S. Water Resources Council. The Nation’s Water Resources 1975-2000. Vol. 1:
Summary, Second National Water Assessment by the U.S. Water Resources Coun-
cil. Washington, D.C., 1978. (Obtainable from the Superintendent of Documents.)

Interviews

Kenneth Baker, Westmoreland Municipal Water Authority, Greensburg, Pa.

Joseph Lawrence, Westmoreland Municipal Water Authority, Connellsville

James Ansel, Pennsylvania Fish Commission, Dunbar, Pa.

Terry Fabian, Regional Engineer, Bureau of Water Quality Management, Depart-
ment of Environmental Resources, Pittsburgh

Don Bialosky, Bureau of Water Quality Management, Department of Environmen-
tal Resources, Pittsburgh

Alvin Brown, Bureau of Water Quality Management, Department of Environmen-
tal Resources, Pittsburgh

Walter O’Shinski, Bureau of Water Quality Management, Department of Environ-
mental Resources, Pittsburgh

Carilee Hemington, County Planning Director, Fayette County Planning Commission

Dr. George Dull, Connellsville

Bob Hutchinson, Youghiogheny Lake

Ed Hogan, Vice-President in charge of sales and marketing, Jones Brewing Co.,
Smithton, Pa.

Index

Abbey, Edward, 198
Adams, Larry, 128, 135, 225, 238-40,
243-46, 262, 272, 282

Agriculture, 20-21, 90-91, 146

Allagash River, 240-41

Allegheny County, 15

Allegheny River, 17, 79

Al’s Riverside Lounge, 67-71

American River, South Fork, 196
American Rivers Conservation Council, 261
Amish residents, 21

Ansel, Jim, 121, 269, 272-75, 295
Appalachian Mountains, 5-6, 11, 86, 113,

137, 157, 267, 284

Appalachian Regional Commission, 22, 51
Armstrong, John, 145

Army Corps of Engineers, 22, 26-27, 74-

77, 80-87, 91-93, 97-98
Augustine, Eleanor, 103, 117

Backbone Mountain, 4-9, 20, 310
Banning, 298
Berry, John, 201
Bickham, Bill, 33, 202
Bicycle trail, 129
Big Sandy River, 10, 31, 196
Blackwater River, 10, 31, 196
Bolden, Decorsey, 57
Boston, Pa., 291, 301-02
Braddock, General Edward, 12, 18, 88,

138, 287, 305
Brownsville, 19, 77, 78, 96
Bruner Run, 138, 183, 231

Buena Vista, 301
Burmeister, Walter, 201

Calantoni, Bill, 226, 236, 249, 252-54,
264

Camping, 127-28, 184

Canoeing, 124-27, 129, 135, 200-01, 223,
264-67, 283-84, 295

Carter, President jimmy, 85

Casselman River, 14, 17-19, 27-28, 80,
118, 120-22, 157, 267

Chattahoochee River, 258

Chattooga River, 196, 240-41

Cheat River, 10, 52, 60, 78-79, 139, 196,
260

Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, 19, 300

Chestnut Ridge, 16, 113, 283-84

Chief Seattle, 117

Clarion River, 129, 181

Climate, 15, 284, 310

Coal Run, 28, 120

Coke production, 292-93

Colborn, Fern, 180, 269, 272-74, 276,
281, 288

Coleman, Ed, 213-14

Conemaugh River, 123

Confluence, 19, 74, 82, 85, 87, 90, 103,
108,110,112-18,140,307,309—10

Connellsville, 77, 80, 92, 155, 270, 284-
85, 287, 289, 292-96, 310

Crawford, William, 297

Crellin, 21-22, 46, 51

Crooked Creek, 198

333

A Gathering of Waters § 19

Turkey Foot [Confluence], may, in the opinion of Friend [Charles
Friend], who is a great Hunter . . . be made navigable——and this . . .
would open a very important door to the trade of that country.”
About 1830 the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal survey indicated that
a water route from Cumberland to Pittsburgh via the Casselman
and Youghiogheny would need 246 locks and would be expensive.
The canal from Washington, D.C., was extended only to Cumber-
land, although the Casselman-Youghiogheny route was studied by
the Army Corps of Engineers and supported by congressmen as
recently as 1930.

In 1759, George Washington had recommended that the Virginia
House of Burgesses consider the construction of a road from the
Potomac headwaters to the Ohio. Two years after receiving 20,000
acres in the Ohio Valley, he had again recommended a road, intro-
ducing legislation so that individuals could subscribe at their own
expense for construction. After a decision that the taxpayers should
pay for the road, and a heated debate over constitutionality, the
nation’s first federally funded highway was authorized by Congress
in 1806. Known as the National or Cumberland Road, it was
started in 1811 and followed the old Nemacolin Path and Brad-
dock’s Road across the Youghiogheny headwaters. In 1817 it
reached from Cumberland to the Youghiogheny. The National
Road became a main link between eastern and western America.
Vestiges can yet be seen: it crossed the Casselman at Grantsburg
where the original bridge—the largest single stone arch of its day—
is preserved. The Casselman Hotel in Grantsburg opened in 1824
and is still used. People followed the road to the Monongahela
River at Brownsville, Pennsylvania, which was expected to grow
larger than Pittsburgh. When there was enough water in the river,
pioneers transferred to flatboats or keelboats and floated down to
Pittsburgh, Ohio, Kentucky, and finally the Mississippi River. The
opening of the railroad to Pittsburgh in 1852 changed all that,
causing National Road traffic to decline, stifling Brownsville’s
growth, and stimulating Pittsburgh to economic dominance. To-
day’s Route 40 follows the path of the old National Road.

Proposed in the 1970s by the National Park Service, the Potomac
National Heritage Trail is planned to run 825 miles up the Potomac
River to Cumberland, to use part of the old National Road, and
then to skirt Youghiogheny Reservoir and connect with Ohiopyle
State Park. Here it would meet a river trail to Connellsville and the

334 § Index

Cucumber Run and Falls, 144, 168
Cumberland, 17-19

Damaree, Dave, 34
Dams, 4, 7, 21, 26, 50-51, 72, 77-85,
150, 157, 260, 279, 281, 286-87, 302

Davis, Al, 32, 61, 67, 211

Davis, Mount, 28

Dawson, 296

Deaton, Ed, 179, 181-82, 277

Deep Creek, 15, 27

Deep Creek Darn, 11, 32, 75

Delaware Indians, 12-13

Delaware River, 14, 129, 174, 285
Dugan, Tim, 20, 60

Dull, Dr. George, 141, 155, 249, 293-95
Dunbar Creek, 271, 295

Duncan, Peter, 273

Eagle Rocks, 9-12
Economy and industry, 22-23, 27, 115, 143,
150, 157, 270-71, 276, 294, 303-05
Eichbaum, Bill, 175
Energy and coal, 270-71, 275; conserva-
tion of, 275
Eugster, Glen, 280

Fahringer, David, 172-73, 182
Fallingwater, 149

Faucett, Torn, 138

Fayette County, 15, 270

Ferncliff Park, 140, 153, 162-65, 216
Fickes, Roger, 280-81

Fish, 90, 92-93, 96, 103, 105, 120-23,

144,273,295
Floods and flood control, 74, 76, 78-85,
91, 300

Forbes, John, 18

Forrey, Bill, 179, 181, 187

Fort Necessity, 18, 87

French and Indian War, 17-18, 88, 138
Frick, Henry Clay, 292, 293

Friedrich, Andrew, 121-22

Friend, Charles, 19

Friend, Emery, 71-72

Friend, John, 114

Friendsville, 71-72, 80, 87

Garrett County, 10, 15, 20, 22-24, 27
Garrettland Realty, 53
Gauley River, 60, 68, 189, 196

Geology, 98, 122-23, 162, 269
Gertler, Edward, 31

Gist, Christopher, 7, 14, 113
Goddard, Maurice, 173-77, 180-81, 278
Gotjen, Reverend Arthur, 117, 282
Grand Canyon, 237

Grantsburg, 17, 19

Great Crossings, 17, 87-88, 99
Green, Greg, 211

Gristmills, 145, 150

Groff, George, 90-91, 102

Hall, Jesse, 39-40, 244
Harmon, Edgar, 24
Harrigan, Bob, 201, 236
Harvard Business School, 275
Heinz, H. J., 79
Holt, Adalene and Bill, 146-49, 167, 185,
187, 196, 310
Holt, Wendell, 215-16, 220
Holt family, 147
Holt’s store, 144, 147-48, 155, 225, 247-48
Hoyes Crest, 9
Hudson River, 196
Hughes, Governor. Harry, 56
Hutchinson, Bob and Evelyn, 95, 297
Hydroelectric power, 22, 26-27, 51, 77,
83,139,164
Hydrology, 6, 14-15

Indian Creek, 15, 268-69, 273-76, 283
Indians, 13-17, 117, 137, 287

Ions, negative, 191

Islands, 130, 297

Jackson family, 139, 144, 158, 178-79
Jacobs Creek, 15 , 292, 298

Jennings, Dr. 0. E., 162

Jockey Hollow, 86, 88-89, 145
Jonathan Run, 259, 272

Jordan, Red, 93, 310

Kaufmann, Edgar, 147, 163

Kendall, 66, 70, 72

Kendall Lumber Company, 21, 139, 150
Kentuck Mountain, 138, 178
Kiskiminetas River, 14

Kurtz, Dave, 33-34, 201-02, 224

Land use, 15-16, 20-21, 27, 60, 75, 280,
301, 303-04

Laurel Highlands River Tours, 213-14
Laurel Hill, 122, 128

Laurel Hill Creek, 15, 82, 121-22
Laurel Ridge Trail, 20, 128

Layton, 297

Lehigh River, 195

Lichter, John, 104, 194, 211, 240, 252
Linden Hall, 297

Little Conemaugh River, 85

Little Youghiogheny River, 15 , 23, 47
Loch Lynn, 9, 24

Logging, 7-8, 21-22, 90, 140, 151, 166
Loop, the, 167, 192-94, 201, 266
Love, Tom, 211-12

Lugbill, Jon, 207, 251

Luke, Md., 11

McCarthy, Ed, 205

McCarty, Mark, 180, 212, 214, 251, 263

McCarty, Mike, 209, 212, 296

McCarty, Ralph, 129, 207-13, 245, 261

McEwen, Tom, 38-39

McKeesport, 4, 303, 305

McKinley, President William, 89

Mahoning River, 14

Manning, Joe, 63-66

Marietta, Bob, 180, 215-17, 220, 224,
236, 240

Marietta family, 153, 216-17, 293

Martin, Lance, 189, 203-07, 237-38, 243,
260, 263, 281, 312

Martin, Steve, 29-33, 66-67, 188-92, 222,
255-59, 262-64, 309, 312

Maryland Department of Natural Re-
sources, 24, 55, 64

Mason, Senator Edward M., 49, 55-57,
65-66

Meadow Run, 18, 145, 150, 170, 272

Meyersdale, 21

Miller’s Run, 64-65

Mine drainage, 22, 28, 83-84, 120-21,
144, 158, 173, 268-77, 284, 298

Mining, 28, 56, 67, 78, 83, 96, 143-44,
151, 156, 267-77, 280-82, 288, 292-93

Mississippi River, 17

Mitchell, Shelby, 139-43, 152, 159-60,
166, 185, 197, 204, 259, 270, 293, 310,
312

Mitchell family, 138-39, 141-42, 144, 185

Mountains, 5, 9, 25, 28, 122-23, 133, 137,
142, 283

Index § 335

Mountain Streams and Trails, 207-13
Monongahela River, 14, 19, 77-81, 285-
86, 302, 306

Moshannon Creek, 201

Motorboating, 92, 102, 302

Mountain Lake Park, 24

Mount Storm Power Plant, 11

Muddy Creek, 26

National Road, 19, 77
Navigation, rivers and canals, 19, 77-78,
83-84, 292, 300, 302, 306

Nemacolin, 17

Netting, M. Graham, 161, 163

New River, 60, 196

Oakland, 9, 22-24, 47, 88, 140

Ocoee River, 196

Ohio Company, 17, 113

Ohiopyle, 247-55, 310; history of, 77, 107,

136-61
Ohiopyle Falls, 137, 139-40, 150, 164, 169
Ohiopyle House, 133, 152, 163, 180
Ohiopyle State Park, 16, 128-29, 134,
172-87, 235, 239, 267, 272-73

Ohio River, 14, 16, 77, 79-84

Ohio Valley, 303-04

Oliver, John, 129, 163, 181-82, 187
Olmstead, Frederick Law, ]r., 176

Orme, Captain Robert, 13, 88, 287

Palmer, James, 146

Pennsylvania Department of Environmental
Resources, 121, 174, 237, 273, 276, 296,
298, 300

Pennsylvania Electric Company, 11, 26-27,
50-51

Pennsylvania Fish Commission, 120-21

Penobscot River, West Branch, 196

Pine Creek, 128, 203

Pittsburgh, 11, 18-19, 78-85, 92, 151, 292

Pittsburgh Post Gazette, 277

Pittsburgh Press, 92, 221

Plant life, 117, 130-31, 162

Pleasant Valley, 20-21

Pollution, 23-24, 84, 140, 154, 158, 284,
291, 295-96, 298, 300, 304

Population, 15, 20, 22-23, 115, 305

Potomac National Heritage Trail, 19

Potomac River, North Branch, 10, 196, 198

Potter, John, 88-89, 145

336 § Index

Potter family, 143, 145-46

Pratt, Richard, 183

Preston County, 5, 15

Preston Lumber Company, 21

Price, Dr. Edwin, 114, 278

Project 70, 177

Prothero, Jim, 3, 5, 7-8, 46, 106-12, 116,
124, 194, 210-11, 307, 312

Rafting, 198-200, 222-23; commercial,
60-63, 107, 112, 169, 203-21, 227,
229, 232-34, 241-44, 255-64; rental,
219-21, 232-34

Railroads, 19, 66, 88, 90, 112, 118, 128,
134, 150-51, 155, 156, 165, 270, 300

Republic Steel, 298

River guides, 209, 249, 253

River Path, 108-12

Rodman, Jean and Sayre, 34, 197-200,
203, 235, 261

Route 40, 16-19, 87, 89, 100

Salisbury, 21
Sang Run, 28-31, 35-38, 41, 51, 61, 77,
80

Savage River, 10

Schuylkill River, 14
Selbysport, 88, 91

Seven Springs, 83

Sewickley Creek, 15, 300
Shapp, Governor Milton, 175
Shipley, Harry, 133

Sierra Club, 183-84

Siltation, 4, 97, 122

Silver Lake, 4, 22

Skinner, Pete, 61

Sliger, Ed, 70-71

Smith, Leo, 148, 248
Smithton, 298

Smyth, Tom, 33, 201-02
Snowy Creek, 22

Snyder, J. Buell, 82, 90, 157
Somerfield, 87, 89, 90-92, 100
Somerset County, 15 , 272
Spurgeon, Elsie, 86-91
Stanislaus River, 128, 196
Stewart, Andrew, 150, 153
Stewarton, 182

Stoney’s Beer, 298

Stony Creek, 85

Strauss, Charles, 240-42, 245

Sugarloaf Mountain, 133, 272
Susquehanna River, 14; West Branch, 201,
238,284

Sutersville, 301

Swallow Falls, 18, 25, 26

Sweet, John, 194

Szilagyi, Imre, 50, 60-63

Tennessee River, 15 7

Thayer, Tom, 57, 59, 63-66
Thomas family, 35-46, 49-55, 312
Thornburgh, Governor Richard, 175
Tourism, 27, 153, 156, 186, 245
Trails, 26, 128

Tributaries, 14-15

Tub Run, 89

Turkeyfoot, 113

Tygart River and Dam, 78, 81

Uniontown, 13, 92, 249
U. S. Steel, 306

Van Nosdeln, Stuart, 183-84, 219, 221,
224, 232-34, 240, 244, 263, 278-81
Versailles, 301-03
Victoria, 26, 88, 133-34, 297
Viola’s Restaurant, 116-17, 310

Washington, George, 7, 13, 17-19, 32, 72,
87, 113, 119, 137, 270, 287, 296, 305

Water supply, 76, 83, 267, 269, 274-75,
285-86; conservation of, 286

Waters, Gwen, 152-56, 250, 293, 312

Western Pennsylvania Conservancy, 128,
148, 153, 161, 163, 172-73, 175, 1'77-
83

Westernport, 9

West Fork River and Dam, 10, 81-82, 91

Westmoreland County, 15

Westmoreland Municipal Water Authority,
274-75, 285-86

West Newton, 77-78, 83, 290, 299-300

White, Gilbert, 85

Whitewater, 26, 28, 31-34, 68, 108, 122,
125-27, 134-35, 162, 171, 188-203,
256-60; boating, management of, 186,
234—38,240—46

White Water Adventurers, 155, 215-19,
244,253

Whitsett, 298

Wiegman, Paul, 162, 183, 236

Wild and scenic river designation: in Mary-
land, 43-44, 50-51, 55-66; in national
system, 117, 273, 276-82; in Pennsylva-
nia, 280-81

Wilderness Voyageurs, 203—O7, 221

Wildlife, 117, 120, 131-33, 296, 304

Wilson, Jim, 110-12, 124, 134, 194, 230,
264, 265-66, 283

Wineland, David, 38, 58-60, 63

Index 3" 337

Youghiogheny Dam and Reservoir, 14, 72-
102, 285

Youghiogheny River: statistics, 4, 11-12,
14; naming of, 13—14; exploration of,
16, 87, 113, 137; gradient of, 16, 20, 31,
162, 235, 283-84, 295; access to, 37——
38, 182-84, 237

Zurflieh, Pete, 35-37, 41, 54

Books by Tim Palmer

Rivers of Pennsylvania
Stanislaus: The Struggle for a River

Praise for
Youghiogheny.‘ Appalachian River

“As a whitewater river, the ‘Yough’ is one of the most famous in the
nation. Every year tens of thousands of people run its rapids, while tens
of thousands more enjoy fishing in it, hiking or biking along its banks.
For those who want to know more than they ever dreamed about the
Youghiogheny, this is the book. Palmer follows the river from its source
deep in the mountains of western Maryland to its confluence with the
Monongahela River at McKeesport. Along the way he relates his adven-

‘ tures, reports extensively on the people who live and work along the

river, and recounts its colorful history.”—Mike Sajna, Pittsburgh Maga-
zine

“The finest book ever about a Pennsylvania river.”—Paul B. Beers, The
Patriot (Harrisburg)

“Palmer manages to convey the physical, almost sensuous beauty of
these rivers. . . . Recreates the beauty of this mostly free-flowing
Appalachian river as well as can be done in words.”—Sie7ra

“Eminently deserving of the widest possible readership. It is personally
satisfying as a reviewer to come across work of such a consistently excel-
lent caliber.”—]ames A. Cox, The Midwest Book Review

“Treats the river with the heartfelt reverence and appreciation that all
of our great natural resources deserve. Palmer . . . produces a colorful
and detailed word picture of the Youghiogheny and the beauty of
Ohiopyle State Park.”—Pennsyl1/ania Magazine

“The reader is riveted to the rich unfolding tapestry of the river and its
surroundings. Geology, hydrology, wildlife, trees, flowers, history, pad-
dling, and social commentary intertwine in an absorbing account of the
Youghiogheny. . . . A truly absorbing book about a very special river. It
is must reading for those interested in rivers.”—Ame1ican Rivers

Tim Palmer, a native of Beaver, Pa., is a writer and photographer who
has explored America from Alaska to Florida. His other books are
Rivers of Pennsylvania; Stanislaus: The Struggle for a River; The Sierra Neva-
da: A Mountain journey; Endangered Rivers and the Conservation Movement;
and The Snake River: Window to the West. He is currently at work on a
book on the national wild and scenic rivers system. Youghiogheny is illus-
trated with maps and sixty photographs.

