Cuyahoga Mist and Emerald Trails
Last night was one of the quietest yet. I stayed at a church lot in Girard, Pennsylvania, tucked beside a big open field. Around 3:00 a.m., a train rumbled in the distance—just enough sound to remind me of childhood nights at my grandparents' house, where the soft wail of a train meant all was well. The host had provided thoughtful instructions in advance. I left a donation in the designated box and was grateful for such a peaceful stop.
I woke around 7:30 and went through my usual morning rhythm—coffee, breakfast, dishes, and the never-ending van shuffle of putting things back where they belong. I reached out to my nephew to see if I could swing by, but he and the family were at the Outer Banks. So, I packed up and headed south toward Cuyahoga Valley National Park.
By 9:20, I was rolling out, just as the church parking lot started filling. Judging from the sideways glances, I'm guessing overnight guests in camper vans aren’t a regular sight. I topped off the tank at a Sheetz about a mile away, where I also cleaned a windshield that had become a splattered bug cemetery. This Sheetz even had its own traffic lights—my kind of gas station.
The sky turned gray as I drove south. Light drizzle turned to steady rain by the time I pulled into the Boston Trailhead lot inside the park. Five cyclists in matching rain gear and black gravel bikes rolled out like it was nothing. I admired their grit—from inside my dry van while sipping espresso. My rain strategy involved waiting it out with snacks.
By early afternoon, the rain let up. I packed the camera and pulled up AllTrails on my phone. The trailhead was only half a mile away, but somehow I managed to do a graceful loop back to the van before finally finding the start of the Stanford Trail.
Stanford and Brandywine Falls
The hike ended up being a 4.1-mile loop. I started on Stanford Road, where the trailhead is marked by an algae-covered pond with a big oak tree leaning over it like a watchful grandparent. The path curved around a weathered barn, then meandered along a field of waist-high grass, all rain-soaked and leaning onto the trail. I was in shorts. My legs were soaked within five minutes, but the air was crisp and the world smelled freshly washed.
The trail crossed several streams, the first of which had a newly improved bridge and path with packed stone. Just past the bridge, I caught a robin bathing in a puddle. I quietly took a few shots with my short lens, but just as I attached the 400mm, the bird vanished in a flutter of defiance. So it goes.
The forest was luminous—soaked through and glowing green. All around me, moss and ferns were thriving from what’s apparently been a record-setting stretch of rain. I crossed a wide bridge over a rocky streambed that looked like it could carry a torrent during storm season.
On the far side of the bridge, two women stopped me. One of them, Tera, asked how far it was to the end of the trail. They looked tired and, judging by their expressions, may have made a few scenic wrong turns. I pulled out AllTrails and gave them an estimate—about a mile left. Her friend, Mandi, said, “We need to get that app.” We chatted briefly and I snapped a quick photo before we all wished each other a good afternoon.
A mile or so later, after a steep climb, I reached Brandywine Falls. I passed another couple who were wondering how much farther it was—so, once again, AllTrails to the rescue. At the top, the trail opened up and the rain returned, just in time for the final stretch. I pulled up my hood and made my way to the falls.
The boardwalk here is a gem—multi-tiered wood planks and stairways leading down to a perfect viewpoint. The falls were loud and lovely, framed by thick forest and mist.
From there, I followed the Brandywine Trail back toward the Stanford Trail, pausing now and then for photos of wildflowers, ferns, and twisted old stumps.
I wrapped up the hike at the Park Conservancy, where I rewarded myself—and supported the park—with a pint of ice cream. A sweet ending to a soggy, beautiful day.
