The Transition

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March 9th 2021. Winter has retained its grasp upon our landscapes. The tiny thaw during the last week of February was a teaser. Winter struck back hard with a north born chill that held for over a full week. The first 61 sugaring taps we had set sat idle. An occasional drip here and there if some sunlight warmed the side of the tree. We had taken full advantage of the thaw however. We successfully broke in our sap haul roads and trail to the sugar house.We had set up our evaporator and made additional preparations. I changed the oil in the diesel tractor. It is the heartbeat of our small operation. No tractor means no taps or no hauling sap. It will log many hours this season. We find ourselves tapping the furthest we have ever been from our sugar house. A necessity after the loss of most of our former old sugarbush in the 2016/2017 combination drought/tent worm die off . The dead trees blanket our ridges still. A grim and stark reminder of nature’s fickle power.It has been a painful transition these past few seasons. In spring 2018 we didn’t even know the extent of the damage. We tapped trees that appeared to be living only to find they ran no sap. Others only a little. The saw dust from the tapping bit is usually frozen when we tap so there were no tell tale moist shavings. The ones you notice on the warmer days of an advanced season. We had a productive syrup season despite but did not collect well from the number of taps set. In late summer 2018 we scouted our forest and marked the trees with spray paint. Orange:dead needing extraction. Blue: living but compromised.Healthy trees were left unpainted. We didn’t pay much attention to the smaller tiny maples until later. Many also lost. They were the future of our operations.We were in shock at the level of devastation. But there was hope in small pockets of the sugarbush. Some trees had survived!We would hopefully find enough to resume tapping in 2019.That fall we began cutting the dead sections for firewood we needed to heat our home and fuel the sugar house evaporator. The subsequent harvesting is a story unto itself for future posts. About that same time we became friends with our neighbor Tom. His 90 plus acres border part of our property. Tom was building an Rv site on his land and wanted our permission to widen the abandoned Rastley Rd. to accommodate his small camper. We set up a meeting at the farm and had a long conversation. We easily reached a verbal agreement and parted ways with our new friend. Kindness and cooperation are attributes in the realms of human coexistence. We would be rewarded for this in the spring of 2019. We set out that spring to tap the remaining maples we had with hopeful anticipation and resolve. We cleared a trail into a small section of maples at the far corner of our property that we had never tapped. We were adjacent to Tom’s property. We noticed the abundance of healthy young maples that had survived the ravages of 2016/2017 in Tom’s forest. Tom’s land was lower with the ability to retain a higher water table. He had suffered tent worm losses but on a much smaller scale. We reached out to him and brokered a simple deal to tap a few of his maples. We set about 75 taps total on his property. They produced huge amounts of sap and contributed highly to our successful season. A plan began to form at this point. When Tom arrived that spring we gave him a share of maple syrup for his kind gesture. We became better acquainted with Tom that year. We would visit for hours sometimes and brainstorm different possibilities. Fast forward. Spring 2020. Our home heated that winter once again by salvaged former sugarbush trees. Jen and I recovering from surgeries. We were forced to regroup and run a tiny syrup operation. We set a few taps on Tom’s property again. Another worthy blog tale sometime. Tom returned home from the south early that spring and frequently stopped by while we boiled sap away. We brokered a new deal with him. We laid out a trail system in his woods for a sap hauling road that would enable us to reach many healthy maples. Zane,Jennifer, and I cleared the road over a two day period. Tom received a share of syrup once again for his generosity. Fast forward again to the present. 2021. Our home again heated with salvaged maple trees. We have entered Tom’s forest as planned. The tote road is broke in and the taps are set. We now wait for the big runs with may arrive this week. The questions begin. Will the never tapped maples of Tom’s forest exceed our expectations? Will this season be a productive one? Will the tired iron of our old systems survive the long days and nights of production? We can’t answer those questions just yet. But I can say with conviction that the season will be tackled with passion and determination. We’re well positioned and ready to begin the next set of tasks. The gifts wait for us. In the forest and in the old sagging sugar house. Hours spent together and with visitors. Food and simple sugarbush meals shared in wet, muddy clothing. We’ll suffer discomforts in all sorts of weather. We will grow weary physically as the transformation into spring unfolds once again. We will grow mentally and collectively.Bond as family and in our relationships. Jennifer has taken to sugaring and brings positivity to our operation with her determination and spirit. Zane steps forward with adolescent energy. He has become my apprentice of all I know. As I was to my own father. I will pass the torch to him someday if he wishes it. Our memories will be made regardless of the outcome. Those are the givens of this most special of annual hobbies. All else fades in comparison. These story can’t be told in a few short sentences. The sentences are as winding as the tote roads of our sugarbush. Confusing and incomprehensible to some perhaps. Love is not confusing though. Love of traditional rural heritage. Love of nature. Love of rigorous hobbies. Love of those who share these special days with me. The energy of spring brings warming days of returning sunlight. Most residents of the north country revel in it. For some it means much more. These are the days of MOONTABS. We return to the forest this morning to make more of them. The sweet taste of our endeavors will soon be our reward. We have launched. I have launched. Once again into that place that only the drumbeats of tiny sap drops hitting buckets on sunny hillsides can take me. A symphony of spring. A destination of spirit energy on the solid hallowed grounds in the hills of Macomb. A rebirth of sorts that I will forever chase as long as my legs will take me into the forest. I will lose myself in rising clouds of boiling sap steam. Transported from society’s burdens for a moment. There can be no finer moments. I am the most blessed of individuals!For that I am most fortunate and humbly thankful. To stand outside the warm sugar house on a frosty March night as the evaporator cools for the day renews my faith in life itself. A clear starry sky over head. Light glowing between the cracks in the sugar house walls. The crackling of the fire and its inviting warmth. Wisps of fragrant steam that fill the night sky. The knowledge that tomorrow the sap will flow and the cycle will repeat itself. This is heaven on earth for me. I am lifted to the highest of worldly places. It’s time to get to the sugarbush now.

