The Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail Facebook group is full of great information about the trail, including current conditions. Water sources seemed to be running well – good news. Maybe there is a problem with the pump at Grindle – we’ll keep an eye on that. And then, worms. Specifically inchworms. Or, to be very precise, cankerworms.
Apparently, these worms had taken over the trail. People were reporting picking hundreds off them as they hiked. They drove some people off the trail. Still, these reports were more than a week out. How long could those worms really last?
I did the Laurel Highland Hiking Trail (LHHT) in 2019 with Andrew, Dan, Russ, and Denise. It’s a great trail and I’ve been eager to hike it again. The trail itself is mild for the most part, with a few PA-style climbs, and goes through some lovely moss-covered rock mazes. Having limited time in 2019, we did the trail in four very full days –doable, but this year I opted to add an extra day to spread out the mileage. It would give us a shorter first day, allowing us to avoid an early a.m. departure from the D.C. (or in John’s case, Philly) areas. And in full disclosure, I wanted to avoid two back-to-back days with mileage in the high 20s–our splits this year were shaping up to be 5, 19, 22, 18, and 6.
Michael and I picked up Greg, Alyssa, and Matt from Grosevnor and made our way north to Ohiopyle, of course making a Sheetz stop on the way. We left our cars at the parking lot near Wilderness Voyagers and then piled into their van for another 1.5 hour drive to the starting trailhead. It was a lot of driving, but we were finally ready to start hiking.
The first day was a short one – only five miles to the first shelter. John noted that this was the shortest first day he’s ever had with DC UL. It’s also the day with the bulk of the climbing as you make your way up to the ridge. The forecast had been calling for rain but we had clear skies as we hiked along, giving us some nice views of the valley below. And no worms. I gave a happy sigh–it seemed all was falling into place.
We arrived at the first shelter area and met another hiker, Bob, who was also doing the trail. We had a pleasant evening chatting with Bob, and then retired to our various shelters. A storm rolled through that evening, but it was over quickly.
Bright and early, we were up and enjoying breakfast. We waved farewell to Bob who was also planning to stay at the same shelter (Rt. 30) as we were that evening. And then we all made our way along. This stretch rolls along the ridge, but it was also a bit drier than expected. Matt and John bushwhacked their way down to a stream. I had carried some extra water out of camp–it would be close, but I figured I’d have enough to get to the next reliable source 14 miles away.
As the miles went on, I started to see some inchworms dangling from the trees. I swatted a few off me, figuring they were the remnants from the previous week. I saw a few more. And then more.
The Rt. 30 shelter was hopping when I arrived. I could hear the patter of something–could it be wind shaking last night’s rain from the trees? I plucked more worms off my pants, and headed to our group, wondering why no one was sitting at the lovely picnic bench.
Well, friends, we have now entered the worm’s territory and they claimed the picnic table. Matt attempted to retake it but found himself overwhelmed by sheer numbers. I could feel something fall on my head and quickly put my hood up. The pattering noise continued.
“Oh, that’s worm poop.” I regret not recalling who said that first, but yes, the pattering noise was the sound of worm excrement coming from the trees above. We found relatively worm-free areas to sit on the ground, the worms having taken all the chairs, and relaxed as much as one can with worms parachuting from the sky like little paratroopers on strings of silk. Trail intel had the Rt. 31 as being even worse with worms, Turnpike being worm-free, and Grindle Ridge, our destination for the next day, being slightly okay with worms.
Bob was somewhere in the area–only Michael had seen him at Rt. 30. Backpacker midnight came early, and we all headed to our shelters. Both Michael and I gave a look at Matt’s tarp and wondered if the worms would carry him off in the middle of the night.
Fortunately, the worms did not carry anyone off. The sound of worm poop on the shelter sounded like a light rain overnight, and only one fell into my breakfast noodles. Then, we were off.
This was our day of worms, also our longest day at 22(ish) miles. Every once in a while, they would fade away and I’d start to think that we made it through the worst of it. Then they returned. We each perfected a way to use our hiking poles to swat away the dangling worms. A hiker went ahead of me and I thought, “Perfect. That person will clear out the worms for me.” No such luck. They returned in full force, launching themselves from the trees like miniature Navy Seals rappeling to avenge their fallen friends.
Trust me. There were a lot of worms.
