Category Archives: Discoveries

Nature Findings

Beyond The Run Of The Mill

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Several months ago I began the “Run of the Mill” stories as a manner in which to preserve some of my personal rural heritage history. People have told me that they wish to hear more of those long past decades. I have a tendency to wander aimlessly through those decades.It’s all connected though! Often my certain memories are triggered by the changing of the seasons. I feel that affords better story telling with greater emotional connection. One particular set of memories stands out with a certain clarity beginning in 1996. A series of events began to connect and would ultimately lead in unexpected directions. It started quite simply in 1996 with the purchase of 110 acres of rural property on the edge of the Macomb/Rossie town boundary. It was a mere 7 miles from my father’s farm giving it the advantage of proximity but there was a larger draw. The undeveloped potential of the land. There was a modern element of homesteading that appealed to me in some unique manner. In fact many years prior to purchasing the property I had driven past different times and noticed that very potential. I had always expected someone to develop it but it never happened. The main feature of the property that caught my eye was the open meadow that stood at the base of a wooded ridge line. There were no power lines on the property nor access roads of any kind. It’s difficult to say why it held such appeal but I suppose it was the sheltered way the meadow was tucked in between the surrounding ridges. Also the fact that there were no neighbors in sight either. One day in 1996 I noticed a small For Sale By Owner sign by the road. I walked the property with the owner and was immediately hooked.We had strolled through the numerous stands of tall white pine and found ourselves on the bank of the Bostwick Creek. A group of ducks gave flight from the lower end of a large beaver pond and flew up over a steep ridge of red oak trees. A small meadow sat adjacent to the beaver pond in a basin of sorts surrounded by forest. I knew that the property was perfect at that point. It would take some work to make it a homestead but I found that exciting actually. Perhaps I envisioned myself as some type of pioneer. Some trimming and clearing began later that year along the edges of the meadow. I laid out the driveway first and it was installed in 1997. It was built right along the edge of the forest so it would be minimally invasive to the meadow’s appearance.The site for a 26’x40’ garage/barn was staked out for construction that fall.Some test holes were excavated to determine if a cellar was possible for the future house. Macomb is known for its veins of bedrock that reach the surface with no predictability.No bedrock was discovered but the hard clay soil of the meadow’s side hill would require custom drainage systems. Big plans were brewing for 1998.The hard work was truly about to begin! As winter approached I cut a logging road into a back section of the property where some of the white pine was beginning to die off. In January my father and I began to harvest white pine logs from the property using a team of horses that he trucked in on Saturday mornings.An area of the forest was targeted and we constructed a landing in a slightly open spot under some large pines that were to remain. I did all the felling and limbing in addition to hitching the logs for skidding. The logs were skidded a short distance to the landing then loaded onto a horse drawn wagon and taken out to the edge of the highway to be piled on a side hill staging area.Mid day we would eat our lunch right in the woods while the horses munched on some hay my father had brought in a grain sack. It was busy work and we left tired at the end of the day. We worked the same section for several Saturdays and made great progress due to the lack of snow. I clear cut my way through the stands leaving plenty of young healthy trees beyond the slash. A buffer zone now lay between the dead trees and the living. The pine logs were high quality and very fun to fell! Tall and straight with few limbs near their bottoms. There was a certain thrill in the prospect of turning them into lumber as they fell one by one with crashing roars. I would get lost in the work and move from one to the next. Using a chainsaw requires focus especially when limbing. The large pines often crush smaller hardwoods when they land. These bent over saplings possess incredible stored energy and are very dangerous to the feller. Spotting them is crucial to avoid injury! I call them “slap sticks” and for good reason! I employed a “layered” approach to the felling. I would fell a pine and trim it into skid logs which my father would then extract with the team. The next tree would be felled on top of the “slash” layer. The aftermath looked a little raw but the amount of young pine that remained standing was impressive to say the least. We would never lack for building materials provided the forest remained healthy. It is interesting to note that the slash areas healed quickly over the subsequent years and the skid roads became handy access trails for harvesting firewood.Later that spring we targeted another stand