O

Not Just Yet

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March is a special month for us here in northern N.Y.!Why?Maple syrup season! It’s a hobby that I have enjoyed for many years now. The story of how I came to love it so much is rich with family history and rural heritage. As the first of March approaches we plan on getting started setting our taps. It always reminds me of my father in the last few years of his life. He never wanted to start tapping until March 15th. I’d be impatient and would say “let’s get going! “He’d simply say “we’ll start soon but not just yet!”I can’t say for sure when we first began to sugar on our farm. My parents purchased the farm around 1969.There was an existing sugar house and old evaporator over in a small section of woods off the main farm meadow. Sometime in the mid to late seventies my two uncles and my father partnered up to make syrup together. My father worked and I had school so they did much of the gathering and boiling. I enjoyed going over in the evenings when some of the boiling was done. I honestly can’t remember a whole lot in the haze of time gone past but I remember certain moments clearly.Like the time I wacked myself in the head with a block of wood I was attempting to split. My cousin was running the evaporator and I wandered off for awhile to suffer my humiliation.Another memory that stayed with me was when my uncle Charlie shared a sub with me! It was the first one that I had ever eaten! Funny the things we remember! I can’t say for sure how many years we did syrup while I was in school but I know that the evaporator pans got bad at some point and couldn’t be repaired easily. My uncles built their own sugar house on their farm and tapped their large stands of maples close to home. I would stop in and visit sometimes when they boiled at night. My father’s cousin Keith Tyler also began sugaring and we would visit there sometimes. Our sugar house sat idle for quite a few years. The back wood shed section roof rotted through and I tore it down one summer. My father rebuilt it later that fall. The main sugar house structure was an old garage the previous farm owner Forrest Hosmer had moved there sometime in the fifties. It needed a new roof but has stood the test of time. My father expanded the wood shed for better storage space but the structure has changed very little over the years.It wasn’t until just before my father retired in 1990 that we returned to making syrup on a yearly basis. He had two custom pans built for the old evaporator in Vermont. He gathered sap with a team of his horses. My stepmother Shirley was his partner in the sugarbush. I helped out with tapping and some of the sugar wood collecting. My memories are a little vague and I miss my journals that were destroyed in our house fire of 2012. They contained a wealth of details that I can’t ever hope to drag from my memory. But beginning in 1991 something occurred that would change me forever. My memories are clear and concise of the day my father decided that I would learn to run the evaporator for the first time! I was nervous and a little intimidated by the responsibilities that come with that task! There’s a lot that can go wrong if you don’t pay close attention. But my father patiently guided me through the process and I caught on quickly. I wasn’t working that spring and spent a lot of time helping with sugaring. I did a lot of the boiling and my passion for the sweet creations that flowed from the evaporator became something more.I found a special connection in the rising steam of the boiling sap. There’s a poetry of motion in the process of running the evaporator. My father would come in between delivering loads of sap and visit with me. He’d tell me stories of growing up and sugaring with his father Alvin. It was in those days of boiling sap that my father became my best friend. We already had a special bond but something changed. He was passing on the yearly tradition with fatherly hope for the future I’d realize later. I grew fond of boiling sap at night. We had no electricity in our sugar house so a propane lantern supplied the light to run the evaporator. Our sugar house had been cleverly constructed on a side hill and everything worked on the principle of gravity. No need for pumps. I spent a lot of time alone boiling sap at night and found it relaxing despite the busy routine. The evaporator became predictable as I learned it’s needs for sap and firewood. A practiced routine of stoking the large fire box developed. Testing the boiling sap and drawing off the batches like clockwork. Filtering the hot syrup and jugging it up. There was little time for sitting until the end of the day when most of the sap was gone. The process of firing down has its own list of tasks before shutting down completely. There was plenty of time for thinking though. I kept a pen and notebook handy for jotting down random thoughts. I kept no meal schedule and basically ate whenever I could grab something out of my lunchbox. In any given day I consumed a fair amount of fresh syrup. I sample a small amount from each batch. Over the course of a long day it adds up! But crafting quality maple syrup is a prideful vocation and I strive for success. We’d average about 10 gallons a day with a decent sap run. But sap runs are fickle and unpredictable. We’d sometimes find ourselves swamped by a huge run and I’d find myself putting in an extra long day. 24 gallons is pretty much my one day record for our small operation. That’s a long day!The years passed and I found myself increasingly busy with my work. But I’d always find time to get to the woods for the gather. Saturday’s and Sunday’s were spent boiling to give my father a break. I managed to be off work some syrup seasons and it became a goal of mine. Get time off for sugaring! Not something every employer understands or tolerates well. No matter! When your hobby lasts only a few weeks each spring there’s no time for postponing it. So I managed as best I could to find a balance. After all, there’s a finite number of syrup seasons in a person’s life! I remember the spring of 1994. I was in between jobs and looking forward to maple syrup season when a call to return to work came one afternoon. Oswego County. Too far to drive so I had to live out of town. But I would return each Friday night to be able to help out in the sugar house for the weekend. The ice storms of 1991 and 1998 heavily damaged our sugarbush. We cleared the trails and salvaged the firewood. We had to say goodbye to some of our favorite trees. It’s painful in a strange manner. But that’s nature. Some seasons were short and others were almost perfect. Weather is the biggest factor of sugaring. So here I am.Thursday.March 4th.2021. We started setting taps Monday. We hit a count of 62 then a wind driven snow storm forced us to quit. Bitter winds and cold the past two days have kept us out of the woods. We hope to resume our tapping tomorrow. The weather is breaking next week and we need to be ready! Time will not wait nor will the sugar season.Perhaps we tried to start a little too early this year. I know we missed a small run over the weekend. But maple sugaring is a game of chance and circumstances. Weather can’t be controlled. We lost our father and maple syrup mentor in June 2007. That spring was our final syrup season together. But I haven’t missed a season since. I miss my father in the sugar house. My stories of maple sugaring are many and will flow like a plentiful sap run in time. This story but lays the groundwork of a passionate hobby that borders on an obsession. There’s a magic in the motion of being a “sapsucker”. There’s an energy that I chase within our fervent endeavors. It surrounds and permeates the body with a peace that words will never capture. It must be experienced in all its many forms. In all the weather one can imagine the season will arrive and quickly pass. It’s time these stories were written and shared. But “not just yet”!