ISBN III-BEE‘!-5351-7

9 780822 953616

COVER DESIGN BY MARGOT BARBOUR

 

20 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

Laurel Ridge Trail to Johnstown. The Washington-to-Cumberland
section is completed along the old canal.

After leaving its source on Backbone Mountain and its first dam
at Silver Lake, the Youghiogheny winds as a four-foot-wide pas-
toral stream gathering small tributaries, dropping gently ten feet per
mile to lowlands on the west side of a farming region called Pleas-
ant Valley. This is a high basin, two miles wide, shadowed by
Backbone Mountain which forms an eastern wall, seeming to hold
the megalopolis at bay. All the time, the Backbone reminds me that
I am on the western slope of the Appalachians. From here it is
downhill to the middle of the continent.

Rich and velvety, Pleasant Valley stretches ten miles to Oakland.
The ridge and the valley have edges that are sharp and clean; the
mountain is covered with forest from top to bottom, and where it
ends, fields begin. Farms are tilled or grazed and are outlined by
fence rows, oaks, and walnut trees. In Wyoming, where so much is
made of ranching, cowboys need at least forty acres to raise a steer.
Here, farmers need about two. Hay is collected in huge bundles that
look like Shredded Wheat. Abundant herds of dairy cattle account
for 75 percent of local agriculture, and Holsteins are so black-and-
white they seem to have been scrubbed. Barns are freshly painted.
Pleasant Valley is unlike the rocky, steep hill-farms that are scat-
tered through much of the Youghiogheny basin. Families have
farmed here for generations, and much of the valley seems un-
touched by modern encroachments.

Most of the soil up here is classified by the federal Soil Conserva-
tion Service as class 2 or 3, both considered “prime.” Yet census
reports indicate a 47 percent decline in land used for agriculture
between 1959 and 1974. The number of farms decreased by more
than one-third. While this is a statewide and national trend, Garrett
County’s agriculture seems to be even more troubled than most.
The farm population is dwindling due to consolidation, mechaniza-
tion, and the loss of land in production.

West of Redstone lies one of the widest expanses of unmarred
field, yellow-green with the springtime growth of grains and grass,
but in it, obvious from Route 50, is a sign: “For sale, 230 acres.”

Tim Dugan, Garrett County Planning Director, says, “Because it
is so beautiful out there—such a pastoral setting with its mountains
and farms—everybody would like to live there.” Land development

A Gathering of Waters § 21

elsewhere takes vast chunks of farmland, but here it follows a buck-
shot pattern. An acre here, an acre there. A corner lot is sold for a
homesite. Five or ten acres next to an 1890 farmhouse are deeded
for $1 to a son or daughter. A wedge of land that is not easy to
plow is conveyed to a young couple who move from Oakland or
Hagerstown.

Throughout the Northeast, many approaches have been tried to
keep prime farmland for farming. These include reduced property
taxes if farmers agree not to sell lots, agricultural sanctuaries that
are off limits to highways and dams, government loans for improve-
ments on farms and in agribusiness, free advice from county agri-
cultural agents and the Soil Conservation Service, and zoning in-
tended to discourage the big real estate developers by requiring lot
sizes of five or ten acres. “But there is fierce opposition to zoning,”
county planner Anna McNallie says. Small farmers continue to go
out of business and sell their land.

The immigration of Amish and Mennonite families represents a
reversal of this trend. Horse-drawn carriages are common in Oak-
land, and in Salisbury and Meyersdale along the Casselman. A local
farmer near Redhouse says, “The Amish aren’t hit with the cost of
fuel and machinery. They just keep on farming the way they always
have.” Here at the headwaters is an alternative culture not vulnera-
ble to the economics of Exxon and Saudi Arabia, and one that
supports the idea of farming the land forever.

After the Youghiogheny flows past the farmland of Pleasant
Valley, the first town is Crellin, Maryland, fifteen miles below the
source and four miles southwest of Oakland. Crellin was a com-
pany lumber and coal town—a turn-of-the-century community with
frame houses, garages, sheds, and weathered privies. About the time
George Washington passed through, two of the last four buffalo in
Garrett County were killed near here.

Settlers named the town Sunshine, but Rolland P. Crellin, a Penn-
sylvania investor with the Preston Lumber Company, built a
sawmill in the 1890s, the name was changed from Sunshine to
Crellin, and the cutting of timber began. From 1892 to 1905, the
Preston company sawed 250 million board feet of lumber into mine
props, boards, and pulpwood. The Kendall Lumber Company then
bought the mill and cut another 350 million board feet until 1925,
employing up to 750 men. Laborers built makeshift dams on the

22 § Yougbiog/7erzy.° Appalachian River

Youghiogheny near Silver Lake to create temporary ponds which
were filled with logs. Blasting of the dams allowed the logs to ride
the flood to mills in Crellin.

As the lumber business declined in the 1900s, coal mining
boomed, and in 1925 Crellin consisted of seventy-five families in
company-owned houses. In 1949, mine acid from Snowy Creek,
which joins the Youghiogheny at Crellin, killed fish for twenty-five
miles to Friendsville. Snowy Creek is the largest source of mine
drainage on the upper river, though there is potential for much
more.

In 1943 the Army Corps of Engineers proposed a dam at Crellin
to store water for hydroelectric power. The site was later identified
in a “Potential Plan of Development” by the Army Corps for the
Appalachian Regional Commission in the 1960s, but nothing has
happened.

Even with the added water from Snowy Creek, the Youghiogheny
remains a small river, less than 100 feet wide until it receives the
Little Youghiogheny—a tributary from another high valley and
from the town of Oakland.

In the upper Youghiogheny basin, Oakland is the only sizeable
town, with 2,000 people. It lies twenty miles from the source and is
the largest riverfront community between Backbone Mountain and
Connellsville, sixty—eight more river miles below. Regarding general
appearance, I’d say that Oakland is the most attractive town in the
entire basin. It is the commerical center for Garrett County and for
a northern corner of West Virginia. Twenty percent of the county’s
employed work in retail trade—most of them, here. This is a service
center (18 percent of the county work force), a manufacturing
center (17.7 percent), and the home of county government (total
government employees are 14.9 percent of the work force).

Oakland has the look of a rural county seat: the courthouse
dominates, old houses are freshly painted, a few Victorian mansions
show old wealth, fancy-corniced brick buildings fill the downtown,
and churches are plentiful. A Queen Anne style railroad station
dating to 1884 is a historic landmark. The local newspaper—the
Republican—reflects a 59 to 39 percent ratio of Republicans to
Democrats. Countywide, 11.5 percent of the people are sixty-five or
older, compared with 7.6 percent statewide. Young people—espe-
cially college graduates—used to leave Oakland and many did not

A Gathering of Waters § 23

return, but as employment opportunities opened up in the seventies,
more young adults stayed. The decade between 1970 and 1980
showed a 23 percent increase in county population—the largest of
the century, while the number of jobs grew by 51 percent, mainly
due to tourism, manufacturing, and services, rather than depen-
dence on the old extractive industries. Cycles continue: a severe
recession in 1982 forced unemployment to 23 percent.

Oakland was not chosen as a home by most of its residents; their
ancestors chose it years ago. This is typical throughout the Yough-
iogheny basin. Yet there is movement of young adults to the head-
waters. Data show that 70 to 100 young families immigrated to
Garrett County in a ten-year period. Gloria Salazar came from Al-
burquerque, New Mexico. She had traveled through visiting a cous-
in, then decided to stay. “I love it here,” she says. “The weather’s
beautiful—fog and rain are fine with me. I had enough sun out there,
and enough fast and easy friends. Here, people are very conservative.
Friends come slowly, but they’re good friends. It’s a place where
people stay, where they hang onto old, solid values.”

Other people I talked to had moved from Pittsburgh, Tennessee,
and I-Iagerstown. One of them said, “I don’t like going fifty miles
to Cumberland to hear classical music, and above all I detest the
way people watch you constantly, but that is something you have
to accept in a rural area. It’s a hard way of life here, but people
are good. Money is not so important to most of them. Their
values are sound. I like a slow-paced life, and I found it here.”
Young professionals come, looking for a place to raise their chil-
dren. There are back-to-nature types who buy an old country
place, or urban refugees who refurbish a small-town home. “I had
no idea what Garrett County was like,” one new resident said. “I
came for a job interview, took one look around at the mountains
and said, ‘I’m staying.’ ”

Oakland may be a fine place to live, but what it does to the
Youghiogheny is not so good. This is the largest town in Maryland
and the only county seat without any sewage treatment plant. It is
the largest town without treatment on the entire river. About thirty
pipes dump raw sewage straight into the Little Youghiogheny one
mile above the Yough. The biggest conduit is twenty-four inches,
behind the Carnation plant. Sewage is one reason why the shore-
lines of the Little Youghiogheny, an ideal park site through town-
are relegated to brush, parking lots, and industrial backsides.


24 § Youghiogbeny: Appalachian River

Decades ago the state ordered the town leadership to clean up.
About fifteen years ago the Maryland Department of Natural Re-
sources imposed a ban on new sewer hookups (Oakland has sewer
lines but no treatment plant) until the town progressed toward
treating its waste. “Gradually they got off that moratorium,” says
Edgar Harmon, Director of Environmental Health for the County
Health Department, a joint county/state agency. “Nothing of sub-
stance was done. There were studies, but no pipe in the ground.”

Engineers discovered that the people of Oakland used only
150,000 gallons of water a day, but the discharge from the sewer
system totals 600,000 gallons. The pipes leak from the outside in.

The state encouraged Oakland to combine its sewage with Moun-
tain Lake Park (population 1,680, one mile up the Little Yough-
iogheny) and with Loch Lynn (population 582, three miles away) in
one treatment plant. “The politics of the situation made that impos-
sible,” Harmon says.

While Mountain Lake Park and Loch Lynn, which began as resort
communities in the late 1800s, pooled resources with federal and
state grants and built a sewage system, Oakland went to court
against the state’s order to clean up, and won. The judge ruled that
Oakland could build its own system. But when town officials studied
a separate plant, they found it would be uneconomical. For $96,000
a plan was devised to pump sewage up to the Mountain Lake Park
plant, but in the early 1970s the state saw that energy was becoming
an important factor. It would require a lot of fuel to pump 600,000
gallons of water upstream every day. The state did not grant approv-
al. Without it, the 75 percent funding from the federal government
and 12 percent from the state were not available.

The proposal died. In the late 1970s the state imposed a second
moratorium. Oakland officials went to court again, lost, but later
talked the state into allowing ten hookups a year. A 1979 proposal
for line repairs, pumps, and aerated lagoons totaled almost $2 mil-
lion. The local share would be about 14 percent, or $280,000,
which can buy ample attorney-time to win delays against the state.
Harmon says, “Some people say it’s not hurting anything, that the
river’s always been this way.”

If the strategy was to delay, it worked. In the 1980s, budget cuts
of the Reagan administration mean that the federal share for con-
struction will not be available, and there is no way the town can
front the money. Meanwhile, every flush in Oakland goes straight

A Gathering of Waters § 25

into the river. “We never swim there” a local teenager says of the
Youghiogheny below here. “Stinks too bad.”

Except for a small gap through Charcoal Hill above Crellin, the
Youghiogheny has flowed between Appalachian ridges that lie in a
northeast-southwest slant. Now the river will cut through the
mountains for sixty-seven miles to Connellsville.

Below the Little Youghiogheny confluence, Mount Nebo and Ro-
man Nose Mountain (both being extensions of Negro Mountain)
rise from the eastern shore, and the complex of Snaggy Mountain
rises from the west.

Gentle riffles flow for seven-and-a-half miles, then ledges and
boulders cross the riverbed. Nine miles northwest of Oakland is
Swallow Falls in a gorge 200 feet deep. By this time, some of the
pollution from Oakland has been diluted, or has settled to the
bottom of pools, or has been treated by nature through aeration in
riffles. At Swallow Falls State Park, swimming standards are met
during low flows, which allow natural treatment, but when the
water is high, it is muddy and foul.

In 1784, George Washington camped near Swallow Falls. In
1921, Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, and Harvey Firestone camped
here. In 1980, 230,000 people came to the state park, “mostly to
hike and see the falls and river,” park manager Gerry Sword says.
“Up here we get a large percentage of young people. I think it’s the
attraction of the outdoors, more of a natural park. It’s not devel-
oped. All the river area is set aside.”

Swallow Falls is a twelve-foot cascading drop, featured on the
cover of the 1981 Chesapeake and Potomac telephone book in
suburban Washington and Baltimore.

A number of people have drowned in the falls. During high water
of May 1975, ten—year-old Richard Bouchard slipped and fell into
the river. His parents stared helplessly as Richard sank in the froth
beneath the falls. He did not come up. A scuba-diving rescue team
was summoned from Somerset, Pennsylvania (about sixty miles
away), to search for the body. Twelve hours after Richard disap-
peared, while his parents were being treated for shock at the Oak-
land hospital, a determined diver ventured beneath the pounding
current, surfaced behind the falls, and found not a body but Rich-
ard himself perched on a two—foot-wide ledge. He had only a slight
case of exposure.

26 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

In six miles from Swallow Falls to Sang Run the river drops a
precipitous 314 feet. Expert whitewater paddlers run this stretch,
but only during spring runoff or after it rains. Below Swallow Falls
is Lower Falls, a six-foot ledge. These are two of the three “big
munchers,” as kayaker Phil Coleman calls them, on the “Top
Yough” run. “Suck Hole Rapid,” or “Wildman’s Carry” is a few
miles below Lower Falls.

It was there, in the spring of 1976, that Dave “Wildman”
Gunther, a notorious kayaker, was swept beneath a split and under-
cut rock which he described as an open drain gulping about half the
river. Like Richard Bouchard, Wildman vanished. His boating
partners stared at the rock and feared the worst. Then a paddle
popped up. Then a kayak bobbed up on the lower side of the rock.
Then, in near disbelief, they saw Wildman’s hand sticking up and
waving from the crack in the rock. Eventually they fished him
through the crack with the use of a safety rope.

There are easier ways to enjoy the scenery. Ten miles of trails
follow the river, wind through forty acres of old-growth hemlock,
and reach other attractions in Swallow Falls Park: Muddy Creek
Falls (fifty-one feet) is the highest waterfall in Maryland, and Tol-
iver Falls is on a smaller tributary. Fishing is popular, and state
officials say that the Youghiogheny has the highest potential for a
sustained trout fishery of all Maryland streams.

Swallow Falls and 1,300 acres of land bordering the river are not
owned by the state, but by the Pennsylvania Electric Company
(Penelec), which planned hydroelectric dams below the falls. They
abandoned their plans due to high transmission costs of delivering
the power to central Pennsylvania customers.

The Army Corps of Engineers also recommended a dam at Swal-
low Falls as part of a network of hydroelectric projects. House
Document 644 of the Seventy-eighth Congress, second session,
1944, released a study that had been prepared under the “high
security classification” of the Espionage Act. The report had been
classified because it “contained information affecting the national
defense of the United States.” It recommended dams at Crellin,
Swallow Falls, Sang Run, and two at Victoria (one for power and
one for reregulation or stabilization of flows), two miles above
Ohiopyle. The complex would produce 138,000 kilowatts at a cost-
benefit ratio of 1 to 1.36. The Corps reported that the projects,
“should be undertaken . . . if new installations are required to meet

A Gathering of Waters § 27

the needs of the national defense program.” Colonel Vogel of the
Army Corps in Pittsburgh sent the report to Washington a few days
after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, but his recommendation for the
five dams was vetoed by his superiors because it would have di-
verted too many men and too much equipment from military
construction.

One mile below Swallow Falls is the mouth of Deep Creek. All
but two-and-a-half miles of this tributary were dammed for hydro-
electricity in 1924. The twelve-mile-long lake with sixty-two miles
of shoreline and 3,673 acres of water is the largest reservoir or lake
in Maryland. Built by the Youghiogheny Hydro-Electric Coorpora-
tion and now owned by the Pennsylvania Electric Company, the
dam releases water to generate peaking power, usually on weekday
afternoons in summer when air conditioners and home appliances
run full tilt. About 31,437 megawatt hours are generated per year
and transmitted to Pennsylvania customers north of Somerset
County.

The lake accounts for most of Garrett County’s tourism; 1.8 mil-
lion visitors a year make this the largest industry, providing 20 per-
cent of county employment. More than 77,000 people camped at
Deep Creek State Park in 1981. Ninety—six percent of the shoreline is
privately owned. Most of the county’s 2,500 second homes are here,
many being owned by people from Greater Pittsburgh and some by
residents of the Baltimore and Washington areas where billboards
advertise “The Brisk Alternative—Garrett County, Maryland.”

With new development and with restaurants, motels, and lodges,
Deep Creek landowners saw unending change. In 1975, with no
opposition from affected landowners, government leaders adopted a
zoning ordinance for the lakeshore. This is the only zoning in the
county, and it was brought about by noncounty residents. The one
other attempt at local or county land—use regulations was the adop-
tion of a subdivision ordinance in 1971. Under local pressure, the
state delegate pushed through legislation in Annapolis to require a
retroactive referendum for approval of the Garrett County ordi-
nance. Even though the governor vetoed the bill, the county com-
missioners repealed the ordinance.

On the other side (the eastern side) of Negro Mountain from
Deep Creek, headwaters of the Casselman River flow north and

28 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

become the Youghiogheny’s largest tributary. After the north and
south branches join above Grantsville, this river winds nine miles
through Maryland, then past the Pennsylvania towns of Salisbury
and Myersdale, and around Mount Davis, which, at 3,213 feet, is
the highest point in Pennsylvania. Thus, waters from both Mary-
land’s and Pennsylvania’s highest mountains drain into the Yough-
iogheny. The summit of Mount Davis is so gentle and rounded that
you hardly know when you are on top. Mountain peaks are not the
main feature in this landscape. “The mountains aren’t very high,
but the valleys are deep,” local people say in this geography of
gorges.

