One Trail at a Time
Updated: 3 days ago
A Blackhand Gorge adventure with Pike, Gus, and some Appalachian Trail dreams
What you should know
Location: Hanover Township, OH
Footwear: Tennis shoes for the paved path; sturdy trail shoes for anything else
Off-leash: No. Dogs are only allowed on the paved path and must be on leashes no longer than 6-ft. at all times.
Difficulty: Easy
There are mornings when you know, almost immediately, that you made the right decision about how to spend your day. This past Tuesday was one of them.
Ted and I were on vacation, so we got up early, loaded Pike and Gus into the car, and headed for Blackhand Gorge State Nature Preserve.
The truth is, we're testing the waters for something a little bigger.
Someday, we'd like to hike the Appalachian Trail. Not all of it at one time — we're not completely insane. The idea is to tackle manageable stretches, maybe day hikes or shorter multi-day treks, over time and bring the boys along for as much of the adventure as we can.
But before you take two dogs onto the Appalachian Trail, it seems like you need to find out whether those two dogs actually know how to hike.
So, you know, baby steps.
Blackhand Gorge seemed like a good place to start since it's slightly more involved than our normal local park and is less than an hour's drive from home.
There are several trails in the preserve, but dogs are only allowed on the main four-mile-long paved pathway. This time of year, it's still in really good condition — a few sections were covered with leaves, but it was an easy walk in regular tennis shoes. Since eight miles seemed slightly ... ambitious ... we kept our test hike short and did three-miles in and out.
And let me say ... it was beautiful.
The air was crisp, the leaves were just starting to change, and the river kept flashing through the trees. Even the swampy areas were lovely. On a weekday morning, we shared the trail with a small handful of other people, which is an introvert's dream.
Then there were the rocks.
The Blackhand Sandstone formations are impressive, but I was especially fascinated by one enormous formation that had somehow been cut straight through to make room for the trail. I don't know enough about geology to tell you exactly what kind of rock we were looking at, but I do know this: it was ginormous.
And it made me wonder who decided to cut through it, and why.
It turns out people have been working out how to get through this gorge for a very long time.
This spot was important to Indigenous peoples long before European settlers arrived. The Licking River provided a natural route through the region and toward the rich flint deposits at nearby Flint Ridge. The gorge takes its name from a large, dark, hand-shaped petroglyph that was carved into one of the sandstone cliffs. Whatever its original meaning, it mattered enough to give the entire area its name.
Sadly, the petroglyph is gone. In 1828, workers building the Ohio & Erie Canal blasted away part of the cliff to make room for the towpath. Remnants of that canal system, including old locks and sections of the towpath, can still be found throughout the preserve.
The canal wasn't the end of the story, either. The gorge later carried the Central Ohio Railroad and an electric interurban railway. For centuries, people have been finding ways to get themselves and their stuff through this narrow stretch of the Licking River, and they were usually in a hurry.
We, on the other hand, were walking a paved trail with two dogs, which felt considerably less ambitious than building a canal, laying railroad tracks, or blasting apart a cliff. Although, based on Gus's pulling, I'm not entirely convinced we had chosen the easiest method of transportation.
Gus approached the hike the way a locomotive would.
He pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.
By the time we turned around, my arm was exhausted.
Pike, on the other hand, took the scenic route, approaching it by zigzagging back and forth across the pavement like a drunken sailor. He was completely fascinated by the squirrels that would dart out in front of him. We don't have squirrels where we live, so these strange little woodland creatures were a revelation, and he wanted more information.
He didn't completely lose his marbles whenever one would appear, which I consider a win, but at one point he did decide that chasing one up a tree was an excellent use of his morning. We strongly disagreed and nipped that idea in the bud before it became a full-on expedition.
This was a whole new world for them. New scents, new sounds, new wildlife, and a lot more opportunities to become very, very enthusiastic about everything.
Walking around the local park is one thing. Hiking in a wooded preserve is another.
Which is why we're starting now.
The Bicycle Lesson
We actually had a pretty good test about halfway through the hike.