Ice Age:Part 2

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The second part of our ice climbing adventure involved some travel time. Chad decided the temperatures were decent enough for us to climb in the Cascade Pass. Situated between Lake Placid and Keene its high rocky cliffs offer some great ice climbs. Parking is limited in this area but we managed to squeeze in just off the somewhat busy highway.There was a well trodden trail leading up to the series of ice falls. Two other climbers were busy preparing to ascend a rather steep looking climb. Chad chose a smaller nearby ice climb that had seen quite a bit of activity based on the packed down snow at the base of it.He instructed us to get our crampons attached to our boots while he prepared the climbing rope.To get the dynamic rope attached to a fix anchor at the top of the ice fall he’d need to free climb his way up while one of us belayed the rope out. Once he reached the top and secured the fixed anchor we could safely belay him down. Chad gave us another knot tying lesson before he started up. We buddy checked his double figure eight knot on his harness and he checked the ice belay device on my harness. Always ensuring that the carabiner is locked. He then asked me to demonstrate the proper technique for belaying the rope and braking it. His safe descent would be trusted to my attention to detail as the belayer. He decided all was well and waited for my “ on belay” command before starting up the ice. The ice was a NEI grade 3. The New England Ice grades run up to a high of grade 6 plus. Grade 3 is considered moderately difficult and would provide an excellent training location for Zane and I. Chad easily made the climb up to the top. Apparently there was already an adequate fixed anchoring point in place that was sufficient. Chad then hollered down to see if I was ready to “ weight” the rope before beginning his controlled descent. Weighting the rope allows for the stretch and is a necessary part of a safe descent. Chad made it to the bottom with no issues. Mission accomplished! Teamwork and trust are key in this sport. Our dynamic rope was in place and we were ready to begin the next portion of our training. All climbers on the ice face would always be on belay. Chad gave us instructions for climbing properly. Set the ice axes into the face. Tap,Tap to set crampons while engaging in a type of squat move. Then standing up while arching the back. He made it look easy!Our turn! Zane started first and attacked the ice face with the determination of an enthusiastic teenager!Chad had me on the belay rope and I literally held my son’s safety in my hands. Chad stayed close to me and gave Zane tips.Zane continued his ascent never falling and eventually reached a point where Chad instructed him to stop.It was a slow process and took some obvious strength to accomplish. Now the scary part! Weighting the rope! That moment where the climber puts it all on the line!Trusting the system! The equipment and his belayer! It’s a difficult moment! To stand and lean back as you weight the rope! It’s not a natural situation! We tend to want to clutch the wall not lean back into unknown air space! But it’s necessary! Zane did well and made a safe descent! Good so far! Now my turn! I charged the ice face like a fool. Wasting energy and burying my ice axes deeper than necessary.Mastering the squat crampon set was tricky. I wanted to lean towards the wall. Bad idea! It forces your crampons to pop out! I’d be forced to cling tightly to my ice axes as I lost my foot holds. I struggled my way up despite my ineptitude. I crawled over one shelf in desperation and stubbornness. But I made it to the stopping point!Now here’s where it got a little difficult! I was instructed to weight the rope. Lean back he says! Yeah right! I’m scared to do that! I try! Then a bad move on my part! I grab the rope despite the fact that I am holding a sharp ice axe in each hand! Stupid I found out! I lost my footing. Dropped down. I weighted the rope like a spinning top! Chad yelled up to me! Don’t do that again! Trust the system! I eventually made it down but not like he instructed. We laughed as I reached the bottom! Epic fail but still ok!Chad gave another demonstration. Zane ascended again and made it too the very top. A good descent for him again.He was learning fast!My turn. I did somewhat better. Still wasted a lot of energy but made it to the bulge just before the top. I hesitated. I thought about quitting the ascent as a sudden fear settled over me.Zane had made it up over so I decided that I needed to as well! Trust the system they say right?Here I go! Clawing and fighting my way up! Crawling and doing whatever I could to stick the face. I made it! But… oh no! I am way up and now must descend! Chad hollered up! Trust the system! Do not grab the rope! We have you! I must say it’s very difficult to lean back into space! But I suddenly felt that old reckless feeling that sometimes hasn’t ended well for me! I weighted the rope! The stretch was frightening. I tried to follow Chad’s commands. At the bottom relief! He said that I had done much better but still needed improvement. We got to telling stories and laughing again! Chad is a cool guy!A wealth of information and experience! I asked him many questions and he always had the answers. More lessons would follow. We learned how to set ice anchors.Use various slings. Worked on our knot tying. We took a quick break for lunch. High energy bars and beef jerky for us. Trail mix for him. We cooled off quickly and it began to snow. Chad moved us to a second ice face and our climbs resumed. We began to master the squat and totally trust the system. I learned to conquer my fears at the top and began to get closer to proper descents. Zane continued to do well but I could tell the exertion was taking it’s toll. I felt it as well! Zane and I both decided that we no longer wished to belay each other. We turned our trust over to Chad. On my two final descents I decided to swing around some. Very fun and exciting! Chad complemented my trust in the system! It had taken some nerve! We finished our day with a drill Chad decided we needed. He still felt that we didn’t trust or use our crampons properly. Easy to remedy! He forced us to climb using only one ice axe! That totally forced us to climb better! We needed to set our crampons properly or fail to ascend.He didn’t send us up as far. It was an invaluable lesson! One I left with for future reference. The day was over! The wind driven snow had increased. We were shot but pumped up with adrenaline! We had done it! Safely and leaving the ledges intact! Chad had done an excellent job! We said our thanks and told him we would return again! But we would need him to be our guide! There’s a certain fear inherent in ice climbing. It’s also got a certain thrill. That place where I feel strong and confident as the years have aged me to a certain point. I chose to try this unknown sport and bring my only son into it. I question my wisdom sometimes. Do I risk his future getting him involved in extreme sports? Or do I make him well rounded? We left the ice face with new skills and a greater appreciation of winter’s power. The ice is beautiful and enchanting in some dangerous attraction of unknown intensity.Where this relationship goes is an unknown. I know I will need to become stronger and more fit before our next ice climbing adventure. Perhaps that’s a plus! All I know is this… we will never be the same ever again. Nor will we drive through the beautiful Cascade Pass as the same individuals ever again. We left a part of our spirits there on those frozen faces that will disappear with the warm breath of spring winds. The ice will return in a magical transformation of Adirondack season. That is inevitable. The question is will we return? Time will tell and so will I! “Good climbing”!

