Up The Creek

Posted on January 23, 2023January 23, 2023 by Greg Washburn

January is moving along and the mild weather continues to surprise everyone. It hasn’t made for great ice walking but I have managed to get a little in despite of it.If you are new to the blog perhaps a journey back to a former post of mine might enlighten you as to the nature of ice walking. It is titled “Tales Of An Icewalker: Origins. I introduce myself there as The Icewalker. I learned many years ago the ease of travel on the flat frozen waterways that form each winter here in the St. Lawrence valley. This story is about a recent trip on Beaver Creek we took where I continue to teach my son Zane the beauty and perils of ice walking. Better to learn from the journeyman when you are an inexperienced apprentice. It turned into quite the adventure!

The section of Beaver Creek above the Lead Mine Road. Known to us as “up the creek”.

I decided to try the ice of Beaver Creek after we had experienced a couple cold nights right after the recent thaw. We had spent Saturday doing firewood and had returned the hauling trailer to the farm after unloading it Sunday morning at our customers house. I felt like doing something fun with Zane and suggested a hike down on Beaver Creek. Big Beaver we call it as too not get it confused with the nearby creek known as Little Beaver. Zane was eager to go and ready for the adventure. I mentioned that we would need beaver stick walking sticks if we were going to attempt to ice walk. We had some in the truck that were already shaped and had been used several times. Not to worry though as one of our hoarder sheds at the farm has dozens more if we were caught short. They would have needed work however and we had no time for that. It’s a job best suited for a workshop bench with plenty of tools on hand and heat. I miss the area we had at Hill House in the heated garage at those times. I chose to take two beaver sticks for the trek. Zane opted for none. But he has a lot to learn yet and would soon realize his mistake. Ice walking is a school of hard knocks. Zane did decide to bring along a propane torch though in case we needed a fire. Never a bad decision when ice walking but the trick is to keep your fire making tools dry! I mentioned to Zane that we weren’t properly equipped but given the short duration of our hike I wasn’t concerned. Plus there were two of us. An icewalker alone should always be prepared. I think it was starting to sink in with him. Maybe sink is a poor word when preparing to walk the ice!🤔

Beaver sticks in the rough. Trimming and sanding brings them to perfection!

We headed out behind our barn at the farm as I wanted to check a section of forest where we had harvested the older damaged trees some ten years ago. This would bring us to the very edge of the creek wetlands once we descended the ridge.The new growth was impressive to say the least. A mixed bag of hickory,maple, and some red oak. Our search of the forest also revealed huge amounts of invasive wild honeysuckles. They were overtaking the former open sections of the pasture at the edge of the forest. Bad news for the two of us hiking when we tried to force our way through them. We followed the edge of the wetland until we reached a section of pasture that we have begun to maintain. We had cleared it of dozens of the invasive shrubs a couple years back. It was easy hiking there as it’s relatively flat also. It soon became obvious that there was a lot of fresh beaver activity in the pasture.A maintained dam that bridged the wetland as well. It wasn’t a new location for a dam. There’s been beaver dams in that location over the years. It’s quite the feat that the beaver achieved damming the entire wetland gorge. The original creek channel is barely visible anymore. As dams go it’s not very high but the water it holds back extends far up the creek.

I knew from experience that we would have trouble accessing the ice of the main creek because of several springs that pepper the north side of the wetlands. They flow from underground at the base of the steep ridge that sits above the gorge. There’s about 5 of them in a mile stretch of the wetland.Even in the coldest of winters it’s a tricky area to venture out onto the ice. Zane and I explored the beaver activity and noticed signs of muskrats as well. I explained to Zane that this area had changed a lot over the years.It was decided that we would need to use the beaver dam to get out to the thicker ice where we wanted to hike. We struggled through more of the thick, choking wild honeysuckle while getting to the dam. Once we traveled the dam for a short distance we were able to access the ice. I used my beaver sticks to pound on the ice to check it for thickness before I stepped off the dam. Zane took a different approach and just jumped out in a nibble sliding motion. He’s much lighter then me so had less reason to worry. Out on the ice of the main pond the ice was gray and thicker. But as I pointed out to Zane there were numerous black sections that we needed to avoid. We needed more cold weather to truly freeze this swamp. I told Zane about the soft maple forest that had been here years ago.The original beaver dam flooded them and they all died. They stood for years like dry barren stalks before falling into the marsh and disappearing. I also to Zane that we owned some landlocked property in this area. About 4.4 acres that weren’t well marked. I knew there was an old fence that marked one boundary but the South shoreline was also choked with wild honeysuckle. We decided to search for it some other time.

We picked our way through the grassy bogs and avoided numerous weak spots in the ice. Lucky for us there was no snow on the ice. Otherwise I mentioned to Zane that I wouldn’t even be out there. It’s not deep water in most of the wetland but I pointed out the main channel sections where falling through wouldn’t be a good idea. We made it up the ice quite a distance before it became impassable. The wetland continues for another half a mile or so before narrowing down to a much smaller channel. Beaver Creek dumps into this section after going over an impressive small set of waterfalls. It was getting late and I mentioned to Zane that we wouldn’t be able to trek up further until the ice conditions improved. We had ventured past our property boundary also we were technically trespassing although the land wasn’t posted by the owners. We began searching for a way off the ice along the North shore but it began to look impossible. The 5th spring upstream and beaver activity was keeping the shoreline open with no ice to cross. We tried getting close to shore in a couple spots but it was futile. Zane suggested going back to our original point of entry and I acknowledged that possibility. But I decided to try a different approach first. We headed toward the 4th spring where I knew an old beaver dam intercepted. We reached the closest to shore that we had ever been but saw nothing but open water. I suddenly decided it was “bog hop”or bust. I started leaping from one clump of tag alder to the next. Sometimes I had to bend one down to reach the next clump. It was a winding and wavering course across the open water. Zane was trying to follow but haven’t some trouble. I almost pitched in headfirst at one point while balancing on a bending limb. Zane and I got to laughing at that moment! The whole thing got funnier when Gracie the dog broke through some thin ice trying to get to us. It was inevitable that someone would get wet I suppose. Zane and I both ended up going in over our boots. What a trip! I shot a funny video of Zane calling him an aspiring Icewalker. I didn’t think about my cold wet feet after that. I was lost to the happy moment!

The land beyond where we will return with good ice.

The beaver feeding activity along the shore was impressive! They were taking advantage of the underground spring runoff and the recent thaw to work the shoreline for food. Lots of chewed branches and fallen trees. The invasive honeysuckle would once again plague our forward progress as we headed back towards our open pasture land.

As we trekked back to the truck we laughed about our exploits. The road up from the wetland took us up the steep ridge and gave us some late day views of it. We could retrace our recent steps far above the marsh. I told Zane stories of my years of exploring “up the creek”. It’s a place of ever changing events. Vanished forests and invasive species. Wildlife in constant motion surviving the rigors of a northern New York winter. It’s a beautiful place for a new generation Icewalker to get his feet wet literally. It had been an epic trek for us. We are waiting now for the cold weather to seal the wetland shut under a layer of thick ice. We will return to explore up the creek sometime before spring I hope. I want to show Zane the “Big Spring”. Number 5 I called it. It’s impressive in itself. But I want to show him more out there on the ice. There’s fast travel out from brushy shores and rocky forest ridges. Ice walking on the big creek has its risks but the benefits outweigh those risks I feel. Be prepared for anything. It’s easy to fall through I’ve learned. Now it’s time to teach Zane the way of an Icewalker. Beaver Creek is a beautiful and magical place for me. I will always want to trek its frozen surface. For now we wait for the big freeze. ✍️

The Mystery Is Solved

Posted on January 6, 2023January 6, 2023 by Greg Washburn

It’s January 2023 and the weather remains unseasonably warm for this time of winter despite the major storm just before Xmas that hit upstate New York. It left us digging out for several days and reeked havoc out on the highways. The loss of life was surprisingly high despite the fact we live in a modern world of technology and comfort. People took unrealistic chances and were not prepared for nature’s fury. It’s a sad and deadly reminder that nature very much controls more then many care to acknowledge. We hunkered down with a generator on standby and well stocked cupboards. We were fortunate to never lose power here. The outcome could have been very different with an extended outage given the temperatures. It was a time to count small blessings and enjoy our good fortune.

It wasn’t too many days after the storm that the weather turned warm with highs reaching 50 plus degrees. The snow disappeared quickly and the ridge tops began to bare up again. The warm spell has continued and heavy rains have reduced the snow pack even further. I took advantage of the situation and got back on the log landing working on a firewood order. We got out for a snowboarding day at Mt. Pisgah in Saranac Lake as well while Zane was on Xmas break. My performance was less then perfect on the rough and poorly groomed slope. We had a lot of fun regardless!We never sit idle for long and were happy to get outside as much as possible.

Zane shows off on the final run of the day.

Last Monday I had gotten some farm work caught up so I decided to take a long trek down the state land across Beaver Creek near the farm. I left my car in the farm property driveway and walked the road over to the spot where I would start my trek. I was shocked at the bags of garbage I found near the edge of the waterfall that empties into the gorge from the unnamed upper creek. Deer bones from several deer, cardboard, tires, and all types of other crap. I even found a discarded jet ski! It’s unreal the blatant disregard people have when they litter and toss stuff into this waterway! ( I contacted the DEC and they are going to make an attempt to stop the littering in this location.) What truly bothered me was the head,skin, and remains of a doe floating in the pool at the base of the waterfall. Flushed down the falls by unscrupulous individuals and left to tarnish a beautiful location with black plastic bags that will remain for years.

The flushing falls of the ignorant and uncaring.

I enjoyed the remainder of my trek and will mention it in a later post. It’s noteworthy to say that after I left the highway and ventured further into the forest I encountered no other garbage or human activity of any kind. Why do I mention the garbage and dump the story here on my page? There’s a connection here that will tie everything together shortly. It’s got to do with human activity and human impact on the lands that surround the farm property. A story within a story where questions were recently answered.

Looking across the gorge at our farm property.

If you read the story about the QR scan codes then you already know that all my research as to their origins was purely speculative. We believed that they had been placed by an orienteering group. Further research had brought me no closer to solving the “case” and things were seriously stalled out with few leads in sight. My DEC contact had put out a few inquiries but had also come up short in his investigation. The answer to the mystery remained unsolved and in hindsight it’s painfully obvious now that it’s been solved. But the location of so many of the QR scan code tags on state land property had thrown me off the scent so to speak. The clues came pouring in just two days ago and I solved the mystery quickly after that within a matter of hours. The big break came because of the discarded deer bones. Funny how the thread unraveled!

I was splitting wood at the warehouse landing when I noticed my dog Gracie had wandered off. Great! I thought. She’s gone down after that scummy garbage and deer carcasses. She had spotted them on Monday during our walk. A short time later I had a visitor at the landing. An acquaintance of mine who lives nearby stopped to tell me that Gracie was in fact across the swamp digging through the debris. We got to chatting about all the garbage along the road. I mentioned the QR code tags everywhere and he said he knew something about who had put them there. “There was a crew of 5 guys parked along the road and headed into the state land awhile back”. “They are working for the mining company”. I knew that the mining company had been doing test drilling all over Macomb in the past few months. It’s important to note that many people don’t own their mineral rights. As land owners we have “surface rights”. Many land owners in the past sold the mineral rights and conveyed them to new owners. I don’t know about ours but I would require proof of conveyance before allowing individuals to enter my property.It was common knowledge where they were drilling core samples in different locations around the small town of Macomb. Also in the area known as North Gouverneur. Gossip travels fast here. As do rumors. In fact the mining company had been drilling along side Lead Mine Road just up the road from our farm.But QR tags on the state land? Why would they be there? But this was the first solid clue since the investigation had started. I decided to contact my sister as I knew she had received a letter from the mining company in October but I hadn’t heard anything else about it since. She sent me a copy of her letter and another clue entered the equation. Surface sampling was the term used in the letter for mineral exploration that was being used on select properties. This was getting interesting!

