Berwick's Mysterious Stone Tower

It's hard to imagine that a 20-foot stone tower could go largely unnoticed within the town it was built, but that's just what seems to have happened in our neighboring community of Berwick.

This adventure begins twenty-five years ago when I lived along the Salmon Falls River in Somersworth. It was just my second apartment, me and my friends were all poor, and for entertainment we spent much of our time hanging out along the river. A friend's grandmother had a small boat we had access to and we got to know those waters like our own backyard. We boated, fished, possibly caused a little mischief now and then, and spent many afternoons exploring the surrounding woods on the Maine side. And somewhere in the course of those explorations we came across this stone tower.

Unfortunately I didn't have the sense of curiosity then as I do now, and rather than wondering what the heck this thing was it simply became one of the many places we liked to hang out at. In those days we were interested in much more important mysteries such as could a Chevy Chevette get hangtime if you sped fast enough down the dirt whoop-de-dos next to the train tracks (it could, but plan on saying goodbye to your radiator), or how far up the river's drainage tunnel we could walk before it became too narrow to move (well past the manhole at the old Robbins Auto on Main Street, for anyone who knows the area). Eventually I moved away and the tower passed from memory.

Fast forward to 2016, and as a curious older man I start wondering what, if anything, has happened with that structure. I couldn't get to it by boat like we used to, so I made a few scouting missions through Maine and looked for any trails that would lead me in its direction. Not finding any, I picked a road where the abutting woods were the shortest distance as the crow flies to where I remembered the tower being, and on a recent Sunday afternoon I went for a hike.

It was maybe a mile I expected to walk, but the big question was how difficult it would be. The first half was actually enjoyable with the hint of a trail leading me alongside the river. Then I came to an intersecting stream which would normally have stopped my progress, but with our recent drought it was low enough to where I could rock jump my way to the other side. No trail existed on the far side of the stream, however, so there began my bushwhack. And although I can't remember where I leave my car keys or what I had for breakfast on most days, it wasn't long before I arrived exactly where I remembered it being a quarter-century ago.

I spent some time taking pictures and learning how to use the timer mode on my camera before reluctantly heading home, assuming this would be my last time seeing it. That night I searched every combination of phrases in my vocabulary for "tower" in the town of Berwick, but Google doesn't have a clue this thing exists. Somebody knows it's here though, for as you can see there is a clearing a hundred feet beyond where it stands that is being maintained.

So I emailed researcher James Gage, a local historian who wrote the book on stone structures in New England. Literally. James is co-author of A Handbook of Stone Structures in Northeastern United States, and since he'd graciously helped me with a previous location I was researching (a future post) I thought he may be aware of this one too. He wasn't, but he was interested and gave me a few clues as to what he thought it could be. He also ruled out my amateur's guess of it being a kiln furnace.

My next step was reaching out to the town of Berwick, so I wrote to the folks at the Old Berwick Historical Society. Within half an hour I received a very nice email from their spokesperson saying she wasn't aware of the tower but thought it fascinating. We talked back and forth a bit and she forwarded my emails and pictures to a handful of life-long residents for help.

That was this past weekend and now I wait, hoping one of these local historians can shed some light on Berwick's mysterious stone tower.

Links of Interest:
A Handbook of Stone Structures in Northeastern United States
Old Berwick Historical Society


*Edit*
I learned that the Old Berwick Historical Society (OBHS) is a separate organization from The Berwick Historical Society. I've been referring to them as one group and apologize for any confusion.  - Dave

Camp Nasty & Ralph Crocker's Ashes

As an adult, I once spent an entire summer in my backyard each night building a treehouse with my friend Barry. The appeal of having a clubhouse never left me from childhood, and as a first-time homeowner there were two things I wasted little time doing - first was buying a go-kart like the ones I used to drool over in the Sears catalog, and second was building that treehouse.

So when I learned recently about the "Spruce Swamp Beagle Club" - a group of guys who many years ago built a small cabin in the woods of New Hampshire - I immediately made plans to track it down. The cabin is called Camp Nasty, and armed with some general directions I found online a friend and I grabbed our backpacks one Saturday afternoon and headed out.