Ice Age:Part 1

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Mid February approaches here in northern New York and we are surrounded by ice. Frozen streams,rivers, swamps,ponds, and lakes.Driveways and parking lots. Icicles hanging from house eaves as the sun melts rooftop snow accumulations.Ice is powerful. Cracking concrete and road surfaces.It transforms shorelines as water levels change throughout the winter. It coats highways with an almost invisible layer sometimes that we call “black ice”. Dangerous and unpredictable for drivers. Residents of northern climes have learned to dread the occasional winter ice storms. Freezing rain wreaks havoc on trees and electric power grids.Residents here remember the major ice storm of 1998. It crippled this area for weeks. I also remember a less severe one in 1991 that caused a power outage for several days. It would seem that ice is a detrimental part of living in this area. True to an extent when it disrupts our daily routines. However the annual formation of winter ice can be an outdoor enthusiast’s source of joy! Ice fishing is a favorite pastime of ours. We venture out preferably once it reaches a thickness of 6 inches or greater. It’s a subject worthy of a future post! Winter ice also provides for some great hiking opportunities. Snowshoes,skis,or just plain walking. Traveling ice enables a person to access areas that prove difficult in the warmer months. Safety is imperative always!Along the rocky cliffs of the Beaver Creek gorge ice takes on a new meaning. Huge icicles and ice falls form as winter progresses each season. Beautiful in color and detail. Hiking to view them is an annual event. I never really thought much about climbing too high on them although we have donned spikes and captured some awesome photos under them! It wasn’t until December 2020 while on an Adirondack holiday with Jennifer that I would suddenly be inspired to even consider the sport of ice climbing!We were browsing a store in the Keene Valley called The Mountaineer when it happened. One section is dedicated to climbing gear. Photos of climbers decorate the walls above a wide selection of items that were foreign to me. I found the gear interesting and intriguing.We browsed our way up to the second floor where there were even more photos of happy climbers grinning with obvious pride of accomplishment! I suppose some would call it an epiphany. I suddenly was struck with an intense curiosity! What did it take to be a climber? Rock climbing never struck me as a hobby that I would pursue even though I love high places. But ice? Hmm…. what if? I asked a clerk about renting gear and how did an individual break into the sport of ice climbing?I learned that a guide could be hired for an introductory training session. I consulted Jennifer. A Xmas gift for Zane? For us to try together? I wondered if I was even fit enough or had the nerve to try it in the first place. I left with the information to enroll in a class in January if I decided to sign up. I wasn’t even sure if Zane was interested so later that evening I decided to flat out ask him. Yes, it spoiled the element of surprise but this was no ordinary adventure! He seemed receptive and interested so the next day I got us signed up for a January date. So began the process of booking a room and making preparations. It was settled to a degree. Xmas was past and our date was fast approaching when we decided to expand our adventure to include volunteer work working on the Saranac Lake Winter Carnival Ice Palace project. But nature is fickle sometimes. I was packing the car for our adventures when the call came in from The Mountaineer. Subzero temperatures were forecast forcing a cancellation. Unsafe and ill advised to ice climb. They were cancelling all weekend excursions for safety.I was directed to call a local guide service for a possible rebooking.It was at this moment that I was introduced to Adirondack Rock and River Guide. The owner and founder “Ed” took my call. In business since 1988 he had lots of questions about our expectations for an adventure. He recommended we book out a week and hire one of his guides to train us for our ice climbing outing. All equipment would be provided, training,and a custom climb would be tailored to ensure a safe trip.It was on again!Booked and on the calendar. Jennifer mentioned to me that Adirondack Rock and River also had lodging and other activities.But finding rooms on short notice is sometimes difficult during the busy Adirondack winter season. We settled for a motel in nearby Wilmington after traveling up Saturday afternoon. I wanted us fresh and ready Sunday morning for our big day! Zane loves getting away and spending time together for a night regardless of our destination. We enjoy our conversation time, meals, and hunkering down in a cozy, warm room. Sunday morning the temperature hovered around 0 degrees but the daytime temperature was forecast for about 20 degrees. We arrived at Adirondack Rock and River early to find Ed shoveling some snow around the walkways between the various buildings. He commented that we were way too early but invited us to tour the lodge that was unoccupied. He gave us some further instructions while we bantered back and forth for a time. We gathered some history on each other then he returned to his shoveling. I thought it was cool that he as the owner shoveled snow!To not describe the quiet beauty of the location would fail to properly tell the story of our day! The complex is located at the very end of Alstead Hill Road just outside of Keene, N.Y. A flat location with mountains surrounding it in all directions.The Jackrabbit Ski Trail connects to one of the parking sections. A popular destination of cross country skiers and hikers this trail network provides a long connecting route to several local villages. The complex consists of three structures and a couple wood shed type buildings. There’s the main house and the two separate lodges. The stone fireplace in the Climbers Lodge is easily the largest that I have ever seen!We were outside enjoying the scenery when our guide pulled in promptly at 8:30. He hopped out of his truck and introduced himself as Chad. He was not a huge fellow but super lean and strong looking. Obviously fit. I guessed his age at 30 something but later learned he was 47! I liked him immediately.His calm demeanor and casual questions about our expectations for the day quickly squashed my coffee fueled anxiety. A veteran ice climber of 20 plus years he assured us we would enjoy the day. We headed into the lower level of the Guide’s lodge to be fitted for gear, sign paperwork, and have our personal gear inspected. Pictures of ice and rock climbers adorn the walls with an assortment of antique climbing gear filling in the gaps. Chad continued his questions. “ Do you want to spend 2 hours of your day in here learning about equipment or get out there and learn at the base of the ice falls?” He asked. He seemed pleased when we said let’s get right to it! I honestly told him we weren’t even sure we could do it or even wish to return. So began our formal education of being safely fitted with equipment.New words and terms to learn. It was exciting and interesting!Zane asked me if I was nervous when Chad left the room to grab some gear. “ Yes! I am! You?” I replied! He admitted he was nervous too! I simply stated that we needed to listen and follow all the instructions. Chad returned and the fitting began. Step one: ice climbing boots. Double type recommended for warmth. Some ice climbers prefer single boots but sacrifice some warmth for mobility. Step two: crampons. Fitted and adjusted to boot size. Sharp spikes front and bottom. Step three: helmets. Similar to a hard hat but with a lower profile. Step four: VIP! a harness. Proper fit is crucial!Chad took extra time with this step with good reason we’d later learn. Step five : an ice belay on a locking carabiner. Then the ropes used for climbing. Also crucial! We’d rely on one primarily. Color coded and labeled,we’d learn to recognize it as a “dynamic” rope. It’s composition allows a 7% stretch. So for a 100 ft extension it will stretch 7 ft! A safety consideration on the ice face. Super strong and inspected each time it’s used. We also took a “static line” rope. No stretch and used as a special purpose backup. Chad also carried a variety of carabiners, slings, and items that we couldn’t even identify at that moment. Ice climbing is considered an “extreme” sport. Dangerous if not equipped properly. Dangerous if attempting without proper training. Hiring a licensed guide is the best approach. We purchased a package deal with equipment provided as well as the guide.SAFETY,SAFETY,SAFETY!!! I brought us there for fun not a tragic experience!Sure there’s some risk but minimal when all risks are factored as possibilities. Next a lesson in proper knots and tying them. A little intimidating at first but Chad gave us “ crutches” to help us remember them!We learned the “figure 8 and double figure 8”. All important and always buddy checked! Our crash course lasted about an hour and Chad deemed us fitted and ready to roll! I will end part 1 here! The actual climbing adventure deserves its own story now that you know the basics! Did you learn anything?🤔

Not Castle!Palace!