The Casselman flows forty-four miles through Pennsylvania with
sections that are popular among canoeists. Above Rockwood, the
river has carved a gorge 700 feet deep. Markelton to Fort Hill is a
nine-mile section of exciting Class II and III rapids, but only in high
runoff. The Casselman meets the Youghiogheny at the town of
Confluence.

After World War 1, deep (tunnel) mines along Coal Run and
other Casselman tributaries were abandoned, draining acid into
what had been the best bass fishing river of the region. Since about
1915 it has run sterile and red with iron. Reclamation programs in
the fifties and sixties eliminated some of the problem, but new strip
mines have spread across the Casselman basin and on hills over-
looking the river. The same could have happened to the upper
Youghiogheny.

At the mouth of Deep Creek, the Youghiogheny slices its second
gap in the mountains. Winding Ridge lies to the east with its arms
of Marsh Hill at Deep Creek and Ginseng Hill at Sang Run. The
Piney Mountain complex rises to the west. Five miles below the
mouth of Deep Creek, the Sang Run Bridge crosses the river. This is
the only bridge between Swallow Falls and Friendsville, a distance
of fifteen miles. The riverfront changes. It is no longer a mixture of
farms, towns, and parks. The Youghiogheny from Sang Run down
is eminently wild, dangerous, and troubled—a good place to avoid.

Chapter Three

Wild River

n the count of three, Steve Martin and I heave the twelve-foot-

long rubber raft off Sang Run Bridge. The boat falls as though
in slow motion, like a parachute, like a rafter’s nightmare of Niag-
ara Falls. The airborne craft drops fifteen feet and lands right side
up with a rifle crack smack on the Youghiogheny River. Steve had
tied one end of his seventy-foot safety rope to the raft and looped
the other end around the bridge railing.

“Okay,” he says, and I climb quickly down the pier. I cling to
angular chunks of sandstone, placing my feet carefully, but above
all, hurrying. I stop at a ledge, seven feet from the top, and Steve
hands me our gear: two helmets, three paddles, a small pump, and
my camera bag. I set these in the boat while Steve clears the rail
and descends in a kind of controlled free-fall as a pickup truck
approaches.

“Uh-oh” I say, but Steve advises, “Don’t worry.” He flattens
himself against the pier of the oldest iron bridge in Garrett County,
Maryland, here for 100 years but used as a rafter’s put-in only since
1974. Steve does not move, does not speak, just looks at the
muddy, greasy guts of a macho pickup idling with a rusty muffler
directly above us and visible through the steel ice-cube-tray deck of
the bridge. I smell cigarette smoke. Steve’s frozen posture does not
confirm his casual advice, which I would have dismissed in any
event. I look at him and he raises his eyebrows. Steve Martin is at
home with adventure.

From the cab of the pickup we are invisible, but our rope, looped

29

30 § Youghiogheny:Appalachian River

around the railing and vulnerable, shows the topside visitor our
plans. It shows him that boaters are putting in. After a minute, the
pickup leaves.

Steve Martin is about as good a river guide as there is, working
for Wilderness Voyageurs, a rafting company in Ohiopyle. He is
one of the better kayakers in the country. He has run the upper
Youghiogheny, Sang Run to Friendsville, many times. Unlike some
“hair” boaters who specialize in dangerous water, he is safety con-
scious and not likely to kill any passengers by dumping them in
rapids unexpectedly. Or so I think. Since I now cling to life a bit
tighter than I used to, I won’t trust just anybody to guide me down
the upper Youghiogheny. Fact is, I trust nobody, but Steve Martin
comes the closest, and when he asked if I wanted to see this section
of the river and said that we could go in his raft on his day off
work, I weighed the risks and answered yes. With us is kayaker
Michael Normyle, another Wilderness Voyageurs guide.

To Steve, putting in from the pier is fun. “I love throwing rafts
off bridges,” he says. But this is more than sport. The pier is neces-
sary because local residents do not greet boaters with open arms but
with loaded guns: deer rifles and a versatile backup arsenal. Those
people want us to go away and stay away. I guess that we are all
undesirable elements at some time or another, to someone or
another, and this is my turn. One of my turns. Only because we are
rafters are we unwelcome in these parts.

The Thomases own the left shore (facing downstream). Imre
Szilagyi, a commercial rafting operator, owns the right shore, and
while he is not the type to shoot us, he does not want rafters putting
in there either. So to be cautious, legal, and relatively safe, we
gained access from the pier and set not a foot upon private land. I
have started a lot of river trips, but this one has a certain unrepeat—
able quality. This promises to be some adventure.

Sang Run consists of the bridge and several houses. Its name goes
back to the Friend brothers who settled in Friendsville in 1765 and
explored southward where they found ginseng, a small plant of the
deep woods. They filled their bags with the gingerbread-man-
shaped roots and named a Youghiogheny tributary “Ginseng Run.”
The rooty little plant was sold for export to the Far East. In tradi-
tional Chinese medicine, ginseng sounds impressive: “a tonic to the
fine viscera, quieting animal spirits, establishing the soul, allaying
fear, expelling evil effluvia, brightening the eye, opening up the

Wild River § 31

heart, benefiting the understanding, and if taken for some time, it
will invigorate the body and prolong life.” Additionally, it is con-
sidered an aphrodisiac. The alleged qualities of ginseng seem disso-
nant to what Sang Run has become: a hotbed of disputes between
boaters and landowners with latent violence on a short and unpre-
dictable fuse.

In his guide to Maryland canoeing, Edward Gertler calls these
nine-and-a-half miles of the upper Youghiogheny “the big white-
water challenge. . . . Specifically what makes it so special are four
miles of unrelenting boulder piles, ledges, blocked views, unobvious
passages, menacing undercuts and technical difficulties.” There are
five Class V rapids. (Class I includes gentle riffles; Class V1 is nearly
impossible. The American Whitewater Affiliation describes Class V
as “extremely difficult. . . . There is a significant hazard to life in
the event of a mishap.”) Long stretches are Class IV (“long, difficult
rapids with constricted passages that often require precise ma-
neuvering in very turbulent waters”). The channel is choked with
boulders, many of which are undercut—concave underwater traps
where the current can suck you in and hold you. At the top of many
rapids, half a dozen chutes appear impossible to negotiate, and their
gradient is so steep that they all disappear as they drop ahead of
you. You look downstream and see nothing but treetops and distant
slopes of the gorge. Some of this section drops 120 feet a mile. In
comparison, the Loop on the Youghiogheny at Ohiopyle drops 32
feet a mile, and the Cheat River drops 25 feet. The upper Yough-
iogheny is strictly a run for the expert, and then, only with a guide.
All of this has me not a little intimidated, yet the danger of the place
is matched by its beauty. I have come to see the river, the wild
gorge, and to learn firsthand about the whitewater challenges up
here, but if I only live through the day I will declare the trip an
unqualified success.

This is a top whitewater run in the East, and for that matter, in
the country. “Well, it’s the top run where you can depend on the
water level five days a week,” Steve Martin says. “A few other
streams, like the Big Sandy and Blackwater in West Virginia, are
about as challenging, but they need high runoff from snowmelt or
rain.” The Gauley River in southern West Virginia has been con-
sidered the most challenging commercially rafted river in the East,
but guides agree that the upper Youghiogheny is a large step up in
difficulty, with more rocks and tight dangerous places.

32 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

The reason that the upper Youghiogheny runs five days a week
all summer is Deep Creek Dam, where electricity is generated by
dumping water from late morning until late afternoon, Monday
through Friday. When the dam’s gates are open, a wave of boatable
water pours downriver, burying rocks and hitting Sang Run an
hour later. The level rises 1.4 feet. Then, and not a moment before,
the paddlers start their trips. Otherwise it is mostly a river of rocks.

The beginning of the upper Youghiogheny run is deceptive.
Gentle water—a ten-foot-per-mile gradient—is all you see from
the bridge. George Washington doubted the intensity of this sec-
tion. On September 26, 1784, while passing through on his canal-
scouting trip, he skeptically recorded the views of local residents
who discouraged him because of the “Rapidity of the Water . . .
and Falls therein.” Not having seen this reach, and being an undy-
ing canal enthusiast, Washington reserved judgement: “but these
difficulties, in the eyes of a proper examiner, might be found al-
together imaginary; and if so, the Navigation of the Yoghiogany
and North Branch of Potomack may be brought within ten Miles
and a good Waggon Road between.” To this day, the mountain-
Marylanders are exasperated by easterners who do not believe
them. We shall see whether the difficulties are imaginary or not.

Three miles from our put-in, Gap Falls plunges over a five-foot
ledge with a slope on the left like a ramp for the handicapped. We
run a shade to the right. “Eee-haw,” Martin yells as our raft dives
over the ledge. The gorge deepens. The riverbed is now 600 feet
beneath the ridgetops and ominously dropping. To travel the next
three miles, we must run some of the steepest rapids of the entire
Youghiogheny.

For a warm-up, we face Class III and IV rapids, sporty drops,
prelude to the big ones. We negotiate Charlie’s Choice, Snaggle
Tooth, Triple Drop, and reach National Falls. When we get there,
six other boaters are standing on a rock.

A red-headed, balding man is Roger Zabel, winner of an upper
Youghiogheny race earlier this year. He took the event seriously,
moving up to Friendsville from Washington, D.C., to train. His
girl friend in Friendsville may have had something to do with
that, too.

Another boater is Al Davis, now paddling the first R-1 down this
section. R-1 means only one person paddling a raft, which is diffi-

Wild River § 33

cult to do. Davis and Martin are civil, but their conversation is
strained. They had been good friends, but had a disagreement about
a girl friend. We don’t stay long, but for safety, we travel more or
less with Zabel, Davis, and the other kayakers. They are excellent
boaters, even though they live in the Midwest and have no place
near home to learn. Legends about the upper Youghiogheny have
filtered across the flats of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, luring these
men to Friendsville where they asked Zabel to guide them down the
river.

With only Steve and me in the raft we are light and maneuver-
able. We dance on piles of bubbles. Martin knows the river and
its monster rocks like most people know the way to the grocery
store, and so we do all right. My favorite rapid is Heinzerling
(named after one of the great early paddlers), where we ride onto a
huge pillow of water against a rock, then slide down the mound of
foam. At Meat Cleaver we turn radically left to avoid pinning
against a boulder. Then by luck more than skill, we miss the
cleaver-rock that splits the river dead center, almost impossible to
miss. “Eee-haw,” Martin yells. He says that’s the cleanest he’s ever
run it.

At the top of a boulder sieve—almost a falls—Steve says, “We’re
going to take the route Phil Coleman says to stay away from.” Phil
Coleman began kayaking this river in 1974. In 1981 he ran it
forty-eight times. He has illegally kayaked the eighteen-foot Ohio-
pyle Falls about sixteen times. In short, he is one of the ultimate
“hair” boaters—highly competent, with maybe more guts than is
good for the health.

“Steve, why does Coleman say not to run it?” I ask.

“Because you can pin and wrap and get washed down on some
rocks and hit them real hard and get pinned yourself and die.”
Martin smiles a little through his red mustache, the way he did
under Sang Run Bridge. A fifty-five-year-old friend of mine told me
that until you’re fifty, you don’t really believe you’re going to die.
This flashes through my mind but I have no time because we are
sucked into the falls. We hit some rocks. We do not pin, wrap, or
die, but if I were not with Steve Martin, I might have.

As well as I can determine, the upper Youghiogheny was flrst run
on May 31, 1959, by Tom Smyth, Dave Kurtz, and Bill Bickham, all
of State College, Pennsylvania. They had no idea what they were

Yougbiogbeny

APPALACHIAN RIVER

Tim Palmer

UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH PRESS

34 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

getting into, but were excellent paddlers. After checking out some
topographic maps at the Penn State University library and hunting
for a river with steep gradient, they packed up and came to Sang
Run with aluminum Grumman canoes having standard keels, handy
for paddling on lakes. The water was at a non-release level that is
now considered unrunnable. They carried around a few rapids and
ran many others. “Zing, bam into rocks,” is how Kurtz describes
the day. Bickham, who was the national canoe slalom champion for
four years and wildwater champion twice, pinned his canoe on a
log and after hours of struggling to free the boat, left it there. The
log lurks in the river to this day. Kurtz kept a journal of this and
other pioneering trips in the fifties and sixties. He called the upper
Youghiogheny “an expert run.” The only “sour note of the day”
was when Bickham pinned.

Jean and Sayre Rodman, who were the first modern-day boaters
on the Youghiogheny at Ohiopyle, were probably the first rafters
here, also. With four friends, all rowing solo, they ran this section
in about 1961. Jean says they had to “pull up on one tube some-
times to get through.”

Except for a few fishermen who wandered in to Sang Run, the
upper Youghiogheny remained unknown to outsiders. Many local
people saw it as a rock pile full of rattlesnakes, as a gorge too steep
for the cutting of timber. But like barren high country, bird-filled
swamps, and dangerous rivers elsewhere, this gorge that was re-
garded as worthless or forbidden would become a powerful place. It
would lure the most daring whitewater paddlers.

Dave Damaree, one of the first guides for Wilderness Voyageurs
in Ohiopyle, pioneered modern boating on the upper Youghiogh-
eny, running it many times in the mid-seventies and figuring out
which way to go through all those blind drops. Since then, older
boaters have passed the information down to new paddlers. Guide-
books are almost useless; there is simply too much, too fast. The
only reasonable craft are kayaks, whitewater (decked) canoes, and
high quality twelve-foot rafts. A few open canoeists have made it,
but they are exceptional.

Walking out is no easier—though marginally safer-——than running
the river. Boulders lie from mountain or cliffside to the river.
Rhododendron, southern arrowwood, and black Currant are tan-
gled wherever there is soil. Rattlesnakes are legendary. But the prin-
cipal threat comes from local people with guns.

Wild River § 35

In 1974, Peter Zurflieh, John Brown, Bill Dallam, and Mike Fen-
tress drove to Sang Run to paddle the river. They were ready to go,
then discovered that they were one helmet short, and this river of
rocks is no place to be without a helmet. Dallam drove back to
Friendsville to retrieve the helmet from the take—out car. The other
men waited on the bridge and were soon joined by Sam Thomas.

Sam was not a boater, but rather an old—timer who lived in the
house next to the bridge and owned the farm on the left side of the
river. “He wasn’t hostile,” Zurflieh recalls, “but figured he could
explain the situation: that they didn’t want boaters on the river. We
went over to the house and talked for quite awhile. Sam even said
that we didn’t seem so bad, but that if his neighbors were to hear
that he let us on the river, they’d burn his barn down.” The boaters
did not change Sam’s mind. Helmet in hand, Dallam returned to a
canceled trip.

Back in Ohiopyle, Zurflieh, Brown, and others brainstormed
about how to put in at Sang Run, and they came up with the bridge
idea. They would climb down the pier, and that way trespass on
nobody’s private land. If they didn’t hustle, they’d still have to deal
with Sam and his shotgun, so they designed a commando-style rou-
tine. They would tie boats to the roof rack with pop knots that
come undone with one tug. Two men would immediately scramble
to the bottom of the pier and two others would hand down the
boats. At most it would take two minutes. John Brown volunteered
as shuttle driver. If his van was going to be chased out of Sang Run,
it might as well be him driving it. As soon as everybody was safely
in the water, he would speed off to Friendsville and prop his feet in
the security of Al’s Riverside Lounge while the kayakers worked
their bubbly way north.

So they did it. They silently stopped the van on the bridge. Every-
body wore their boating gear and had their helmets buckled. All
four doors swung open on cue and the paddlers jumped out. Two
scurried down the pier, two unloaded boats, and in one minute all
but Brown were on the river. It Went like clockwork. But the com-
mandos had forgotten one thing: the river. They hadn’t looked at
the water level. “There we sat with no water,” Zurflieh says. The
release from Deep Creek Dam was late. “We were sitting ducks
with nothing to do but wait.” John Brown was leaning on the rail
talking to Zurflieh, who sat in his kayak in a little pool of water
surrounded by rocks.

36 § Yoaghiog/aeny: Appalachian River

Zurflieh recalls, “This big guy on a motorcycle blew in out of
nowhere and skidded to a stop and started yelling at John, poking
him in the chest with his finger, ‘Who do you think you are, we
don’t want you around here.’ ” Brown used all the diplomacy he
had learned in five years of guiding commercial customers for an
Ohiopyle rafting company. He backpedaled toward the Thomases’
end of the bridge as the hulking local kept advancing and poking
with his finger.

“I decided to climb up top,” Zurflieh says, “yet I didn’t want to
be threatening. He could have kicked both our asses.” This I do not
believe. Zurflieh is only five-foot-six, but he could be the real-life
inspiration for Mighty Mouse (additionally, he is a lawyer). He has
the compact musculature of a badger. He has a big heart (he stops
his car rather than run over a turtle), but he looks like the type of
guy who joins the marines. He was a Pennsylvania state finalist in
high school wrestling and had an excellent athletic record at C0-
lumbia University. He is quick to the extent of being a blur. My
guess is that Zurflieh could throw almost any 250-pound attacker
right off Sang Run Bridge if he wanted to. He says, “I stayed back
pretty far, maybe fifty feet behind them. I didn’t want to upset the
guy.” Zurflieh just wanted to make sure that John Brown wasn’t
killed.

So there they were: Brown walking backward toward the Thom-
ases’ house of all places, an aggressive bully poking and yelling at
him, and Zurflieh keeping his distance, following the action like a
little kid watching the big kids fight. Nonetheless, when one of the
Thomas women walked onto the bridge and saw Zurflieh as he
followed the retreat of John Brown, she yelled, “Look out, there’s
another one behind you.” The man said something to the effect of
“I’ll kick both of them” and started after Zurflieh, then turned back
around to Brown. From there it got worse. A jeep rumbled onto the
bridge and out jumped Rusty Thomas and a mean friend. Zurflieh
remembers the woman pointing at Brown and yelling The Accusa-
tion for Rusty to hear, “That’s the man who said I don’t love
Jesus.”

“What?” Brown said as he stopped walking, stunned.

Rusty started yelling at Brown, whose game plan had worked so
far. He resumed walking backward (now on his second lap across
the bridge) and kept talking. “We’re not hurting anybody, all we
want to do is go down the river. We’ll be outta here just the minute

Wild River § 37

the water comes up. ’Cept me. I’m not even going down the river.
Not even steppin’ off the road. I’ll just be driving straight outta
here. Not even past your house. Why do you think the water’s late?
Got any idea? You guys got a nice place here, I don’t blame you a
bit for wanting to keep it. I’d feel the same way,” et cetera, et
cetera.