Surface sampling is briefly described in the photo below.

There was a phone number on the copy of my sister’s letter with a contact name for any questions regarding the activities on the targeted properties. I called the number and spent close to an hour having a productive conversation with a company representative. He was very upfront and informative. He answered all my questions and we shared a lot of information in a short period of time. The mystery was solved when I asked about the QR code tags. It seems that they were placed by a consultant who was hired to take surface samples from various places in the area. The workers of the consulting firm were supposed to have removed the tags when the project was completed but hadn’t otherwise I would never have spotted them. I told the representative that I wasn’t too concerned about the tags as garbage in the forest. One drive down our road would produce more garbage then all the tags put together. Sad but true. I offered to remove them. The answers to different things that had been happening around the farm now made sense. Take for example the vehicle that someone had spotted in my farm property driveway that I knew nothing about as I was in the Adirondacks at the time. The tags on my sister’s property were there legitimately placed assuming the mining company owned her mineral rights. But the state land tags? Apparently the mining company may hold the lease to the mineral rights there. Strange as that may sound. There’s plenty of research left to complete on this investigation but we have answered the initial questions.

So where is all this headed? The mining company seeks to continue present and future operations here in the north country. Someday they will no doubt seek fresh reserves of minerals. Their current extraction of zinc is thousands of feet below the surface and may someday prove economically unviable. Will they seek to extract zinc or other minerals from leased property in Macomb? They are currently continuing an exploration project that was initiated by a former owner of the mines in 2005.The locals all remember the helicopters flying over with a gadget cabled underneath mapping potential mineral sources using a magnetic based technology. This data is still useful after over 17 years and is being utilized as part of the exploration process. My story is not to condone or condemn mining activities in our area. My story merely showcases a time in history where a unique moment in time intersects my personal journey. One that may impact my future and the future of my son here in the township of Macomb. Mining has a long and productive place in our local history. Our father actually worked in the mines for a time many years ago before decided he didn’t care for it. The past and the future may intersect once again in the rocky hills of Macomb if mining resumes here.It’s hard to say right now.

I believe this may have been part of the Brown Mines that occupied my uncles property.

I will close my post with the following statements to clarify my personal opinions. I have made every attempt to write honestly and factually. I chose not to name the mining corp. or target individuals. Mining has and continues to be private sector industry in this often economically depressed region. It brings jobs and tax revenue to our county coffers. I gathered a few zinc statistics to showcase after the post as screenshots from the internet. No clue as to their factual accuracy. My opinion is mostly neutral and non biased I feel. As a consumer of material goods in this modern society I acknowledge that the very goods I consume originated from some source somewhere on this earth. An earth with dwindling resources and ever growing population. I feel that we as consumers should not embrace a “not in my backyard mentality”. Do I want the lands of Macomb altered and changed forever? No. But as a consumer of things I that I will continue to buy they must come from somewhere. It’s a heavy place to dwell for long this study of our use of resources and our desire to protect our properties of rural heritage. The mining operations from 100 years ago here in Macomb have been healed by nature to a greater degree. Perhaps the mining operations of the future may leave an even lesser impact. I will continue to follow this story and hope to bring additional historical facts to this page.Do your homework on the importance of zinc in our daily lives. We can’t stop mining it unless we change our very existence.We walk a slippery slope upon the face of our fragile planet. It’s going to take wise choices to not repeat the mistakes of the past. We are all in this together. ✍️

The QR Code Mystery

Posted on December 19, 2022January 6, 2023 by Greg Washburn

December is moving right along and I was lucky enough to get out for my first ice walk last week down on Beaver Creek. It’s not fully frozen however and called for some finicky maneuvers. I picked my way close to shore for a time but eventually ventured out onto a section of the main channel for some photo opportunities. There was a little bit of snow on top of the thin ice in the shallower areas but the main channel had a thicker and slightly safer layer of “snow ice”. Not the nice clear ice of hard freezing nights before a snowfall but the aftermath of snow that froze as it covered the water’s surface. Always tricky! But the savvy Icewalker knows the benefits of speedy traveling on bare ice rather then struggling through the rugged woods on shore. Dry feet aren’t the constant companion of an Icewalker. Neither is a dry body for that matter. The trick is staying on top! As always the Icewalker’s motto must be remembered: “The distance in must be traveled out.” Its much more pleasant to travel out dry!

I assessed the wetland system via my sister’s property just down over the hill from our main farm buildings. The ridges along both sides of the wetland are rather steep and difficult hiking. Rocks and fallen trees make for slow going. Thus the allure of the ice. I hadn’t quite reached the ice when I spotted a pink ribbon tied to a tree. Strange given this is private property. A closer look revealed that there was a tag attached to the small tree. It had a scan code and seven numbers on it. I used my IPhone to attempt to “ open” the code but nothing worked. I considered taking the tag with me but decided I shouldn’t without consulting with my sister first. I continued to hike on.

There’s always something to see when hiking the Beaver Creek gorge I’ve learned over the years. The beaver continually alter the wetlands by building dams along its course. Given the width of the wetland it’s a major engineering endeavor for the beaver to accomplish. But they’ve been at it for years and grassy foundations of former dam activity have made an almost solid foundation in one spot. There’s a choke point where the channel narrows through a shallow section of the swamp. A small dam here floods a large area and doesn’t challenge the beaver all that much. There’s usually beaver activity here but this year they had raised the dam some and subsequently there was a lot more wetland covered with deeper water.The muskrats had build numerous houses in this larger section. The most I had seen in years. Once I reached the dam I was in a bit of a situation! The ice below it was brittle and caving in. “Shell ice” we call it. The result of water depth dropping with no time for adequate freezing. It’s the Icewalker’s nemesis!

I bog hopped my way towards the distant shore from my location in the center of the swamp. It was a challenging series of carefully executed moves. Perhaps like a soldier picking his way through a minefield in a movie. I was losing my nerve by the minute and regretted my decision of early ice walking.It was beautiful in the soft maple forest that survives there though. In the midst of trees and small clumps of tag alders I was saved from the wind. The sun was shining down on me as I slowly crept closer to the solid land that was tantalizingly close. It was a cold afternoon and I really wanted to stay dry! I reached the narrow channel and edged out onto the thin ice. Gracie the dog was close behind and seemed a little nervous herself! Suddenly a series of cracks appeared under my feet. I froze and several more shot out in different directions. It once again reminded me of a movie scene! But in the movies the hero never falls through! There was no time to waste so I ambled forward in a sliding shuffle that covered the distance quickly. I reached the shore soon after and celebrated my good fortune! I was off the ice and had no interest in going back out after that. I decided to head for the high ground.

I began to ascend the steep ridge that reaches all the way down to the shoreline. I got on a deer trail that crosses the slope of the ridge in the easiest path. Trust the animals to find the best way upward. I hadn’t gone far when I spotted another one of the pink ribbon/scan code tag combinations. It was identical to the first one and covered with muddy fingerprints despite being exposed to the elements. Had someone dug in the dirt before handling it? I once again trying scanning the card to no avail. I pressed on towards the high ground.

I was headed to a large rock bluff that we named the “Mid Point” when we were teenagers. It sits between two other rocky bluffs called the “Low Point” and the “ High Point”. I suppose we could have been more imaginative but it’s a rather accurate description overall. The LP and the MP are somewhat close together while the HP stands higher about one half mile away to the East. The views are spectacular in a 360 degree panoramic fashion. They are some of the highest places around in the area. A favorite boyhood haunt of mine. We camped years ago on all of them at one point or another. There’s a reason why the rock is bare upon them and the evidence still remains many years later. A forest fire destroyed the white pine groves that once occupied them during a dry spell. Deliberately set I was told although I have no factual proof to confirm this. The fire was so hot it literally burned the topsoil right down to the bare rock in the higher sections. Even to this day you can find the charred pitchy root balls and stumps that are super rot resistant in their rocky perches. We discovered as teenagers they made excellent firewood and burned with a brightly lit fragrance.No need for artificial light when one was used and the wood burned for a long time. Just when the fire occurred is an unknown to me.Over a hundred years I suspect given my age. I hope to research that sometime if archives exist.

I found a place to sit on the Mid Point and snapped a few photos. It was a bit chilly with a North born breeze hitting me but I was warmly dressed for a December day. I kindled a small fire to keep the chill at bay and sat for a long time. It was a place very familiar to me and one that I try to reach every December before Xmas. It is my place for silent reflection and I always have it to myself. Gracie plopped down next to my legs and she made an excellent windbreak! Off in the distance my silence was interrupted at times by three pairs of jets doing some type of military exercises. Most of the time they were silent leaving streaming contrails like writing in the sky. They left eventually and the sky was silent until a flock of snow geese passed overhead.

I added wood to the fire several times. I burned a small piece of pine stump and was rewarded with the familiar scent of pine resin. ( pitch trapped in the roots). I noticed another pink ribbon down in the woods below but didn’t bother to check it out. I assumed it was the same as the others. It was getting late so I finished off the fire and began the trek back towards the farm.

Since then I have attempted to figure out the mystery of the ribbons and scan code tags. The tags are actually called QR codes. (Quick Response).

I have put requests up on social media pages asking for help. People had lots of comments and have been super curious as to the origins of the tags. I finally got a break through yesterday when a friend of mine who works at a local land trust suggested that the tags may belong to an orienteering group. Not a subject that I knew much about although I had heard of it. I began to research online and was soon rewarded with some promising information. I now believe that the mystery tags are from an orienteering group but remain baffled by the lack of information printed on them. I probably should explain orienteering first. I think the photo below pretty much sums it up however.

I also contacted the New York State DEC in regards to the ribbons and tags. They had no knowledge of orienteering groups that had been holding events in the state land near the farm. Apparently the group pulls a permit in advance. The DEC quickly became interested in what I had discovered and will be actively looking for answers. I thank everyone at the DEC for getting me connected with the proper individuals! I pledged my assistance in helping them locate the ribbon locations. One officer walked me through placing “drop pins” using Goggle Maps. I chose the satellite map option and easily dropped the pins close enough to the the locations they should find them given the absence of leaves. I was familiar with geocaching so was used to working from satellite maps. Once Zane and I discovered a huge wetland area on a satellite map that we didn’t know existed. We have yet to launch a probing expedition into the area given its gnarly rugged location. Yes I said expedition! It will be a winter snowshoe into unknown territory and must be treated as such with proper preparation. But that’s a different story for a different day.

This was on the internet. No connection to this group is implied or intended.

When I head out for a trek I just never know what I will find! It seems technology is never too far away at anytime. I have no wish to bring anyone under scrutiny for their hobby but orienteering ribbons and tags should be removed after events close out according to the DEC. Also by the basic rules of leave no trace ethnics. But having a campfire in a former campsite location puts me in a similar predicament to be totally honest. Not illegal but certainly leaves a trace. I suppose it’s a fine line to walk and I could easily not even mention the fire. But I felt it pertinent to be honest and forthcoming as I have always promised.

