by Erik Ault

   (Plain Press September 2026) I crossed into Ohio at Belpre on the American Discovery Trail (ADT), finally leaving behind West Virginia. The people of West Virginia were friendly to me from the moment I entered the state officially at Green Spring until the very end at Parkersburg. Many of the towns along the trail in West Virginia are hollowed out, littered with empty buildings and aging relics of an industrial past. But the people maintain a resilient spirit, proud of their past and happy to share what they had. Even the rudest of West Virginians were generous, with one woman complaining to me about “You city people,” while re-filling my water bottle. She laughed when I griped about the whippoorwills waiting until 9PM to start their racket.

   Crossing the bridge over the Ohio River from Parkersburg into Belpre filled me with a bittersweet feeling. I had many happy and interesting episodes in West Virginia and saw corners of it I never would have seen otherwise had it not been for the American Discovery Trail. But I was glad to be back in Ohio, and even though I technically wasn’t close to home, I still felt the warmth of familiarity. I was near vistas I had seen before and highways I recognized. My goal was just to make it to Cincinnati where I would take a bus or call for a ride back to Cleveland.

   From Belpre, I hiked through heat hoping to make it to Chesterhill, where the ADT officially meets the blue-blazed Buckeye Trail (BT) which it follows to Cincinnati. But when I came to a covered bridge that physically allowed only for foot traffic, I collapsed and slept for the night in it. I never felt more like an Ohioan.

   I made it to Chesterhill the next day and followed the blue blazes to Burr Oak State Park. In the park, I talked with a ranger and asked her about the water sources. I noticed how a lot of the water I saw flowing looked chalky. “Even if you filter it, I don’t think any of the water in southern Ohio is potable,” she warned.

   Rain slowed me down at Burr Oak, and I stayed the night there when it rained even more. In the morning, I ate the breakfast buffet at the park lodge and continued on the trail, where I met my first wildlife obstacle: the castleback orbweaver. Hundreds of these spiders had spun their webs across the trail. At first, I felt guilty for demolishing such beautiful homes; but after miles of relentless annoyance, I could not feel anything for a spider stupid enough to build a web where a human being would stomp through it. I’m sure the gnats and flies were grateful for my presence. I was grateful to find a stick I could carry to wave in front of me as a buffer until my arm tired.

   After a taxing hike through Wayne National Forest that was heavy on the forest bathing, I made it to Murray City, which is a small town. I hiked through it and went down the road looking for my next trailhead. I passed a sign on a gate to my right that read, “Do not blow gate.”

   “That’s a weird phrase,” I thought. There was a boom mower truck inching along, so I hurried past it, making sure to keep my eyes on the road and the mower truck. But my trail turn-off was near, I knew.

   In time, after a couple hills, I did see to the left where the trail turned. So, I entered and trucked on through the woods. Something felt off, but I was following the blue blazes, so I had to be going the right way. Right before the next road crossing, someone was nice enough to leave a cooler with water bottles for hikers, which was a very welcome sight given how parched the area was. But I still felt uneasy about something.

   I exited this little patch of trail back onto the road. My compass kept saying I was going SE, which was the wrong direction; but still I followed the blazes until I came across a gate to my left with a weird sign on it. “Do not blow gate,” it read.

   I was emptied. “Either I somehow entered a mirror universe from The Twilight Zone, or I got turned around.” Sure enough, I kept going and re-entered Murray City.

   “I’m done,” I said to myself but with much coarser language. Where I passed the boom mower must have been where I was supposed to enter the trail, but I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see it. And I just didn’t have energy to turn around to try again. So, I went up to a house that appeared friendly, hoping for a ride into Glouster where I could catch a bus back to Cleveland. A woman was outside of it and seemed a bit startled to see me. After not having bathed in over a week, I didn’t blame her. She was hesitant to talk to me and seemed wary. But she picked up on how desperate I was and fed me a large dinner of pulled pork and chips and soda and anything else she could readily make. And she even offered to drive me into Glouster, “As long as you don’t stab me!” she said. “I’ve heard of stories like this on the ID channel!”

   With both of us fully alive and me with a full stomach, she drove me into Glouster and dropped me off at the library with some advice on how to get back to Cleveland. But I was feeling demoralized. I would be quitting right before going through Hocking Hills, which I had always wanted to visit. But now, sitting inside an air-conditioned library with my caloric tank re-filled, I felt reinvigorated enough to try again. I connected with Ann Furste, who is the chapter head of the Buckeye Trail in that area. She was kind enough to pick me up in the morning and send me off with the encouragement that I could finish.