Somewhere along the line the four residents realized that four
boaters were patiently sitting in kayaks under the bridge and eaves-
dropping on the topside discussion. They leaned over the rail and
heaped abuse onto the dry-docked paddlers, who sat there and took
it. Eventually enough people in cities turned on their air condi-
tioners so that the demand for electricity triggered the gates at Deep
Creek Dam. By the grace of the Pennsylvania Electric Company, the
upper Youghiogheny was at long last runnable. The boaters were
saved. Zurflieh escaped over the stone wall of the pier as in a jail
break, and the boaters took off hell bent for Gap Falls. John Brown
jumped into his van and peeled out of Sang Run as fast as six old
cylinders could take him.

“I’m surprised no one has been killed,” a local resident said. “It
came very close a number of times.”

Legally, it all comes down to the tedious issues of navigability
and access. Waters are either navigable or non-navigable, the
former being open for public use, the latter often not. Old English
law defined navigable waters as the ones that are subject to the
“ebb and flow of the tides.” In this country, laced with four million
miles of rivers and streams, it was obvious that the English formula
would be inadequate, and so an American approach was invented.
“Commercial usefulness” was accepted as a definition for navigable
rivers. Rafts, barges, and riverboats on the Mississippi, Ohio, and
Monongahela are, of course, commercial. Also included—at least in
some states such as Pennsylvania—are rivers that were used to float
logs to sawmills. This would include the Youghiogheny up to Silver
Lake, but Maryland has not adopted the log-floating logic. In some
states there is a trend to apply the “pleasure boat” test: if the
waterway can carry a pleasure boat, it is navigable and open to the
public. However, neither Pennsylvania nor Maryland has, on a state-
wide basis, yet bestowed on canoes the status held by barges or
logs.

A 1782 Pennsylvania law says that “the said rivers [Youghio-
gheny and Monongahela], so far up as they or either of them have

38 § Youg/7z'og/oeny: Appalachian River

been or can be made navigable for rafts, boats, and canoes, and
Within the bounds and limits of the state, shall be, and they are
hereby declared to be, public highways.” The state of Maryland has
determined nothing about the navigability of the upper Youghio-
gheny. “The attorneys won’t act on it,” says Dave Wineland of
Maryland’s Department of Natural Resources. “It’s too big an issue
to get into. Why would attorneys tackle something like that before
they have to?”

Other questions arise about the riverbed. For example, if the
public has rights to the water, can people also use the rocks under
the water? Dare a boater touch a rock? Can paddlers wade in the
river or must they float to avoid trespass? Can they use the shore-
line up to the normal low-water line? To high-water line? In Penn-
sylvania, many riverbeds up to their low-water marks are owned by
the state. In Maryland, riparian (riverfront) owners own the
riverbed, except in tidal waters. For an interpretation of the law,
courts must rule on a specific case.

Tom McEwen, a well-known whitewater boater, taught white-
water paddling near Washington, D.C., and one weekend, about
1974, he brought his best students to the upper Youghiogheny. It
happened that a landowners’ picnic was being held that day in the
pavilion east of Sang Run Bridge. To greet McEwen were all the
locals the mountains could yield. For this event, coon hunters
would spend a different night out, hay balers would risk rain, and
firewood cutters would accept less seasoned wood. It was an all-star
cast, a who’s who of the mountain folk. They were congregated at
Sang Run for a good time, which can include tough talk about
kayakers. Right past this same pavilion drove McEwan and his
unwitting students with rooftop kayaks enough to float their cars.
They had driven three hours for a lark and a lesson and were
worried about Meat Cleaver and Double Pencil Sharpener, but not
about Rusty Thomas.

One could say that an old culture met a new one, or one could say
that there was an ugly confrontation. McEwen drove out to a phone
booth and called the state police, who said he was within his rights to
put in from the bridge. He requested a police escort, but was told that
they would not come out unless trouble was underway. McEwen
returned to Sang Run where a picnicker who doubled as a sheriff’s
office representative warned that McEwen would be arrested. He
embarked anyway and ran the river alone.

Wild River J 39

A few weeks later a warrant for criminal trespass was served to
McEwan with fines up to $500. The district court found him guilty.
The Canoe Cruisers Association in Washington, D.C., put up
money and McEwen appealed, saying that the public right—of-way
on the bridge includes the right to walk there and to launch a boat.
In the appeals court it was up to the state to represent the locals’
position, but Maryland dropped the case against McEwen, choosing
to leave the boaters’ rights ambiguous. We still do not know what
the legal rights of paddlers are, and we won’t until the appeals court
hears a case.

Kayakers told me other tales about putting in at Sang Run. There
was the time when Pete Zurflieh, Jim Prothero, Bob Seiler, Jesse
Hall, and a few other boaters went to run the river. The “com-
mando raid” had been perfected, so everyone was ready to go when
a pickup truck, guns in the rack, pulled onto the bridge. A heavy
man started shouting at the boaters. “You guys get outta here, this
isn’t your river.” All of the boaters but Jesse Hall were ready to pull
on out of there, to split as fast as paddlers could go, but Hall was
not so committed to peace. He was different. Jesse grew up in
Ohiopyle and was a wild local himself. “He wouldn’t let anything
pass if he could make trouble out of it,” another paddler said.

Rusty Thomas and his father, Sam, were spending a quiet day
fishing below the bridge. It was right after the doctor had told old
Sam that he had cancer. It was a father-and-son day, a can of
worms, sunshine, and old times. Maybe they would catch some-
thing, maybe they wouldn’t. They had as good a reason as anybody
for wanting to be left alone. They witnessed the boaters absorbing
abuse up at the bridge, so there would be no point in pushing
matters, no point in engaging in argument or ruining an otherwise
beautiful day. The boaters would be past in a minute, it was no big
deal. So as not to stir the pot too much, they would keep it simple
and short: “Get outta here you no-good kayaker!” Jesse happened
to be the one who was passing at that moment.

Jesse, too, only wanted to do what he was doing. And the one
thing he loved about kayaking (everyone knew it was not the skills
because he wasn’t that good) was the freedom and independence of
it, the one—on-one against danger, nobody telling him what to do.
Now here were Rusty and Sam offering advice. So Jesse retaliated at
Sam: “Hey you’re too old to tell anybody what to do.” Both father
and son were sensitive about Sam’s age. But Jesse really blew his

40 J Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

chance at riparian coexistence when he paddled right over Rusty’s
twitching fishing line.

Picture the fishing rod as an extension of the arm——an arm for
casting. Then picture the fishing line as a longer extension. What
you really have out there at the hook is a fisherman’s hand. And
never forget that running over that line is a violation of space. As
personal an assault as to sit unannounced on the shiny hood of a
greaser’s Chevy. Not unlike preempting a jock’s locker while he’s in
the shower.

In short, Rusty was irate. The panic buttons had been pushed. Sam
yelled, “You got the whole river.” Rusty said, “Now get outta here
and don’t come back,” and he jerked his pole to pull his line in.

“Are you threatening me with that fishing pole?” Jesse screamed
back, his own temper slightly out of hand.

So went the preliminaries. Now Rusty Thomas plucked a stone
from the shore and heaved it at Jesse Hall. To dodge this, Jesse
rolled his kayak, and while he was underwater wiggling out of that
straightjacket-boat, he explored the bed of the Youghiogheny until
he came up with a rock of his own. He emerged with water pouring
from his helmet and his arm cocked to throw.

Annihilation seemed inevitable in the cobblestone storm that fol-
lowed. Zurflieh, Prothero, and Seiler turned upriver to behold the
two mountain men in what seemed a life—and-death struggle to find
rocks and wing them. Rocks splashed like cannonballs in a battle at
sea. Rocks skinned the bark of trees behind Rusty. Rocks peppered
the kayak and dented the tackle box. Testament to bush-league aim
and probably double vision from spleens about to burst, nobody—
not even Sam who was a relatively innocent bystander—was hit.

Maybe Jesse ran out of rocks. In one account his kayak was
floating away and he had to retrieve it. Another says that both men
were so impotent with rocks that the disagreement was escalating
toward hand-to-hand mayhem, and that they both knew a no-win
predicament when they saw one. Too: the allegation that someone
on the bridge showed up with a gun. Or maybe the pleading of
Zurflieh, Prothero, and Seiler sank in through Jesse’s helmet. At any
rate, he quit, reboarded his kayak under an unannounced and tenu-
ous truce, and exited downstream.

So far, the only people I had seen on the upper Youghiogheny
were the paddlers who are crazy about this river. Some of them

Wild River § 41

seem to live for this river. Many of them accept the combative
natives the way Daniel Boone must have accepted the Indians. It
would not bother these boaters to sneak across a piece of private
land if there were no other way to the river, but the last thing they
would do is damage property or cause harm. Their nature is easygo-
ing. Zurflieh says, “I’ve paddled up there thirty times and never
seen anybody doing anything. You just get on and go.” With the
exception of a few like Jesse Hall, they have been peaceful and
nonaggressive. Even Jesse did not throw the first rock. It sounded
like the other side was outrightly belligerent, so I figured it was time
to meet them.

Next to Sang Run Bridge on river left sits a two-story white
farmhouse, old but well cared for, with shrubbery and a mowed
lawn. One hundred yards farther is a barn showing the weather and
generations of use. Between is a mobile home and a utility shed. I
guess it is a garage for farm equipment. A classic Appalachian farm.
Sam Thomas, the number one gun—toting chaser of boaters, raised
Holsteins here for most of his life. He raised a family, too, and in
the winter of 1979, he died of cancer. His widow, Bernice, remains
here. Her daughter, Jean Stuben, lives in the mobile home, and Mrs.
Thomas’s sons, Sam and Rusty, are often here working the farm. I
would guess that all three children are in their early forties. I arrived
and talked to Jean, who would not discuss the river. I would have
to return and see her brother.

His real name is Bryson, “but everybody calls me Rusty,” he says.
His rust-colored hair is fairly short but untrimmed. A few days’
worth of rusty whiskers cover his long, bony face. He has a severe
look, a hard look, yet maybe honest. To me, it reflects something of
this place. He is about six feet tall and lean, but probably strong as
a mule. His old pants and flannel shirt show that he has spent
recent days at work. He smells of cigarette smoke and labor. His
boots are made for farmwork and for stomping through the neigh-
borhoods of rattlesnakes. His cap advertises “Grow Masters.” All
morning he has been tinkering with his corn picker, resulting in a
backlog of work for the afternoon. I suspect that he has a backlog
for life: with a farm up on the mountain near Route 219, several
leased tracts, and this place, he and his brother tend 1,000 acres
and 200 milk cows. I get the feeling that Rusty has better things to
do than to shoot the bull about the river.

42 § YougI9z'ogheny: Appalachian River

Mrs. Thomas, unlike Rusty, has a peaceful look—almost serene-
which also seems to reflect something of their river valley site. She
has a grandmotherly look, one that makes you want to sit down,
visit, and eat apple pie. She opens the conversation. “Are you one of
them or one of us?” I say that I am only a storyteller, and that I
want to get both sides of this controversy. “What for?” Mrs.
Thomas asks, and I am no longer hungry for pie. She would have to
ask The Question: Why am I doing this? I forget what I told her.

This is no time to hesitate. “So what’s the problem with the
kayakers?” I ask. Rusty exhales and doesn’t look any happier, no
friendlier than when I met him. He is stony as a rock at the river’s
edge.

“Well, let me tell you. One day my sister saw this gang in the
yard settin’ up camp. Longhair trash [pronounced ‘longhairtrash’].
She goes out there and says, ‘Like the sign says, this is private land,’
and this girl throws a stone at our trespass sign and says, ‘That’s
what I think of your signs. It’s God’s earth and it’s here for every-
body to use. It’s people like you that nailed Jesus Christ to the
cross.’

“Well,” Rusty calmly recalls, “my sister didn’t think much of that
and neither did I. Got my thirty-thirty and said, ‘They want to see
the river, I’ll blow them right into it.’ Some of them left, but others
were still there trying to load their raft into a van. I gave the raft a
good kick and one of the guys came over, and, you see that scar?”
Rusty holds a calloused finger at the bridge of his nose. “Well,
that’s where he clipped me with a paddle. That was it man, right
there. I laid him out with the stock of my rifle. His buddy and the
girl, they picked him up and shoved him like a sack 0’ feed into
their van, Pennsylvania tags on it, and drove off saying they were
getting the police.” That, apparently, is the incident for which the
innocent John Brown later took wrath.

“Used to be,” Rusty says, “that people would ask permission if
they wanted to cross our land. My dad never turned anybody
down.”

Mrs. Thomas chimes in, “Why, they’d ask if it’d be all right to
fish, and Sam would take ’em out and show ’em where to go. Best
holes.”

“Then the problems started in the early seventies,” Rusty continues,
“when the wild river law was passed. People started coming by the
carloads. They’d say, ‘The state took this over. Now it’s ours to use.’ ”

Wild River § 43

Mrs. Thomas details, “They left cans and bottles. You had to
watch where you stepped if you know what I mean. They even left
their underwear over there.”

“They’ve stood right on the bridge and urinated,” Rusty says. “I
got my little daughter; who wants to see that?”

“There was this one guy who came to the house and asked per-
mission to hike. Said he was on the police force someplace in Ohio.
I said yes, then saw him and his friends strapping on revolvers.
‘What for?’ I asked, and he said, ‘Rattlesnakes.’ Two days later I
saw a bunch of buzzards, followed ’em, and found a gut-shot deer.”
Now, gut-shooting and leaving a deer is something you don’t do in
the mountains. You can steal tires off the game warden’s truck,
make moonshine, dynamite fish, and shoot off a neighbor’s
chimney, but you don’t gut-shoot a deer. “I had the tags checked,”
Rusty says, “and Ohio didn’t even have the license number. Next
day a store up the mountain was robbed, and they had the same
description of the vehicle.” I ask if they were boaters. “No.”

I ask if there was a rock battle——the Jesse Hall incident. “Sure
was,” Rusty says. “I’m the one who dunked that bastard and I’d
dunk him again. We were fishing right after my father found out he
had cancer. Four or five kayakers came by and one ran right over
our lines. My dad said, ‘You got the whole river,’ and the kayaker
said, ‘You’re too old to tell anyone what to do.’ So I threw a rock
and dunked him. He came up and gave me some mouth and said
he’d fight and I said, ‘Come right on over,’ and that was enough for
him. He left.” Rusty will have no more chances to dunk Jesse Hall.
He had been drinking with friends, and their car crashed into a tree
near Ohiopyle in the summer of 1981. Hall was killed.

“That ‘wild river’ business,” Rusy says. “Rules and regulations.
Say you can’t fly the flag. Can’t cut anything within 300 feet of the
river. By the rules, I shouldn’t cut my lawn.”

I ask who told him that he can’t fly a flag. “It’s right there in the
rules and regulations.”

“I suppose if it was Russia’s flag it’d be okay,” Mrs. Thomas
adds without looking at me. She pours another cup of coffee.

“Can’t fix up your house without a permit,” Rusty says. “Well, they
better not come snoopin’ aroun’ here to find out.” During public
hearings regarding the regulations several years ago, Rusty said, for
the record, that anybody trespassing on his property would be shot on
sight. He will do nothing rash; like a rattlesnake, he gives warnings.

Published by the University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, Pa. 15260
Copyright © 1984, University of Pittsburgh Press

All rights reserved

Eurospan, London

Manufactured in the United States of America

Third printing, 1992

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Palmer, Tim.
Youghiogheny, Appalachian River.

Bibliography: p. 321

Includes index.

1. Youghiogheny River. 2. Youghiogheny River Valley.
3. Stream conservation—Youghiogheny River. 4. Rafting
(Sports)—Youghiogheny River. I. Title.

Fl57.Y72P35 1984 974.8’8 84-2301
ISBN 0-8229-3495-7
ISBN 0-8229-5361-7 (pbk.)

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

The maps in this book were prepared by Howard N. Ziegler.
“The Run at Ohiophyle” was adapted from the Youghiogheny River Guide, courtesy of Rich
Designs, Columbus, Ohio.

All modern photographs are by Tim Palmer.

44 § Yougloiog/aeny: Appalachian River

“It says you can’t operate a commercial business on the river, but
this guy from West Virginia’s doing it. There’s a nigger in the
woodpile someplace.

“Why do you suppose they stopped the wild river at Miller’s Run
instead of running it up to Oakland?” Rusty asks. He answers: “I’ll
tell you why. This realtor is on some state advisory committee and
has land up there.” I note all of these as issues to investigate, and
this realtor as a man to interview.

“You can’t even pick up a stick of firewood without five per-
mits,” Rusty says. “Three of ’em if you want to cut a Christmas
tree. On your own land!” Property rights are taken seriously here.
People get worked up about them. “You own your land and pay
taxes on it but there’s nothin’ you can do!”

“The other day I had to wait with my hay baler; sat half an hour
on the bridge waitin’ while some guys threw their boat over.” Mrs.
Thomas pours second and third cups of coffee while Rusty gets
more worked up and I get the caffeine jitters.

“You wanna know why we don’t like kayakers? Well, I could tell
you stories till I’m blue,” Rusty says, taking a gulp and lighting
another cigarette. “The rescue squad was out hunting a boater one
day and while they were gone a woman up the road had a heart
attack and there was no ambulance to come get her.” Rusty puts his
coffee cup down with a conclusive collision of china. I later learned
that the ambulance driver fell asleep at the wheel on the way home
from the river rescue and destroyed the vehicle.

“People’d change their clothes right out there,” Mrs. Thomas
says, pointing through the window, where I see a part of the river
and the brushy shoreline on the other side. It seems to me that it
would be difficult to see a cow on that shore, let alone a person.

“Finally we had to put a stop to all of it,” Rusty says. “Even
though not everybody’s that way. Some come to enjoy the river and
others come to mess it up. Some seem like real nice people.”

Mrs. Thomas says. “This young woman from New York asked if
she could hike here. I said yes. She ended up sleepin’ right under the
willow tree out there, and I gave her breakfast. I got a Christmas
card from her and everything.” Mrs. Thomas goes to get the card,
which she keeps handy.

“Shame,” Rusty says, “a man and his kids came here to fish,
and they was from Wisconsin. But if you let one in you let ’em
all in. They got us earmarked as the sons 0’ bitches on the river,

Wild River § 45

but the landowners’ve all banded together. If we let people in,
then the other landowners’d be on us. Burn our barn down.” I
think of how nice it must be to have such supportive neighbors.
“Let me show you something.” Rusty leads me into the living
room, full of old furniture and pictures on the walls. In a corner
of this period farmhouse (circa 1920) sits an incongruous pile of
electronic equipment and a spaghetti tangle of wires. “That linear
is 300 watts. We can call people for miles around and within
minutes they’ll be down here to help. And on mine, I got 2,500
watts.” Rusty smiles just a hint. “That baby comes on and the
lights go down and everybody’s TV in the valley fades. I can
reach Wheeling, West Virginia, and there’d be people from West
Virginia up here if we needed ’em. These people up here stick
together. You get some Johnny-come-latelys that don’t, but they
don’t stay too long.”