For the moment the mystery has not been solved despite the research. The tags could be totally belong to some other group. Perhaps military or some environmental study group as some suggested. In fact there may be a conspiracy involved. Facts are facts despite what people choose to believe. Remember our furry rodent friend from Quebec Mr. Jangles? He’s been strangely silent for some time now. He still holds a grudge I suspect. I sent him a Xmas card and a block of cheddar cheese but haven’t heard back from him. Tracking indicates that the package was delivered by float plane ahead of the ice up. I believe he has begun a retaliatory mission despite my best efforts to strike up a truce. As of late we have been under attack by rodents at the farm in an unprecedented manner. The bucket traps have been busy and the tractors have been spared damage for the moment. There have been 15 necessary rodent causalities recently unfortunately. They brought the fight to us and we fought back. We granted them sanctuary elsewhere on the farm property but apparently they have refused the offer. Perhaps this sounds as crazy as ever but the facts remain. There is a lake in Western Quebec named Dumoine. There is a cabin 5. There is a mouse named Mr. Jangles with whom we fought an epic series of battles in August this year. There have been 15 rodents eliminated recently at the farm in record time. As for the rest? Form your own opinions. People were asking about Mr. Jangles so I needed to mention him. We are unsure of his present state and we wish him Happy Holidays! I expect we will hear from him again. Until then Happy Holidays to everyone! ✍️

The Barn Dream

Posted on November 10, 2022November 24, 2022 by Greg Washburn

November moves ahead and the weather has been great! Warmer then usual and mostly dry. I have been busy at the farm property preparing for winter. Bush hogging the fallow meadows and preparing to fill a firewood order. I got my neighbor’s old Ford 3400 fixed a couple days ago. We use its three point hitch wood splitter up on the warehouse landing since our Troybilt wood splitter blew its hydraulic cylinder last fall. But firewood wasn’t center stage yesterday. Moving round bales was the task of the day.

I spent yesterday moving the round bales my Uncles had left for me when they cut the hay this summer into the old barn where I store them. It’s a huge structure and its mows hold a lot of hay. In the 1970’s we packed it with over three thousand square bales. There was room in the center area between the mows to store two hay wagons that were piggy backed one on top of the other. That was a challenging task but my father was clever and had devised a safe strategy for accomplishing it each autumn. Kept inside the wooden hay racks of the wagons wouldn’t rot away in the elements. My father liked to keep all the machinery under cover. It made a huge difference to its longevity. Most of our equipment was used to begin with and I call it “tired iron” these days. I wrote of it once. But today’s post is more about the old barn itself.

When I was a boy we housed our cattle and horses in the lower section of the barn.My father did a lot of work converting the barn over into a more modern functioning space. A gutter cleaner was added in the 1970s and a back addition was built to house more livestock. His system worked well to weather the brutally cold winter months. The stored bales in the mows were thrown down wooden chutes known as feed holes. They had sliding wooden doors to help keep the heat in the lower barn where the livestock dwelled from mid November until mid May. The livestock generated huge amounts of body heat and a barn fan with a thermostat controlled the inner space of the lower barn. There was a lot of work involved in keeping the animals fed and their manure removed each day. It’s how I spent a lot of my time as a boy. I liked it most of the time though. It’s a story that I plan to explain in greater detail sometime.

These days I mainly use the stable sections of the barn for storage. It’s gotten rather messy unfortunately. I tried storing firewood in there once but it was much too damp so I abandoned the idea soon after. The timbers in the lower section have been riddled by powder post beetles over the years and need to be replaced. The barn builders made the stable section low so it would heat easier. It’s not a space conducive to being used as a garage ideally. It was designed for livestock. So in our capacity it has limited potential.A plan has been perking in my brain for years about how best to utilize the barn to its fullest possible useful space. We have an idea!

I store most of the round bales in the upper hay mow in the center aisle. Most years there is a surplus of hay left over and we occasionally have some to sell. That’s what we are hoping to do next spring. I got a few bales into the upper hay mow yesterday but quickly ran out of space since it was already quite full still from the previous year. We hadn’t sold any recently. Having reserve hay stored inside is never a bad thing. A wet summer makes it in high demand sometimes. It will last several years when kept dry before losing its freshness. I often marvel at how green a bale of hay appears when feeding it over winter snow! My father had pointed that out many years and it still amazes me with its simple truth. The upper section of the barn stays super dry so it’s a fabulous storage area for more then just hay. I keep some lumber there as well.

If you have ever seen the upper section of a barn then you can probably picture mine. The upper hay mows are huge and the roof peak towers far overhead. The barn was built sometime in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s near as we can tell. My father told me that the original barn that had been on the property had been destroyed by fire accidentally by a young girl. Her parents were sheep farmers and their last name was Howe. I hope to research them sometime and learn more about them. Someone had vision and designed the present barn. It was built when the timber framers still utilized huge hand hewn timbers for the main bents and cross support members. The rafters of our barn were sawn on a sawmill so that dates them to the period we surmise. The reason the mows are so high also dates the barn’s age. It was erected in a time when hay was still put up loose. Balers were not around or were still in early stages of development. There was a track and bale hook system installed just under the peak that was used to get the hay placed into the mows. My father repaired ours and we used it to place round bales for several years. It really put it to the test though as the bales weighed in around 500 pounds. It worked well though but required a team effort to accomplish the task. It’s rope pulley system was powered by a tractor hitched to the main tether. The bales started out in the center aisle just below the trolley which was situated some 25 feet plus above. We had to manually pull the hay hooks down from the trolley and set the hooks into the bale each time we hoisted one. The bales were hoisted by the tractor driving out from the center aisle tightening the rope through the pulley system. This section of a hay mow is often called “ the driveway”. A second rope operated from up in the mow tripped the travel hoist. A third was used to dump the hay hooks. The whole process required focus and timing. I came up with a different system of loading the mows when I was raising beef cattle. I used planks and gravity rolling to load the side mows from the center aisle. This I could do alone. It worked well. Hopefully you can picture the process at this point. Check out the featured image of this post carefully. It shows the hook system partially and will perhaps clarify the apparatus better.

I have spent a lot of time working in the hay mows of our barn over the years and have always admired the framework. The timber framed bents are massive and must have been challenging to place without a crane. If you don’t know anything about timber framing a bent is an assembled structural framework mortise and tenoned together with wooden pins that were hand carved mostly out of hardwood. The bents were assembled on the flat deck of the lower barn structure that had been built first. Talk about a team effort! An assembled bent was very heavy and the joinery needed to be precisely measured to match up. It took skill and experience most certainly. The framers used hemlock for most of the upper structure. I will come back to that shortly. But first a few words about hemlock.

Hemlock. A conifer. It had many uses here in the northeast. It was used by tanneries for its tannic acid properties. It’s still abundant in the Adirondacks but under attack by an invasive species. Different story to share sometime. It’s a strong wood that’s considered a softwood actually. Easier to work into joinery but very heavy. Once our area was heavily forested with hemlock. It was a prized building lumber and most of the forests were cut down here in the St. Lawrence valley. We have no hemlock remaining on our farm property. It only remains in the barn and sheds of the farm now. In the 90’s there was one massive hemlock on our property. It had escaped being cut for some reason. Perhaps the builders had left it to reseed the forest but that hadn’t happened. It died suddenly and we cut it to salvage it. We had expected it to be hollow or a “shake” hemlock. Shake hemlock is the result of wind damage. When sawn it falls apart in the growth rings.Very common to that species. My father taught me how to identify shake logs in case I ever wanted to buy any hemlock. In a shake hemlock the growth rings visible on the butt ends will be gray or black. I learned to read a hemlock log although we seldom got to see many before we started custom sawing with our bandsaw mill in 2006. Our salvaged log surprised us when it’s 36 inch diameter was flawless. We turned it into some wonderful lumber on our mill. Great memories of time learning and working with my father.

The haymows and the upper barn itself were constructed using four bents. There are no cross members connecting the span of the haymows in the center. Instead the framers used four smaller width bents on either side of the haymow driveway. Very cleverly connected with ladders built in two spots. The open design of the center area allowed the hay to be placed with less restrictions. Our barn is very unique in several ways that I haven’t always seen in other barns. The framer’s didn’t utilize queen posts supported by main rafters which in turn would support the secondary rafters. Instead they used one long main rafter on each side using fairly large hand hewn timbers. This design saved time and materials as there was less joinery. They did sacrifice some overall strength I feel with their frugalness. The main rafters appear to be basswood instead of hemlock which isn’t as strong. They have sagged a tiny bit over the years probably due to snow load when the barn was roofed with asphalt shingles. The original roof was cedar shingles. It appears that there are three layers of shingles. One cedar and two asphalt. My father had a metal roof installed by the Amish shortly before his death. I didn’t care for the pitch and height of the roof so declined doing it. The metal roof sheds itself of snow quite readily so snow load is no longer a concern. It comes off like an avalanche on a sunny day! As for my critique of the rafters who am I to judge the framers? What they constructed has stood for over 100 years! Modern barns blow down and collapse all the time these days. The men who stood on those lofty perches and assembled the roof structure were some brave individuals! I wish I had some photos of the build! A frolic the Amish call a barn building when they join together and work on one. It must have quite an undertaking! For some reason the framers did not leave their initials or a date on the walls of our barn. It was a common practice back then. Maybe they didn’t have any of the black ink they typically used. Year’s ago in my custom designed office space in the farmhouse I had a hand hewn post that one of the barn buildings had carved into. It was initialed and dated 1897.Lost to the fire but not my memory.

Our barn is painted red and has some sections of red metal siding. It was last painted sometime in the 90’s by some traveling barn and roof painters.The outer structure of the entire barn was constructed using sawmill sawn lumber. The girts and siding are hemlock as are the secondary rafters. The roof boards as well. The volume of lumber that makes up the barn is mind boggling. I can see why the hemlock was cleared from the land here. The farmhouse that had been constructed near the barn was made of hemlock as well. It was lost to fire in May of 2012. It’s noteworthy to mention that the two stall garage that had sat between the farmhouse and barn had been constructed of pine. It had been constructed in a time when the hemlock was not as readily available anymore. The fast growing white pine of the area was being used more frequently by the 1950’s. The garage was lost in the fire and how the barn was even spared still remains a miracle. The fire crews managed to save it though and we were thankful for that!

The lower section of the barn is a mixed construction of various species. The large mow cross timbers and plinths I suspect are elm. They were often used for that purpose due to the size they once grew here in the valley. It’s difficult to say as the lower section was whitewashed so the grain of the wood is covered. A drill bit could quickly solve that question. The barn builders used timbers called 3/4 rounds to support the haymow floor system. Trees that were flattened on one side only and fitted onto the tops of base top plates on one side. The other end of the 3/4 rounds were set on the top of the cross members. Many of the 3/4 rounds are basswood and the powder post beetles have riddled them extensively. The barn builders left the bark on them unfortunately. It made them more susceptible to the powder post beetles. Some have needed to be replaced. More are in jeopardy of collapse now. It’s important to note that hemlock is not as susceptible to being attacked by powder post beetles for some reason. Hardwood and most other wood seem to attract their destructive habits. The lower section of the barn is still strongly functioning however. The main frame remains sturdy for now. The framing under the haymow driveway is very substantial. It was designed to carry a lot of weight. It will support the weight of tractor and all the bales that I stack on top of it. The barn was built into a side hill to make access to the haymow driveway easier. Also a clever design of the builders and very common to this hilly area. A large stonewall supports the framework of the east side of the barn. We even have an old concrete silo that is 30 feet high. It hasn’t been used in decades except by the pidgins who like to live there. We have to periodically shoot them when they try to invade the haymow. Their droppings are destructive to the hay and sometimes carry diseases.They quickly learn that they are not welcome and fly off to new places.

I have never measured the barn or calculated it’s square footage. There’s a lot of wasted space that has potential to serve a better purpose I feel since we don’t raise livestock anymore. I have often wondered if the old barn could be renovated into a large house after the farmhouse burned. It would be a monumental task of some magnitude. The lower section especially. But what is to become of it otherwise? Since the creation of MOONTABS Creative Expression in 2020 I have pondered it more frequently. Since the sale of Hill House even more frequently. The peaceful setting of the farm is a writer’s ultimate sanctuary. I can envision something when I gaze up into the sturdy framework of the haymows. Where better to write the stories of rural heritage? What better place to leave a legacy? Imagination can overstep the boundaries sometimes. And the budget! But there is a building already standing that could be turned into something grand. Rustic and totally country. I could have the large library I always wanted. I could dedicate a space for my collections of things. The Hoarder Museum I would call it. There’s an even larger plan that I won’t share just yet. We have our sawmill to customize the build out. We have skilled Amish barn builders close by. Heating it would present some challenges that’s for sure. Some of it might require winterizing. The demo process alone is intimidating but totally feasible with time and effort. The biggest challenge besides money is dedicating the time to achieve the goal. Its a planner moment of many aspects and decisions. A series of phases and deadlines. Hmmm… sounds familiar after close to 40 years on construction projects. Zane has expressed some interest in the project but it’s hard to say where he will want to fit in. But it all comes back to the basic structure itself in the end. A standing building with wonderful potential. It’s exciting.Daunting. Crazy. Overwhelming… need I continue? It’s connected to the MOONTABS vision somehow. A fresh start at the farm property possibly. I will keep you posted on our progress! Or lack of it be that the case.