of healthy trees close to the future garage site.Another access road was carved in following the lay of the land. Staking out the access roads was a pleasant job that I truly enjoyed! A large network of potential trails began to appear to me at this point and I envisioned the true potential of a sustainable,healthy forest plan. That story must wait for now. I crafted a landing near the targeted ridge where we would be extracting logs. This area was experiencing a die off similar to the one we had just harvested. The cutting yielded some very large logs that were perfect for creating pine siding boards. This section of forest contained more hardwood species so felling was a bit tricky! The logs were hauled by the horse drawn wagon out to the driveway area to a second staging area.A higher section of the ridge had been heavily damaged by a wind event. I began to map out a future trail system to reach the area for a salvage cut. It was a fun part of the homestead process for me. The raw and undeveloped property was an ideal project of future forest stewardship. The property was so much different than the semi-open farm property where I had grown up.It was a true forest of some magnitude and I loved exploring its rolling terrain.From the clearing of the second landing the ground fell away into a deep valley.The back meadow and beaver pond on the Bostwick Creek were visible from there. It was a lovely place to relax and dream. We decided that our stockpiles of logs were adequate so the logging was concluded. Sometime in April after maple syrup season we trucked the logs to the Amish sawmill to be custom sawn for our barn/garage framing requirements.All the lumber was trucked back and unloaded by hand. I stacked and “stickered”it up on top of crib piers that I constructed from concrete blocks. Stickering lumber allows it to air dry by keeping the pieces separated by narrow strips of lumber. We hired a backhoe operator to prep the hill side garage site and managed to it leveled for building. An Amish crew began to work shortly after. Footers were poured and layers of block were laid to build the garage into the side of the hill.The barn/garage was tucked into a notch in the meadow at the end of the driveway. The gambrel roofed barn/garage went up quickly and was soon finished minus the doors. I made some temporary doors from plywood that fall and stored extra lumber inside. Electricity was brought to the corner property a year later after reaching a deal with the power company. Conduits were buried to bring power and phone to the garage to keep the pristine appearance of the meadow intact. . The stage was now set for the next part of the homesteading project. Planning began for the actual house. It would be constructed in 2001. The logging project that led to the barn/garage being built brought a sudden realization to the table. Why haul logs from the property only to haul the lumber back again? We began to consider buying our own sawmill from that day forward. My father pushed for the purchase and in 2003 I agreed to buy one with him. We chose a portable sawmill that was popular with the Amish. The Brubacher . Made in Canada using minimal hydraulics and no high end technology. We chose the gas powered option with a 25 horsepower Robins Subaru engine. Capable of cutting a 20 foot log with a 30 inch circumference. Solid and sturdy in its simple design. The new direction began to show itself that year as I learned to become a sawyer. I began to recognize my connection to my late grandfather as he had been a logger and sawyer in the 1960’s. My father had worked in the woods his entire life as well. I was already close to my father and frequently worked with him at the farm but something new was beginning to take shape. A new era of bonding and deeper father/son friendship formed as we began working together with our new sawmill toy. If only I could gift that feeling to the world and truly emphasize what it meant to me! A transformation was underway. One that would no unnoticed in the busy task of daily life. But the spirit energy would find me on the weekend when I walked the trails of the homestead property. It radiated from the scent of the pine lumber of the newly constructed barn/garage. Something much larger called out to be acknowledged in the hidden recesses of pine groves where nature ruled with quiet dominance.I suddenly began to question everything that was my normal vocation and began to yearn for something different. Looking back now I am truly thankful for all that followed. I can’t say it was planned and executed with a larger strategy. It just kind of showed itself and was decided along the way.It’s a story that deserves to be told in greater detail to truly capture the spirit of the moment. Many things were bound to happen. Many things did happen. These would be the years of self discovery and ultimately the start of something that continues to grow. The years of blood,sweat, and tears I’ve called them. They passed fast it seems now. I found a part of myself in those years that had laid dormant like a seed waiting for it’s time to grow. The spirit energy flowed strong and fast. My heart told me to chase the possibilities so I did. There are few regrets and oh so many blessings. Those memories I have named MOONTABS.

