I miss real winters, the kind you see in a Bergman film. Down here in the lowlands, our 21st century winters are a dull gray November from Halloween to Easter. Chilly but not cold, and very little snow. But a thin ghost of Old January still holds the highlands east of Pittsburgh, where it was snowy and 32 degrees--compared to the 42 degrees in the city. My little car couldn't negotiate the snowy dirt road. I followed Boy Scout Road to the weird intersection near Outdoor Odyssey, taking the leftward track and circling around to a clear cut where the summit of Sugar Camp Hill looms to the right. There's a logger's lane to the top with decent views due to the clear cut. It's public land till you see the No Trespassing signs. At 2,910 feet, this is a high ridge for these parts. The name Sugar Camp Hill probably means they used to extract maple syrup somewhere on this summit.