Our trek to Camp Nasty was a tale of two hikes. Part one was a leisurely, mile-long stroll down a snowmobile bed wide enough that my Toyota could have driven it. Part two was a bushwhack that featured impenetrable bushes, bug infested swamps, and at least a month's worth of bad language all packed into a half mile. Whatever trail once led to Camp Nasty is long gone (hence the cabin's name), and although we felt like giving up at different points we trudged on and eventually stumbled onto this welcome sight.

The first obvious thing was that, even if people still visited the cabin, it's probably been a long time since it's seen any meaningful use. Beginning with the broken front door that was propped up sideways, Camp Nasty is in a terrible state of deterioration.

What remains, however, are all the signs of a once place once treasured. Although no longer in usable condition, everything a person would need for an overnight stay remained. There were 2 bed frames, pots & pans, a table, lantern, and even a wood stove.

We signed the "new" logbook which dated to back to 1991, so people have been visiting this cabin for quite a long time. In fact, we later learned that this is the second cabin built on this spot. The first one was constructed from logs left behind by a tree cutting service but ended up burning down. Perhaps that explains this seemingly out of place smoke detector.

The builders of Camp Nasty loved their cabin and wanted to share it. They even wrote a mission statement welcoming people to use their "meager facilities" and asking only that it be left in the same condition it was found. One of the builders, Ralph Crocker of Exeter NH, loved this cabin so much he chose to be buried in it. Here is his cremation box which we found resting peacefully on a shelf. Holding his remains and thinking about the enjoyment this place brought him, I felt a momentary connection with someone I’d never even met.  

Later that night as I was flipping through the pictures, Tina commented how the cabin is on the verge of collapsing. What will happen if it falls down, she asked. I said I guess the pile of rubble will remain there until nature claims her back. But what about Ralph's remains, would someone come and get them? Maybe he has family that will come for them, I speculated, but more than likely I think they'll stay buried in the rubble until nature claims them back as well.

And although I cannot know for sure, I suspect that's just the way Mr. Crocker would have wanted it.

Howe Caverns

In 1842, Lester Howe discovered a hole in the Earth on his neighbors land. Oddly enough, it was his cows that led him there. He noticed that on hot summer days his cows seemed to gather and hang out in the same spot, which happened to be a hole with a cool breeze coming out of it. After doing some digging with his neighbor they found the entrance to the cave that is known today as “Howe Caverns.” Lester opened the cave to public tours in 1843 but due to financial difficulty he sold off parts of the land. It wasn’t until 1927 that an organization purchased it and installed walkways, lighting and an elevator. The cave reopened in 1929 and today is the second most visited attraction in the state of NY, with Niagara Falls coming in first.

Our first trip was back in the mid 90’s. After a brief history to the cave’s discovery, the tour begins with a 156 ft descent in an elevator below the earth’s surface into the cave, which is at a constant 52 degrees year round. Once inside the massive cave your tour guide will walk you through amazing limestone formations, giant boulders, and many stops along the way describing its natural formations. The walking tour continues to the end of the cave where they bring you on a boat ride through the “Lake of Venus”, which is the body of water that formed the cave several million years ago. At the end of the ride you walk back through the cave the same way you came, making a couple more stops at formations along the way.

We loved visiting this place so much, we decided to go back a few years later and do the evening candlelight tour. We happened to be the only ones who signed up that night and it was great to have a private tour. All the lights to the cave were off and we carried lanterns all the way through. After watching many horror movies over the years, a few scary thoughts entered my head walking through the pitch dark cave with nothing but a lantern and a guide we hardly knew! But all was well and it was another great way to explore the cave.

As  if 2 visits weren’t enough, earlier this year we took our 2 youngest kids and our friend Barry to the cave. We’ve always wanted to take our kids there and since many years had gone by (about 17) it was like touring many parts all over again. They have since added on an adventure park outside that includes rock walls and ziplines. There is a gift shop, small restaurant and a place for the kids to do some mining. They also offer overnight packages which we took advantage of. I left there a little sad knowing it was probably our last trip there. We enjoyed every single one. But who knows, we just may have to take our grandchildren there someday.

