Clifton Gorge State Nature Preserve, Ohio
I woke around 7:30am in the Wandering Griffin Brewery parking lot, a Harvest Hosts spot in Beavercreek, Ohio. According to my Sleep Cycle app — which I’ve used religiously for the past 12 years—I slept really well. Maybe it was the house-brewed stout, the long day, or just plain travel fatigue, but I felt refreshed.
By 9:30, the parking lot had its own little show: a massive street sweeper made multiple passes, clearing out the cigarette butts and other debris I had seen in the parking lot the night before. I realized an hour later why there were so many cigarette butts, when I spotted three cars parked separately at the far end of the lot. Each driver was leaning against their car, simultaneously smoking and scrolling through their phones. Apparently, this parking lot doubles as a social media lounge with a smoke break.
Clifton Gorge State Nature Preserve
I made my way along the back roads about 30 minutes northeast to Clifton Gorge State Nature Preserve. I made the mistake of bringing all my camera gear. I quickly regretted it—too much weight and not enough to shoot. The trail hugs the rim of the gorge, with steep drop-offs and only occasional, obstructed views of the water below. At one point, the gorge narrows to a dramatic six-foot-wide channel before widening again into a more open flow.
Stone steps led down closer to the water, but not too close—this is a protected area, and the moss-covered rocks and dense undergrowth made it clear why. Educational signs along the trail encouraged hikers to stay on the path to help preserve the fragile ecosystem. Several plaques described the natural and cultural history of the area, including the former location of a grist mill and a story about Daniel Boone and another settler who reportedly escaped captivity from Native Americans by coming through the gorge.
Nixon-Hagar Paper Mill
I read a plaque about the old Nixon-Hagar paper mill that once operated here in the 1800s. It was built around 1853 and took advantage of the fast-moving Little Miami River to power its equipment. You can see the location where the supports beams were placed in the rocks.
The mill produced a coarse type of paper, possibly used for packaging or agricultural purposes. At the time, this area was ideal for that kind of work—close to water for power and surrounded by forests for raw materials. A small community formed around the mill, and for a while, it played a significant role in the local economy. Eventually, though, the mill shut down, likely due to changes in technology or industry demand. Today, not much remains—just some stone foundations hidden in the woods—but it’s easy to imagine how busy this spot once was.
I found the steps intriguing—they zigzagged up and over the rocks, offering a glimpse of a waterfall off to the right while keeping hikers dry as the stream passed below.
As the gorge widened, the water below appeared almost motionless in spots, but the current was definitely there. The trail was quiet, shady, and moody—heavy tree cover and the high gorge walls filtered out most of the sun. Big moss-covered boulders and tree roots tangled around each other, with ferns and tiny wildflowers pushing through wherever they could. I even found a slimy mushroom clinging to a chunk of decaying wood.
After about two and a half hours on the trail, I realized the waterfall I’d seen on AllTrails was still way off in the distance. Just then, I ran into a couple peering down the river. They noticed I was lining up a photo and struck up a conversation. The man mentioned he’d seen blue herons there before, sometimes perched on a log waiting for fish. As if summoned, two herons swooped in, circled the area, and flew off before I could get the shot. Another almost-photo.
The woman told me she used to spend summers in Czechoslovakia, where her parents had grown up before fleeing in 1968 during the Russian invasion. The conversation took a brief turn into politics and God—territory I sidestepped—and we quickly found common ground again in photography, nature, and traveling. They gave me some tips on spots around Dayton and wished me safe travels.
On my way back to the van, something in the air started irritating my eyes and lungs. I coughed, chugged the rest of my water, and eventually felt better. It had been cool in the gorge, but by the time I reached the van, it was in the 90s. I was wiped out. I made a quick lunch and took an hour nap.
John Bryan State Park
By late afternoon, I still didn’t have a place to stay. I’d seen signs for John Bryan State Park and decided to try my luck. The ranger said there was only one spot left in the entire campground—no electric, no water, and mainly designated for tents. That worked just fine.
Site #4 was perched at the top of a steep grassy hill. I had to back the van up like a mountain goat to reach the flat spot. Tent campers had to haul their gear up by hand, but the van handled it just fine. The shower house was nearby, and after a hot rinse I felt human again.
Dinner was light—a salad and the rest of my 15-bean mix. I spent the evening doing a few things online, wrapped up around 10:30, and was just settling in when I noticed a thick campfire smoke seeping in through the Maxxair vents. I’ve never had to close the vents to keep smoke out before, but it was intense. Still, the campground was incredibly quiet compared to the brewery lot the night before.
I watched a short video on YouTube and was out cold by 11:30.