It’s funny the things that show themselves as time passes. Just this week I drove down a road I rarely travel anymore. Years ago there were seven active dairy farms along it. Nice barns and decent homes. I was shocked at the change that time has brought to the property along the road. It’s got an almost post apocalyptic look about it now. Barns fallen in or gone entirely. Houses gone. Replaced by trailers and campers in various condition. Someone continues to cut some of the hay fields fortunately. There is only one actual active farm and it’s not a dairy farm anymore. The scene gave me cause for reflection when I reached my own farm property. No house and no longer an active farm. No dairy since the late 50’s. Most but not all of the hay cut. Rural upstate has changed immensely. I looked at our barn and seriously began to consider its future fate. The farm as well. The barn dream has begun to take on a new meaning since that drive Tuesday. That’s what prompted this story.It’s up to me now to make wise decisions and bring the farm property forward into the future. Its not too late to set a plan into motion.Someone once stood in the forest that once blanketed the land of the farm. They found the artesian well in the main meadow no doubt. They decided that this was the spot to homestead. How many generations worked to clear and improve the land? Picking rocks and piling them where they still lay today. Setting clay tiles and draining the swampy sections. Building a home for their family and living close to the land. As for the barn itself? One can only guess at the cost at building it in those long past days. One can only guess at the manual labor it took. I sometimes try to imagine what the land must have looked like in those days when stands of hemlock stood tall and sturdy on the rocky slopes of the farm. I try to imagine someone standing where the barn now sits and designing the build. It was someone’s dream once to make it happen. To build something that would last. To make a better life for themselves and their family. I think I know how that might of felt. I feel that too when I stand in the meadow by the barn and try to plan for the future. It’s hard to say what happens next. Maybe the answer will show itself to me today. Maybe it already did.✍️

Held In Trust

Posted on November 3, 2022November 17, 2022 by Greg Washburn

It’s another chilly November morning here at the house on Black Lake where I will be living for the winter. I will be calling it “The Duplex” from now on.It’s another temporary home for me now that the travel trailer is parked. The Airstream has been winterized and sits on a large concrete pad near the house. It’s difficult to say where it will be headed next or even when. No sooner then May realistically.It sits waiting to become my rolling home again.At the moment covered in a thin layer of snow. Held in trust for now and waiting for adventure.

It’s been a busy time since returning from my Adirondack sojourn and writing has been down the list unfortunately. I made two lists soon after arriving home and have been trying to knock them out every since. Lists are a great tool for achieving short term goals provided a person doesn’t make them too extensive. I have a tendency to do that even though I know that’s not a good idea. The good news is that quite a few things have been crossed off those lists! Things can often get postponed but usually get done.I started the rough draft of this post two weeks ago! Other subjects ended up jumping ahead and now things have gotten out of sequence. MOONTABS is like one of those time travel series on Netflix where it’s hard to keep up sometimes.

Awhile back Zane and I were getting some things out of the storage container at the farm. It’s 20 foot long and about 8 feet wide. Fully packed with contents from our former Hill House. Furniture,books, and antique furniture. Kitchen items and cookware. Camp Edith is pretty well furnished so we didn’t need to move much there in the spring of 2021. I can’t say for sure when and where all the stuff will end up being used but I am not ready to part with all of it. It’s being held in trust for now I suppose. The fire of 2012 changed the way I view things. I have gotten strange about having everything in one location. There’s a bigger story there to share sometime.

While we were in the storage container we uncovered our old cider press. Zane started reminiscing about it and how we hadn’t used it in a long time. He asked if we were going to make cider this fall and I gave him a rather vague answer. We had to move it outside to get at the items we were after and Zane continued to mention making cider. I was too focused on the task at hand to think about much else. We got the things we needed moved outside and I asked Zane to help me move the cider press back into the container. He surprised me by saying no! “It’s going to camp” he said. “Otherwise we will never use it.” I reluctantly agreed to his request and the cider press was loaded onto the truck with all its accessories. As we drove back to Camp Edith I realized it had been 3 years since we had last made cider. Time sure had passed by. Zane was right and had made a wise decision I decided. Things had been set in motion thanks to him.

The story of the cider press itself spans several decades. Let’s jump back for a moment. It’s the late 1980’s and I am living in the old farmhouse on Lead Mine Road that was my first purchased home in 1983. It had belonged to my Uncles and had been part of the Archie Downing farm at one time. My Uncles had rented it out for years since the 70 plus acre property had been purchased sometime in the 1970’s. I was renovating it and had been fortunate to purchase the 22.6 acres across the road from it that had been part of the original farm. I was very in tune with my rural heritage at that time. Hunting,fishing,and trapping. Working as an electrician and getting time off whenever I could wrangle it. I spent a lot of time just down the road at my father’s farm helping out. It was a busy life and I lived close to the land. I had a garden. Raised a meat pig each summer. It’s no surprise that I would soon discover the fun hobby of making cider.

At the time my best friend has an adopted second cousin of mine. He was two years younger and we shared many common interests. One fall day he mentioned having made cider with some people he knew near his home. We gathered up some miscellaneous apples and brokered a deal with them to make some cider for ourselves. Their cider press was ancient but fully functional. The whole process was new to me and I was fascinated with it. We came away with several gallons of cider. I also came away with the thought that I needed a cider press of my own. The search was on in a time when the internet didn’t exist and paper catalogs were the source for locating such things. Ads in magazines were a good source as well. I can’t say for certain where or when I found the ad for a cider pressing kit that could be purchased. But I had found one!It was time to get serious!

The company who sold the cider press kit was called Happy Valley Ranch. They still market cider presses today and the designs haven’t changed from what I can see. The prices have increased since 1989 but that came as no surprise. What confuses me is that I thought that my cider press came from Oklahoma for some reason. Happy Valley Ranch is located in Alabama currently. I am going to call them and ask them some questions! I wrote a review on their website this morning. I am waiting to see if they post it. Regardless the company still exists and still makes the “Homesteader” model that we own. I can attest to its quality after 33 years of owning it.

I ordered the cider press sometime in May of 1989. It was over $800 by the time I got it shipped if my memory is correct. It was delivered by UPS truck in two large and very heavy boxes. The kit contained all the wooden components,cast iron parts,and all the necessary hardware. The maple framework pieces were solid maple of excellent quality. They certainly didn’t use any junk hardwood. I was recovering from an acute appendicitis when it arrived. I wasn’t supposed to be doing any work but wasn’t good at following doctors orders and was totally bored being stuck at home. I got some of the kit parts inside and began assembling it. The wood that made up the frame was maple and it needed to be treated with a food grade preservative. The manufacturer had recommended this and sold an aerosol spray as an accessory.One application was recommended but I bought two cans so I was certain that I would have enough. It was a good decision and one that I have never regretted. I used all the spray in two different applications taking time to dry the pieces between. The finish has lasted for years and our press still looks great after 33 years! The treated pieces were assembled inside the house and taken out to my garage. It took some time to complete the assembly and it was a great way to stay busy during my recovery. The doctor wouldn’t let me return to work till July but by the end of June I had helped my father get most of his haying done. Physical therapy comes in many forms! The completed cider press sat in my garage covered and up on blocks. Cider season was months away.

Autumn came quickly after a busy summer of working at Newton Falls paper mill in the Adirondacks. I had camped some while working there and had worked a lot of overtime during the different phases of the project. My annual strategy at the time.I was ready for a break so I took a layoff in October. I stayed busy getting my firewood done,hunting,and later trapping. I lived a very cost effective lifestyle and never worried much about money. It’s funny how things changed so many years later. But that’s a different set of chapters and is not important in this story. It does serve as a solid foundation of my desire to live in the season and in the moment. I was trying to manage and manipulate time. Still figuring things out. In that time and now my new hobby had gotten into motion and we were learning how to use the press.A new chain of events was being forged.

I don’t remember all the details of the first time we used the press and all my photos from then were destroyed in the fire of 2012. I don’t think anyone else has any either. But I do remember many things about that fall fortunately. My friends and I scoured the countryside for apples every chance we got! My bestie had a nice Macintosh apple tree behind his house trailer and we picked it clean. Those apples made fabulous cider especially when we blended in the tarter wild apples we found on an old homestead near there. Things were very different in 1989 where we lived. There were less houses and an abundance of unposted vacant land. We searched all the old farms we could find looking for apples. Getting permission when we could or just wandering unposted property. These days that would never be able to happen. We found trees right next to the backroads sometimes and stripped them of their small apples. The cider was tart from those feral apples so we experimented with blending apples as we ground them. We washed the apples first at my house where we made all of the cider. We usually were a group of three to four so that made the task easier. We split up the jugs of cider and I froze a lot of mine. We were young men in our mid to late twenties and liked to party some when we closed out the day making cider after dark under the outside lights in front of my garage. It was a fun and memorable time for us! One memory stands out!

It was November and getting much colder. We found some late hanging apples somewhere that were still in good condition despite the lateness of the season. They were golden colored and rather small. Tart but with enough sweetness to make a decent run of cider we figured. The night we decided to run them through the press it was very cold! Well below freezing and almost uncomfortable. The cider that flowed from the press was crystal clear has it hit the draw off catch basins. On warm days the cider comes off brown as soon as the air hits it. This cider was very different! I had begun experimenting with making a fermented concoction in my refrigerator with different batches of cider. It took about 3 weeks in the fridge to brew out a somewhat alcoholic beverage we starting calling “hooch”. (Hoochinoo is a word used by the Tlingit indigenous people from Alaska to refer to their fermented beverages made from fruit). We also knew that Hooch was a bootlegger prohibition term and we liked that comparison. I never tested our hooch for alcohol content but it was a lot like beer. We quickly learned not to overindulge on our tasty hooch however. It had a wonderful cleansing quality if you catch my drift! Sorry if I offend anyone with stories of drinking alcohol here! I promised honesty and directness on this site. Not to mention making the hooch would be leaving out a certain twist of the tale. This is why…

The wonderful clear cider from the November pressing gave me an idea. It was never allowed to reach room temperature and was placed directly into the fridge that evening. It stayed clear and after about 3 weeks began to have a effervescence to its content. We were amazed at the quality of this run of hooch! Bubbly and tingly to the tongue! It was like a sparkling wine resembling champagne almost! Very smooth! We made made it quite by accident and were never sure whether it was the apples themselves or the clear cider that made this special batch! We truly enjoyed it though! It was also special as it was the last batch of the season that fall. We had kept track of our progress each time we pressed. We were using one gallon repurposed plastic jugs so it was easy to keep the count. We had pressed 75 gallons that first season! The press had exceeded my expectations in so many ways! And it was only the beginning of a hobby that would follow me through time.