Soundtracks

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It’s been quite a busy stretch these past few weeks with maple syrup season occupying most of my time it seems. We ended up having a successful season despite the up and down weather swings.The reserve taps really paid off and allowed us to maintain an average sap intake right up to the end. We finished our season with the sugar house woodshed almost empty and now in need of a refill. Much of the cleanup has been completed as of this past week so that’s always a relief. Zane and I washed 400 plus buckets in a couple days just one week ago. The evaporator becomes a giant water heater once all the sap is removed from it and supplies all the bucket washing water we need. It’s a boring job that we made better by playing music on a Bluetooth speaker. We enjoyed simple conversations and I told stories about random events that had occurred many years ago. Certain words would trigger song titles and bands. A quick trip to U-tube would bring back songs that I rarely heard anymore but had never forgotten. Zane enjoyed the songs of Nazareth,Thin Lizzy, and Rush just to name a few. The passage of time has not diminished my love of music nor kept me confined to one time period. These days I have evolved into a roving listener of heavy rock sounds coupled with thought provoking rhyming lyrics. I can change stations at will in my vehicles where Siris satellite radio can be replaced by Pandora with ease. Am and Fm radio has been forgotten in my desire to never hear commercials or news broadcasts. Who needs to listen to the weather when it’s only a key stroke away? Why ever listen to the same repetitive music when there are so many new and intriguing songs to sample? I find myself drawn to the indie rock artists quite frequently and really branch out into some new horizons. Music has changed over the years but what has truly changed are my methods of accessing and listening to it. Gone are the portable Am/Fm radios of my youth. Gone are the days of cumbersome portable music players. Gone now the 8-track tapes and cassettes. As are the CDs.We used to lug our players everywhere. I was telling Zane about taking our portable 8-track players on camping trips when I was a teenager. They required the large D cell batteries to power them. On cold nights they drained quickly and we were sometimes forced to place our players close to the campfire to keep them going. This led to some being slightly melted as you might suspect. Fast forward. ( there’s a term for you! ) On the side of our old sugar house there is a simple shelf constructed years ago. It once held the antenna for my portable satellite radio unit. The hours of boiling sap were made more pleasant with the commercial free tunes echoing throughout the sugar house. An inverter connected to an old tractor battery kept it powered and also powered the lighting. I no longer rely on a portable satellite radio unit. These days I use my phone to sync up to a Bluetooth speaker to supply the music when boiling sap. Silence is fine at times in the sugar house with the only music coming from the boiling sap,rising steam clouds, and the crackling of the fire under the evaporator pans.Why such focus on music? Music helps pass the time away when faced with menial task. It can set the pace and fuel the energy. I once enjoyed playing music on the numerous construction sites where I spent much of my time. These days the project managers prohibit music on the job most of the time. Their reasons are flat and rather foolish quite honestly. The ear splitting cacophony of a construction site is far worse than some of the screaming heavy rock I enjoy in my opinion. Good thing I am mostly retired these days. I’d need to go rogue and play my music somehow. About 12 years ago I was working on a barracks project at Fort Drum. Music of any kind was forbidden even ear buds. The repetitious work I was doing forced me to thwart their rules however. I rigged up my tiny iPod in my hard hat and hid my ear bud wire in my hoodie. I was never caught and enjoyed the simple pleasures of music at work. Yesterday I was faced with a long day on the highway. Twelve hours of towing a U-haul to West Virginia. Satellite radio ruled the day once again. I was all over the map in so many ways. But the miles passed behind in a soundtrack of success. The trailer was delivered safely and the objective was completed. The music played the entire time during the trip. There are times when nature plays the ultimate soundtrack. Crying loons and the nighttime chorus of frogs. The crickets of late August as yet another summer speeds onward. The lapping of waves and the wind in the pines above the tent in some remote destination. One doesn’t need the man made music in those moments.I explained once to Zane about the song writer’s potential dilemma. The songwriter has but a few short minutes to tell a story or make their message clear. The writer of novels has much more time. As does the blogger. I can follow my forward progress of gathered years through memory and deed. I can accompany those memories with music from living and listening during those gathered years. I seek to be the creator of lasting impressions. From these short sentences can the reader connect and begin to create their own soundtrack of life? The magic of the rhyming stories that I so love to write (when they show themselves to me)has always been inspired by music and simple lyrics. There is no rhyme nor reason this particular April day. Only the desire to move forward and complete the tasks before me. Short and sweet as they say. It’s MOONTABS In Motion here in West Virginia for a time.