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I’ve always had a fascination with ice! That should come as no surprise as I have lived my entire life here in the Macomb/Hammond,New York area. We experience the full benefits of four seasons of change. Winter brings its share of snow and ice each year. I mentioned it recently in a post. My father remembered a time when ice was harvested for storage. He spoke of it occasionally. There would come a time each winter when the ice of ponds and lakes would reach the desired thickness to harvest. People constructed ice houses where the harvested blocks would be stacked in layers using saw dust to insulate the thermal mass. It was then used during the warmer months in ice boxes as refrigerators and electricity had not become commonplace. We as modern people do not fully appreciate all our ancestors endured as part of their daily routines. It’s a subject worthy of a blog story. Today I tell a different story. Our lives take many turns and sometimes where we find ourselves can be the cause of some serious reflection. Prior to yesterday I had nothing but some rudimentary knowledge of ice harvesting. My father had once pointed out to me a location on Beaver Creek near Dekalb where some Amish were harvesting ice. It’s not very common here in the St. Law. Valley anymore. Fast forward many years.Winter 2019. My girlfriend Jennifer took me to the Saranac Lake Winter Carnival for the first time! Very fun! A parade,food,drinking,and dancing in the local bars. A room at the renovated Hotel Saranac. “Hot Sara” to the locals in reference to some burned out neon lights on it’s roof prior to the renovation.We went cross country skiing at nearby Cascade Ski Center as well. But it was on a walk to the shores of Lake Flower that this story truly began. One that is forged by my fascination with ice! For someone who had lived so long in the north country, I had never spent much time in the Adirondacks during the winter months. A little snowmobiling years ago but that’s about it. It was Jennifer who would introduce me to a walk through an ice palace for the first time! We bundled up and strolled through the ice palace.Took photos and enjoyed the moment! We were talking to a local gentleman when I used the term “ ice castle”.He corrected me immediately! “It’s not called a castle! It’s called a palace!” I was a little taken back as it appeared that I had offended this man! Some research has uncovered that at one point it was referred to as a fortress as well as a palace. Further research has uncovered the origins of the Winter Carnival and some history of ice palace construction. An interesting story of human endeavor and love of community. It dates back to 1896. The first palace was constructed in 1898. The ice palace construction was put out to bid each year to local ice harvesting contractors.It hasn’t been constructed every year since the carnival began I also learned. There are gaps in the timeline. But it’s been a yearly fixture since around the 1950’s. During World War 1,the Great Depression,and World War 2 construction didn’t occur at all. After 1960 the project became a volunteer effort due to cost constraints.This is a point where I think the story truly becomes even more remarkable! That place where local colleges,businesses,and dedicated individuals work together for a huge undertaking!My timeline of Adirondack adventure began to spike in 2018 when Zane and I pursued our high peaks quest in earnest. How ironic I’d meet Jennifer that October. The Adirondacks are a favorite destination of hers! Things began to ramp up! Standing under the sturdy walls of the ice palace in 2019 I began to grow curious about its construction. After spending over 35 years working construction I could appreciate the work that had occurred to construct it. I told Jennifer that one day I’d love to volunteer for the build!January 2020 would find both of us missing Winter Carnival due to surgery recoveries. Then the bad news in autumn 2020 that Winter Carnival would be modified due to the pandemic. The good news was that the palace construction would occur! Volunteers were needed!While staying at a Saranac Airbnb on a work adventure, I got some great intel from the owners. I was added to the volunteer email list and waited for our possible chance to get involved. We followed the weather and progression of the formation of the ice. The construction start date was January 28th we learned. We were unable to volunteer until January 30th. We’d miss some of the build!Cutting ice was the draw for me! Twenty something years ago I had purchased an ice saw from a local junker. I didn’t even know what it’s purpose was until he told me. I just knew I had to have it! I asked him how much to purchase it. I held my breath as I waited for his reply. $30 he said. Sold! I didn’t know if I had gotten a good deal or not but my prize was worth all that to me! It’s the curse of a hoarder, junker! When a piece “speaks” to me I must try to leave with it! Often taken home and stored for some uncertain purpose. I really didn’t think I would ever wish to cut ice but it could make a nice rustic wall piece. Heavy though and super sharp!The ice saw was hanging in my garage in 2012 when the house fire engulfed it. The firemen were able to extinguish the garage fire but it was a total loss. I scoured the charred walls trying to salvage things. I found my ice saw. Black and covered with a greasy ash film. The wooden handle badly burned with an outer layer of charcoal. But still ok it appeared. I gave it a simple cleaning and stuck it in the back of one of my barns. It has set there for over 8 years. I dragged it out last week. Took it home and wire brushed it back to bare metal. Sanded the charred handle and stained it. Built a simple transport guard. Got it packed into the car. Yesterday we were there on the shores of the lake ready to volunteer at 8am. Signed in and put to work. Given some basic training by the experienced volunteers. I asked if I could bring my saw to the ice field. Yes! It became that moment that a hoarder dreams of experiencing! That moment when your prize becomes something more! Would it even work properly? Too dull or ruined by the fire? No! Once I learned the trick of handling it I made cuts until my arms grew weary. The end of the ice field became a goal to reach. The harvest is a team effort. We were invited onto the ice as part of that team. Zane didn’t find the cutting all that interesting so found his niche with the spud crew. Three people striking in unison to free the 2×4 feet blocks out into the leading edge of the open ice field. We had been warned of potential shears from cracks and told what to do if one occurred. It happened suddenly with no warning! Zane was the closest to the open water of the now large float section. A couple yells were all I heard before I realized something was up! It was over quickly! I turned to see Zane and the other two guys leaping from a freed section of sheared ice to the safety of solid surfaces. Close call! Lots of nervous laughs after! A short pause then the return to our task. But I was on alert after that! But proud of Zane! He took his spot and returned to work like nothing had happened! We finished the cutting shortly after and put away the cutting equipment. My ice saw carried from the ice with a new found reverence. In a few short hours I had learned a new skill! As a lover of rural heritage I found positivity and connection to history under the cold but sunny skies of Saranac Lake. I have a connection to our lands in Macomb that time has forged with blood,sweat, and tears. It will never break for time lived there was the beginning of all I would become. Yet an inner voice calls me to the Adirondacks. To call it home for an unknown length of time. Yesterday was more than just hard work and volunteering. It represents something much larger. I must return soon and saw the ice once again before this opportunity falls behind. I can be quoted as saying that “ a person has a finite number of syrup seasons in their life! They should never be missed!”Perhaps it’s true of ice cutting and ice palace construction. We met some truly, great people yesterday!I got an interesting story from one fellow and made a new friend! The citizens of this community radiant warmth and positive energy. I know exactly what I will do when I return. I will stand at the end of the open waters of the ice field we have cleared and face the sun. Listen to the voice that continues to speak softly but louder with each passing season. I will listen for the answers out there. The slush makers who cement the ice palace together desire a certain blend. That perfect mix of snow and water. Life can be compared to that. Spirit energy fuels dreams. Lends strength to decisions. Those moments when you step out and explore. That place where history meets the present. A destination of now. Adventure keeps us young and growing. On the drive home yesterday I told Zane that I am regressing in mental age. Traveling backwards now to a place where we will meet. It’s the boy inside the man who whispers from that inner place. Home can be many places. My heart knows that the Adirondacks will be called home. The seasons of chance are meant to embrace .

