Walking the waterfall trails of Ricketts Glen State Park

Ricketts Glen State Park in northeast Pennsylvania stretches over 13,000 acres. Most famously, it contains the Glens Natural Area, a National Natural Landmark. Creeks flow through these mossy glens and cascade in a series of waterfalls, one after another. Hemlock and birch, some appearing quite old, create wondrous rootworks along the flagstone paths that carry you along the edge of the water. I visited these Conestoga Susquehannock lands in early April, 2025. It drizzled all weekend and the air was misty, but that was no problem and contributed to a calm ambiance and more solitary experience. The waterfalls had a true Rivendell vibe. These were some of my favorites: 

In the misty spring air,  the mosses and liverworts were looking particularly succulent and dewlicious on the waterfall-spritzed rocks.

I spotted many polypores, some bulbous formful ones all along the lengths of fallen conifer trunks. There was a beautiful Stereum and gelatinous Dacrymyces chrysospermus jelly fungus. I enjoyed observing geometric Porpidia on waterfall rocks, leafy Umbilicaria, and a cool spiky Cladonia.

But my favorite find was a gilled mushroom growing on a large, mossy hemlock log. It looked special to me when I saw it, and I knew it was the first time I was encountering this particular species. The serrated gill edges told me it belonged to Lentinus (Polyporales) or Neolentinus (Gloeophyllales). Soon, I was able to identify it to Neolentinus adhaerens. I was suprised to learn that there was only one other iNaturalist observation of this spring mushroom in all of northeastern United States. The first observation was made last year, also at Ricketts Glen (but further downstream). As is true for must fungi, more attention is required to determine if this species is rare (and perhaps a conservation concern) or just rarely reported. 

In reality though, my favorite find was this legendary foam donut. 

As I scrambled over stones and circuitous root masses, uncovering one stunning waterfall after another, I felt a familiar set of conflicting feelings, a simultaneous combination of awe-gratitude and solastalgia-sadness. On the one hand, what beauty and privilege to know this place. On the other, I could not help but contemplate the centuries of genocide, land theft, and ecological devastation that resulted in this state park. Who was Robert Bruce Ricketts, or anybody for that matter, to buy over 80,000 acres, acquire a fortune cutting down every tree possible—giant, towering, old-growth hemlocks—and then sell that devastated, denuded land to the state for more profit? The park now consists of a homogenous hardwood forest—short trees, close together, all around the same age. Only in the glens with their inaccessible inclines do you see the majesty of ancient trees creating a complex, breathtaking ecosystem. The genocide of indigenous Americans and total clearcutting of the Northeast's great forests weighs upon the soul as a tremendous, inexcusable moral failure.