I have decided to leave the story here for the moment. There is more to this story that should be told with accuracy and detail. The fact that we even have the cider press still is a miracle. It was stored in a location that survived the fire of 2012. That makes it even more special. It also connects the dots to the outcome of part two of this series. The title of this posts sums things up well I feel. A possession that has been held in trust for over 3 decades. I hope the cider press will be around for many years and continue to provide memories for everyone who uses it. We take precautions these days to protect those objects that allow us to engage in our hobbies. It’s good to know that cider presses are still being produced. It’s also good to know that we have resumed our hobby once again!✍️

Many Chances

Posted on October 16, 2022October 17, 2022 by Greg Washburn

It’s a calm and cool morning here at Camp Edith but very peaceful. I returned to the valley yesterday after my sojourn in the Adirondacks since October second.The leaves have mostly gone by there now but are in full regal here. It’s like getting a second chance at autumn! It gave me pause for some serious reflection early this morning as the shots of duck hunters echoed across the lake waking me at daylight. It was going to be one of those mornings! The words were arriving even before that first sip of maple syrup infused coffee. I have a busy day of catching up after arriving home but wanted to get a few thoughts down before the events of the day could push them into the backseat.

It was cool inside the camp this morning and not especially pleasant. I had thrown a little wood into the wood stove at 4AM but it had been reduced to a few glowing coals by the time I finally got up. First things first though! Coffee! While waiting for it to brew I noticed the rising sun hitting the treetops across the lake on Bigge Island. A picture was in order. Coffee and the fire would have to wait. Time was of the essence so when I couldn’t locate my Crocs I slipped my bare feet into my hiking boots. I was quite the sight in my bathrobe but there was no time to waste. The bathrobe was no where near warm enough for this morning’s chill I quickly decided as I stepped out the squeaky screen door. But the pictures were worth a little discomfort. The morning was off and running!

The scent of coffee greeted me as I stepped back inside to tackle building the fire. It kindled quickly and was soon warming the interior. It had been 76 degrees inside when I went to bed last night and Zane had opened the porch door. I call the porch door “The Thermostat” in Camp Edith when using the wood stove. It works and wood fired heat is basically free for us. There were but two things lacking at this point. My tablet and my music. It was writing time.

One of my favorite Pandora music stations has been painstakingly created by the thumbprint process they offer. I named it “Band of Horses Radio” after the band by that same name. The first song up this morning was strangely ironic. “On My Way Home” by the Band Of Horses. It was about to be one of those mornings. Turn it up and let the horses run.

Music isn’t necessary for writing but often sends me to the deeper recesses of Tazmania. My personal place of creativity. A forest where each tree is a story. That’s a story all it’s own and people get lost in Tazmania all the time. Imagination runs wild there as do the memories. I never know where a path will lead or how times it will branch off. My go to place of music when writing is Indie rock typically. I discovered Indie rock in the fall of 2017 and have followed it ever since. It’s a never ending series of new bands and new music. These songs are special because there are no memories attached to them initially.They are freshly neutral and waiting for memories to be attached to them. Indie rock and 2017. The old life was falling behind and the new me was rising. It was a new chance and a new now. A breath of fresh air that would become a gentle wind.

People who follow my rambling storylines often find redundant threads with no chronological order. Kind of like the Star Wars movies. The first movie didn’t start at the beginning of the story or end with that episode. They jumped all around. I’ve always admired that approach! Filling in gaps and satisfying curiosity. The questions aren’t always answered immediately anyway. The big question this morning is where is all this leading? It’s leading to reflection and self awareness. When the chances come do we take them? Will we take them? Or let them slip away? That’s a place of reflection where each person must stand.

My Adirondack sojourn was productive and I was able to write quite often. But there was adventure as well. It reminds me of an old fashioned carburetor using a mix of fuel and air to produce the horsepower. This morning my thoughts are running back to times of challenge and decisions. I haven’t been able to pull a story together with any clear message. These past few days have been filled with list making, emails, and a gathering of intel. It’s time to put another date on the calendar. October 16,2023. One year from today. A day of comparison. A day of answering questions. Did I take the chances and run with them? Or hesitate? Or land somewhere in between? Don’t worry if you are lost right now. I wrote this to challenge myself and set a deadline of sorts. Consider it the continuing introduction.

Autumn is speeding forward and here in the valley the transition is in full swing. I am transitioning as well into a new living arrangement. There are numerous other small details to close out as winter approaches. There are lots of new plans being formulated and investigated. It won’t always make sense or nor should it I have decided. I believe in following the invisible energy and connecting the dots that lead somewhere. I believe in taking chances so I do. The experts say that living in the past breeds depression while trying to live in the future breeds anxiety. Living in the now seems to be a good approach. We are approaching two years of the blog site being created. It’s been fun and I plan to continue with it. The MOONTABS vision is much larger though. The stories of the past. Plans for the future. Adventure and challenge. Life in the now. Mark your calendar. October 16th 2023. It won’t be about where I have landed. It will be about where we have landed. A day of reflection for all of us.

I dedicate this post to all who support the MOONTABS vision. Those who support me and give me inspiration. One person in particular. I also wish to acknowledge my Uncle Kenny. His wise words advising me the importance of keeping journals decades ago has never been lost on me. It was the first rock of a foundation that was destined to be built upon. No need to be lost here but if you are never fear. I will lead you back with a story or two. Next time. ✍️

The Loon Family

Posted on October 10, 2022October 13, 2022 by Greg Washburn

We are approaching the middle of October and the transition continues with an increasing pace. I continue to camp here at Fish Creek and will most likely return to the valley a day early. This is it for my ADK camping season in the Airstream for 2022. Zane and I will no doubt be returning to the Adirondacks at some point but it’s unclear just when. So many wonderful experiences are filling my days and nights these days. Somehow the energy tells me where to place myself and nature does the rest. How best to explain these occurrences may challenge me to a degree. But I enjoy challenge and searching for answers. I have studied nature my entire life but can’t begin to answer the question so many ask. What is the meaning of life? To me it is a cycle. The meaning belongs for each individual to decide and is uniquely theirs. As for me, I need but follow the seasons to find what defines life. I have arrived to a new and exciting season of my life. Autumn. A time I hope to be my most colorful. A time to show colors that were always just below the surface. It would take the approach of autumn before they would begin to show. Autumn is a time of great expression in nature. A time of new life being created in some species. A time when things prepare to slow down for a slumber of sorts. I feel these things and gracefully accept the truths as nature offers them.But such thoughts take us far from the stories and to the edge of the forest lands of Tazmania.

Last week I spent a wonderful afternoon paddling up Fish Creek beyond my campsite. It’s a favorite destination of mine and I also used the opportunity to collect some old beaver sticks for firewood. The shorelines are well stocked in certain spots with the remnants of beaver feed piles. Once they have dried out they are excellent firewood! It’s important to note that tampering with a beaver house or dam is illegal. Be careful where you gather your sticks! The loose piles along the ponds and streams are legal pickings for savvy collectors! Just how the sticks are produced is interesting. The beaver cut small trees and saplings then drag them into shallow flat spots onto the banks. There they can gnaw the bark from them in relative safety. They leave the peeled portions behind as a type of garbage I guess you could say. Sometimes they have feed piles out on the spongy bogs where they enjoy their meals in complete safety. The peeled sticks often end up being used to build dams and lodges so they do serve an alternative purpose.The beaver have few predators here in the Adirondacks but a hungry coyote or larger bobcat could possibly kill one. I have seen pictures of some that were crushed by trees they were cutting! That’s rare though. People are their main predator when fur prices make their plush pelts in demand. Luckily for the beaver, pelt prices are very low these days. I used to trap them a lot years ago in Macomb. Other animals as well. I longer trap but remain true to my rural heritage and mention it here. It was something I was taught and a skill passed down between generations. I was a proud and successful trapper for some 30 plus years. I feel to never write about it is a falsehood as trapping taught me many things about nature. It kept me outside and always wandering. It is as much a part of me as anything else connected to nature. I must write of being a fur trapper, hunter, and fisherman on these pages or forever be false in my life journey story. That I can not do my friends. The truth is the truth and I will not abandon it here at any cost.

I hadn’t traveled too far upstream and had already procured a nice collection of beaver stick firewood. It serves a second purpose as well. One I call beaver stick ballast. The front of my canoe is very light if I don’t have weight,a person, or dog there. When alone adding firewood weight to the front aids in controlling the bow especially if it’s windy. It’s a time tested approach to paddling that I often employ while camping. Otherwise I use smooth rocks and small cobblestones. I traveled leisurely up the creek and soon entered one of the narrower sections. I call them the connectors. There were numerous photo opportunities and I got some great shots there. I ducked into Copperas Pond for a moment searching for the loon family I had written about last July. The pond was deserted and eerily quiet. Few birds although I had encountered several ducks that were totally fearless. They must have been campsite ducks to be that tame. Fun to watch as they stood on a log in the sun preening their shiny feathers. I missed the calls of my forest friends the white throated sparrows. They always remind me of the bush country in Eastern Quebec. They are very plentiful there and you hear their signature calls from daylight to dark.The forest had become absent of summer birdsongs. The transition was truly ramping up!

I entered the mouth of a small lake that’s called Little Square Pond. I typically pass by most of it unless we decide to swim off some rocks near the entrance. It’s a fairly big pond and susceptible to waves if the wind is blowing. It was totally calm that day though and I decided to explore it further. I was looking for fresh beaver sticks that would make good trekking poles but hadn’t found any yet. The beaver sign was strangely absent. Most of what I was seeing was old and beginning to weather severely as it began to rot. I kept wondering what had happened to the beaver population here? Trappers? Disease? Or just a move to better food sources? The beaver do exhaust their forest habitats near their chosen waterways. It was going to be slim pickings for beaver sticks! I began to paddle the Western side of the pond’s shoreline exploring. I saw plenty of old beaver sign but nothing fresh and no active lodges. The shoreline was steep in places and heavily forested. I found a primitive campsite that I hadn’t known existed and made a mental note of it. I continued paddling around the pond enjoying the colorful leaves and loving the warm sunshine! As I began paddling down the Eastern side of the pond I heard a strange sound. I couldn’t identify it and at first thought it was a woman’s scream. I heard it occasionally after that and realized it was not a person. I spotted a couple of loons and decided to check them out for a minute.

As I approached the loons I realized the source of the strange sound! There were two juvenile loon chicks swimming around their mother making weird screeching noises! The three of them would take turns diving under then resurfacing further up the pond. I tried to guess where they would pop up to get myself closer to them. Eventually I was successful in my attempts and the mother came up very close to me! The chicks surfaced shortly after and I got some great photos plus a couple videos. The chicks were lighter colored then their mother and their heads were gray. Hers was the dark black that all adult loons have in common. They were obviously very attached to their mother and stayed very close to her. One of the juveniles ended up some distance away after one of its dives and began its screeching in earnest. It finally managed to produce a signature loon call although it wasn’t perfect! The chicks were learning to speak and I was fortunate to be witnessing something very special! They stayed close to me for some time and I was enjoying the moment to the fullest! The warm sun, calm pond, and my loon friends in front of me with the beautifully colored ridges in the distance. I paddled away and began to speculate about certain possibilities. Could this be the loon family I had seen early in July at a nearby pond? The father was gone it appeared. The pond was some distance away but it was all one connected waterway. The family could have swam from one pond to the other. Maybe the chicks could even fly by now. They would need to fly shortly I surmised with winter getting closer all the time. The chicks certainly had grown since July! My imagination began to run wild. Maybe the mother had discovered the huge northern pike in their pond and recognized the potential threat. I had lost it overboard after an epic battle and could attest to its size. It would have had no issue swallowing one of the tiny chicks back in July. I decided that these were the same family of loons at that point. Regardless of my theory I was happy that two loon chicks had survived the hazards of water.

The magic of nature is there to discover but it’s all about timing so much of the time. I have witnessed many wonderful things as I wandered afield through forest,swamp, and stream. To witness the baby chicks in July and then to see them again in October was truly something amazing! Today I paddled up to Floodwood Pond for a little catch and release fishing despite the windy conditions. As I approached the entrance of Copperas Pond this afternoon I spotted three loons up the waterway and recognized them as the loon family. I figured that I would encounter them later when I paddled in their direction so I left them to their fishing. The fishing was horrible on the windy pond but I did manage to land one small bass before I left. As I paddled up towards Little Square Pond I spotted one lone loon. It was one of the juveniles and I got very close to it. It was busy fishing and I wondered where the other two had gone. I found them way up in the mouth of Little Square Pond fishing together. I got a nice photo and a short video of the two of them together. Nature was taking its course it seemed. The lone juvenile was becoming comfortable being on its own although I suspect that they joined up later. I had hoped to see one of the juveniles trying to fly but that’s asking for a lot!

