Ohio high country

Burr Oak Lake from the state park lodge

When settlers arrived in the 1700s, they described Ohio as one dense forest. Outside of the state’s few patches of old-growth woods, it’s impossible to see my home state with those eyes anymore. Westbound, the farmland runs across the Midwest. South and east, the farmland grows patchier as the terrain rises into the Appalachian Range. From the spoke of Columbus we headed southeast down U.S. 33. Ever since highway extensions bypassed Lancaster and Nelsonville, the road to Athens is a placid drive into Appalachia.

This is Ohio’s high country, where the ridges climb above the farm country and roads follow the hills across tiny towns and acres of protected forest. After Lancaster the traffic drops off and the terrain changes. The mountains begin to rebound, the road twists and rises. While less than 90 miles from Columbus to Athens, I can’t encourage any attempts to shave minutes off the ride. At last a dozen state highway patrol cruisers had radar guns trained on weekend travelers. Polite as they are, the staties have no problem writing tickets for anyone flouting those limits.

Athens is a different animal, a huge university in a sparsely populated corner of Ohio. Sitting along the Hocking River and situated between Marietta and Ohio’s one-time territorial capital of Chillicothe, I’ve always enjoyed the approach to Athens. The mountains keep rolling, the highways wind through them before the landscape opens to reveal the city and university.

Mural in Glouster

North of Athens the cities and villages face a tougher hand. These are among Ohio’s poorest corners, industry places industry left decades ago or just passed by. Coal country history goes back much further. There’s not much to Buchtel, site of coal strike that was broken by Pinkerton guards. Murray City could be missed in a long blink.

Then the road comes to Glouster. The town’s main blocks have a handful of local businesses scattered around, buildings standing near the railroad tracks that swing through town. Most of the houses have been kept up nicely, and still look stately with their broad front porches. One building in particular jumps out, not for being new or old, but just skinny. Near the tracks this impossibly skinny two-story building stands where everyone passing wants to see inside, just to understand the layout of so narrow a structure.

Outside Glouster the high country takes over. No one should have images of the west or even the high stretches of Appalachia and Blue Ridge in their heads. But for Ohio, the land shifts into refreshingly different terrain. It isn’t Ohio’s fault that its once taller peaks were flattened by glaciers. Along with Wayne National Forest, a major nearby draw is Burr Oak State Park, a 2,600-acre park centered on Burr Oak Lake, a shallow flood-control lake surrounding by craggy, forested hills. Any number of steep, challenging hikes lies on the paths skirting the lake.

At Dock 3, we turned onto the county roads, the places where the uninvited do not wander, where a black bear or bobcat could await around the corner (although both are almost never seen). In 15 years of friendship, this was just my third trip to the Crites cabin in southeastern Ohio. Having never had a place like that in my family, I understand the allure completely. Just the drive out to the cabin strips away the weight of city life. By those last miles on the gravel road, there’s nothing to do but crack a beer, leave your worries aside for the duration of the trip and unwind.

In early evening, Ben and I grabbed a carryout pizza from the Burr Oak lodge and each had a Jackie O’s while we waited. The lodge sits on a treed bluff high above the lake. People congregated on the patio that hides within the trees while still receiving excellent views of the lake where a few pontoon boats motored around.

After dinner, Ben took me on a drive to the end of the cabin road, to a spot they call the Wagon Wheel. On a clear night like we had, this clearing in the forest gives the Milky Way space to brighten the night. I get few nights free of light pollution, so it was a joy just to sit in the dark, let my eyes adjust and watch the galaxy slowly present itself. Mars glowed with its clean pinkish hue. In a few minutes the galactic haze was visible, as were a few satellites buzzing between horizons.

Ben’s father spins a good yarn, and we didn’t lack for good talk on the cabin’s broad front porch. We talked into the night about everything from wild Canada to Indians baseball to local fauna to good whiskey. Eventually I went and crash in one of the bedrooms, heat of the day still clinging to the air. By early morning it would fade considerably, giving me a relaxing sleep away from city noises. In the morning I heard the lumps of firewood landing on the lawn. The air was cool and raw, the early sunlight breaking through the trunks of the surrounding forest.

Ben’s father worked in the woodpile, hunting for critters. It did not take him long to find one. From the he pulled a ringneck snake, wormlike and not even a foot long. I had no clue such tiny snakes lived in these woods, but I would rather encounter a ringneck than the copperheads also known to rest in woodpiles. Brightly banded, the tiny snake wriggled in his father’s hands, never biting or showing agitation. Soon we hit the road again, with one last southeastern Ohio item to cross off the weekend list.

At the sign for Dock 3, we drove straight and stopped at the lakeside trailhead. Clusters of butterflies sat on the concrete, lazily flapping wings. The woods were quiet as the cloud cover moved in.

We were the first people to tackle this trail that day, maybe in several days given the obstacles we encountered. For much of our trip we batted spiderwebs out of the path. The little spinners had woven web after web, slowing us down considerably as we crossed some small creeks and trekked into higher ground surrounding the lake. The hike was short but enough to get the blood pumping and sweat rolling.

Soon we would be back in Columbus, back on the flatland. But it’s hard to shake the feel of Ohio’s high ground, where the state's little elevations goes a long way.

Burr Oak Lake