Pennsylvania's Abandoned Turnpike

Earlier this spring a friend asked me if I'd want to take a mountain bike ride with him that included traveling almost four miles underground. The answer I gave him was as emphatic a yes as I get when asking my wife if she wants to go for a double scoop ice cream at Lone Oak. Then he mentioned that this place was nearly a ten hour drive away, and after the slightest of hesitations my answer was still the same. Let's do it.

In 1968 a 13-mile section of Interstate 76 in Pennsylvania was carved off and rerouted around two mountains, which up until that point it had tunneled through. The interstate was a four-lane highway but reduced to a mere two lanes each time it entered a mountain, then opened back to four lanes when emerging the other side. Many would ask why a highway was built in such a curious way, however this interstate didn't start life as something cars were meant to drive on. It was originally constructed as part of "Vanderbilt's Folly", a reference to the over-ambitious and unfinished railroad construction attempted by William Vanderbilt in the late 1800's. And having been built for a railroad, these re-purposed train tunnels were never wide enough to be part of a major highway. So although a novelty to drive through in the early years, as traffic increased these bottle-neck entrances had commuters screaming for a fix.

A total of seven problem tunnels existed throughout the turnpike, and in an attempt to salvage them several were widened, or "twinned", to increase them from two to four lanes. This eliminated the bottle-necks for the tunnels it was performed on, and we actually drove through one of them one our trip down.

However, this proved too costly a solution and the decision was made to scrap the remaining three tunnels and build new interstate around them. One of the bypassed sections of road, which contains two of the tunnels, later became known as the Pennsylvania Abandoned Turnpike. Over the years it has become a destination for adventurers eager to make a journey underground. In fact it became so popular among bicyclists that control over nine miles of this bypassed section, including both tunnels, were given to a local cycling group, and today cyclists from near and far make the pilgrimage to Pennsylvania to ride the abandoned highway.

We made our own pilgrimage in June of this year. Our hotel room was conveniently located just a quarter-mile down the road, so we biked from our front door to where these cement barriers opened the way to our journey.

We rode the first few minutes in awe at how much nature had taken over this four-lane highway. The middle barrier was overgrown to the point we sometimes couldn't even see the gravel on the opposite side.

Between running and bicycling I've spent many years exploring new and different places, but I cannot think of a more beautiful sight than what greeted us a couple miles down the road. We came around a bend and there in the distance was Ray's Hill Tunnel.

Arriving at the entrance, we spent a good 10 minutes wandering around and taking pictures of its mammoth opening.

And listening to the hoots and hollers of tunnel-dwellers within.

Inside was a cold, wet, and dark world where we occasionally passed other hikers and cyclists. In the light of day encountering these same people was a friendly experience, but underground - where you can hear them but not really see them - everyone is a potential ax murderer. I'd find myself giving a quick "hey" into the darkness, then moments later peeking over my shoulder to make sure they weren't coming to "get" me.

3,500 feet later we triumphantly emerged out the other side, having conquered our first tunnel. We spent some time climbing and exploring the framework ...

... and admiring all the graffiti, which is plentiful at each entrance.

Once we were moving again it was perhaps three miles until we reached the longest of the seven original tunnels, Sideling Hill. At 6,662 feet in length this monster blasted cool air over us long before we actually reached it. Riding through was similar to the first one except it's so long we couldn't even see the exit light in the distance. And there was also a moment where two motorized buggies (against the rules but fine with us) came buzzing by in the dark. I could easily have believed I was in a Mad Max post-apocalyptic world at that moment.

Beyond Sideling Hill the road ended abruptly where the old interstate connects to the new section. We had completed our journey - or half of it, at least. We still had to ride back. And although the return was anticlimactic at times, the tunnels were just as fascinating the second time through.

We ended the day on the balcony of our hotel room looking out over the rolling Pennsylvania hillside, where we had some celebratory beer, retold the stories of that day, and talked about where we would be going on next year's adventure.

And wondering, how would we ever be able to top this one?

Links:
Photo Album