My day would soon get more interesting as I paddled the winding stream up towards Floodwood Pond. I finally found a slender peeled beaver stick! It wasn’t a perfect specimen but given the selection it was still a worthy collectible.There was no active beaver lodge nearby so I assumed that the feeding beaver was just passing through. It’s hard to say really. Sometimes hermit beaver survive with little evidence of their existence. I continue to be baffled by the lack of beaver sign here. It’s something that will bring me back sometime to further investigate the surrounding areas.

What happened next was a rare and special treat! As I rounded a corner of the creek I spotted something on top of a sunken log deadfall on the bank. It was a mink. It dropped out of sight and I figured that I would never see it again but got my phone camera ready. I nosed my canoe up to the end of the log and spotted the mink! It was peeking over the top of another log at me! I got a quick photo and sat perfectly still with the canoe wedged against the log. The mink became curious and jumped up onto the top of the log before diving off into the shallow water. I put my phone camera onto video and waited for a few seconds. The mink appeared and put on quite the show! I filmed it for 51 seconds before it fled downstream. It was so amazingly agile and flexible! Fast as lightning! What an incredible video I shot! Timing is everything! I felt very fortunate to capture the moment!

In conclusion I would have to say that I have been very fortunate over the years to be able to enjoy nature in its finest moments. Living in the country and being able to easily visit the Adirondacks. You just never know what you will encounter or when you will encounter it! That’s the draw. Such moments pull me deeper into the circle and I cherish them! It’s MOONTABS and more!

The Blog For Bob!

Posted on October 8, 2022October 9, 2022 by Greg Washburn

This will probably be my shortest blog post ever! It’s a joke actually and meant to highlight a certain individual in Tupper Lake, New York.Who is Bob and why do I write of him? It might take a bit more background information to get the story told. After all how well do you even know Tupper Lake? Enter a new character.

For those of you who follow my story you know that I spend a lot of time camping at Fish Creek and Rollins Pond State Campgrounds. Work and play mixed together for a unique Adirondack living experience. I pack a lot of things from home before towing the camper up but usually stock up when I reach Tupper Lake. I find it easier get my groceries there and stock my shelves. I like the big roomie Save-A-Lot grocery store parking where I can park the truck and Airstream while shopping. I find pretty much everything I need there. The staff are friendly and helpful when I can’t! I quite often grab my firewood in Childwold at a roadside stand then tend to spread my business around town once I get parked.

It’s important to note that I don’t ever bring firewood up from the valley. Transporting firewood more than 50 miles is illegal in New York State although it’s difficult for the authorities to enforce the regulations. The law is in effect to deter the spread of invasive insects that can hitchhike within the firewood. I buy locally sourced firewood which benefits everyone especially the local citizens around Tupper Lake who sell it.I hit several local vendors at random and spread my purchases around town. One of my favorite vendors is a fellow named George. He’s always cheerful and eager to chat. Most places are self serve and there’s no human interaction. Regardless it’s nice to be contributing to the local community near where I’ve parked my rolling home.

But what about Bob? (wasn’t that a movie?) It’s a rather simple story actually. I shop at a local grocery store in Tupper Lake called Shaheens’s on occasion. They have a great selection of items,quality meats, and a nice collection of hard ciders. The staff is super friendly and they keep baggers at the end of the checkout. They will even carry your groceries out to your vehicle if you have several bags. Things move quickly at Shaheen’s and they easily accommodate the busy summer crowds. I was standing in the line one day this summer when I first noticed the very animated bagger whom I was soon to know as Bob. He was cheerful and greeted everyone as they came through the door. He knew some by name and would always say something that would make them smile! I liked him immediately for his friendly demeanor! I had never seen Bob before and things were about to get interesting!

It was my turn at the counter and I was being checked out when Bob began joking with my cashier. I couldn’t help but jump into the conversation eventually.I told Bob that he was an interesting fellow and would he mind if I wrote about him on my blog. “You’re a blogger” he asked? “What do you write about?” My reply: “Nature things mainly but I could make an exception for you! What’s your name?” Bob wouldn’t tell me name and told the cashier don’t you dare tell him! Someone nearby blurted out “ His name is Bob!”. I grabbed my bag of groceries from Bob and headed for the door. I turned back to Bob and said “ It’s going to happen sometime!”

Several months have passed and I had shopped at Shaheen’s several times but never saw Bob. In fact I had forgotten his name and the joke of writing the blog. That changed suddenly last week as I headed up towards the cashier to checkout my small basket of groceries. There he was in full force! The same animated character joking and greeting customers while bagging the customers purchases. I got to the checkout and greeted my bagger with a smile! “ Remember me? I never get around to doing that blog post on you! I forgot your name!” Bob looked at the cashier and said “ Don’t you dare tell him!”. The cashier was laughing and remained silent! Everyone in line was listening and smiling! The man behind me suddenly spoke up! “ Just tell him your name Bob!” More laughter!As I left for the door I turned to the crowd and said “Get ready the post will be coming soon!”. I mentioned the page address to the curious customers and went out the door.

When faced with waiting in line at a busy store it’s always nice if people are talking and engaging with each other. Levity is even better and it always makes the time more pleasant. It’s a small thing really to be polite and patient with a cashier who is pressured to perform quickly. I find the automated self checkouts are becoming more abundant around the North country these days. There’s something lost in that modern place of technology. Human interaction is important for a good shopping experience as far as I am concerned. And people like Bob make the experience entertaining.

So here it is folks! The short post dedicated to Bob! I hope to see him again and let him know that it’s been written! I wish to thank all the good people of Tupper Lake who work hard to make our Adirondack time more pleasant! We encounter them in the stores, restaurants, and in small shops. We truly appreciate all your efforts!

No Autumn Plans?Hike Ampersand!

Posted on October 4, 2022October 5, 2022 by Greg Washburn

Autumn is moving along quickly here in the Adirondack Park. The leaves continue to change everyday now and many are being dropped now. They litter the forest floor with colorful patterns that call to the observant hiker. It was Monday October 3,2022 and I was waiting for my cousin Jen at the trailhead to Ampersand Mountain in the empty parking lot. She had asked me days earlier if I had time to hike Monday.Perfect timing I had told her! Yes I would love to go!I hadn’t needed to travel far from my nearby campsite at Fish Creek Ponds State Campground so I had arrived ahead of schedule. I took a few minutes and double checked my small pack one final time. I readied my beaver stick trekking poles also. I was ready!

The beaver stick trekking poles I mentioned are nothing more then sticks that the beaver had eaten the bark from and abandoned. Bark is the favorite food of beaver. They must get plenty of fiber!The beaver sticks are super strong and flexible depending on the species of tree that had been cut. I trim them to length if necessary but quite often find ones that are perfect and require only a little work. I clean any dirt or mud from them before I trim off any sharp edges and any excess bark that the beaver missed. I sometimes treat them with polyurethane to preserve them. A superior one that is unique is added to my personal collection where it waits for special attention. I wood burn on them sometimes to mark certain occasions or dates. To gift a hand crafted one to someone is something I enjoy! I hope to write a post just about beaver sticks someday and have added it to the promised story list. I carry two beaver stick trekking poles to maintain balance and agility. I also use them to help propel myself up the steep sections of the trails. If ever needed they would also make a formidable set of weapons. They are all natural and I find a connection to nature in them. When I firmly grasp them I am truly ready to hike!

The Ampersand Mountain trailhead is very easy to find because it’s right beside NYS Route 3 between the villages of Tupper and Saranac Lakes. It’s a rather small pull off that fills up quickly most days. There’s always room alongside the highway though so that helps with the overflow. I had packed light for the short hike. Water, energy bars, and a partial jar of peanut butter. Peanut butter became a stable when hiking the high peaks several years ago.We ate it plain with just a spoon most of the time. It’s a good energy food that’s simple to carry. I had a winter hat and extra clothing as well. But I was far short of the survival gear pack that I carry backcountry. I suppose that mindset could be considered not being prepared. It would have to do as my big pack had been left behind at Camp Edith.

For clothing I dress in layers and none of them are ever cotton! Yesterday I was wearing a dry weave t-shirt, fleece zip up, with an insulated vest to top off my layers. Basic hiking pants and my old trusted Merrell brand hiking boots. These hiking boots just wouldn’t wear out but several extremely high mileage years had taken a toll on them! I use them for special occasions now because I just don’t want to retire them yet. I tried a set of Keen’s but was rather disappointed with that model’s durability. Comfort was never an issue though. I bought a new set of Keen hikers today to give the brand another chance. Different sole style so I will see! Most of the hikers in my truck are Merrill’s. Yes I travel with several pair! You don’t drive without a spare tire so why would you hike without a spare set of hiking boots close by?

Enter a new character: my cousin Jennifer.She arrived ahead of time to the parking area and we exchanged simple greetings as we prepared our gear for departure.Jen is married with two teenage boys.She grew up with her sister, father, and mother on the Washburn homestead property in Macomb. She is 18 years younger then me and we didn’t see each other much when she was growing up even though we lived on the same road. Time changes things and eventually we saw more of each other however.I attended her wedding and would see her at the Washburn family reunions twice a year. When she became an avid hiker we began to talk more frequently. Especially after I joined Facebook in 2018 and began writing there.We had talked of hiking together but had never been able to coordinate because of logistical issues. Work mainly. This day was spontaneous and not planned months in advance. Call it a grand alignment event if you have an imagination and believe in strange twists of fate. The power of circumstances and decisions made with a gut feeling. Either way I was happy that we would be hiking together! Why make everything heavy and overthink the moment?

Jen and her family are outdoor enthusiasts to the max! They enjoy a variety of different sports and activities across all four seasons. Jen and her husband Adam are working together to become ADK 46ers.They are making substantial progress and I enjoy following their story! Jen is the hands and the inspiration behind the Instagram page: Hunterfamilyoutdooradventures. They live a full and busy life! Their story is interesting and unique so please join them as they live the outdoor dream! I can relate to them in so many ways!Jen’s gift for photography truly brings their journey to life! I admire the page for its detail in portraying a family enjoying their love of nature and adventure. There is love and positivity in their journey. A great place to connect with like minded individuals! Check it out!

Ampersand Mountain is not one of the ADK high peaks but what it lacks in height it makes up for with views! At 3352 feet its bare rock summit offers a 360 degree view of some beautiful sections of the park. Some of the high peaks are right there in front of you at the summit. The Seward Range being the most prominent. In the other direction you get fantastic views of the Saranac Lakes and St. Regis waterways. The 1,765 feet of gain that is ascended to summit Ampersand is rated tough by the Alltrails app. I suppose that depends on your personal definition of tough. The trail is an in/out and fairly short at 5.4 miles round trip.The final ascents are tricky in a couple spots but easy to negotiate.With sturdy hiking boots and trekking poles most hikers will have no difficulty. Micro spikes aren’t a bad idea for the final portion of the trail either. Wet rocks are always tricky regardless of your level of skill in my opinion. I want to get myself off the mountain by not being injured. My advice is always be cognitive of potential hazards. The rewards of most summits are worth a little effort and risk in my opinion. Ampersand is one of those mountains.I rate it: better do it or you are missing out!