These people are isolated but prepared. They are what hillbillies
are supposed to be. I am impressed in an unexpected way, not with
the electronics, but with the entire repertoire for self-sufficiency,
ranging from milk to guns; from family cohesion that brings mother
and sons together for afternoon coffee, to public threats of violence
in the event of territorial infringement. Yet their professed self-reli-
ance seems to border on the fanatic.

Real independence is a myth in a world of store-bought flour, CB
radios, and refined Arab oil in the pickup. Even the most indepen-
dent people—-the most authentic mountain farmer or the back-to-
earth purist—must maintain a relationship with the rest of the cul-
ture. The question is, what will that relationship be? Will people
adjust to the inevitable or fight it? Will they turn away the makers
of change in hopes of saving what is best? Will they support their
independence on money earned through the system? Whatever they
do——whatever the contradictions and even hypocrisies that might
be involved—I am all for anyone who tries an alternative to the
mainstream. The mainstream is in trouble, deep trouble, and the
more people who try to escape, and the more different ways they
try to do it, the better. People outside the system may become the
only survivors. I want to be on their side, except that this thing
about the kayakers is ridiculous.

“We got other plans to stop kayakers, too,” Rusty adds. We go
back to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. “Some of the land-
owners want to string wire across the river.”

Rusty Thomas

  
  

Jim Protbero

Crellin

Oakland and the Little Youghiogheny

Friendsville

Youghiogheny above Friendsville at low water

Wild River § 49

“But I’m not going to,” Mrs. Thomas says, “That’d look like a
dirty job. Somebody’d run into it and cut his head off. I wouldn’t
do that, no.” .

Rusty says, “With a charge of dynamite, placed just right—and I
know Where—you could bring a couple million tons of rock down
in the river. That’d play hell with them in there.

“There was this truck over at the picnic area and they was load-
ing up seats from the old church,” Rusty says. “Stealin’ ’em. And
over in the graveyard they was goin’ around with metal detectors.
They’d dig up the dead.” I ask if boaters did this. “I don’t know,
but they all seem affiliated. Crime around here has gone up. More
than Baltimore.” In the mountains of western Maryland, there is
nothing worse, nothing more decadent, nothing that epitomizes
contemporary corruption more than Baltimore, unless it’s a kayaker
from Baltimore who gut-shoots a deer. The Sang Run landowners’
petition against Senator Edward M. Mason, a cosponsor of the wild
river bill, said, “He joined Baltimore City representatives who are
trying to get the right to use our privately owned land, up here, for
their sport and entertainment.”

“It’s all because of recreation,” Rusty says. “We didn’t used to
have this problem.”

“And you think it’s the boaters?” I ask.

“That, and motorcycle gangs now too,” he says. “That is bad
news. If you’re gonna get one of those guys, you have to get ’em all.
The state police were out here three weeks ago. Got the bikers to
leave, but they was goin’ to camp right out there. When I wasn’t
around, another gang of ’em cut my fences to ride back that road
out there.”

“We get the trash in here,” Mrs. Thomas says. “People are differ-
ent from what they used to be.”

“I saw about six of ’em stealin’ my field corn up above,” Rusty
says. “One of ’em was a colored man with a white girl, which sets
me to fire to begin with, but that’s their own business I guess. But
when they’re stealin’ my corn, that’s my business. I stopped ’em at
this intersection and I went out to their van and said that wasn’t
their corn, and they said, “You aren’t going to miss twelve ears of
corn,” and I said, ‘Yeah, but if everybody from Baltimore took
twelve ears where would I be?’ So next thing one of ’em takes a
handful and throws it out the window right at my feet, and so I
grab the guy next to the door and give him a shakin’, and then the

50 § Youghiogbeny: Appalachian River

others empty out of their van. Well, just then this semi comes
barrelin’ up and stops and that truck driver comes out of there with
an ax handle and let me tell you he cleaned those hippies up.”

“Long hair hippies,” Mrs. Thomas says.

By now I am feeling comfortable with the Thomases, so I ask, “Is
my hair long enough for me to be a hippy?”

Mrs. Thomas smiles a little and says in a bit of a sing-song,
“ ’Bout half.”

Rusty adds, “Lots of people have long hair now, but the way I see
it, the hippies started it, and that’s what I think of when I see it.”

It seems we have diverged from the topic of the river, though
perhaps not much.

Now that old Sam is dead, most boaters think the access problem
is past. They’ve been putting in on the other side of the bridge on
Imre Szilagyi’s land and from the bridge pier. “The boaters tell me
that things have quieted down,” I say.

“Oh so you are one of them,” Mrs. Thomas accuses. For some
reason, Rusty saves me trouble by interrupting, “Yeah, well I just
got tired battling them.” He lights his fourth cigarette.

“I got hypertension and everything,” Mrs. Thomas says. “I don’t
want nothin’ to do with it. Nothin’!”

Rusty says, “I have an attorney workin’ on it. We own this side
and the other side below the bridge, up to the high-water mark. I’m
just waitin’ till I’m sure I’m within the law, and then I’ll be stoppin’
all trespassers. I’m not dumb like some other landowners. I’ll stay
within the law. But I’ll make it stick if I have to sit on that ridge
with my thirty-aught-six.”

“Doesn’t Szilagyi own all that land on the other side?” I ask.

“He thinks he does,” Mrs. Thomas answers.

“But we have a lease from Penelec,” Rusty adds. “The power
company bought up a lot of this land through here, years ago. Still
own it, but lease it to us for one dollar a year. They planned a dam.
Be this side of the falls.”

He means Gap Falls, three miles down river. The dam would rise
ninety feet. A second dam was planned above Sang Run.

“What would you do if they built the dam?” I ask.

Mrs. Thomas says, “I wish they would. I’d move out and be done
with this.”

Rusty says, “There’s nothin’ we could do. They own it.”

I ask, “Doesn’t the state wild river designation stop dams?”

Wild River § 51

“I don’t know. But if it’s necessary—if Pennsylvania needs it—
they’ll take it, like for a road. By law they can do that for a road or
a dam.”

The wild river regulations prohibit dams, and a separate law in
1977 fortified this protection: “A dam or other structure impeding
the natural flow of a scenic river may not be constructed.”

At risk of stressing the obvious, I say, “This place would be under
water if they’d build the dam.”

“Yeah. I’d hate to see it,” Rusty says.

“Oh you don’t even live here,” his mother rebuts.

“Heck I don’t. I grew up here. I work here every day, and I’m
stayin’ till I’m ninety.” Then Rusty grins at me and says, “Unless
some kayaker gets me.”

I am surprised that the Thomases are complacent about a dam
that would flood the entire farm and river, while being so opposed
to kayakers simply floating on the water. But the Thomases don’t
believe the hydroelectric dam will be built. I’m not so sure. In 1979,
about eighty applications for hydroelectric dams were filed with the
Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. In 1981, 1,800 were filed.
The hydropower rush is on, and developers are scouring the coun-
tryside, finding new sites wherever there is water and gradient. A
site such as Gap Falls, where the land had been acquired, would be
a prime target, and a few landowners—even armed ones—wouldn’t
slow anybody down much.

In later research, I learned that three dams, including Gap Falls,
had been proposed in the 1920s by the utility preceding Penelec;
that one dam above Friendsville was recommended by the Army
Corps of Engineers in 1938; that four were recommended for con-
struction by the Corps in 1942; that a Crellin dam was recom-
mended by the Appalachian Regional Commission in the 1960s;
and that Sang Run and four sites on Pennsylvania’s Youghiogheny
were listed by the Federal Power Commission as potential hydro-
power projects in 1966. The wild and scenic river program, and
especially designation of the Youghiogheny as a national river
(which has not occurred), would outlaw all these projects.

It seems that the value we attach to the land does not run deep
enough to overcome the other pulls. Roads, dams, or whatever is
needed for progress come first. We can accommodate these changes,
but people—that is different. To be confronted with people we can-
not understand—the kayakers—seems to be more threatening than a

52 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

dam that would drown the entire spread. A few visitors have grated
on local people in the worst ways: the Jesus incident and changing
clothes, and a little bit of those things goes far toward hatred. The
Thomases don’t accept the dam as an issue, so I return to the topic of
access. “Do you mind if people use the bridge pier?” I ask.

“There’s nothing I can legally do about that,” Rusty says, “and I’m
not doing anything that isn’t legal. So long as they don’t touch so much
as one rock in the river. When they do, they’re trespassing on my land.

“This outfitter from West Virginia, they ought to use his place so
it won’t bother anybody. He owns land above the bridge that they
could use. Get them damn vehicles and stuff out of the way. Or if
the state’d put in an entrance and exit place, that would solve a lot
of problems. ’Cept nobody here would sell. Nobody’ll even talk to
’em. Look, I’m reasonable. You go up to some of these other guys
and they’ll choke the shit out of you. This guy from up at Deep
Creek, he tried to mediate this problem. I was willing to listen, but
next guy he went to, they threw him right off.

“Another thing the state ought to do: they ought to have a limit
on the number of people. The river can only stand so many. There’s
not too many now ’cause we hold ’em down. One thing, I mean one
thing we don’t want is another Albright.” Rusty is talking about the
crowds of commercial boaters that converge in Albright, West Vir-
ginia, to run the Cheat River every spring. “Local people down
there can’t even get to work on time, the roads are so tied up. We
don’t want that happenin’ up here.

“The state should have patrols on the river. People go out cuttin’
firewood, buildin’ fires. Some day that whole thing is gonna go up
in smoke. But the state doesn’t want any part of it. This is a bigger
mess than they thought. They started it and now they want nothin’
to do with it.”

I ask, “HoW much of your complaint is because of the kayakers,
and how much of it is because of the wild river system and the land
use controls?”

“ ’Bout six o’ one half dozen the other,” Rusty says. “The wild
river is the main thing and the kayakers are taking the brunt of it.
They’re the only ones who are around.”

Another resident later told me, “There was no problem before the
wild river. Then local people figured, ‘Okay, the state wants to save
the river for other people, well, no other people are going to see the
river.’ It’s retaliation against the land use controls.”

Wild River § 53

It is two o’clock. “Guess I’ll get going and let you do your work,”
I say, but Rusty offers, “Look, you’re writin’ ’bout the river; you
ought to see it. You want to go for a ride in the pickup?”

Rusty fires up the truck and it roars. The muffler is either riddled
with holes or absent. “This truck will do okay, but the last one I
had——that one was outfitted to chase kayakers. A 440 with two
four-barrels. Pick the front wheels right off the ground.” The
pickup sounds like a B-25 as we climb the hill.

We pass through a field of pine seedlings planted by the land-
owner. “I don’t want you getting the idea that we don’t want this
river preserved. We want it preserved, but havin’ these people come
in is not the way that’ll happen. The landowners aren’t gonna abuse
this river. They’ve loved the river. That’s why they’ve been here for
a hundred years, livin’ out of the rocks, livin’ through winters.
Developin’ this land is the last thing we want. It’s not for sale, but
we’re not givin’ it away for any wild river either. They try takin’ it,
may as well bring in the National Guard.”

Maybe the local people will never sell for development, but previ-
ous owners, through Garrettland Realty, recently sold 100 acres,
including prime river frontage, to the West Virginia outfitter. And
along the dirt road to Oakland, there are tracts that have been
subdivided into miniature lots for trailers.

We drive a few miles to the end of the road. Time to walk. “Keep
your eyes on the trail,” Rusty warns. “Rattlesnakes.” We cross a
field and enter a deep woods. It will be a big year for acorns, and
thus, squirrels. Hunters will start tramping the woods in October
when small game season begins. Rusty warns me that kayakers
could be mistaken for squirrels: “I’1l tell you honest to Christ if I
was a boater I wouldn’t be on that river from October fifth on.
Some of these guys are a lot crazier than me, and if they have a gun
in their hands and they’re ready to shoot somethin’ anyway.” I ask
if anybody’s ever been shot at. “I wouldn’t say shot at, but close
enough. They thought they were shot at.

“Ha,” Rusty says and grins. “We were down the river one day.
We saw this gang sittin’ ’round a fire and smoking dope or what-
ever makes ’em so crazy. What happens but one of ’em gets up and
strips himself naked and jumps in the river, hoopin’ and hollerin’.
Well, this guy I was with took his rifle and peppered the water all
around that guy and he came outta there fast.”

We eventually reach the Youghiogheny. I spot an empty pop

The University of Pittsburgh Press gratefully acknowledges
the Richard King Mellon Foundation and

the Pittsburgh Foundation

for their support of this publication.

54 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

bottle with its lid on. It is the only trash I’ve seen along the water,
and it probably floated from Oakland. I stash it in my camera pack.
Then we hike downriver for ten minutes. We talk about elk hunting
in Colorado where Rusty goes every fall. Upriver a lone paddler
materializes. He is short, muscular, and advances cautiously our
way. He is Pete Zurflieh. He knows me from Ohiopyle; Rusty from
the Sang Run Bridge. “Hey, how are you doing?” he asks. He is
friendly, easy going. He smiles and stops in an eddy twenty feet in
front of us. “Not bad,” I say. “Rusty’s showing me some of the
river.”

“Sure is a nice day to see it,” Pete comments. I say that I wouldn’t
paddle it alone. “But today is too good to stay inside,” he answers.
“Maybe see you in Friendsville. I’ll be there in few hours.”

It is difficult to see Zurflieh as an abusive hippie. Rusty and I
look at the river awhile. I ask, “Let’s just say it’s wild river or darn.
Which would you have?”

Rusty looks at me. “Then I’d say wild river.”

We retrace our steps. When we are in the brushy section, Rusty
stops and picks up a large plastic container. He shakes it and hears
maybe one pint of liquid. “This is a bad one,” he says. He reads the
label, which consists of six—syllable names of chemicals and a lot of
numbers. “This stuff here’ll kill ya,” Rusty says. It is a discarded
pesticide jug, probably used by a farmer upstream. Rusty will carry
the container one mile to the truck. “There was another plan the
landowners had,” he says, “to dump toxic stuff in the river.” That
is where Rusty drew the line. He says, “I couldn’t see it myself, but
they were sayin’, ‘if we can’t have it, nobody can.’

“These herbicides, now there’s something. There’s no way you
can poison weeds year after year and not be killing birds and poi-
soning the ground. We’ve got to make some changes. But the big
problem is acid rain.”

“So you keep up on that stuff?” I ask.

“I’ve been readin’ ’bout acid rain for years,” the mountain farmer
answers.

Here is a man who would shoot at a kayaker but who is also a
student of acid rain. Rusty shows a mix of redneck and radical, old
and new, local limits and world view that will be repeated at other
places along the Youghiogheny. In Rusty Thomas’s view, the kay-
aker and the acid rain have something in common: they are both
threats to his way of life.

Wild River § 55

We arrive at the truck. I say, “The boaters are going to come no
matter what. You want a limit on their numbers. You want to ban
commercial outfitters. You don’t want to develop the land anyway,
and let’s forget the bullshit, there’s no way the state is going to stop
you from mowing your lawn. With setbacks from the river, you can
log in there. And the dam: the first thing wild river programs do is
stop dams. So what’s wrong with the program?”

“You gotta get permits to do anything.”

“When’s the last you got a permit?” I ask.

“I have a two-forty-three and that’s the best permit in the world,”
Rusty says.

“That’s your gun?”

“Gun. Hell. I got more guns you can haul in the back of this
truck.”

The pickup roars and we bounce and rattle over ruts, rocks, and
a fallen branch. “What’ll finally happen?” I ask.

“I figure somebody’s gonna get hurt. Then maybe the state’ll put
in an access area or somethin’ like that.”

We ride awhile and Rusty says, “I have a three-year-old kid, and I
just want him to have what I had, growin’ up here.”

The Maryland State Scenic Rivers system began in 1975 with
legislation that designated several “scenic” rivers, including a three-
mile stretch of the Youghiogheny from Oakland to Miller’s Run,
and one “wild” river which is this section of the Youghiogheny
from Miller’s Run to Friendsville. State policy is to “protect the
wild quality of these rivers and fulfill vital conservation purposes by
wise use of resources within this Scenic and Wild river system.”
“Wild” rivers are more carefully protected than “scenic” ones.

The law required the Maryland Department of Natural Resources
to write regulations for the use of land inside a corridor (land that
can be seen from the river). These were adopted in 1976 and
amended in 1979. Since all of the 10,600 acres along the river
belong to eighty private landowners (one of them owns 7,000
acres), land use regulation, rather than public acquisition, was con-
sidered the only feasible protection.

Steney Hoyer, president of the Maryland Senate in 1976, spon-
sored the act, and Edward M. Mason of Cumberland, representing
Garrett County, signed as a cosponsor. In 1981, Senator Mason is
the minority (Republican) leader. At his office above Mason’s 1892

5 6 § Youglaiogheny: Appalachian River

Restaurant, east of Cumberland, he recalls how his river support
nearly cost him an election. “I was about defeated in the primary,
1978. Won by 119 votes. They ran ads against me. Absolutely false
accusations. They only called me Communist and pinko. Now
that’s hard to take.” The senator was threatened that he’d better
not go to Friendsville. Yet there was also support in Friendsville.
“Some farmers backed it. People who didn’t own land down there
supported it, but quietly. Then there were down-state conservation
groups behind it, but what good do they do me?”

“Why designate the river in the first place?” I ask.

The senator answers, “To stop strip mining in the gorge. That
was the reason. During the coal boom there were requests for per-
mits to mine in there, and if we didn’t have the wild river legisla-
tion, the upper Youghiogheny might have become another Cassel-
man. When we have this river, and it’s the only really wild river in
Maryland, we should try to protect it.”

The law says, “Mining of any minerals by the strip or open pit
method is prohibited.” Mason says, “The only people aggrieved are
the miners. That is the only thing that we stopped.”

Ed Mason is no friend of the coal industry. In the seventies he
cosponsored legislation to prohibit mining on slopes of 20 percent
or greater. He helped pass a bill to deny mining permits on state-
owned land. He tried to get a coal excise tax to pay for county road
damage caused by coal trucks. “The coal industry used to run this
district,” Mason says, but it seems they are still only 119 votes
away from it. Some coal company operators, including Bridgeview
in Friendsville, contributed the maximum funds allowable to Ma-
son’s opponent. It was not coal companies, but landowners who
circulated a petition calling for Mason’s removal from office, yet
coal interests are major donors to a landowners’ fund for fighting
the state in court.

About the wild river, George Edwards of Delta Coal in Grantsville
said, “I think the state usurped our authority. Instead of buying the
ground they came in and zoned it. That’s a job that’s usually left to
counties.” Indeed, Governor Harry Hughes, at Deep Creek in October
198 1, bragged that the state had protected one of the outstanding wild
rivers of eastern America without buying private land. From a conser-
vative point of view, you can applaud this savings of tax dollars and
this respect for private land ownership, or you can criticize the state
for using its authority in the name of the “common good.”