Tales Of An Ice Walker: The Origins

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Yesterday we were rewarded with our warmest day in recent weeks. It’s been a cold winter overall with a respectable amount of snowfall. We haven’t had the up and down weather patterns of the past few years either. The strange thaws that bring rain and high winds to diminish our snow accumulations. It was late freezing up last December in 2021 but eventually it happened. January was more traditional with subzero temperatures and savage wind chills. So when the forecast yesterday called for temperatures in the high thirties with sunshine I decided to postpone everything and go snowshoeing with the dogs. My destination was easily decided without a moment’s hesitation. Beaver Creek. It’s my ground zero I suppose. That place where the Great Wander began decades ago. A place of countless stories and adventures that span over 50 years now. It begs an introduction. Then I will introduce you to the Icewalker.A me that you probably don’t know yet. Just what encompasses Beaver Creek? It’s the large gorge and wetland system that passes through an outer portion of our farm property. Rugged and tough to access with steep ridges on both sides for much of its distance. We own about 20 acres of it near the road but it’s difficult to travel until the winter ice forms. It can be paddled in sections but it’s impossible to remain in the canoe for long. Fallen trees and beaver dams choke it’s winding channel along its entirety. Once the winter ice has formed it becomes more hospitable for traveling. Snowshoes or cross country skis work well most of the time but there’s never a broken trail. Almost one one ever goes there. Sometimes I hike on fresh ice before it gets snow covered or immediately after a thaw/refreeze event. Ice creepers or crampons become necessary for comfortable walking. This vast wetland system covers some 10 miles beyond our property before another road crosses it. It then continues several more miles where it empties into the Oswegatchie River near Heuvelton, New York. Numerous small creeks add to its flow along its course adding to its size as it nears the river. It takes an east to west path basically. About a mile west of our property the gorge flattens somewhat into large hills and continues but Beaver Creek enters it from a different direction and joins a small runoff creek. There’s a lovely waterfall there on private property. If I was to describe the gorge itself I would say it’s close to an eighth of a mile wide with large wooded ridges on both sides. There are steep rocky ledges along many sections of it that are difficult to climb. There is almost no shoreline that allows for easy walking as you travel west along it.The steep ridges come right down into the edge of the swamp for miles. Large rock piles enter the swamp in a few spots. A geologist told me years ago that the gorge was created by a “shearing” event not from a glacial event. Time has eroded the vertical sides mostly but some remain. As for the wetland itself, there’s deep mud and grassy bogs beside a meandering channel of various depths. Beaver dams cross it entirely in certain spots in various stages of repair. The presence of beaver has altered the swamp dramatically since they were reintroduced to upstate New York sometime in the 1950s. Their dams flooded the stands of soft maples that grew throughout much of the shallow water along the main channel. The dead trees would fall into the swamp over time choking it and making paddling almost impossible until they rot under.What followed were large open areas of grassy vegetation and swamp plants. Jagged stumps remained above the water as a reminder of the forests that once grew here. Our property once had two large stands of soft maple forest. Two huge beaver dams that spanned the gorge would eventually kill them. Their bark free trunks and tops stood for years before we had the perfect winter conditions to salvage some for firewood. We clear cut about 40 cord one winter with horses and a sleigh. I harvested another 30 cord a few years later with a snowmobile then a four wheeler. Another winter we were able to use tractors to harvest. Needless to say the wetlands are constantly changing. Tag alders cover sections still as they seem rather resistant to the changes in the water depths. Just below our property a stand of soft maples has survived despite the beaver activity. The swamp is shallower here and the channel necks down into a choke point. In a canoe it is a wet portage point. A wade and push location where you need hip boots. Further down the channel widens and the wetland is open with few trees. It once was a soft maple forest but that was long before I first began exploring there. Now the gray, bark free stubs I remember as a boy have fallen and are no more. I have a stark memory of my first seeing them but it’s brief.To describe the creek and wetlands is to describe the