First, we encountered a woman running with her German Shepherd. The old Pike would have gone into Tasmanian-Devil-mode. But new Pike didn't react at all. Not even a little. We were so proud of him.
That feeling was short-lived though. A few minutes after the dog experiment, a woman came flying down the trail on a bicycle, and Pike lost his mind.
I suspect there was some trigger stacking going on. New place, new smells, squirrels, people, a dog, a runner, and then suddenly ...
BIKE!
His brain had been politely processing things all morning, and the bike was the one thing it could not handle politely.
The good news is that we had enough room to manage it. We stepped off the trail, created some distance, and worked to get his attention back on us instead of the bike. Once the cyclist passed, he settled down fairly quickly.
Looking back, there were clues that his brain was already getting full. He'd spent the morning processing an entirely unfamiliar environment. The speeding bike, something that has always been an issue for him, just happened to be the thing that pushed him over threshold.
Next time we'll be more proactive. As soon as we see or hear a bike coming, we'll move off the trail early, put Pike on the side farthest from the cyclist, and start giving him his "leave it" commands before he has a chance to lock onto it. It's much easier to help a dog stay successful than it is to talk them down after they're already reacting.
This wasn't a failure. It was information.
And it's one of the reasons we're doing these smaller adventures now instead of waiting for some future Appalachian Trail trip. Every outing teaches us something. Sometimes it's about our dogs. Sometimes it's about our training. Sometimes it's about our own expectations.
All of that is useful.
We learned what the boys can handle, what they need to work on, and what happens when we ask them to navigate an environment that's very different from their everyday lives. And we learned it three miles into a paved trail in central Ohio, rather than halfway up an Appalachian mountain.
By the time we got back to the car, both boys were completely pooped. They were asleep in the back seat before we'd even left the parking lot.
I call that a successful hike.
The Happy Place
As we walked back toward the car, I told Ted this was an absolutely perfect way to spend a morning.
He said that if he had a cup of coffee in his hand, that's exactly what he would have said.
And I realized something.
I used to think the beach was my happy place. But the beach involves crowds, sunburns, and sand in places sand was never meant to be.
The trail had given me crisp air, a river somewhere beyond the trees, rocks older than anyone's canal, and two tired dogs walking beside me.
Nobody needed anything from me except to keep walking.
Maybe that's the difference.
The woods don't ask anything of me. They give me somewhere to go, something to see, and enough quiet to hear myself think.
I think of that petroglyph, and how many generations of people have walked through this gorge on their way to somewhere else.
Today, I was just glad to be in it.
And maybe that's why this Appalachian Trail idea feels so right.
We're not ready yet. The boys have some things to learn. So do we. But we're not trying to get there tomorrow.
We're going to take it one trail at a time, one mile at a time, and one squirrel at a time.
Baby steps.
Thinking About Visiting Blackhand Gorge With Your Dog?
Blackhand Gorge State Nature Preserve is a beautiful place for a morning or afternoon outing, and the paved trail makes it an approachable option if you're just getting started with hiking.
Where dogs can go: Dogs are permitted on the paved pathway only, not on the other trails in the preserve.
Distance: The full paved trail is four miles, so an out-and-back is an eight-mile hike. We went about a mile and a half out for a three-mile round trip, which was plenty for a first visit.
Who else is out there: The trail is shared with runners and cyclists, so keep your dog's leash short and be ready to step to the side when you hear someone coming. Bikes can arrive faster than you expect.
Best time to go: A weekday morning got us a quiet trail and plenty of room to take our time.
Season: We visited in early fall, just as the leaves were beginning to change, and it was gorgeous. I suspect peak color would be spectacular. We'd happily return in spring for wildflowers or summer for the shade along the river, but autumn feels like the season Blackhand Gorge was designed for.
Parking, hours, and water: Parking was easy when we visited on a weekday morning, and there was plenty of room. We brought water for the dogs and would do the same again. Even on a relatively easy paved trail, three miles of exploring can leave everyone thirsty.
And if you see a squirrel ...
Well.
Good luck with that.
Day Trippin' with Dogs is a My Barking Life series about exploring the world with our dogs, one adventure at a time.
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