Wild River § 57

“In the long run,” the senator says, “everybody will be well
served by the protection.”

In the state house of representatives, Garrett County delegate
Decorsey Bolden disagrees. I met with Bolden at his car wash out-
side Oakland. “It’s confiscation of private land without compensa-
tion. Adolf Hitler did that in 1949 in Poland. My position was—
still is—that if the state of Maryland wants a wild river they should
buy it. We can’t afford to put our natural resources to rest for the
next 100 years. Rather than preserving all the natural resources for
posterity, we should use them now to improve the quality of life. I
have no problem with people building on the edge of the water if
they want to risk a flood. Look at the house that famous architect
built near Ohiopyle.” He refers to Fallingwater, a house built along
a Youghiogheny tributary and renown for its integration with the
natural site. It is elevated above flood levels.

The concept of land-use regulation is that reasonable restrictions,
for the public good, can be placed on land. The Validity of flood
plain and steep-slope zoning is established: courts have agreed that
public hazards and costs can result if these areas are developed in
the wrong way. Zoning for aesthetics—to keep a river wild, for
example—is not so well established.

“What about landowners’ rights?” I ask Senator Mason.

“People can continue to live there, farm, and sell building lots of
five or ten acres. They can do anything they’ve been doing. I’ll bet
property values have doubled because of the protection.”

Tom Thayer, owner of Garrettland Realty, confirmed this view,
saying, “I feel strongly that the scenic river designation adds to
property values. There will be a market for the larger lots, and
people who buy these won’t have to worry about twenty half-acre
trailer lots beside them.”

Senator Mason adds, “Who wants a bunch of shanties next door?
You don’t have to worry about that on the upper Youghiogheny. I
wish they’d put my place in a wild river corridor.” The senator
owns the farm where he grew up along the Potomac River. “It
would be nice if we didn’t need zoning. Or taxes. Or jails. But we
do, and nobody in local politics had the backbone to do it.

“Part of the problem is this: The Department of Natural Re-
sources was not in favor of establishing regulations, but we—the
legislature—pushed it. When the draft rules came out they were
ridiculous.” It was from the draft rules that local people inferred

58 § Yougbiogheny: Appalachian River

that they could not paint their houses, fly the flag, and mow their
lawns. “It drove them up the wall, and I don’t blame them, but we
got those things changed.”

The fourteen pages of wild and scenic river regulations are ad-
ministered by David Wineland of the Maryland Department of Nat-
ural Resources from his office near Cumberland. He is thirty-one,
trim, and clean-cut. He wears a crew neck sweater and engineer’s
boots.

Wineland has had some difficult times along the Youghiogheny.
The landowners’ association chairman, Colonel Browning (an ex-
marine fighter pilot), once invited Wineland to one of their meet-
ings. “I said a few things,” Wineland recalls, “and let them know
that I would answer questions and take any of their concerns to the
people in Annapolis. Well, the lid blew off. They attacked me for
forty-five minutes. They threatened to haul me to court for fraud
because I had not taken a loyalty oath to the state when I was hired.
That was an old practice back around World War II but isn’t fol-
lowed any more. Eventually, I said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave.’

“The door locked as I closed it behind me,” Wineland recalls,
“and then I found out my car was surrounded by pickups. There
was no way I could get out. I went back and knocked on the door.
No one answered. I knocked on a window and heard them laughing
inside. I sat in my car for an hour and a half.” It was a cold rainy
night.

So what about the restrictions on painting the house, mowing the
lawn, and flying the flag? “That’s nonsense,” Wineland says. “The
regulations were never intended to prevent those things. But the
earlier version could be interpreted that way. We changed the ear-
lier version.” Property owners are, in fact, supposed to get a permit
to paint their houses. “The idea is that day-glo orange wouldn’t
look good from the river.” I suggest that nobody is going to paint
their house that color anyway, unless maybe to spite the state for
requiring a permit. “The original regulations were fashioned after
the wetland regulations for the Eastern Shore,” Wineland explains.
“I don’t think they [the government people] understood the situa-
tion up here.” That has been true since George Washington
doubted local accounts warning of whitewater too rough for canal
boats.

For most of the designated area, the regulations require at least
ten acres per lot for subdivisions, and that any new buildings be set

Wild River § 59

back 300 feet from the river. To cut timber, five permits are not
needed, but a plan must be sent to the Garrett County Forest Con-
servancy District, which makes a recommendation to the state De-
partment of Natural Resources, which then approves or denies the
request. By regulation, the department “shall ensure that natural
vegetation on or near the shoreline remains undisturbed so as to
screen the logged area from the river.” Commercial development,
dams, and strip mining, except on unreclaimed sites that were never
backfilled, are prohibited.

Some landowners favor the regulations. Whether or not they
owned barns that could be burned, they spoke only with assurances
that they would remain annonymous. “We don’t want neighbors
close by,” one said. Ten acres per lot is fine with me.” Another said,
“no commercialization. No building near the river. I like that. I
don’t want anybody to detract from the beauty of the river. Five-
and ten-acre minimums—I think that’s great. No outlandish build-
ings over thirty feet high. No shanty towns. I don’t think that’s too
bad.”

What about problems with kayakers? “There are always a few
troublemakers in any group, but really, what harm can a kayaker
cause? They don’t even leave a path in the river. I think all this will
die as the younger generation moves in and the river will open up
again, the way it used to be.”

The state has conceded on some troublesome points. Wineland
explains, “The law says we are to regulate the corridor, and we
will, but we want to be as reasonable as we can.” The corridor was
drawn from topographic maps with a computer, apparently one
with X-ray vision, because property was included that cannot be
seen from the river. Landowners, including the Interstate Lumber
Company, asked the state to revise the boundary. Meanwhile, Inter-
state requested a strip-mine permit, which Wineland rejected. Inter-
state appealed, hiring a Baltimore law firm which argued that the
mining site should be exempt: you can’t see it until you are far
downstream. The miners also argued that the state should compen-
sate the mineral owners if the mine were prohibited. State planners
reviewed the computer-drawn boundary and reduced the corridor
31 percent, eliminating the strip-mine site from the protected area.

Regarding land development, Wineland says, “The first plan we
processed was for the Big Eddy subdivision by Tom Thayer. He’s a
friend of Department of Natural Resources Secretary Coulter but

60 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

got no special treatment from us. We set up a 600-foot buffer along
the river and he was able to go ahead selling his lots. Thayer was
very cooperative, making every effort to comply.”

Wineland says that the state has done nothing to promote recre-
ational use of the river. “Far from it. The state’s position is to do
nothing but administer the regulations; certainly not to encourage
people to go up there.” The state plans no access area. “To buy
land would incite violence.”

Yet Garrett County Planning Director Tim Dugan says, “State
zoning on behalf of the public, but without any provision for public
access, is an abuse of state power. The river is saved, but for whom?
The only beneficiaries are the landowners.” A County Planning
Commission proposal calls for the state, with local participation, to
prepare a plan for the river that would manage land development
and allow minimum, controlled public access. But Wineland says,
“So long as local people regard anything we do as a problem, we’re
not going to be moving at all toward public access.”

One issue that the local people do want the state to address is
commercial rafting. One resident says, “Albright [where Cheat
River trips begin] has a reputation as a town that’s hard to live in
on weekends. Rafting interferes with church services. It’s hard to
keep the town clean. We don’t want that to happen here.” To this
day, some Albright residents loathe Ralph McCarty, owner of
Mountain Streams and Trails rafting company, because two of his
customers urinated against the church some unremembered number
of years ago.

Landowners say that commercial operations are outlawed be-
cause a section of the regulations entitled, “Commercial” says “pro-
hibited.” The question is whether commercial use is prohibited or
only commercial development. Wineland believes that only develop-
ment is banned. “The outfitters can’t build a motel, or a building.
Access to launch rafts does not constitute a commercial develop-
ment.” But the regulations are vague. In reading them, I, for one,
cannot determine their meaning.

The outfitter is Imre Szilagyi (Za-LODGE-ee) who began rafting
when he was a graduate student studying mathematics in Ohio. He
guided one season for White Water Adventurers of Ohiopyle, then
opened his own company called Appalachian Wildwater. He offers
trips on the Cheat, New, and Gauley rivers of West Virginia, and

Wild River § 61

now the upper Youghiogheny. He says, “In 1980 we ran about
twenty trips with our guides. Then in 1981 we probably took fifty
or 100 people. Just old and trusted customers.

“The river presents a lot of economic problems. So far, we’ve run
two guides and two customers per raft. Commercial success will
depend on having one guide per raft. I think we know this river well
enough now that we can do that. Then there is the problem of
access. I spent $100,000 for 100 acres so I would have fifty feet of
shoreline. That’s an expensive put-in.” Paul Hoye bought 100 acres
at Sang Run from John Friend, Sr., in 1799. He paid $2.67.

Ironically, Szilagyi, like the Thomases, denies rafters access.
“Hardboats, okay. But if a rafter steps off the pavement, he’s tres-
passing and I’ll have the sheriff waiting at Friendsville.” His reasons
are to avoid commercial competition and to keep duffers off the
water. “Anybody who wants to raft can go with my company or
else throw their boat off the bridge.”

Because this river runs dangerous and wild, and because land-
owners are incensed about commercialization, and because com-
mercial rafters are ubiquitous on good whitewater, many people
think that commercial operators should stay away from the upper
Youghiogheny.

Pete Skinner, a frequent visitor here and a leader in canoeing and
kayaking organizations, says, “There shouldn’t be commercial trips.
Passengers don’t have the foggiest notion of what they’re getting
into.’’

Al Davis, whom I met on my trip with Steve Martin, has worked
in commercial rafting for twelve years but says, “I’d like to see it
with no commercial trips. Maybe no rafts. Leave it to the private
boaters. Ohiopyle is full of people. The Cheat’s mobbed. Enough.
Leave this alone. Maybe I’m selfish, but I like to come up here just
alone. There ought to be someplace where you can go and not have
commercial trips. Even if the first operators are reasonable, it’s only
a matter of time until it gets to be a zoo.” Davis wants no govern-
ment controls either. In this respect he thinks like Rusty Thomas,
but unlike the heavily armed landowners, Davis has no alternative
to government action for the management of commercial use.

So there is sentiment against commercial trips. I ask Szilagyi, “Is
commercial rafting a responsible thing to do at Sang Run?”

“It’s safe or I wouldn’t be doing it,” he answers. “We keep a real
low profile at Sang Run. We’re in and out fast and make sure each

62 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

vehicle has a shuttle driver. If it turns out a zoo, it won’t be because
of what we do.”

The upper Youghiogheny is probably the highest priced one-day
raft trip in the world: $84 to $140 in 1981. “That river doesn’t lend
itself to mass exploitation,” Szilagyi says. “With our equipment we
have the capability of handling 600 people a day, and up there we
handle five or six. There are only a few guides who can do it, and
the demand is low——people know it’s dangerous. It can’t be run on
weekends because they don’t release water from Deep Creek Dam.”
I remind this former Ohiopyle guide that there used to be only a
few guides available for the lower Youghiogheny (there are many
dozens now), and weekday trips at Ohiopyle are filling to nearly
one thousand customers on busy days. “Okay,” Szilagyi says. “Po—
tentially you could put on a three or four-boat trip every fifteen
minutes if you had the guides and you had the customers.” That
comes to about a hundred passengers a day, because you can only
put in between noon and 3 P.M. due to dam releases.

“A wild river is a natural resource that belongs to everyone,”
Szilagyi adds. “If you can show a lot of people the river and do it
well, fine. I’m for excellence and against elitism.” Szilagyi smiles
coyly at what seems to be a contradiction. Rusty Thomas’s limit for
commercial boaters would be zero. Szilagyi’s may be 100, and other
commerical companies could raise the total to a zoo.

The questions are, how much will commercial rafting on the
upper Youghiogheny grow if unregulated, and should it be regu-
lated by the state? “Who knows,” Szilagyi says of the first question.
“I think the second question is some ways down the pike. There is
such a thing as free enterprise, and such a thing as common sense.
When the two clash, I usually side with common sense.” He means
government regulations. “The situation on the Cheat is obscene.
The government should step in and control the number of boaters
on that river.”

Will other commercial outfitters start running the upper Yough-
iogheny? “Of course. What we’ve done, besides acquiring a put-in,
is we’ve financed twenty or so trips to establish feasibility. Every
one of my guides will know the river well enough to run his own
trips. But this is not a business decision. Anybody who thinks that
running the upper Youghiogheny can be a viable business is a fool.”

“So why do it?”

“Ha, because it’s there,” Szilagyi answers. “Actually, Jimmy

Wild River § 63

Snyder [one of Szilagyi’s guides, and one of the best kayakers, any-
where] and I are fond of the old lady, and this is a good excuse to
spend two days a week up there.” Szilagyi reflects more seriously.
“The Youghiogheny was the first great love of my life for paddling
rivers. I’ve always remembered my first run. We made it through
Double Pencil Sharpener, and there was a thunder storm that re-
leased all the scents of the forest, and I felt really alive. That’s an
experience that needs to be shared.

“We’re proud of having done it,” he says of his commercial trips.
“We’ve broadened the options available to society. This is a quan-
tum rise in what can be rafted commercially. I hope that whoever
else comes along will contain the risks as we have.” Already in
1982, five commercial companies were running trips on the upper
Youghiogheny.

If landowners are right in saying that commercial trips are out-
lawed, the outfitters are in trouble. Otherwise, commercial use will
be growing. Will outfitters act responsibly? Will government regula-
tions be necessary? As Szilagyi says, who knows? The state will be
reluctant to reopen any consideration of the Youghiogheny Wild
River for fear of jeopardizing the entire program.

Dave Wineland says that regulations limiting the numbers of
commercial boaters are “not out of the realm of possibility, not by
a long shot. We have no data. We’re going to keep count of the
numbers of boaters. But so far, we don’t have enough information
or enough complaints.”

The threat of violence remains. In 1982, rifle shots were fired
near a commercial raft. Apparently the intent was to scare the
people: bullets ricocheted from rocks. State police and investigators
from the state attorney general’s office found no suspects.

There is an unfinished item in this whole upper Youghiogheny
political quagmire. It is the story of the upstream boundary——the
one that Rusty Thomas and other people between Oakland and
Ohiopyle say was manipulated. There were rumors that accused
people of pulling strings, and since 1976, the rumors have bred
cynicism and undermined state efforts. Delegate Decorsey Bolden
said, “Thayer and Manning—only people in the nation who get to
build down by the water. Not me, not you, not John Wayne.”

Since the two individuals mentioned in the boundary question
were Joe Manning—assistant secretary of natural resources in the

In memory of my father,
who first showed me this river.

64 § Yougbiogbeny: Appalachian River

early seventies—and realtor Tom Thayer, and since Manning had
died, I went to Tom Thayer for his side of the story.

Along Route 219 where Oakland suburbanizes with roadside busi-
nesses and with a few $200,000 homes springing from hillsides, I
find the Thayer office complex. Five buildings sit back from the
highway. They are built of wood, stained attractively dark, and
landscaped. Though I am a stranger in these parts, the name Thayer
is familiar.

The first of this family journeyed here in 1819, according to
Garrett County: A History of Maryland’s Tableland. The book’s
index lists ten different Thayers, and these are only the headliners.
There is a Judge Thayer, a Thayerville, a Thayer Tavern, a Thayer
fire tower, a Thayer wildlife refuge. Tom Thayer does not appear in
the index, though perhaps he should. “The Thayers run this
county,” a resident along the river said. Tom Thayer is the owner of
Garrettland Realty and a member and past chairman of the Depart-
ment of Natural Resources’ Citizens Advisory Committee.

I show up at eleven o’clock. Even with real estate in its deepest
slump since the Depression, Thayer has meetings, so I return at one
thirty. He is in his fifties, tall and tan with a short gray beard,
sporty clothes, a gold chain around his neck. As I enter his office at
the end of the hall, he lights a cigarette. He will burn to the butts
half a pack before we are done.

Tom Thayer graduated in forestry from West Virginia University
in 1950. “I was a conservationist before people knew what the
word meant. A conservationist, not preservationist. As you know
conservation is wise use; preservation is no use.” He got a state job
in Carroll County near Baltimore, “where I raised hell until they
sent me back to the mountains.”

In 1959 Thayer was promoted to district forester in Cumberland.
“Two years later they were going to make me assistant state
forester in Annapolis, but I said, ‘No way, baby. Sit down there in a
suit and tie?’ I quit and came back home to Oakland and worked
for a bank. Pretty soon I was appraising property, and in 1965 I
went into real estate.”

Thayer intended to build a campground in 1961. “I found forty
acres along the river at Miller’s Run—close to Swallow Falls and
Herrington Manor State Parks, and bought it for $6,000. The
health department required a sewage system that would have cost
five or six thousand dollars, and I couldn’t do it. I never built the

Wild River § 65

campground. I ended up getting divorced, later remarried, and we
wanted a new home. Deep Creek Lake was the last place I wanted
to be; I was selling lots there every day. That would have been like
living in my office. So in 1974 I built our home on the river, 1,500
feet from the road. I didn’t go back there to sell lots; I went there to
hide from people, to look up and down the river and see mink and
beaver.” The Youghiogheny attracts escapees from many income
brackets and from many professions.

In 1970 Thayer was appointed to a Department of Natural Re-
sources advisory committee and became friends with Assistant Sec-
retary Joseph Manning. “Joe had a beautiful home on the Eastern
Shore along the Wye River, and we’d go down there and he’d come
up here. He looked all over the country for a place to retire, even
bought a lot in the Ozarks, but he loved it up here. He started
begging me for a lot on the river. I didn’t Want to sell, but didn’t
want to hurt his feelings either. We were friends. I said, $10,000 an
acre, figuring he’d say no. He jumped on it. Bought one-and-three-
quarter gtcres. In the real estate business Joe was what we call a
‘mooch.’ That means a guy who, from the moment he walks in this
office, he’s going to buy a lot, no matter what. I thought it was the
hosing of the century but Joe thought I had done him a favor. He
was the most naive, simple, honest guy; he told a reporter from the
Baltimore Sun that I’d done him a favor. Then came the story:
‘Wealthy land developer does favor for Deputy Secretary of Re-
sources.’ The rumors that followed were a great sorrow to me,
because people downriver—old friends I had hunted with—believed
them.”

The selection of Miller’s Run as the upper limit to the wild river
left Thayer’s and Manning’s land unregulated by the new state
zoning. “Fact of the matter,” Thayer says, “is that Oakland is the
only county seat in Maryland without sewage treatment and it isn’t
until Miller’s Run that the water quality is anything like a wild
river. And there are two power lines between Oakland and Miller’s
Run. These were the reasons that the state made the section from
the Oakland bridge to Miller’s Run ‘scenic’ instead of ‘wild.’ I had
nothing to do with the decision. Nobody called me. I called nobody.
I didn’t care one way or the other. Ten acres per lot would have
suited me just fine. That way I wouldn’t have to worry about
people building across the river and moving in with eighteen kids.”