scene of a constantly changing habitat. The invasive weed purple loosestrife started growing here sometime in the 1970s along the road on our property. We didn’t know what it was then or that we should have destroyed it. It spread quickly and its floating seeds have allowed it alter the wetland forever it seems. The grassy sections that were home to hundreds of muskrats each winter now lay covered with loosestrife bogs. Unfortunate and disturbing to me. So this was the playground of my youth. A place I spent my winters whenever conditions allowed. The early ice of December was perfect for exploration when I was a boy on foot. I didn’t venture very far though at age 9. That would come later. The deep snows would come and the creek would become the haunt of snowmobilers. The late 1960s and 1970s brought a snowmobile craze to our area. Beaver Creek became a popular trail system and saw a lot of traffic. We had a snowmobile by 1975 and I would follow the packed trails myself sometimes. We also would accompany others on occasion and travel larger distances. It was then that I got to witness the full magic of the gorge and it’s natural wonders. Ice falls with huge hanging icicles and giant cliffs that hovered over the wetlands. Trips to Huckleberry Mountain sometimes miles from our property. The snowmobilers have left the creek these days mostly. It remains wild and untraveled. It was on foot that I explored most of the territory near our farm. I became a fur trapper at a young age. 10 if I remember correctly. The Beaver Creek gorge was a trapper’s paradise! Muskrats everywhere! I later learned how to trap beaver. But that is another story in itself. Being a former trapper doesn’t always make a person popular these days. But it’s a proud part of my upbringing and rural heritage. Something I was taught that shaped my youth and taught me to appreciate the natural world in a manner some can never understand. Trapping would turn me into a great wanderer. It conditioned me to endure all sorts of weather and challenges. It fueled my imagination through history and the stories of the American west. I no longer trap but the love of wandering remains. I read the swamp like a book. Tracks and signs of wildlife activity like the words on a page. These days I wander the swamps to read the signs and reminisce about my youthful pursuits. I suppose you could say that the ice became my highway to discovery. It was the perfect flat road to travel. It could be covered quickly and great distances could be traveled in a day.Imagine that you are high above our farm property and could look down upon my adventures of wandering as I matured. It would resemble an epicenter of sorts. An ever growing circle that extended from the home base of the farm house. Each year to venture further and further away. My father worried constantly when I would disappear for hours. Especially when he knew that I was out on the ice. I eventually named myself the “ Icewalker” and coined the Icewalker’s motto. “The distance in must be traveled out”. Good advice that I learned by making countless mistakes. Potable water was never a problem years ago even in winter.There was snow to eat when necessary.I knew of numerous water sources that were safe for drinking. Springs we call them. Eventually however they became unsafe ( the snow as well!)and woe to me finding out the hard way! A sudden hot flash and the rumbling in the stomach a few times would end that habit. I rarely carried much food. A couple hard maple sugar cakes in a plastic bag would fuel me through many of my trips. My grandmother made them for me and they were a lifesaver when hunger set in. My garments were simple and effective. Rubber boots with thick wool socks. Wool pants and chopper’s mittens. A Carhartt style jacket with a vest underneath. A wool toque to cover my head and ears. I rarely used a set of snowshoes in those days. I would wait for perfect conditions to wander. The thick crusts that followed the annual January thaw were a signal to wander. Sometimes the snow would get so heavy on the ice of the creek that it would flood and refreeze on the channel. The ultimate highway for safe passage! I also learned to carry a walking stick or two for probing the routes ahead. It saved me from falling through many times! As did my ears! Ice “talks”. Especially thin shell ice. The kind you find around bogs and beaver dams. Ice walking hones the senses of eyesight and hearing. Did I always arrive home dry and warm? Hardly! It was inevitable that I would break through and quite often. Ironically the deeper sections of the creek are the safest to travel. Most of the time falling through meant a wet leg and boot full of icy water. Lessons learned through discomfort mainly. Never life threatening at any rate. I learned to react quickly when the ice broke underfoot. I would throw myself forward and usually escape mostly dry. Looking back I must seem a bit reckless and lacking common