I remember rock climbing and scaling the cliffs on Bear Pen creek, It was our playground, I remember waiting for the flying squirrel to sail out of its nest in the top of the tall pines and then climbing up to check out its babies, more times than not mama squirell was still home and she was very protective of her babies. I went back to the Bear Pen cliffs as an adult only to find that strip mining had basically turned most of it into a frikin' cow pasture.