I had specifically decided to visit the pine barrens of New Jersey, but it is not a specific place. It is instead a broad region of sandy soils covered in pine and oak woodlands and many kinds of wetlands. Wharton State Forest seemed to be large, and in a good location, so I selected that as my next destination.
I arrived somewhat late at night and spent some time searching for a particular campground in Atsion Recreation Area. I finally found it. A tiny entrance off of a well maintained, high speed highway was hidden well enough that I had driven past it multiple times. I never did get the name of this campground and found no office or any place to pay. I got set up on the strangely sandy forest floor and considered what I would do in the morning.
I decided that I would try something a little different. I had found a narrow sand road while looking for the campground that appeared to be open to vehicles, and appeared to have no access restrictions. It seemed to be part of the park. Tread marks showed that vehicles had passed somewhat recently. I considered for a moment that I had no map of the area. That had partially led to my incident in the Shenandoah Valley just a few days prior. I was, however, equipped with GPS, a phone, and a 4WD vehicle full of fuel, and it was early. I decided I'd use the road. Wharton State Forest wasn't that big so getting lost in a vehicle would be an inconvenience at most. I felt pleased to know my sense of adventure had not been quelled by my trials in the mountains.
I was able to get deep into the forest and view some of the bogs that were part of the barrens. The day was overcast and very quiet. The still water looked as black and thick as oil. Some of the flora seemed quite exotic to me, and the vision of pines growing in the sand was also very strange. The beautiful shade of green these trees had was striking against the grey skies and fog patches. At times the road became very narrow in places and I had to slowly creep between trees on its edges with inches to spare. I saw no one else at any time.
Eventually, I ran into a decision point. Ahead, the road was flooded. It did not seem too deep, maybe a foot at its most deepest point. I had been able to ford water at that depth in the past. I wasn't certain whether wet sand would bog me down or not. I checked my GPS and seemed to be an hour's walk from a nearby town. Then, I decided to go for it. I slammed into the water and plowed forward, completely losing visibility but clearing the flooded area. It was exhilarating to have taken a risk and succeeded. There were a few more of these and each time I crossed them without trouble.
Finally, I came to a rural road that eventually led to a town, which I did not discover the name of. I was somewhat worried as I had heard about how decrepit, polluted, and malodorous New Jersey supposedly was. If that was true, it did not apply here. The little town was pleasantly wooded and populated with tasteful architecture and laid out very nicely. Reviewing a map, I think it was likely Tabernacle or Chatsworth. I found a laundromat and decided to take care of that while I contacted my friend and made plans to meet her.
On the New Jersey Turnpike, I found that indeed, parts of New Jersey were nothing short of disgusting. A black film was building up on my car from the spray of rain on the road. The smell of garbage and industry in the air was awful. When I stopped for fuel, the interior of every one of the gas stations was filthy. Interestingly enough, as in Oregon, you cannot pump your own fuel in New Jersey. As I approached New York City, I saw the massive cargo cranes at some port, which was a nice distraction from this otherwise very ugly side of the Garden State.
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