About the boundary, Senator Mason had said, “I would have

66 J Yougl7z'ogheny:Appalacl9ian River

supported the entire river as scenic or wild, from the headwaters on
down. But that wasn’t in the cards, so the senate passed the bill to
make it a ‘wild’ river from the Oakland bridge to Friendsville. In
the House they changed it, moving the ‘wild’ boundary down to
Miller’s Run.”

The amendment to do this was added in a meeting of the House
Subcommittee of the Committee on Environmental Matters, and
Joe Manning was there. The Baltimore Sun quoted Manning as
saying that he lobbied “as a private citizen,” during the wild river
debate.

Tax records in the courthouse show that Manning made a down
payment on the land in 1974. He said he began construction on
July 10, 1975, which happens to be the effective date of the act. He
paid for the land and made the deed on July 10, 1975, but it was
not transferred and recorded until January 5, 1976. The regulations
that would have prohibited a one-and-three-quarter-acre lot and the
building of a home so close to the river (ten feet) were not effective
until May 26, 1976. Because Joe Manning was in before the regula-
tions, the selection of the boundary did not affect him, one way or
the other.

Enough politics. It is time to return to the river.

“Man, this is beautiful,” Steve Martin says. When we started the
trip from Sang Run to Friendsville, the sky wore a quilt of clouds. It
rained a little. “That’s okay,” Steve said. “I love paddling in the
rain. Rain’s what makes it.” Then when the sun came out at Na-
tional Falls he said, “Sure is great paddling in the sunshine.” Now
as we cruise the lower three miles of gentle water, it rains in earnest.
“This is pretty neat, the rain and the mist,” Steve says. Mist flattens
the textures of the hills, paints craggy silhouettes of dead pine
snags. Fog and rain always add a wilder, prehistoric overlay to the
wilderness. Steve sits back and relaxes in the downpour while it
drips from his helmet, onto his face.

At a big pool we pass the site of Kendall. The old town has
yielded to trees and rhododendron with a few piles of coal and
some obscured ruins. The Confluence and Oakland Railroad was
built from Friendsville to Kendall in 1891. The town had a board-
inghouse, grocery, clubhouse, and homes. Today you can walk the
old railroad grade three miles from Friendsville to Kendall, then
another few miles to a bridge site where tram lines crossed and

Wild River § 67

climbed farther upriver. Kevin Steinhilber, a surveyor and consul-
tant for Garrett County coal companies, says that rich coal remains
at Kendall. “If there will be proposals to mine anywhere in the wild
river corridor, it will probably be at Kendall.”

Michael Normyle has kayaked ahead of us to catch a return ride
to Sang Run where he will retrieve his Volkswagen. Steve and I
paddle under the high bridge of Interstate 48, then under new
Route 42, and finally under the old Route 42 bridge which is part
of the town’s main street.

The upper Youghiogheny take-out is as special as the put-in, as
friendly as the put-in is hostile. There at Al’s Riverside Lounge,
boaters do not worry about locals with shotguns. Al’s is not much
to look at, worn by the weather and by floods. On the outside it
barely survives, but on the inside it is throbbing with life: backslap-
ping, tall tales, thirty—year-old feuds, Friendsville lore, country mu-
sic, pool games, hot rum, hot chili, and cold beer. Al’s Lounge
houses a can’t—be-duplicated blend of hair-boater and Appalachian-
local.

As Steve and I aproach via raft, six boaters who are propped on
the porch drink beer, watch the rain, and applaud us. We beach
below the bar where a golden retriever welcomes us. Then a black
Labrador licks our hands if we let them hang in range. Like the
loveable Lab, we are soaked to the skin, but unlike him, we care.
My camera bag has kept a wool shirt dry, but all other dry clothes
are in the car. I pull the shirt on; someone offers his extra to Steve.

Here are the whitewater hard-core. Keith Bachlin from Albright
sits at the end of the porch. He is a paddle maker; many boaters
think he is the best. His kayak paddles run $150 to $290, but are
works of art. Phil Coleman is here. Two guys are named Jimo and
Jesse. Roger Zabel refreshes with a Stroh’s and talks to Karen, Big
Al’s red-headed daughter, now weaving something beautiful on a
portable loom. Her eyes are bright and impish. Roger is her boy
friend.

Al Davis comes floating by on his raft. He is applauded for com-
pleting the first upper Youghiogheny R-1. Many people would have
thought it impossible for a lone paddler to raft this river. To under-
state his accomplishment, he sits on a side tube, crosses his legs, and
daintily strokes the water.

Big Al Fauber emerges for a breather from duty behind the bar.
He mops his brow and gazes at the rain. He really is big, partly

68 § Yougbiogbeny: Appalachian River

bald, with a drooping red moustache. He looks full of gusto, could
be a jolly bartender in a beer commercial. He grew up near Oak-
land, then spent twenty years in the army, mostly as a master ser-
geant, surviving four stints in Vietnam. From Panama, he moved his
family to Friendsville in 1971 because “that’s where I found a home
for sale.” He learned new skills; tomorrow he will depart as a truck
driver towing a yacht from Havre de Grace, Maryland, to Florida.
Fauber bought the lounge in 1972. “Well, how’re we doing?” he
asks, and everybody says something like, “Okay Al.” Thus revived
by the fresh air and the porch crew, he returns inside.

Phil Coleman once took Al down the river. At Double Pencil
Sharpener he was knocked off the tube and splashed into the drink,
but not entirely. Coleman snatched one log of an ankle, leaving the
rest of Al sprawling overboard. Eventually, with teamwork, they
lugged the master sergeant—truck driver—bartender back aboard.
Karen, in Roger Zabel’s raft, asked, “Hey Dad, what were you
doing down there?”

“Checking out the fish.”

“Yeah? What kind of fish did you see?”

“Suckers.”

The boaters on the porch talk about how much the water will rise
due to rain. One foot is the consensus. They talk about an unusual,
not quite suicidal way of running Charlie’s Choice. Some recollect
their last trip on the Blackwater River, and anticipate the Gauley
(the Gauley River is run mostly in the fall). They debate the idea of
drilling holes in paddle blades to let a small amount of water
through as you stroke, and what angle the holes should be. They
talk about a whitewater movie being produced by Russ Nichols and
featuring Steve Martin, Jimmy Snyder of West Virginia, and John
Kennedy of North Carolina. Also: a Life magazine story is to fea-
ture Phil Coleman and others.

These guys (and Karen) are comfortable on the porch, but I am
the proverbial drowned rat: soaked, cold, and hungry. The beer is
sucking my limited potential for warmth. I retire to the bar, and
after my eyes adjust, I read a sign over the empty mugs: “It’s
exciting to be Polish.” A Pittsburgh Steelers schedule is taped on the
wall. A Schlitz poster features a boatload of rafters in whitewater.
“Go for it,” the poster says. I have arrived in time to catch an
altercation between one local man and two others:

“. . . the hell you are.”

Wild River § 69

“You didn’t do a day’s work, how’d you know?”

“Whatta you mean you took the . . . in the . . . when . . .

Between the dialect, the slur, and Waylon Jennings performing on
the jukebox, I can’t understand half of it, but sense an escalation.
Sure enough: “Whatta you know. Goddamn liar.”

“Hey, the sign,” a fourth man challenges. The Sign, on the wall
behind the bar, says “Profanity prohibited. Otherwise hit the
bricks.”

“Yeh, look at the sign,” a fifth man says. They police themselves
in this way, and Al’s Lounge remains a place of decency.

Big Al is somewhat massive behind the bar. He looks at me and
says, “Harmless.”

I order chili from Betty, a friendly, white-haired waitress, also a
bartender.

About the time Crystal Gayle comes on, Karen abandons the
weather-beaten porch.

“See the cartoon?” she asks. Karen is an artist as well as a spinner
and weaver. She draws cartoons of her own. This one makes sense
only to boaters. The first panel is a caricature of Charlie Walbridge
standing on shore. Walbridge is the American Canoe Association’s
safety chairman. Despite his penchant for hair water, he is a safety
nut. He is continually writing articles on safety. At least a handful
of boaters probably owe their lives to Charlie Walbridge’s nuttiness.
In the cartoon, a kayaker flounders in a huge whirlpool and yells,
“Throw me a safety rope, Charlie.” In the next panel Walbridge
throws the entire safety rope—intact in its throw bag—to the
swamped boater. If things are quiet in Al’s Lounge and Karen
doesn’t think people will notice too much, she grabs her guitar and
sings behind the bar.

Karen had gone away to Washington, D.C., but decided she
would rather live here in the mountains. Under CETA (a Carter
administration jobs program) she found work as a carpenter fixing
homes of the elderly. Two months after pounding her first nail, she
was promoted to foreman. She does not excell in carpentry. “They
just needed somebody with common sense,” she explains. On Satur-
days she taught in a free art school for children. “Some of these
mountain kids are beaten before they start,” Karen says. “If they’re
from certain families, they know they aren’t supposed to amount to
much, but they start art projects and blossom out. It’s a good
feeling.” The art work continues but CETA is dead. Now Karen

93

70 § Yougbiogheny: Appalachian River

mops the floor and does odd jobs at Al’s. She will not tend bar. “I
don’t like the whole alcohol scene,” she says.

Betty serves my hot chili. Then she quits for the day, but before
she leaves, we celebrate her birthday. Which one, she is not saying.
Al pops the cork from one bottle, then another, and pours for
everyone. I sip champagne with my chili, crackers, and beer. Mean-
while, with uncanny timing, Eddie wanders in for the free drinks.

Ed Sliger is about five-foot-two, over eighty years old. How much
over? Who knows. He wears mile—weary boots and a suit coat
possibly retrieved at Goodwill before my birth; a coat for a collec-
tor in New York City but only for Ed Sliger in Friendsville. He is
topped with a hat, though his hair has survived the years. It has
outlasted his teeth. Most of them have been dropped along the way,
which makes Ed difficult to understand. I don’t know, maybe he
would be hard to understand anyway. When smiling, the handicap
of his gums is more than compensated by his grinning squint, which
appears immediately upon seeing Karen.

Eddie has a treasure for her. Karen holds out her freckled hand,
closes her eyes, and receives a rusty nail. Eddie says, “Pretty soon
we’ll celebrate my birthday.” Karen responds, “I thought we just
did that last week,” and Eddie explains, “Celebrate it twice. Pretty
soon’s the real one.”

After Eddie climbs onto a stool at the bar and the champagne
party has cooled, he exhumes a larger treasure from his suit—coat
pocket. “What you got there, Ed?” Al asks. Eddie looks at Al and
says something like, “Weeana.”

“What?” Al asks.

“Weeana.”

“Sweet anise,” an adjacent old-timer interprets.

“Wannaseeit?” Ed shows the sweet anise—a green herb with
finely textured leaves—to cronies at the bar. The smell of licorice
blends into the Al’s Lounge atmosphere and improves it.

“What do you do with it?” Al asks.

Ed says, “You chew ’i up, spit ’i on fishin’ worms, then go
fishin’.” That is what Ed does with it.

Ed lived in Kendall clear up until 1934. He worked in the mines,
riding the train down to Friendsville now and then, later walking it.
I think that Ed exaggerates. He says it took three hours to walk out,
and that he once did it in a storm of hailstones this size, and he
indicates a basketball. They were somewhat smaller than the trout

Wild River § 71

that he caught after spitting sweet anise on his worms. He talks
about the size of trees he cut, about the height of floods Friendsville
has survived. This past-century-recap could go on indefinitely,
which would be okay with me, but after awhile another old man,
perhaps Eddie’s son’s age if he had a son, says, “Ed, you better get
up there so you don’t miss your supper again.” A woman in Friends-
ville cooks for Eddie but does not tolerate his tardiness, especially
when Al’s Lounge is the source.

Today, Ed has money. He holds up several dollars and asks Al’s
wife for a flask of Seagrams VO. She peers under the bar for a
moment and emerges, hopefully saying, “Don’t have any Ed.” He
says, “Corby’s then.” Al’s wife glares at Ed, who sits poker-faced
and with resolution that outdoes his height, age, and absent chop-
pers. Al’s wife reluctantly surrenders the booze. Ed pockets it, va-
cates the bar, and walks across the Youghiogheny River bridge as
he has done thousands of times, back into town, the rain beating on
his shoulders.

Friendsville started out as an Indian Village and remains a quiet,
pleasant place, with 604 people. The town was not named for the
disposition of its residents, though it could have been. Most of the
buildings are white and well kept. There are many older people, but
children, too. Even though the town lies in the heart of the moun-
tains with a heritage of timber and coal, it doesn’t show much of
the grime, the ramshackle facades, the broken windows, the dark
red brick and rusty railroad tracks indigenous to most Appalachian
burgs. It is without the company-town look of Crellin, the only
other Youghiogheny riverfront town in Maryland. It could be a
small farming community in New England.

When I visit Friendsville, I meet Carl Helmick on the main street.
He is an old-time resident who says that the “ones that want to
work get out, the ones that don’t, stay.” I meet tall Bud Fisher who
came up here twenty miles from Confluence because in 1932 the
Friendsville high school had basketball and Confluence didn’t. One
thing led to another: he met a girl and stayed fifty years.

Emery Friend, seventy-three, didn’t come to play ball. His family
has been here since 1765 when Swedish John Friend established this
as the first white settlement of Garrett County. He squatted in
defiance of King George III’s proclamation that prohibited occupa-
tion of Indian lands west of the Alleghenies. In 1766 there were

72 § Youghiogheny.‘ Appalachian River

additional edicts by the Pennsylvania and Virginia governors to
remove people from this frontier. Pennsylvania passed a law in
1768 stating that anyone living on Indian lands would be punished
by death. Friend and other settlers were outlaws clearing forests and
building towns on land they didn’t own. They were trespassers
causing far more trouble to the local population than kayakers do
today. When George Washington visited the Ohio River headwaters
in 1784, he called the squatters “fit subjects for Indian vengeance.”

Emery Friend grew up on a farm in the early 19008. For work, he
delivered posts to the mines around Uniontown. He was thirty-two
when he was drafted into World War II. Why did he return after
the war? “I don’t know why. If I had it to do over, I’d go someplace
else. To be different I guess. For better opportunities. Maybe stay in
the army.”

I asked what changes he has seen. “Well, yesterday the bank was
robbed.” The thief appeared with a briefcase and claimed there was
a bomb inside. It was the first bank robbery in Friend’s memory.

He thinks beyond yesterday. “The railroad used to go right
through here, two coal trains a day from Kendall. The streets were
all mud. Used to drive down along the river in a car, right along the
river to Somerfield. Then they built the dam down below. They
covered it up. Dam took it all. Ran them all out. There were farms
and houses the whole way down there.”

I drive my van to the lower end of Friendsville where the road
that Emery Friend talked about still follows the river. It is rough
because no one maintains it any more. I park and walk. The forest
grows lush. The river winds around bends and sings over rocks and
gravel. The Youghiogheny reflects green in dark pools, but mostly it
is riffles shining in the afternoon sun of early summer. Sycamores
lean over the bank. They are friends of the trout since they shade
the water and keep it cool. Rhododendron and seeding grasses
crowd the shore.

Then an outline of rocks-without-plants appears along the
water’s edge, as if it were scraped. The outline swells by inches,
growing to feet as I walk downstream. It is a tidal zone without the
life of tidal pools. Eddies of current creep upward along the shore. I
walk another quarter mile. Slack water expands toward the middle
of the river. Riffles are gone. The only current runs down the
center, squeezed thinner by flat-water at the sides. Shoreline plant

Wild River § 73

life is banned for three feet above the water. I can see that the only
current there is created by the momentum of the river from above.
The Youghiogheny is like a hose in a big watering trough, and its
pressure is spent and dissipated as it dumps into the still-water. In
another quarter mile there is only a slight agitation in the center;
tiny whirlpools and waves come to the surface and vanish.

Then the river dies. It has run unblocked and with speed since
Silver Lake, but now it stops, because down below is the dam.

Contents

One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine

Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen

Map of the Youghiogheny viii
Down the River ix
Historical Events Along the Youghiogheny xi
The High Ridge 3

A Gathering of Waters 13

Wild River 29

The Dam 74

The Confluence 106
The Singing River 119

Ohiopyle: The Old Days 137

The Park 161

Whitewater 188

The Rapids and the Pioneers § Commercial

Rafting § Managing the River
Ohiopyle and the Run 247
The Mines and the River 268
Beyond the Appalachians 283
Winter 307
Acknowledgments
Sources 321
Index 333

317

Chapter Four

The Dam

It is made of dirt and rocks, 184 feet high, as tall as a fifteen-
story building. With a length of 1,610 feet, the dam fills a tight
spot in the Youghiogheny valley 59 miles down from the river’s
source and 1.2 miles above the town of Confluence. Only two
dams in Pennsylvania rise higher: Raystown, 225 feet high on the
Juniata River, and Francis Walter, 234 feet high on the Lehigh.
Like any rock pile, Youghiogheny Dam tapers from bottom (1,000
feet wide) to top (25 feet). It was built and is operated by the U.S.
Army Corps of Engineers, the largest engineering organization in
the world.

The dam is a plug, a tub, and a spigot, all with certain potential,
certain limits. When runoff is high, the dam holds back water. Then
when the river is low, extra water is released for industries and
towns, incidentally aiding barges on the Monongahela River. Thus,
for the river downstream, the dam makes high flows lower, and low
flows higher. Below Confluence, the higher summer flows also ben-
efit whitewater paddlers at Ohiopyle, though this was not foreseen
when the dam was built.

The full reservoir covers seventeen miles of what was river, 3,566
acres of what was land. Thirteen streams, including Mill, Brad-
dock’s, Buffalo, and Tub runs, drain into the reservoir, and the
lower ends of these are also submerged. The shoreline——the perime-
ter of the reservoir—totals thirty-eight miles, only four miles more
than the old river, which means that in most places the reservoir is
skinny—a narrow flooded valley without the bays and inlets of

74

The Dam § 75

nearby Deep Creek Reservoir (on a Youghiogheny tributary) which
has a twelve-mile length but a sixty-nine-mile shoreline.

Many other differences between the Youghiogheny and Deep
Creek reservoirs stem from this topographic fact. Most of the
Youghiogheny frontage drops sharply from mountaintops to reser-
voir depths. This means high mud lines when the water is drawn
down, and it means poor access. The lake frontage is not conducive
to cabin sites, tennis courts, or even a three-by-three spot to stand
and fish. The steep waterfront is owned by the Army Corps of
Engineers, which has reserved a belt of open space. Deep Creek has
a gentle shoreline. It more resembles a natural lake in New York or
Minnesota than a flooded Appalachian valley, and the development
follows suit. Expensive homes with shaded lawns adjoin Deep
Creek Lake, while on the Youghiogheny there are cottages, cabins,
and trailers, clinging to notches cut into the rocky slopes.