sense. Perhaps. But I learned to read the ice itself. Black ice was the early ice. Clear and predictable if not covered with snow. It’s depth obvious. Thin is strong when dealing with quality black ice. Then there’s snow ice. Also early.Gray and unreadable until you test it by probing or gently stepping out onto it. It’s the ice of caution. Best kept off of most times. Snow ice often forms later on top of black ice that becomes flooded. That’s usually ok. Your footsteps will tell you of the thickness. The trickiest of ice is the late season “honeycomb” ice. It will lay silent like a trap and offer no warning. You will be walking on some solid late season ice when suddenly there will be the sound of air and water rushing to the surface. Too late! By the time you hear that you are usually on your way down! That’s when the walking sticks become so important. The two stick walk where you are constantly probing ahead. Not fool proof regardless. You may be asking why are you even out there to begin with fool? For the adventure! To cover the distances that only ice walking provides. Snowshoes and cross country skis are great for weight distribution and you are less likely to break through but if you do? Not good! If I wear snowshoes or cross country skis I take extra precautions! So here ends the introduction of my story. Yesterday was everything I hoped for and more! A tough workout on a beautiful day that filled me with awe. The creek never disappoints and I managed to stay dry throughout the trek. This is the first of the Icewalker series that I hope to share! I’ll take a crack at telling the stories in time and try to stay off the thin ice of redundancy. There’s a deeper side of my time spent on the ice that I hope to capture sometime. A place of greater connections to nature. That place of peaceful presence mixed with excitement that only the ice can bring to life. ✍️

,

Winter Whims

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A big part of writing is research I find. Reading and gathering facts is important to truth and accuracy especially with historical subjects. I take great liberties with word usage most of the time when engaging in my writing projects. I apologize for improper sentence structure and blatant mistakes with pronunciation. “Mega-editing” has never been my goal here on the blog site.Telling stories in a “real-time” manner is however. I tell a story as if you were standing next to me. In my own words and in the emotion of the moment. What some refer to as “living in the now. It’s that rawness I often mention. There’s a connection to rawness in words and rawness in nature that surrounds my thought process I suppose. That place of truth and simple facts which brings me to today’s subject. Whims. Defined as a sudden idea or turn of the mind. Or even as a sudden desire that is unexplained. Anyone who has ever spent any time around me will attest to the word whim as being a description of my mindset at times. I enjoy playing with words and even creating some. MOONTABS was a creation of mine in 2018. By now you must surely understand my fascination with my own word. I tend to think of it as a word where everyone can find a piece of themselves. As for whims it means more than its definition. It’s also an abbreviation for “Winter Has Its Moments”. Those things and thoughts that only the season can deliver in this four season region of the world. I often associate it with fun recreational pursuits and hobbies. Cross country skiing,snowboarding, snowshoeing, and ice fishing. As for current WHIMs, we recently returned from volunteering on the Saranac Lake Winter Carnival Ice Palace project where we assisted in harvesting the ice blocks for the walls and sculptures. It’s hard work and rewarding at the same time. Zane and I also snowshoed our final two peaks of the Lake Placid 9 hiking challenge. The challenges of winter trekking make it a thrill of a different sort. Heavier layers of clothing and extra safety gear to carry than we would require in other seasons. The knowledge that staying out all night would only happen in an extreme emergency. Far different than a summer hike! There’s a certain “buzz” to be found on a winter trek though. One we chase at times. Staying inside on cold,stormy days can be relaxing and rejuvenating most certainly but only in small doses. So we choose to engage in a variety of winter activities to balance our lifestyle. There is a less glamorous aspect to winter however. Those WHIMs of challenge attached to the rural heritage of the farm property. In the interest of positivity I simply mention them as obstacles. Those things which slow a winter farm workday. In this direction of thought there are profound observations of my dependency on modern technology. Consider the following: upstate New York winter. Cold and snow are the normal here. As a result gaining access to the farm property becomes difficult as more snow continues to accumulate. I typically