Cold Memories From A Warm Heart

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A cold morning at Hill House this morning!It’s been a strange winter for sure!Quite mild actually, with minimal snow.The Lake only sports about 8 inches of ice down in front of the house. After last night I expect that changed. As I stepped out to fire the outside wood boiler (aka The Monster) in my bathrobe and Crocs I realized there was a significant wind chill also. A bathrobe and Crocs is standard attire for a retired person up here on the hill. After all what’s the hurry? It’s that time of winter when the increase of daylight becomes noticeable.Icicles form and drip as the sun hits them. Mini avalanches send snow sliding off the southern and western portions of the metal roof with startling rumbles. I have a lifelong fascination with ice. Walking on it.Following the streams and exploring beaver ponds. Taking shortcuts across it to save time. Always looking for that perfect picture of it hanging from ledges. Amazed as the lake ice booms at night as you shine a flashlight on a night set walleye tip up. Ice is powerful. Cracking concrete. Moving foundations and lifting asphalt. A morning such as this reminds me that this morning’s temperature of 7 degrees Fahrenheit is nothing! I am always telling my teenage son Zane about the cold winters of my youth. He scoffs and says “ older people always say things like that!” But I remember many cold days and nights from years ago. The weather began to take a sudden turn here sometime in the eighties. More unpredictable and sporadic. We still had some fierce winters but things were much different. The winters of 1993 and 1994 were some of the coldest in recent history as I recall. The winters of my youth were rather predictable most of the time throughout the seventies. Late November would find the freeze up beginning. By Xmas time the ice was nicely formed and the snow would begin to accumulate. The temperatures would continue to plummet and by January it could be brutal!We would however often get a January thaw that would last a few days then disappear. Nothing like the up and down cycles we endure here now each winter. Sure there were abnormalities and breaks in the patterns occasionally. Typically after the January thaw the weather would remain very cold till March.The first two weeks of February could be some of the coldest we’d get all winter! The sun might shine but when’s it’s minus 20 or below it didn’t matter much! Growing up on the farm winter changed the routine immensely. Everything was more difficult. Snow to shovel.Hungry horses and cows stabled in the warm barn to feed twice a day. Their waste to be removed from the barn each day.Water to keep from freezing as well. Doors and feed holes always sticking. Saturday’s would find us out with the team of horses cutting firewood. We pulled a big work sleigh for hauling the wood to the farmhouse. No fancy dry weave or nylon clothing. Wool was the answer to keeping warm. Wool pants and chopper’s mitts. Wool toques the standard fare. The job of the farm boy was to always break the sleigh runners free with a large steel bar before they could be moved.They’d freeze down to ground and take some effort to free. It was a cycle of life that became the normal. I think it’s why I have this tremendous connection to the seasons. Sometimes it would be too cold to even venture out to work. But that was rare. The daylight would increase and we’d skip work some Saturdays. We’d load our gear and head to the lake for a day of ice fishing. We’d drive right across the lake with the truck on 20 inches plus of ice.Great memories!One winter especially comes to mind. It was 1978 headed into 1979. Xmas day a balmy -25 degrees Fahrenheit. The oil filter on the Ford Mercury burst when trying to start it. The days of that winter would see a 30 day plus run of days that never got above 0 degrees Fahrenheit! Brutal and testing the limits of people and machines! I learned the tricks of survival.Battery chargers and booster cables. Dry gas to keep fuel lines flowing. Fuel injection not yet common as carburetors ruled the realms of internal combustion engines. We didn’t own anything diesel then. The winter of 1979 and 1980 was equally cold. As I think back over the years I can remember so many brutally cold days and nights. So today feeling cold at 7 degrees Fahrenheit seems wimpy! I think we need to put on some dry weave inner layers with a nylon outer layer. Maybe my Gortex hunting jacket. I have been eyeing the real wool outer wear they sell at a store in Malone,N.Y. Perhaps it’s time to return to the old ways. Or maybe a blend of both worlds. One thing I can’t buy at any price is a pair of my Grandmother’s hand knit mittens. Or a wool jacket with a hand stitched cotton neck liner to keep the wool from irritating my skin. We survived those challenging days of years past. We’ve grown soft perhaps with these new winters. Those winters of our ancestors were very real! Not just a figment of aging memories. I know! I lived some of them! Close to nature. I am the fortunate man. To know the swing of seasons with passing days.To learn to care for livestock. To know the value of home heating fuel that came from the forests of the farm. To appreciate the warmth of the farmhouse at the end of the work day. Meat and potatoes to replenish and nourish the weary body. My roots are deep and well planted. For that I know I am truly blessed! The memories will never die if I keep them alive with words. Some things are best left forgotten but some are not. The stories are many and wait to be dredged like buried gold from the years. To leave them uncovered could be a loss. For Zane and all my family. “It’s no bad thing to celebrate a simple life”. (J.R.R. Tolkien)

Snow bored? No Snowboard!

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I share a special bond with my son Zane. He’s been a source of joy in my life every since his birth some 16 plus years ago. I’ve watched him grow into a rather powerful young man these days. On the mountain trails he tests my endure but has learned patience as well. I still hold my own rather well but must acknowledge that he will eventually surpass me. In some ways he already has I’d have to admit. I lead with upper body strength but not by much. I’m ok with the transition actually.It’s inevitable. It reminds me of something my Dad once said a year or so before he died. We were working with our bandsaw mill and moving some heavy planks we’d just sawn. I was on the front end of one and he was behind me. He suddenly said something most profound to me. “It seems like only yesterday when I was in the front and you were struggling to keep up behind me!Now it is I who struggles in the back!” My father was a man of much fewer words than myself of that make no mistake! I’ve always remembered that conversation and think of it as I watch my son move into the lead. My father was an incredible worker well into his late seventies. I still use him as an age based role model when I think a job or task has gotten too difficult because of “my age”. I shared a special bond with my father for many years. A bond forged in hard physical labor on the farm. In the forest and in the fields we spent many hours together working.It paid huge dividends for me over the years. No task on a construction site was ever more difficult than something I had endured on the farm. I think it was in the blazing hot hay mows that my endurance was secured for all time. Zane enjoys a much more laid back life than I ever had growing up. I’ve taught him to work but we take a lot more time to enjoy rigorous outdoor pursuits then actually working. It’s building endurance in him but in a much different manner. In Zane I’ve found a rough and tumble adventure buddy. The older he gets the rowdier the activities seem to get! A couple years ago we were sliding down hill with Jennifer and her nephew Garrett when Zane decided to ride the toboggan downhill while standing up on it!Of course I had to try this myself! It ended with me smashing my shoulder up some after a nasty spill but not before Jennifer had mentioned she thought I would be a good snowboarder. That’s all it took and the following Sunday would find Zane and I attending a beginners snowboarding class. I had done a little skiing over the years. Both downhill and water. But the snowboard was much different and very foreign feeling. Zane picked it up quite quickly and I struggled through the class falling many times. But my stubbornness would prevail. I would manage to pass the class and secure my lift ticket. Not everyone in the class was so fortunate. I spent the remainder of that day falling and getting back up. But I began to get the feel of it and eventually made some awesome runs! I was hooked! Zane’s happy face spurred me on past the point of exhaustion. I left the hill battered and hobbling but feeling something special had been accomplished. A new place where bonding with my son could occur! Not to mention my new sport was exciting and fun! I never went again that winter and the winter of 2020 would find me recovering from a broken pelvis. I watched from the ski lodge as Zane and his friend careened down the hill. Major bummer for me!But laying low wasn’t going to work for me so I pushed myself to recover. We hiked 13 ADK high peaks in the summer of 2020. It wasn’t easy but Zane was my lead dog and we counted them down one by one. I realized something as we finished our final one in September. I was ready to take up snowboarding again come winter! So recently we have gone twice. I took a second lesson before I tried it for my second time. Last Sunday was my third time ever and I finally started to feel like I was getting the hang of it. Zane couldn’t be happier! I drives me on. Pushing through fatigue and sometimes even some pain. It’s worth it ! On the lift together swapping stories and laughing! I feel like a boy at those moments. Not a father with my son but as two snowboarding buddies. They say there is no foundation of youth. I beg to differ. It flows from the excitement of new experience and challenge. From my son’s encouragement as he helps me back onto my feet when I get too tired to get up myself. From his cheers and fist bumps after a gnarly run where I pushed my limits and stuck the run. My battered and tired body heals after some rest. I’m ready for more. I asked him the other day on the lift what comes next?How will he challenge me? The energy flows through the rush of the board strapped to my feet. That need to stay standing to avoid a painful fall. In my son I’ve found a friend and fellow adventure junkie. Who knows what comes next? I do actually! Our next wild adventure came from an idea that I stumbled upon!He’s going to love it and I’m going to love sharing it!Until then it looks like I’ll be healed up enough to hit the slopes on Sunday. More snowboarding fun is in store. Monday’s were always rough when I worked. Now they’re rough in retirement!