As to the type of dam, the Corps calls this “rolled earthfill and
impervious core,” meaning it is dirt, rolled to squeeze out the air,
with a clay curtain in the center extending from top to bottom.
Unlike piles of rocks or sandy soil, clay is fine grained and nearly
waterproof. Large stones armor the outside of the darn. Consider-
able soil and rock was dug up and dumped to make the dam—over
3 million cubic yards or 375,000 dump-truck loads. The dirt and
rock would be 1,600 feet deep if piled onto a football field with
walls around it.

The reservoir holds 82,766,154,000 gallons of water, or 254,000
acre—feet. The greatest depth is 126 feet. At the dam, an eighteen-
foot diameter tunnel releases water from the cold depths of the lake
where sunlight does not reach. Army dam tenders adjust and tune
the volume of the release by opening or closing three gates in the
tunnel.

Gene Amocida has worked for the Corps since 1955, and now
heads its hydrology branch in downtown Pittsburgh. His Reservoir
Regulation Section includes five full-time employees who decide
when to hold water back and when to release it at fifteen reservoirs
in the upper Ohio basin. The water level you see at Pittsburgh is
partly a result of their decisions.

At 8:15 every morning, field men call Amocida’s office by radio
and announce their reservoirs’ levels. The information is punched
into a computer for storage and for calculations if operations be-
come complex. For Youghiogheny Reservoir, Amocida’s men add a

76 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

point to a graph with one axis showing water levels and the other
showing dates. The point will fall within one of six zones indicated
by lines revealing cubic feet per second to be released. During
floods, Amocida’s men are on duty around the clock. With help
from a computer, they adjust the discharges of all eleven Army
Corps dams above Pittsburgh and four others in the Beaver River
Basin in order to get the best mix of storage. During these times the
job is not so cut-and-dried. Amocida will compare the route and
speed of storms, the expected crests of dozens of streams, and the
flood hazards of scores of communities. He will strategically jetti-
son or hold water by use of his fifteen spigots and plugs. But except
in emergencies and unusual weather, it is simply a matter of plot-
ting information and releasing the amount of water that a graph
says to release. Most of the planning and figuring was done when
the graph was created and was based on the purposes of the dam.

The main purpose is flood control. Engineers studied 200 years of
information, older data being inferential, and calculated the volume
of the 100-year flood—the size of the largest flood expected once
each 100 years. They computed the amount of rainfall and runoff
that would cause this flood, and the dam is operated to hold it all.
Empty space is reserved for 4.3 inches of runoff from summer rain-
fall and 6.5 inches of runoff in winter. This means a maximum pool
level of 1,439 feet above sea level in summer and 1,419 in winter.

The secondary purpose of the dam is low-flow augmentation. The
goal is to keep an optimum amount of water in the river below the
dam. Somebody established this optimum back in the forties when
the operations plan was devised, but the records are buried as ar-
chives, and at the Corps office there are no survivors of that era.
Amocida says they have all died or moved to Florida. But we know
that a gauge thirty miles downriver in Connellsville is used to deter-
mine the releases. The lower the gauge reading, the more water is
dumped from the dam, although this is rationed so that even during
the worst known drought (the “drought of record” in 1930-1931)
the reservoir would not quite go dry. Even then, a pool level of
1,344 feet above sea level (95 feet below the highest summer pool)
would be kept while maintaining a minimum of 200 cubic feet per
second at Connellsville (including the flow of tributaries below the
dam). This is almost enough water to float a canoe, but would raise
the Monongahela at Braddock only one—tenth of one foot.

During most years, the reservoir reaches summer pool elevation

The Dam § 77

about April 1. It is kept at that high level, convenient to motor-
boaters, until August. Then the Corps lowers it until mid November
when rains raise the inflow.

In summary, operation of the dam is thus: Empty space is re-
served to hold the 100-year flood, and water is released to provide a
minimum of 200 cubic feet per second at Connellsville during the
drought of record.

There are other variables. The Army Corps always releases at
least 100 cubic feet per second so that the river doesn’t drop bone
dry, killing fish. Extra water is released to dilute the Casselman
River when it is delivering caustic acid from coal mines. Once, the
Corps shut the water down so rescuers could recover a drowned
body below Ohiopyle.

Youghiogheny Dam’s three flood gates can release at most 10,000
cubic feet per second, which fills the river to the top of its banks. If
more than this amount flows into the reservoir, the water rises until
it reaches the emergency spillway at elevation 1,490. This is a notch,
400 feet wide in the top of the dam, where the skin is reinforced
with 1,700 cubic yards of concrete. If it weren’t for the
spillway, water could rise higher until it would flow over the breast
of the dam which could then burst, wreaking havoc on the commu-
nities it was designed to save.

Through the years ten dams have been built on the Youghiogheny:
two trout ponds in the headwaters, the ten-foot-high dam at Silver
Lake, a dam of spruce branches built by Elijah Friend at Sang Run in
1854, Youghiogheny Dam by the Army Corps, three diversion dams
(built one after another) at Ohiopyle in the mid-1800s, a hydroelectric
dam at Connellsville, and two navigation dams below West Newton in
about 1850. Today only three impoundments remain: low dams at
Silver Lake and Connellsville, and the big Army Corps dam.

To float boats was the first reason to build dams in the Ohio
basin. Pioneers moving westward took the National Road over the
Appalachians to Brownsville along the Monongahela, or to Pitts-
burgh. By flatboat or keelboat, they floated down the rivers to the
frontier of Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, and the Mississippi
River. In 1788, 323 boats embarked on the Ohio River. After Lewis
and Clark’s journey in 1803, settlers continued overland to the
West. Some rode steamboats up the Missouri River to the Rockies.
The rivers were vital links in the westward movement.

78 3” Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

One problem was that the first leg by river—on the Mononga-
hela—dried up in the summer, sometimes for months. The Ohio
was not much deeper. Meriwether Lewis wrote, “At this stage of
water, oxen make the best sailors on the Ohio River.” In 1814, the
Pennsylvania General Assembly passed an act authorizing a survey
of the Monongahela River that would recommend dams and levees
from Pittsburgh upstream to the state boundary. In 1844, eight-foot
dams were completed, opening flat-water travel between Pittsburgh
and Brownsville.

The Pennsylvania legislature also licensed the Youghiogheny
Navigation Company, which built two dams and fourteen-foot-high
locks on the lower Youghiogheny and which in 1848 opened a
four—foot-deep channel to West Newton. In 1865, a flood destroyed
these dams.

By 1929 the Army Corps of Engineers had built fifty dams on the
Ohio River and several on the Monongahela. Tygart Dam on West
Virginia’s Tygart River, a Monongahela tributary, was authorized
in 1935 and was the first large dam in the nation built solely by the
Army Corps of Engineers. Because Congress authorized Tygart
Dam for navigation, most of its water is unavailable for towns and
industries, though droughts pose problems. Water supply agencies
are required by the state to prepare emergency plans that could
involve rationing of water or importing it from other basins. State
officials also supported the building of Rowlesburg Dam on the
Cheat River, but environmentalists and West Virginia blocked this
because of the Cheat’s unspoiled character and the farms and
homes that would be flooded.

Youghiogheny Dam helps slightly to alleviate low water problems
on the Monongahela, but this was not the main reason for the dam.
The main reason was not to cope with low water, but with high
water. Youghiogheny Dam was built to save Pittsburgh from
floods 1

Pittsburgh had its start the year after twenty-one-year-old George
Washington had identified the confluence of the Allegheny and
Monongahela as a strategic military site. Fort Prince George, Fort
Duquesne, and Fort Pitt followed, and a town grew. In 1760, 146
houses had been built. Because of river transportation during the
westward movement, Pittsburgh thrived as the frontier gateway.

The town was near coal, essential for the melting of iron ore.
Too, Pittsburgh sat central to the developing nation: accessible from

The Dam § 79

the east by road and rail and opening routes to the heartland via the
Ohio River, road, and rail. The Allegheny and Monongahela pro-
vided plentiful water and natural sewers. Labor was cheap, and this
was the home of Andrew Carnegie, Henry Clay Frick, and other
pioneering industrialists. Pittsburgh became the largest city at the
edge of the Appalachians. Next to Atlanta, Georgia, it still is. In the
late 1800s the place hummed as the nation’s largest steel producer.
River wharves grew warehouses, and the homes and shops that
were confined to the triangle of land between the Allegheny and
Monongahela gave way to factories and many-storied buildings.
Industries with forests of smokestacks sprawled up and down both
sides of three rivers. Pittsburgh, first a fort, then a frontier gateway,
became the nation’s industrial giant, and much of it was built where
the rivers would flood.

South of the city, the Monongahela reaches into the heart of West
Virginia. To the north, the hundred tentacles of the Allegheny pene-
trate into New York and east to the Susquehanna divide. About
11,254 square miles drain into the Allegheny; 7,384 into the Mo-
nongahela, and these two megarivers merge at Pittsburgh. The Pitts-
burgh Point was made by the rivers, colliding during floods. It is
formed of alluvial soil eroded from places such as Backbone Moun-
tain, Eagle Rocks, and the Casselman.

When the Ohio River reaches twenty—five feet on a gauge at the
Point, the Army Corps calls it a flood, the first known one occur-
ring in 1762. From then until 1936, the Corps listed 115 floods, the
largest in 1762, 1763, 1784, and 1832. From March 1907 to
March 1908, three floods, the highest being 38.5 feet, caused $6.5
million in losses (1908 dollars).

Enough was enough, and the industrial establishment formed the
Flood Commission of Pittsburgh with H. J. Heinz as president. On
April 16, 1912, it presented a fat volume of research and recom-
mendations to the chamber of commerce. This report was the first
thorough plan for flood control in the United States. It recognized
the importance of damming the Youghiogheny (the second largest
tributary of the Monongahela, the Cheat being the largest), and the
Kiskiminetas, a major Allegheny tributary: “one or both of these
streams have been important factors in every great flood that has
visited Pittsburgh.” The commission recommended seventeen reser-
voirs above the city, incorporating sites on the Youghiogheny. Al-
ternatives included the gorge above Confluence, though their dam

80 J Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

would have been lower than the Army Corps’, flooding only eight
houses. The report said, “By careful adjustment of flow line it was
found possible, in the aggregate to obtain considerable storage
without overflowing important settlements.” Other damsites were
plotted at the Maryland state line, 1.5 miles above Friendsville, 2.5
miles below Sang Run (“consists of several small stores and a few
unimportant dwellings”), and at Swallow Falls. The commission
identified five Casselman sites.

In 1913, E. A. Schooley of the Connellsville Chamber of Com-
merce echoed the Pittsburghers’ recommendation when he wrote to
the Army Corps of Engineers: “As a preventive measure we suggest
immediate construction of the proposed reservoir south of Conflu-
ence and impounding of waters of the Youghiogheny River.”
Schooley was asking for no less than a new role for the Army
Corps. Thus far, it opposed flood-control dams, arguing that they
would be too expensive and of dubious value.

Then came the big flood in 1936. To many people, it is as mem-
orable as Pearl Harbor. Snowpacks and thick river ice had already
been swept away, but on March 17 the Ohio basin was engulfed by
wet snow and heavy rains in Old Testament proportions. The Ohio
River rose from 21.7 to 30 feet that day. It crested on March 18 at
46 feet. Water from the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers made
Pittsburgh boatable up to the door top of the Jenkins arcade and
the Joseph Horne department store. Chocolate water submerged the
downtown almost to Smithfield Street and cut all access and com-
munication: railroads, bridges, and telephones. The power died
with the flooding of the James Reed generating plant. One hundred
thousand people were driven from their homes. Firemen waded
waist-deep in floodwater while directing hoses at blazes that roared
out of control. The National Guard occupied the city and the Red
Cross fed 50,000 people. After five soaking days, the waters finally
dipped below flood stage, leaving 36 dead, 500 injured, and $150
million to $200 million in damages (1936 figures). Thirty thousand
Work Progress Administration laborers helped to mop up Pitts-
burgh. Scores of Eastern cities flooded in 1936. That year was to
floods what 1968 was to race riots, 1973 to gasoline shortages, and
1977 to Western drought.

Congress took action, passing the Flood Control Act of June 22,
1936. The act says that “destructive floods upon the rivers of the
United States, upsetting orderly processes and causing loss of life

The Dam is 81

and property, including the erosion of lands, and impairing and
obstructing navigation, highways, railroads, and other channels of
commerce between the states, constitute a menace to national wel-
fare.” For the federal government, Congress accepted that flood
control was a “proper activity,” to be under “jurisdiction” of the
War Department and “prosecuted” by the Army Corps of Engi-
neers. The Corps would study the Youghiogheny, together with
over two hundred twenty other rivers, plus many tributaries, for
flood control. Congress authorized nine reservoirs, not including
the Youghiogheny, for construction in the upper Ohio basin.

The Flood Control Act initiated one of the most massive manipu-
lations of nature and landscape in history. Hundreds of dams would
be built nationwide. In the flood year, 1936, the Army Corps was
to be a savior, and it was given license to study and build almost
anything it saw fit. Perhaps no domestic agency, save the Bureau of
Reclamation, which dams rivers in the West, has been embraced so
unquestioningly, and Youghiogheny Dam illustrates this point per-
haps as well as any example.

To reinforce public support, the Ohio River at Pittsburgh ex-
ceeded flood stage a confounding six times in 1937. The highest of
these was about eleven feet lower than the 1936 crest, but down-
stream from Wheeling, the 1937 flood was the worst. Half a million
people vacated their homes in the lower Ohio Valley. While the
brown waters still roiled toward the Gulf of Mexico, the House
Committee on Flood Control passed a resolution calling for even
more Corps recommendations.

In Document Number 1 of the House Committee on Flood Con-
trol, first session of the 75th Congress, 1937, the Army Corps rec-
ommended forty-five reservoirs. Only two fell within the Mononga-
hela basin: West Virginia’s Tygart and West Fork, but officials and
residents of West Virginia opposed the West Fork project since their
land and homes would have been permanently flooded to prevent
occasional flooding of Pennsylvanians downstream. Document
Number 1 included no reference to the Youghiogheny.

The Flood Control Act of 1938 authorized $75 million for reser-
voirs and $50.3 million for levees and local protection. Section 4 of
the act states: “The general comprehensive plan for flood control
and other purposes in the Ohio River Basin, as set forth in the
Flood Control Committee document Number 1, Seventy-fifth Con-
gress, first session, with such modifications thereof as in the discre-

82 § Youghiogheny: Appalachian River

tion of the Secretary of War and the Chief of Engineers may be
advisable, is approved.” The Youghiogheny was not mentioned, but
“modifications” and “discretion” would be consequential words.

A December 15, 1939, Army Corps memo recognizes authoriza-
tion of the West Fork site but says, “Considerable local opposition
in West Virginia has arisen against the provision of the proposed
West Fork reservoir. The Youghiogheny River reservoir could serve
as a substitute for the West Fork reservoir, under the project modi-
fication authorized by the Flood Control Act of June 28, 1938, and,
if selected and approved by the Chief of Engineers, the reservoir
would become an authorized unit of the reservoir system project for
the protection of Pittsburgh and the upper Ohio River Valley with
incidential protection for the Youghiogheny River Valley.”

The Youghiogheny project, which would impound seventeen
miles of the river and flood 1,430 acres of farmland and 262 build-
ings, was considered a “project modification,” pursued because of
local opposition to the preferred West Fork site. Youghiogheny
Dam was not specifically authorized by Congress, though the Corps
probably discussed the switch with J. Buell Snyder of Perryopolis
(along the lower Youghiogheny), who was chairman of the War
Department Subcommittee of the House Appropriations Commit-
tee. The Corps “modified” the West Fork dam by moving it 100
miles to another river and another state. This may indicate the
solidarity of support for flood control, the confidence of the Army
Corps, and the freedom that it enjoyed. A dam would not be built
today without specific Congressional approval.

Army Corps planners had considered a dam below the town of
Confluence. This would have impounded the Youghiogheny, the
Casselman, and Laurel Hill Creek. The site was dropped, not due to
Confluence, but to the cost of railroad relocation. They considered
other sites at 3.8 and 3.9 miles above Confluence—at the lower end
of Big Bend.

The site 1.2 miles above Confluence was selected because it
offered better flood control. Page one of the Army Corps Definite
Project Report of 1939 (the fundamental document about the dam)
lists purposes of flood control, navigation, and pollution abatement.
But page fourteen omits navigation: “The dam would create a reser-
voir primarily for the purpose of flood control, but with integrated
use for low water regulation for the benefit of irrigation, pollution
abatement, and water supply.” It was also noted that releases could

The Dam § 83

be used to dilute acid mine drainage from the Casselman and to
provide water for the Youghiogheny River Canalization Project——a
lower river channelization including two dams below West Newton
authorized in 1930 but never built, perhaps due to the Corps’ pre-
occupation with flood control after 1936.

Later brochures by the Army Corps list only purposes of “flood
control and discharge regulation for industrial and domestic water
supply and for pollution abatement.” Gene Amocida says that the
dam is operated for flood control and low flow augmentation, not
for navigation.

No hydroelectricity is generated here, though it was considered. In
1939, G. Albert Stewart of the Pennsylvania Department of Forests
and Waters (now the Department of Environmental Resources) wrote
to the Army Corps: “The Board does not favor hydro-electric design
of, or hydro-electric use of the proposed dam, said development being
inimical to the interests of one of Pennsylvania’s basic industries-
coal—and an unwarranted expenditure of public funds not contribut-
ing in any way to the solution of the main problem of flood control.”

In the 19705, the rising cost of oil, air pollution from burning
coal, and concern about the safety of nuclear power stirred interest
in hydroelectricity. In 1979 the Army Corps began a study of retro-
fitting the dam with turbines, but the investigation was halted in
1982 due to lack of funds. Three other sponsors applied for a
Federal Energy Regulatory Commission permit to study the addi-
tion of turbines, and in May 1981, the commission issued a permit
to the borough of Seven Springs, home of western Pennsylvania’s
largest ski resort. After their study is completed in 1983, town
officials may request permission to tap power here.

Most hydroelectric dams are operated for peaking power. This
results in minimal water being released most of the time, then great
surges being flushed when electricity is needed. To minimize these
all-or-nothing hydraulics, a reregulating dam is often built below
the main dam to catch the crest of water during releases and hold it
back for steadier flow.

While planning their dam in the 1930s, the Army Corps listed a
cost/benefit ratio of 1 to 1.54 and later 1 to 3.16. It is unclear which
of these is the final figure, but for every dollar spent, $1.54 or $3.16
would allegedly be returned to somebody in benefits. The Definite
Project Report lists 89 percent of the benefits for flood control, 3
percent for navigation, and 8 percent for pollution abatement.