   I trudged along the trail, meeting more friendly people along the way who were willing to give me bottles of water or let me use their spigot. I mentioned to them that water should not be chalky or taste off. No one seemed completely confident in their own water, and virtually everyone drank out of water bottles. One person told me how lime is added to mine runoff water to neutralize acidity which makes the water look chalky, but it is drinkable. Cloudy, “technically drinkable” water must be the price we pay for progress.

   Eventually, I did make it to Hocking Hills State Park. It looked like a scene out of Middle Earth or the American southwest, including being layered with sand over 350 million years old. The natural features of the Hocking Hills were carved by erosion over millions of years. Despite being packed with tourists snapping photos, these features were still worth seeing. It seems almost sacrilegious to use something so ancient and enduring as just a pretty backdrop for an Instagram picture.

   The Buckeye Trail passes through many state parks, each with their own distinct characters. Going west, after Hocking Hills State Park is Tar Hollow State Forest, a wilderness preserve which must be like what the pioneers encountered. True to its name, it really is hollow and devoid of almost anything except dense forest. The Scioto Trail State Forest after this is a little less barren & unforgiving, having been trekked by the natives thousands of years ago. After this is Pike Lake State Park, which was a bit overgrown but had a nice camp store and nature center.

   But before I could make it to the Serpent Mound Memorial Site and still well before my destination of Cincinnati, my journey reached a frustrating stop. The overgrowth of the multiflora rose bush was just too much for me to tolerate. This invasive rosebush is nature’s living, growing barbed wire. Large sections of the trail were impassable, but I was foolish enough to try by throwing logs and branches ahead of me to keep the vines down. It wasn’t enough. My arms and legs were cut up and bleeding like a scene from a Saw movie. Despite that, I still had physical energy to keep going. But my patience had run dry. So, when I saw a church camp at a road crossing, I went down there to plead my case. They let me stay the night, and my mom picked me up in the morning.

   It was an interesting adventure, but based on the sections I did, I cannot recommend the Buckeye Trail to thru hikers in its current form. Far too much of the trail is unmaintained, being covered by thorn bushes and tall grasses. My body became a warehouse for all kinds of bloodsucking creatures. This is expected when hiking, but regular trail maintenance can minimize this. Avoiding tall grasses is especially important given the rise in tick-borne diseases.

   Furthermore, the grading of the trail feels suspect, with seemingly plenty of unutilized area for switchbacks. Fallen trees are often left lying across the trail, with blazes painted on them telling hikers that the trail continues behind them. These kinds of conditions encourage hikers to hike off trail, which increases erosion.

   Most days, I was the only one on the Buckeye Trail, even on weekends when trails usually have day hikers. I crossed paths with a woman in Tar Hollow who was doing another trail who told me how she tried a little bit of the BT before. “But never again. It was too overgrown,” she said.

   Trails are never finished products. They require continuous monitoring and maintenance and are the responsibility of dedicated workers and users. But trails should also be designed for people and even wildlife to utilize. They are not simply nature’s treadmills, and they should not be maintained simply for the sake of having trails if no one is using them.

   However, whether people are thru-hikers or not, the environment is everyone’s obligation. Our actions impact our shared earthly home. It’s not only a good idea to be green- it is vital. Not having potable water was an annoyance for me, but it can be harmful or even lethal to wildlife. Letting invasive species spread wildly can choke out native flora, to which native animals are adapted. Much like the grandeur of Hocking Hills, natural systems take eons to form and carelessly disrupting them can inflict irreparable damage.

   Even though mitigating our influence on the environment may be an eternal challenge, with so much knowledge and so much potential for action, it seems wrong not to address it. Because the quality of people’s lives is being diminished by fixable issues, it’s wrong that neither of the leading gubernatorial candidates prioritize environmental concerns in their campaigns. As I walked past chalky water streams, it felt like the battle had already been lost at every level. If water is the lifeblood of Mother Earth, then we have given her sepsis, with more casualties still to come.

   Despite the obstacles and ultimate setback, I don’t regret my time on the Buckeye Trail. I had many wonderful encounters & learning experiences that are too numerous to share. Plus, I lost 15 pounds. The American Discovery Trail peels off the Buckeye Trail in Cincinnati where it continues west all the way to California. It still calls to me. My trail hiking is currently paused but not completely abandoned. Very little that’s worth doing is instantly doable. Large endeavors– whether thru-hikes or environmental problems– are worth tackling at the beginning. And it never makes sense to quit until it’s over.