It’s About Time

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Wow time flies! It’s been awhile since I’ve put a post up! No matter I’m in motion now!Balancing time has always been a struggle for me quite honestly. Retirement in 2017 helped tip the scales but I still find myself bogged down with endless details at times.Others feel this way also I notice and it’s an interesting study.Time is the most valuable of commodities in my opinion. I feel to live a well balanced life that it must be considered always. Too often I’ve heard about someone retiring then dying shortly after before they truly got to appreciate the blessings it could offer. Sad but true. I’ve always valued time but my cancer incident of 2009 would change me forever. This following our father’s untimely death from cancer complications in 2007.It laid the groundwork for early retirement like nothing ever could have accomplished. I expect to write a piece on cancer eventually. It touches many people’s lives and I can write from experience. I am blessed to have a positive outcome.Physically and mentally.My message today is to tell you that I have been busy not writing but preparing for the next chapter of my life. It’s time for a big change. Overdue in fact. This is our sixth winter here at Hill House. If all goes well it will be our last. We are ready to move on to a different place in 2021. There’s nothing wrong with this unique and beautiful location. It’s something else. Living here takes too much time away from the other places we wish to experience. So we’re busy marketing the house. Finishing outstanding projects and making repairs. It’s time consuming but I treat it like a job these days. Moving from here also will close out a different chapter of my life. I call it my “old life”. Not necessary to explain all that has transpired since 2017. It’s just a statement of “It’s About Time”. I think it’s important to explain one thing however.People who know my house is up for sale always ask “where will you go if you sell it? It’s a fair and logical question. One that deserves an honest answer.My answer is perplexing to some however! I don’t have a real plan!Nor does it matter!Time will show us our direction. It’s that fork in the road moment where you will need to make a decision. But not today this time. It’s not intimidating at all. I think of it as an adventure. Perhaps it’s my boyhood imagination that never leaves me. The story my father told me about an event on the farm many decades ago. I truly believe that home is where the heart finds itself. I certainly treasure my connection to the farm. It was my home for many years. It had yet to show its true purpose just yet. I refer to it as home base these days. The center of a tossed pebble from which the ripples will head out in all directions. Adventure waits for us to find it. We won’t truly experience all we seek and desire with out chasing it. So it’s time to move on and begin to write the next chapters. With love and passion. No time like the present they say. Time waits for no man. (Or woman!)The confusion you may find in this post will pass! All will be answered in time. The word time is written many times in this post! My intent. I hope you took the time to read it!The vision of MOONTABS has not changed. There’s lots going on behind the scenes.Give it some time!

Milestones

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Yesterday was a special day! A trip to the DMV with Zane’s credentials would see him leave with his learners permit. He had dragged his feet since his birthday November 2nd. He hadn’t done the research that I requested he present to me once he’d completed it. I had simply said to him that I wasn’t the one needing my license to drive. That he needed to do some of the work. He finally stepped up and asked me to help him. So I helped him get an appointment set up. Everything to do with public places has gotten complicated in the past 10 months.Getting a learners permit is no exception.Zane began to study for the 20 question test he’d need to pass to secure his permit. He asked me numerous questions and I realized that I couldn’t even answer some correctly! Me a driver of some 42 years!We filled out the forms and presented them. Consent form for me and the permit paperwork for him. Zane is an individual blessed with two middle names although I don’t think he fully understands why I insisted he be given them. His first middle name is Alvin after my grandfather Washburn. His second James after my father. I knew on the day of his birth that he would be my only son. I chose to honor the names of my father and grandfather. Zane passed his eye exam and proceeded to the computer to take his written test. We had studied together on the drive to Gouverneur and I felt he was ready. He settled in behind a barrier and began the test. I wanted patiently at first for him to complete it. My patience began to waver though as the minutes passed. My thoughts began to spin out of control! What’s taking so long?Oh no he doesn’t know the answers!This is bad! What happens if he fails?My energy was wasted on such thoughts for he suddenly appeared from behind the barrier! His smiling face said it all! Success! A score of 17 out of 20!What a relief! Then the next step of payment for everything.In New York there’s not much that’s free!But Zane’s happy face as we left was priceless. In the truck on the way to the farm we discussed what would come next. Eventually the conversation would turn to me. Zane was curious about my driving history. I told him that I could remember nothing of the day that I got my learners permit. What I did remember was that I must have gotten it fairly quickly after my August 26 birthday. I remembered practicing through the fall months occasionally with my father patiently ( mostly!) sitting in the passenger seat. We practiced mostly after dark it seems to me now. I had already learned to drive at 15 anyway. My father taught me on the frozen surface of Black Lake while ice fishing one Saturday in the winter of 1978. What better place to learn I realize now. Wide open spaces with nothing to hit on the expanses of frozen lake. I learned to drive a standard shift Ford F-150 Custom truck with “ three on the tree”. I mastered the clutch after a few jerky starts. Driving using a clutch wasn’t foreign to me. I had been driving tractor on the farm since I was 12! Not just a tractor but with a baler and wagon behind. Making turns was easy for me. I took my road test in December after my August birthday just before Christmas break. My dad worked construction so my Uncle Arthur who farmed with his brother Charlie just up the road agreed to take me. What a day! A big snowstorm the night before my road test would leave the streets of Gouverneur icy and make for tricky driving! My father had decided that I would road test with the standard shift truck. We had a big boat of a car in the garage but it’s automatic transmission was not meant for my destiny. I was nervous and jittery as the road test driver climbed into the truck with me!He instructed me to head out and I followed his instructions. Turn left here! Turn right here then take the next left. Numerous intersections and stop signs. But I feathered the clutch with practiced ease despite my nervousness. Things were going great it appeared!It wasn’t until I was instructed to do my three point turn that things took a horrible turn! No pun intended! I got through the first two portions of the drill fine but as I worked the clutch pedal through the final turn my foot slipped off the wet pedal and became trapped between it and the brake pedal. There was no freeing it and the next stop sign was approaching quickly! Decision time! A quick glance at my tester revealed that he hadn’t noticed! I couldn’t take my right foot off the gas without risking a stall however should I try and press the brake pedal the distance it would take to free my left foot! Can you picture my dilemma? I did the unthinkable! I bent over and used my hand to free my foot all while moving forward! The tester said nothing. He directed me through even more stops and turns. I was in shock beyond nervousness and obeyed his many commands. Finally the moment of all moments! My tester would give me the ultimate challenge! He ordered me to parallel park between two plowed in cars! I failed on my first attempt but made my way mostly in through the deep snow. He ordered me to try again. I did better but still failed to get close to the invisible curb. We returned to the starting point and it was over. I croaked a timid question. “ Did I pass”? His response was flat with no emotion whatsoever. “You will be notified”. I climbed out of the truck with a sunken feeling . Embarrassed to tell my Uncle of my obvious failure. But fate is fickle sometimes and imagine my surprise when I received my license in the mail while on Christmas vacation! I was shocked to say the least! How had I managed to pass after the clutch pedal episode? Who knows?I certainly never will all these many years later. Those memories came flooding back yesterday across the decades. I have driven numerous standard shifts since that day and never have repeated that mistake. I’ve driven thousands of miles in the past 42 years. I have stories of blizzards and ice storms. Stupid mistakes and dumb decisions. Zane asked me how could I make it look so easy when he felt a little overwhelmed. “Practice. You will get there and I will help you”. We talked of the milestones of life after that. Those that he has reached and those that await. I have reached many of society’s milestones at this point in my life. Those I still seek are a construct of my own mind. I ask myself will I pass those next fateful tests?How can I prepare for those tests?It seems we are tested often and with no chance to prepare. What will I do when my foot slips off the proverbial clutch pedal? I will do what I have always done. Keep my foot on the gas, reach down, and free myself. Keep moving forward even when I feel like I have failed the test. I’ll be out on the road a lot with Zane these next 6 months before he takes a road test. Teaching and learning at the same time. He works to achieve his next great milestone. As do I.