The trailhead lies just across Route 3 from the parking area and is very well maintained. It meanders rather smoothly at first through stands of large maples and hemlocks. There are several tiny streams that are bridged or timbered across. One section has a small raised boardwalk that sits above lush and colorful ferns. Autumn is kissing them a golden color and when the sunshine hits them they are stunning! Yesterday the canopy above was garnished with many different stages of color. The transition is underway and many leaves have fallen but most are still held fast. Some remain green even. It depends on their species where they enter into the transition. The soft maples (red) are shedding their brilliant red leaves quickly. The aspen (popple) are lagging behind and just becoming yellow. The other species are in varying degrees of change and no two trees are identical. Autumn is a time of sensory overload for me. It’s difficult to absorb everything with so much color everywhere. I find it’s best sometimes to just stand still and wait for things to show themselves. There is life everywhere. Tiny plants and seedlings. Many have ended their annual growth cycle and are preparing to go dormant until spring. The falling leaves will be their protective blanket under the snow that will arrive here shortly. The forest is a place of death as well. Broken trees and limbs cover the forest floor. Stumps and leaning deadfall’s. Dead trees standing and waiting for their time to return to the earth. The layers of dead leaves continue build up and cover some them as well. But nothing is wasted in the forest. Mosses and decomposers cover the dead trees and fallen trees. The decomposer fungi are everywhere once you train your eyes to spot them and recognize their importance in the bigger picture. There are numerous species of them in the Adirondacks. Many are edible even! After attending two mycology seminars I decided that viewing them is to be preferred over collecting them! “Look a likes” can be deadly and toxic! We stick to our favorites in the valley. It’s interesting how the dead wood benefits so many other life forms. There is a profound connection in the the cycle that repeats itself over and over. For me it’s a humbling reminder of my place in the order of things.My place of existence within the circle of nature. It’s not an unhappy moment. To accept our life cycle is to learn. To learn is to grow. A walk through the forest is never boring or lacking in details. In the smallest of clues nature leaves puzzle pieces. They fit only one way and take time to assemble. Decades for me. Harmony with nature surrounds the casual hiker. That moment when the senses align and a certain peace arrives. It can be a powerful lesson of living in the now.

Jen and started out from the sunny,warm parking and entered the forest trail. I was immediately struck by the change in temperature and regretted not wearing gloves. Jen took the lead and despite our brisk pace I felt cold. Prepared? Not so good I decided! We moved quickly and the trail remained fairly flat with only a few hills to crest. We stopped to take pictures of certain things. The rising sun through the trees and colorful leaves. Glacial erratics sprinkled here and there like game pieces in a giant’s marble toss. Eventually the land began to rise and the ascents started. We reached the site of an old structure. There’s almost nothing remaining of the stone foundation and it’s difficult to discern. There’s an old rusty sink in the center and some rusty pipes. I mentioned to Jen that I thought that this was a hermit’s cabin site once. I later learned that my facts are askew. These was my third hike up Ampersand over the years and I remembered a descriptive plague that was once here. Gone now. History disappears too quickly sometimes.Regardless it was a beautiful spot with a tiny flow of running water and a somewhat flat spot on the forest ridge. There would be answers at some point to fill in the blanks.

The land continued to rise and we kept up our steady pace unless we were taking photos. We encountered another couple and had a great conversation. They were familiar with Jen’s hometown. In fact they lived there part of the year and frequently went to a common restaurant. It’s a small world as they say! Great conversations Dan and Deb! We soon entered a section of the trail that I refer to as the steps. A steep rise with many rocks that trail stewards had wrestled into place somehow. It must have taken many hours to build the staircases. There are a couple sets of the way to summit Ampersand. Many hikers have benefited from the stewards hard work and I remembered some pictures I seen of some of them. These cats were strong and solid! Men and women who proudly poised beside their lasting legacy of hard work. I suddenly realized that I was no longer cold and mentioned that to Jen. Me either she said! Off through the trees we could see evidence of our continued elevation gain. Glimpses of what was to come. The sun was warming the forest and our exertions were warming us quickly.I felt a burst of new found energy in the moment. Nothing new and I embraced the feeling for what I recognized. Empowerment in strong physical experience that was well within my body’s capabilities. In that moment I push for what lies beyond. The buzz that waits for me on the summit. I can remember hikes with Zane where it eluded me and I wondered how I would ever make it to the top. Then the energy would hit from some unknown source.It’s seems like a carburetor thing after a certain point. A mix of emotion, air, and inner energy that the mind sends to the muscles. The muscles will obey the mind long after they sound their warning. I wasn’t worried. This short hike would never require me to summon my inner zombie unless I was injured. Best avoided always but never out of a hiker’s equation.

Enter a new character. My invisible friend known as my inner zombie. His story is my story at a different level. I must accredit the author Jack London for the idea behind creating the force that I call my inner zombie. His fictional story of a lost and stranded individual moved me many years ago when I first read it as a boy. It’s a wonderful read for those with adventurous spirits. My story will be best represented by telling of some of our high peaks quests. Post pelvic surgery days for me mostly but there were many other times!My inner zombie was safely slumbering yesterday and that’s where I wanted him. He needs his rest because when he’s summoned it gets a little rough on my body.It’s not as strange as it sounds! I enjoy assigning names and titles to many things. Another story now added to the promised list and I am going to have fun writing that one! My inner zombie is a beast and one glutton for punishment. I can always count on him though. I finally know that the 1.5 percent Neanderthal DNA I carry is good for something!

Jen and I were both really enjoying our physical challenge of the ever rising trail. There were many more rocks now to scramble and the forest was transitioning into evergreens and smaller deciduous species.Birch mostly and a few aspens.Crossing the rocks was a decision making process of avoiding the wet rocks. My worn Merrill’s were minus some tread so I stuck to the dry area whenever possible. I would sometimes need to hold my beaver sticks in one hand and reach for a tree or root to get past a steeper scramble. The day was continuing to warm up and we were sweating some but not uncomfortable like we would have been on a summer day. Autumn hiking brings many rewards and coolness is one of them. The land below us continued to offer hints of views yet to come. The trail suddenly split and there was a steeper less traveled trail off to the right. I asked Jen if we could go that way as it looked challenging. She agreed and after a short ascent we were rewarded for our efforts! We stood on a scenic overlook and it was breathtakingly beautiful! The leaves were spectacular off in the distance! We took photos and relaxed for a moment before taking off again. This is the part of the hike where I always get a new found surge of energy. We continued to push forward with renewed vigor and soon entered an amazing set of rock formations.

I knew that we were getting closer to the summit because I recognized the gap between the rocks where the trail led. The rocks towered over our heads and were vividly detailed in the bright sunshine. I was totally lost in all the details surrounding me. Jen mentioned it as well! It wasn’t too long before we spotted the long bare rock approach that leads to Ampersand’s summit. My words can not describe what waited for us there. We slowed our forward momentum and turned in circles to take everything in. Wow! That was the word I suppose. We reached the summit and began snapping photos. It was an epic moment! Jen and I removed our packs enjoying the summit buzz as I call it. We got some great photos and enjoyed an informal hiker’s lunch. Other hikers began to arrive at the summit and we began talking to them. One fellow arrived who was very eager to talk. No problem for me!

Enter a new character into the journey. The man’s name was Steve and he lived in nearby Tupper Lake where he had spent most of his life. He was a walking source of information and knew all the distant mountains by name. Jen and I had recognized certain landmarks given our experience and time in the Adirondacks but Steve filled in a lot of blanks. We talked for a long time. I mentioned a mega 46er legend whom Zane and I had met on the trail to our final high peak. Allen Mountain. What a day. I wrote of that day on an older post on this page. I couldn’t remember the number of times this individual named Gary had summited all the high peaks but knew it was over 70 times! Impressive and mind boggling! Steve said that he knew Gary and had spoken with him just this summer. Gary had been busy hiking it seems! His new count was 88. 88 times a 46er! Wow! I mentioned that I would like to interview Gary and get more of his story. I asked Steve why does Gary do it? Why not branch out and see more of the world? New trails and new challenges. Steve said that Gary quite simply loves the Adirondacks so he wanders them constantly. Impressive to me is this man’s accomplishments! Steve was being reserved about his own accomplishments and I knew that he too had quite the story to tell! We didn’t pry and he left shortly afterwards.

I had questioned Steve about the old cabin ruins we had passed on the hike just before reaching the steps. He mentioned that several cabins had once adorned the ridge. I was never really certain though about the true story or history there. I had been confused thinking that the Adirondack hermit Noah John Rondeau had occupied the site. Steve corrected me and said that Rondeau had lived in a forest pond setting known as “The Duck Hole”. Research yesterday sent me in confusing circles as I scoured the internet. There were so many unfamiliar names and places that were unknown to me. And I thought that I knew the Adirondacks! Silly me! It’s going to take some intense research to uncover something I hope to record correctly. I have always desired to hike into the Duck Hole and set foot upon its banks. Something about the name I guess. I found it on a map years ago but never made a connection. I do believe though that Rondeau may have lived in more then one cabin over the years. He’s worthy of a historical blog post as I retrace his footsteps and discover more about him. Who can say what else waits for me along those trails?

Steve had mentioned a plague on another part of Ampersand’s summit that we might find interesting. It refers to the Hermit Of Ampersand. The plaque is dedicated to a man named Walter Channing Rice who spent 8 years on Ampersand on fire watch duty. His story is very detailed I discovered in my internet research project. Check him out! His father had a bit of pioneering spirit when he brought the Rice family up into the Adirondacks. Walter was a remarkable individual! His sons erected the plaque on Ampersand in the 1930s. Walter must have been connected to the cabin ruins we found in some capacity. My research indicated that his living quarters were much closer to the summit. I am going to further research this story and revisit it.

Jen and I found the plaque where Steve had said it would be but found something else as well. Some concrete and cut off anchor bolts drilled into the summit near the plaque. We immediately guessed that they had once belonged to a fire tower. Research confirmed that the state of New York had erected a fire tower on the summit of Ampersand in 1920. It was functional for some fifty years until 1970. It was removed in July of 1977. The era of NYS fire towers and the individuals who occupied them were being fazed out as aircraft surveillance during the fire season became more economically viable. I find a sense of loss in that piece of history for some reason. I guess the answer is in the task itself. Individuals spent hours up in the towers scanning the far horizons for the smoke of forest fires. Those individuals must have been possessed of a certain mindset I feel. Hours and hours of silent vigil although they did get to chat with the many hikers drawn to the summits. I suppose the job had more merits then one might expect.Fire towers might be an interesting blog post. The count of promised stories now surpasses 10!

Jen and I reluctantly prepared to exit the summit eventually after spending some wonderful time there. We had put our layers back on even though it was so warm and sunny. A north born breeze was nipping at our now inactive bodies and we were at risk of getting chilled. We sat for a time below the upper summit and basked in the sun out of the breeze. I later regretted not putting sunscreen on my face! October sunburn! I had the sunscreen in my pack but never used it. Silly me! We enjoyed the 360 degree views of Ampersand as long as we could before starting our descent. We encountered quite a few groups of hikers on their way towards the summit. We would always say hello and I would take a quick glance at their gear. Most were well equipped so that was a positive! The descent offers a different set of scramble challenges and while it requires less exertion it still dictates caution. Foot placement is everything and I lost my balance in a forward slide once. My beaver sticks enabled me to stay upright and avoid a fall. We stopped often on the hike out and continued to take photos. We searched for small details and unique sunshine photos through the foliage. I was feeling strong and experiencing no pain. Jen and I talked about many different things but one thing in particular is noteworthy. We wanted to hike together more often. Bring family and friends along to share in the wonderful challenges. Build memories together and strengthen family bonds. To share a love of nature that unites people. I feel that to share in challenge builds trust and understanding. To share my words and love of nature is a summit of a far different lofty destination. As Jen and I stood on the summit of Ampersand I gazed at many familiar sights. My time in those places was solid in memories and in deed Comfortable and reassuring. But the blue,gray of far distant horizons and the unknown waiting there calls with silent beckoning. This story is far from over.

