A Shocking Journey to Crick Hills

There are several bodies of water throughout the world that are held in high regard. The Red Sea, the Panama Canal, the Persian Gulf, the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, just to name a few, have been homes to quite a few historical events. Although these are familiar to most inhabitants of the world, there are several smaller bodies of water that are important to specific regions surrounding them. I reside in the small town of Scottdale, Pennsylvania, which contains many rivers and creeks that are vital to the town’s history. One site, in particular, is known to the community as Crick Hills. To those unfamiliar to the area, it is referred to as the “Blue Hole.” This name was established because of the immense depth of the water, which gave it a dark blue appearance. This significant landmark is near the outskirts of town and is located in the only true woods of our small town. During the summer months, Crick Hills is always full of excitement and large groups of people. This body of water contains much more than what is visible to the naked eye, though. The legends of what is beneath the water may be shocking to those who hear them for the first time, as I was. After I was told about these “so-called” rumors, I was naturally curious to explore the scene on my own. Prior to my journey into Crick Hills, I was ignorant to the true beauty and value that this important historical site has to offer.

I was quite intimidated by Crick Hills at first because of the horror stories I had heard concerning the area. It is said that there are numerous bodies and relics to be found beneath the water. There are several possibilities though, as to how they were lost there. There is a set of railroad tracks that sit on the hill above the creek. A locomotive, that was carrying goods into Scottdale, had been lost along its route. There was evidence that there had been a disaster along the hillside, and many believe that the locomotive had fallen off its chain in that exact spot. There was also a local mine shaft very close to the area several years ago, which had haphazardly collapsed. Along with the workers trapped inside, the shaft was enclosed with vast amounts of water and sunk to the base of the creek, never to be seen again. The Civil War played an enormous role in our country’s history, and there was a Civil War armory located in the woods surrounding the creek. There are no remnants left from the armory in the woods, but several of the artifacts can be found in our local historical house. Among all of these important factors, there are also cars, animals, and garbage floating around in the dark water. Whether it be remainders from the Civil War or parts from a lost train, they are all important to a true understanding of the importance of Crick Hills.

My first journey into Crick Hills was quite thrilling, yet scary at the same time. The weather was absolutely beautiful when we began our mile long excursion into the woods. We traveled through everything from high brush to man-made mud holes, while carrying our overly-packed bags. The mud holes were everywhere, almost as though someone created a track for quads and trucks to pass over them. We also had to cross over railroad tracks on a bridge, which was one of the most terrifying things that I have ever done. It seemed as though the bridge was never going to end, and we had to be careful not to look down at long drop beneath us while walking. We were also unsure whether a train was going to pass while we were crossing, which was exceptionally daunting. After passing over the bridge, we did not have much longer until we reached the hill in which the locomotive was thought to have crashed. It was such an extensive drop, but we decided to venture down the hill in hopes of perceiving something interesting. We were unsuccessful in our search, but we reached the heart of the creek. It was absolutely stunning, nothing like that of what I had pictured it to be. I had prepared myself for seeing car parts and dirty water, but my visions were entirely false. There were only a few other people there, which made me feel a little safer about diving into the water. There were two different rocks to jump off, one a bit higher than the other. There was only one side of the creek that was safe to jump into because there was an abandoned car very close to the surface on the other side. We became friends with the people who were already jumping, and they told us stories of people that had been hurt while at the creek, which may not have been the best choice. They told us of the person who had discovered the abandoned car while jumping into the creek. His foot went straight through the windshield, which left him with a hefty scar on his right leg. There was another story of a boy, who decided to do a back flip off the highest rock, but his trick was unsuccessful and it left him with a concussion. After hearing these stories, I was hesitant as to whether or not I wanted to get into the water. My friends convinced me that it was safe to jump into the area where the others were: therefore, I decided to jump off the low rock into the freezing cold water. It was an experience unlike any other, and the only thought in my mind was the absurd things that were beneath me. My imagination was soaring as I thought of the possible bodies that I was swimming on top of. We continued jumping for hours, but we had to leave an hour before the sun was going to set in order to be able to make it out of the woods. The journey out of the woods didn’t seem nearly as long as the trip into the woods, especially crossing back over the bridge. I imagined the union soldiers marching over the same land that I was and getting water from the creek that I was swimming in. It is an indescribable feeling to know that I am able to be a part of something so imperative to my nation’s well-being. My first journey into Crick Hills is one that will never be able to be replaced.

Crick Hills may seem as though it is just another body of water to those unfamiliar to the area, but it has been a place of learning for me. Prior to my journey, I was ignorant to its true importance because I had not been educated in its historical past. Because I reside in such a small town, I had never known the pure beauty of the nature that was so close to me. I have made several trips back to Crick Hills, teaching others of what I had learned, but nothing compares to my initial visit. I have learned that in order to obtain the true meaning of something, one must forget what others have told her/him, and create his/her own assumptions