The Sum of All Totals

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Winter weather still continues to drag its feet so yesterday we decided to take advantage of the lack of snow and grab a mini adventure. I asked Zane if he was interested in exploring the Eastern side of the Beaver Creek gorge near our farm.It’s 3664 acres of state land provide some rugged terrain to explore. There’s little of that acreage that I haven’t explored in the last 4 decades at some point. It’s always been a wonderful place to observe nature. A mix of forest,bare rock outcroppings,and extensive wetlands. Numerous beaver ponds along the actual creek channel and along the small watersheds that feed it. There’s large ledges and deep valleys to cross. It’s difficult to cross the main creek if not impossible in the months other than winter. Occasionally there’s a beaver dam that spans the gorge but those are usually not readily available. We typically explore the Eastern side when “ice walking” becomes available. It’s about timing unless we decide on a snowshoe trek. That’s rarely been the case in recent years. I gauge the weather conditions and make a spontaneous decision to hike it on foot when snow doesn’t hinder our distance.Yesterday I wasn’t sure the main creek had adequate ice thickness to safely hike the wetlands so we took an overland route that kept us on solid ground. We soon found ourselves fighting thick patches of invasive wild honeysuckle. Mixed with “whip brush” and the riddled stands of Scotch pine the state planted over 50 years ago. The Scotch pine never did well as the rocky ridges and fallen rock piles supported numerous porcupines.They developed a fondness for the planted groves and girdled them until they wiped out most of the transplants. The few surviving pines have an alien appearance. Short and stunted they bear the scars left by the porcupines who still continue to further their demise.I mentioned to Zane that it’s too bad they don’t relish the invasives!That sure would make things better for those fighting their way through the brush. Ultimately the brush would prompt us to take to the ice and marshy sections in the lower sections below the ridges where beaver had altered the landscape.The ice is still tricky and it takes some maneuvering to dodge the thin spots.These beaver ponds didn’t exist when I was a boy but the beaver populations have continued to expand since then. They found their way into every trickle and created some new sections of wetland. It’s a cycle that rotates. They move in and create a pond sometimes making it larger each year. Eventually they diminish the availability of feed and move to a new location.The dams eventually rot in disrepair and the water drops. The open area of the pond ( known as a beaver meadow) begins to revert back to a forest or grassland. We crossed a number of active and dead beaver ponds. It was much better walking on the sections of creek and pond ice. Lesson number two of the day for Zane!Lesson one was deciding whether the ice would support us at all. It’s a decision an “ice walker” must weigh heavily or risk a soaking.We managed to stay dry and eventually would be able to get up into some older open growth forest where walking was better. Our destination was an area well known to me since a boy. The Black Ash Swamp.We hit a beaver pond above it first. Also well known to me,I was pleased to notice that it was occupied. The ice was well formed so I suggested to Zane we wear our micro spikes as I intended to keep us on the ice as long as possible. The pond we crossed joined the upper end of our destination just beyond a small overflow. There it was! The Black Ash Swamp.It’s an area that has seen a huge transformation since I was a boy.It’s former brush and the trees that bore its name gone now. Only a few small stumps protrude through the ice. It reassembles a small,shallow lake these days. A product of the beaver and their work of decades.They had first moved into the swamp in the seventies and began flooding the forest.The higher water eventually killed even the moisture resistant black ash trees.The beaver no doubt cut many of them also for their tasty bark.For many years the dead trees stood like skeletons.Gray and bark shed I had walked the ice between them witnessing the transition over a period of years. Rot and wind have broken them down now. I stood on the edge of the former swamp forest and let the memories travel over those years. My father had brought me here when a large stand of hemlocks graced the the higher ground above the swamp. There was a light layer of powder snow that cold,cloudy winter day. We’d come to the swamp for a reason that day!To run our beagle/basset hounds on snowshoe rabbit. The cottontail rabbits of our pasture land had a habit of diving into woodchuck holes and cutting the dogs short of a worthy pursuit. Not so with the large, bounding snowshoe rabbit! They stay afield and easily avoid the much slower hounds. The dogs Snoopy and Hushpuppy jumped a snowshoe in the edge of the swamp that day and gave chase with excited bellows! They sped off after their quarry and would soon get some distance from us. I was the eager boy who wished to run after them! “Stop”We’ll sit here in the hemlocks” my father would quietly say. “But the dogs are getting away!” I replied. “Sit still and wait!Watch closely and you will learn something of the snowshoe rabbit” my father replied.It was cold and I had no wish to sit but did as I was instructed. Glad to have my warm wool pants and wool mittens inside my leather choppers mitts. The collar of my wool hunting jacket hand stitched with a band of cotton flannel by my grandmother’s loving hands.She knew I hated the wool touching my neck so had done it for me.The cold air stung my face and I listened to the distance dogs. Their sounds suddenly seemed closer and they began to return our way. Still on a hot track and moving quickly! I was busy trying to spot the dogs when my father pointed silently. Far ahead of the hounds the ghostly, white snowshoe rabbit was moving directly towards our position. My observations were cut short as my fathers 12 gauge fired once from his position. I was instructed to retrieve the rabbit from the ground but wait for the dogs. They reached me soon after and we let them sniff the rabbit they had brought to us. A tasty meal back home awaited us with scraps and fur for the dogs. I had learned a valuable lesson! The jumped snowshoe will circle and retrace his steps. The hunter must wait and watch. We would only take the one rabbit that day. It was enough and we had the long walk back to the truck. Barn chores and a wood furnace to stoke. As I stood on the edge of the swamp yesterday I pondered the passage of time. My father gone but my own son beside me. The hounds long buried in a special location on the farm. Carefully laid to rest in graves I dug after carrying them some distance in my arms. I no longer have hounds or hunt rabbits. But I still wander the lands of my youth. I show my son my special places and tell the tales. I watch the forests and wetlands change in the seasons of nature. The spirit energy finds me there with positive blessings. Not lost for it is eternal. The years add quicker and I realize that someday I will circle back to where I started my chase of years. To retrace my steps and serve a higher purpose perhaps. If time is the rabbit then I am the hound. Such thoughts are best kept for winter nights long after dark. It was time to keep exploring. There was too much to be found in the moment yesterday to stand still for long. There were things to teach and lessons to be learned. Miles to walk with an ice walkers stride. The distance traveled in must be traveled out.