So that’s a short glimpse into Ampersand Mountain! A worthy destination of beautiful challenge. The day Jen and I shared now true MOONTABS! My third ascent of Ampersand and certainly not my last. As I closed this post out I realized that I hadn’t mentioned why each of my Ampersand summits has been uniquely different and meaningful. It’s a story worthy of yet another promised post. That post must wait for its time. I wanted this one dedicated to my adventure loving cousin Jennifer and her family. To recognize her unique journey that is connected to mine through family and more. It’s a new beginning with endless possibilities. That’s enough for today. The autumn sun is on the water just outside the Airstream. Time to run!✍️

The Secret:Watching My Movies

Posted on September 28, 2022September 28, 2022 by Greg Washburn

It’s a rather chilly morning here on Black Lake as September 2022 ushers in its final days. This morning’s temperature will seem like a heat wave a couple months from now just ahead of the annual ice up of the entire lake. Autumn is one of nature’s most vivid seasons here in our four season climate. I am a person who loves to reflect deeply about the power and purpose of seasonal change. Autumn is a time for new discovery in the midst of the transformation. Beauty will be found in the smallest places and in the smallest observations. It is the time of the whitetail deer in this region to live out their finest moments of the year. Natural selection at it’s finest by mid November. The lessons of the deer will be waiting to be read by those who wander the forest.Today I doubt that the people who live in the path of hurricane Ian are headed off to school. They are probably not seeing beauty in nature at this moment. I am not there but I feel humbled in the face of nature’s fury. The power of nature is supreme. Those things that we as humans can not control. Leaves that will fall from the trees and lakes that will freeze. Nature is best represented by a circle. No corners or sharp angles. We as humans seem to live in a box at times. That’s a fun place to explore on a different day.

The other morning I had worked on dual subject post that was mostly lost. Exactly how that happened is still under investigation and people are being skeptical about the whole Mr. Jangles conspiracy that I presented. It’s best to sleeping dogs lay as they say. Besides this isn’t a debate page anymore then I have the ability to solve the unexplained. The truth always comes through in the end. Abraham Lincoln once said that no person has a good enough memory to be a successful liar. Smart man! Also noteworthy this quote by Mark Twain:If you tell the truth you don’t have to remember anything. Enter my research project: the works of Mark Twain. Today is a good day to learn something new.

The first letter of MOONTABS stands for memories. Mine, yours,and everyone’s. Today my own as I try to get the stories of my journey of life told with accurate detail. It’s always bothered me what I can’t remember and how much I was forgetting as time passed. I think a lot people feel like that given conversations I have gotten into over the years. I have some good news for anyone who is getting anxious right now! We aren’t wired to remember everything. Ponder something I read once although I can’t remember when. The average person has some 70,000 random thoughts per day.Hmmm. It’s 8:12 AM and I feel like my count is already passing 40,000. Coffee’s great!At night when we sleep our brain shifts through them and imprints some to our permanent memories. The remaining multitude of information gets flushed down the proverbial drain. It’s much more complicated then that of course and I can’t remember the rest of it. Big tip! I can look up such random information again! To bad I can’t do that with every detail of my personal journey. Why is all this so important to me? That’s a slippery slope to snowboard down. ( I had my hands on my snowboard yesterday!) The importance of certain memories is a future post that I will write once I finish a family genealogy research project. I hope that you are remembering all the posts I have been promising to write for you up to this point. I have forgotten. But a promise is never broken until it is never kept.

If you follow and have read my posts then you are familiar with the house fire of 2012 that my family experienced. One of the worst days of my life. But also a new intersection in my journey that would profoundly shape the future. A day that would ultimately drive me to empty Quill writing pads and stuff the scribbled words into simply titled and stash them away. I would eventually write on Facebook and be led to blogging. This is getting complicated for me and I am the orchestrator of my life’s symphony.Time to hit the slippery slopes and head down towards the Secret.

This trip down the slope is tricky and if I take us over that big jump we will probably wipe out! Best to turn off and take that easier trail through the forest. We will get to the bottom of the slope that way.One word is as solid as a sturdy set of Burton bindings. Journals! Diary’s for some. Handwritten by most people. My ground zero of writing where pensive creativity hadn’t found me yet. My simple journals spanned decades of my life.It’s a story best told in greater detail. Not today though. Another story and yet another promise I know. Don’t worry I am writing them down on paper now. Maybe you should as well just in case I lose my list. Lists for me are still handwritten on paper even though I could go digital. As are all my rhyming story poems. That story must also wait. Consider it more tangible to me. I feel telling a story properly takes time and involves an intense retrieval process. The memories are all there. I just need to unearth all the myriad of small details. Then place them upon this page.Do you remember what Mr. Jangles said? And you thought being me was simple! Silly you!

Enter one part of the secret:Writing things down with a ballpoint pen on paper helps me remember them better. That’s always been an important component to me when writing journals and to hold an old one in my hands is priceless. Mine were mostly written in simple school three subject notebooks that were never the same size or containing the same number of pages. They would get bent and wrinkled by abuse. The quality of what lies inside something or someone can’t be judged by a cover. Some of my best rhyming stories started out on cardboard boxes. Written with a black Sharpe. When inspiration surfaces it’s got to be recorded quickly or the moment can be lost. If you’ve ever read the story behind the origins of the poem Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge then that might sense. He was interrupted while creating it and the inspiration was suddenly lost. My inspiration comes from a far different source but I identified with something there. That being said it wasn’t the quality of the paper or the ink that was important. It was the words themselves. And in the small details that would live in them. But my tragedy was in the paper itself. There was no backup if the journals were lost. And lost they were. To fire. Don’t be sad! I longer feel that way. I went to the pity party for awhile but didn’t stay too long. I was bored there and it was so dark I couldn’t see. There’s a happy ending to this story that I believe I mentioned once. Things that shaped me show up over and over on these pages. I am going to need a digital tool to handle that redundancy someday.

What’s important right now is to begin to share the secret! The story behind the movie itself! Picture this: me sitting in my plush recliner in my office at the farm. The room was awesome! I had my personal stamp on everything. This my room and I had built it out with a rustic themed concept. It looked like the inside of an ancient barn. Hand hewed corner posts and a wooden ceiling with hemlock support rafters. An oak plank floor put down with antique nails. A decent sized window that looked out over our main meadow behind the house. My father and stepmom had used this very same room for a sitting room. My recliner was in the same place our father’s had been placed. I had an entire wall of bookshelves filled beyond capacity. A gun cabinet full of my guns and those that had belonged to my father. There was a tv as well but that was more for Zane then me. I had given him a place to stamp his personality into my small office. Just below my tv platform he had a child’s desk and chair. There was a section of wall for displaying his artwork and pictures. I wanted him to always feel welcome in my private sanctuary. In evenings he would come in and climb up into the recliner with me while I was reading. I read to him quite often and he had a section of the office for his own books. I also had an antique desk of our father’s that I used for my mail and financial paperwork. There was a large oaken chest and all my photo albums in the room as well. I could write an entire story about the 2008 farm house renovation. I put a lot of myself into that project and even managed to lose my job over it! I just added that story to the promised list.

Back to the recliner now. It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon and there’s no work till tomorrow. The cattle are all in behind the fences and they are feeding across the meadow. That’s a plus! When they get out? Yuck! It’s a private moment of quiet where I am getting ready to begin adding to my current journal. It’s not something I make the time for everyday and that’s why it’s special. Tomorrow I will jumping back into the fray of a Monday. Farming keeps me busy and so does work. There’s a bigger plan in the farming. A stash of “Mad Money”. Never entered into the family’s financial needs unless it’s an emergency. It’s my traveling money. Bush trips mostly but something much more adventurous is brewing. Alaska someday. I will need to cull the herd for that one I think to myself. The mixed breed herd is about 20 strong now and growing. They all have names that are as wacky as can be! I see Crazy Face and Gladiator. Snow Ball and Little Herf. South Dev and all the ones that I can’t remember now. The rain intensifies and I don’t feel the need to be outside. This is perfect. I could watch a movie on tv I thought. No I would rather write today. But before I start I think I will revisit an old journal in the stack. There’s a movie waiting right there for me. I already know how it ends but that’s ok. I can’t remember everything that happened and I haven’t seen it in awhile.

I open the journal and immediately smell the old dried ink left on the paper. There’s a starting date and an opening line. And the movie begins. It’s a strange thing I think. My eyes reading and my memories that flood in as the movie picks up pace. I am the main character but there’s almost always others. Although my writing sometimes dove to hidden levels of privacy where no other characters appeared. I kept my journals locked up and no one was allowed to read them. So what’s the big deal or the big secret of the movie? It’s in those small flushed details that I didn’t have a prayer of remembering. Reading the words that I had written brings them back immediately. Thus the term The Movie. I expect someone else has written about this but I have never researched it . (new addition to research project list). I read on and the forgotten details now are refreshed. Weather events. Work. Plans. Dreams. Hope. All there in the movie! Then the epiphanies. Oh wow! How could I have ever forgotten that funny moment or that awesome day? It’s a past me that I can examine with no chance of time buffering over the details. It’s all here. My real life as it was lived. I stop reading for a moment and pause the movie. Where am I now I ponder? Have I stayed on track? Then the echoes of the what “ifs”. What if I had listened to my inner voice? What if I had only known that? What if I had known this was coming and could have planned better? It’s not a place of regret. Nor longing for days gone past. I was much to down to earth to worry about that sort of thing or the rattling chains of ghosts from the past. They were harmless in my sense of now. My focus was on the future. I was strong and capable. Feet grounded on the acres of the farm and connected to nature. What was I learning while filming the movie?Was I the best possible me?What else? That was too heavy for a relaxing Sunday afternoon I would think. I could always revisit that subject on the way to work tomorrow if I got bored driving. I read on and the movie begins again. I would get lost in the moment.

Eventually I’d reach a point where I would stop reading and jump into writing in my current journal . Or maybe I would go outside and tackle some farm task. Any thoughts of writing books never occurred to me in those busy days of endless push. Dreams of retirement kept me dialed in and focused. Fast forward. The fire and post fire days. Many things were destined to happen and they did. But like any of us I pressed forward.Life got better and we were figuring things out. The Alaska trip happened. There were many days of mundane routine in that race to the future.But I was pretty good at getting time off from work when I needed it to reboot. Enter the first thoughts of the importance of leaving a written family legacy. Not just my story but my family’s story. I resumed some journal writing but in a different capacity. Bigger things were waiting for me and I had no clue. The words were building up far below my surface far beyond any small surge I had ever experienced. They were like a natural defense that would someday protect me in my push forward. Call it my spirit energy immune system. That’s heavy!😂

So that’s my secret in this my very personal continuing introduction. Why so personal? The Intersection series. That story needs to wait a bit as I piece it together.It’s connected to events and time with a two year set of details. It’s a tricky write honestly.My secret will sound familiar to some people. It may sound similar to something else you’ve read. Maybe it makes no sense at all. The happy ending? Not all my journals were lost. A few survived. And if I told you that 10 times alright then you know that’s it important to me. The rest is a little more complicated. That which I once wrote on paper is going to be easier to retrieve. Albeit it’s going to take time. Those words may be waiting on the other end of the line when I hear those custom ringtones I mentioned awhile ago. That’s pretty heavy too.I have helped build out many construction projects over the years. This is far different. MOONTABS will be by far my largest ever personal endeavor and it had to start with a foundation. My journey of survival is the foundation. Nature has taught me many things but most of all survival. Not of the fittest but as a part of a bigger whole.I hope to build something that others will enjoy as much as I enjoy building it.It’s not just mine to build or occupy. It’s going to take the cast of characters all learning skills and gaining insight.Building as we go. There’s a bigger place of understanding here that I don’t always recognize myself. So I don’t have all the answers yet. The search is very real as is the surge. The fictional forests of Tasmania symbolize my connection to nature in ways my imagination and curiosity can’t even begin to fathom. Each tree a story. The big and the small. The living and the dead. All things are connected by energy I feel. One more thing! Mr. Jangles is very real! He lives in Western Quebec! Or have you forgotten already?✍️