I fell into despair on the climb after crossing the LHHT bridge over the Turnpike. The worms had eaten all the leaves, yet somehow they were still coming down from the trees. There was no shade, there were worms, and my feet hurt. Plus, I was moving slowly – so slow, that I knew I’d miss the side trip to the Highlands Market. I ran into Bob who encouragingly noted, “it is late in the afternoon and you still have a long way to go.” Yes. Thank you, Bob.
Our luck with the weather ran out that afternoon. The sky grew dark and then it poured buckets. Fortified by a stop at the Highland Market, Michael and Matt were making their way across the wide-open area in Seven Springs as thunder and lightning crackled overhead, and Alyssa and John were navigating the ridge before. It was an intense storm, but it was short-lived. And given what the forecast had predicted, we could have been hiking through worse.
But our luck with the worms was getting better. As we neared Grindle Ridge, the numbers dropped. I pulled myself up the last climb (yes, it is a short climb, but I’m tired people), and made my way to the campsite. Michael was the hero of my dreams, greeting me with a beer that he carried out from the Highlands Market. Alyssa shared her Bob-motivational quote as she also saw him–he noted that she tended to get slower at the end of the day. I inhaled my dinner, flexed my aching feet, and popped some Tylenol PM. I was ready to sleep.
Watching the sunrise from morning from Grindle Ridge gave a good feeling for the day. There were fewer worms, and we were ready to chug along with our destination being the Ohiopyle shelter area. I hiked along cheerfully – we were in the worm-free zone, and life was good.
I arrived at the Ohiopyle shelter and wandered about aimlessly with my hammock for a while, doing my best Goldilocks impression with the trees. (Too close, too, far, that one has a yellow jacket nest.) Finally, Michael stopped my dithering and pointed out two good trees. I headed that way and started setting up my hammock. I was within sight of a family who was staying in one of the shelters. The father saw my hammock set up as a teaching moment and gleefully narrated my process. Performance anxiety away, I was happy with how I had everything staked out.
I headed back to the area where our group was gathered and scarfed down dinner. I remarked that none of us had seen Bob, and Michael noted that Bob was most certainly behind us. We would not see him again. It started to rain a bit so we cleaned up quickly and then made our way to our shelters. I nestled into my hammock, fired up the Kindle, and got ready to read. The family in the nearby shelter started to sing together.
The wind started to pick up, and thunder rumbled. I got cozier – time to settle in as it was about to storm. Then it all, frankly, kind of went wild.
The wind picked up dramatically and my tarp fluttered a bit. Good, I thought, it was holding firm. Then, gusts like I’ve never experienced started, and for a moment, my shelter and tarp shuddered and noise thundered. I looked up in disbelief and squeaked. There was a branch sticking through my tarp.
You know when you’re watching a movie where people have swords. There’s always a scene where the hero is crouched against the wall, and then the sword pokes through uncomfortably close. That’s what it felt like.
I kept staring and then realized things were quickly getting worse. Not only was there a branch sticking through my tarp, but it was now pouring down rain and the impact of the branch had loosened all my stakes. My tarp was relatively useless on one side, and everything was starting to get wet. I snapped into action and held the tarp as tight as I could to stretch it out against the rain. Again, it was an intense but short storm – as soon as there was a break, I hopped out and got the stakes back in. After that, it wasn’t the most comfortable night I’ve spent in a hammock.
Our group woke up early and headed out for our last day on the trail. It was a short six miles to the end, and Alyssa and I hiked the last two miles together. We saw another hiker coming up the trail with familiar-looking shorts–it was Bob! He had decided to hitch to the beginning of the trail and then hike from the start to Ohiopyle. (Bob quote of the day to John after asking how long to the end: “You’ll never finish.”)
And then it was the end. In what feels like decadence, the LHHT has showers at the end so we gleefully took advantage of the chance to wash off days of sweat, worms, and worm poop.
All in all, it was another nice jaunt along the LHHT. Most of the planning for the LHHT is determining which shelter/camping areas you’d be using and then making reservations for your spots. One could look at the shelters as limiting, but they also let the trail be what you need: a no-holds-barred push or an easy walk from shelter to shelter. I’d like to think I’d hit the middle ground this year. There are also a few side trails to explore, which Matt took advantage of doing. It can be the trail you want or need it to be.
I’d be remiss if I ended the report here. I’ve been slowly working my way back into long trips, and this was certainly a push for me. I may have cried at a few points, but I was determined to keep moving forward. It felt good to call this complete.
DC UL Backpacking 
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