The historical Huntingdon County landmark is part of the Appalachian Mountain Range, more specifically the Ridge and Valley Province. The site was constructed in the 1930s by quarry workers, who often spent 12 hours a day going up and down the carefully laid stone steps.

Jack’s Mountain holds a Tuscarora treasure trove of sandstone and silica, which were used to make firebrick. Firebricks, which differ from ordinary clay bricks, can withstand extremely high temperatures and were used in furnaces, kilns, fireplaces, woodstoves, and for metalworking. Workers used railcars called “dinkies” to transport the raw material down and around the ridge.

As I walked over a small bridge, I couldn’t help but admire the cascade of waterfalls and springs running down the facade of the mountain and into the Aughwick Creek. I zig-zagged up the rocky spine at the foot of the mountain and was delighted to see a collection of walking sticks. Propped up against the wooden signs that led to the trailhead, I got the impression that they had sort of a “If you need it, take it” vibe, and I knew that I was going to need one. I picked one that felt just right and began my ascent.

My first thought was, can I really do this? I noticed that just ahead of me, another female was beginning her solo quest as well. I began to climb and soon started to hear the laughter and shrieks of young children. After I bounded up and around the first 100-or-so steps, I was met with a troop of curious and field-trip-happy school students. A few of them were playing and skidding down the mountain. The boys with their black felt hats and the little girls all wearing braids. My next thought was, is this safe? I carefully weaved around them, hiking stick in hand. I was met with their friendly and smiling teacher, who was closely monitoring all of her little ducklings. My third thought was, if these kids can do it, so can I.

After I reached the top of those first “unofficial” steps, I was glad to have reached a flat area and caught my breath. I then noticed a few young men towering down from even higher. “Only 1,000 more to go!” one of them said to me. Confused and a little disheartened, I uttered a quick, “Awesome, thanks!” It was then that I realized that the steps that I had already climbed didn’t even count as part of the 1,000 steps. Still, up I went.

A handsome chipmunk darted out from beneath the rocky stairs and scurried only a few inches from my feet. After a while, I noticed a little red “100” painted on one of the jagged stairs and knew that the real trek had finally begun. I turned and looked behind me and noted that I could no longer see Route 22. I did see, however, the way the afternoon sun shone through the shadows of the trees and created sparkly, lustrous patterns that danced upon the ancient rocks. 900 more, I told myself.

I looked up and noticed that the other lone female was still about 50 yards ahead of me, also appearing to have stopped to take a breather.

I continued to climb and began to consciously pace myself. I started to rotate between stepping first with my left leg and then with my right leg. This was an effort to save my groin muscles, as the steps in some spots are very steep and high. Ever so often I would stop to look behind me, just to see how high I was, and my eyes were met with the greens and reds of the changing leaves. The wind blew crisp autumn air through my hair and lungs.

The wings of a single North American pileated woodpecker flapped overhead. It was at that moment that I made the decision to not look back anymore. I was only approaching the 200th step, and I told myself that if I am constantly looking behind me to see how far I have come, then my attention is not on the stairs or the journey itself. One literal step at a time, I said. At my own pace. Don’t even look ahead. Or up. Just focus on the next step. I continued to climb.

To be continued …