A version of this story appeared in the Pennsylvania Game News Magazine, April 2011 www.nxtbook.com/nxtbooks/pgc/pagamenews…/index.php?startid=2
My friend, Hoppy May, has a 140 yard long wooden suspension bridge that leads to his home on the far bank of the First Fork. The cabin nestles in a cleft of the mountains, just upstream from where the First Fork topples into the Sinemahoning. Thirteen miles farther downstream, it dumps into the West Branch of the Susquehanna.
To reach Hoppy’s, you leave your car on the far side by the road and carry your belongings across the bridge, gripping the steel cables. Instead of swinging, the bridge undulates, in waves, with each step. Long minutes after you’ve reached solid ground, your legs feel as though they are still bouncing. This crossing is a rite of passage into Hoppy’s wild life, his sanctuary. Continue reading