plow out the driveway and trail to the warehouse about once a week. This involves getting a cold diesel tractor started. Jumper cables, starting fluid, and plugging in an engine block heater often occupy the first couple hours of the workday. A fire is usually kindled in the farm cabin (or “warming shack” as Jennifer calls it!) for lunch break. Once the tractor is started there is hay to feed to the two horses after the trails are plowed. If we have decided to cut and split wood them we also need to break a trail to the wood landing. All this is pretty typical on any given farm outing during the winter. As we approach March we will need to break in the maple sugaring sap hauling roads depending on the snow depth. This can be very difficult at times especially when we get larger accumulations of snowfall. The bottom line is the amount of time needed to accomplish some simple tasks. There’s nothing negative in any of this really. It’s just that every task takes extra effort! Frozen locks and barn doors to shovel out. Slow hydraulics on tractors and wood splitters. Getting the picture? It is in these moments that I realize our dependence on modern machinery. At this point my reflections swing years into the past. Our ancestors who called this winter landscape home certainly faced many challenges. They lacked electricity and modern medicine. They had no gas vehicles with heaters. Traveling was cold and preparedness was key to survival. Heat came from burning wood not from fuel oil, natural gas, or propane. All that being said I like to think that they adapted more to winter than we as a modern society have chosen to do. In nature winter is a time of things becoming more dormant. Trees without leaves but with tiny buds slowly developing. Some animals hibernating while others slow their activities. For some it is the hungry time and they must expend energy hunting to survive. The beavers feed on brush sunk below the ice until spring. Talk about preparing! The pulse of life continues but seems to slow somewhat overall. Our ancestors adapted well to winter living. They broke out their horse drawn sleighs and cutters. Fed hay they had stored away for their livestock. They butchered their meat and used the winter temperatures to freeze it outside. They ventured into frozen swamps and over streams to harvest firewood that was usually off limits. These things I learned talking to my father and grandparents. For my family those things were commonplace and they spoke of them with a certain reverence. Rural people enjoyed certain comforts that we do not. They didn’t worry about airline cancellations or impassable roads. Delayed school buses and power outages. I won’t romanticize their lives as easy or perfect. Just very different that’s all. In comparing their lives to mine I find myself wondering about what may have been lost in all that was gained. And then the inevitable question: without our modern conveniences would we survive the upstate winter? And so begins the questioning of my preparedness or lack there of. All this as I sit in a warm house fueled by natural gas. Electricity and hot, running water. Tv, internet, and the technology to launch this post into cyberspace. Have I become soft and too modern? Is there a better balance to be struck? Should we follow the migratory birds south each fall? Perhaps it is our stubborn love of the four seasons that keeps us here. All these questions and more. Does winter have its moments? Absolutely. The sun is out and it’s warming up some today after our recent cold snap. I have a sudden whim! Travel to Macomb today with the dogs and snowshoe down the Beaver Creek gorge to the ice falls. Embrace this February day and connect to nature as the winter season advances forward. A story waits for me in frozen wetlands. Today is meant for simple pursuits in search of something more simple in its truth. The now is here and the past can be researched tomorrow. The future will show itself. Today is waiting with the thrills of adventure. The recharging of my spirit energy. Whims are good! ✍️

Manatees And Me

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My decision to visit the Crystal River region in Florida was mainly based on my desire to visit my friends Norm and his wife Ellen who live on nearby Lake Rousseau. It wasn’t until I began to do some research on the area itself that I learned about the winter groups of manatee that seek refuge in the natural springs that flow out to the gulf. Manatees are in danger when water temperatures fall below 68 degrees in their natural habitats. In winter months they seek out the shallow spring fed inlets and shallow bays that make up the shorelines of the Crystal River coastline. Some of the canals are man made however and this sometimes places the manatees in danger of boat collisions. There were about 600 recorded manatee deaths in Florida in 2020. 90 of those deaths involved boats. Fortunately through better awareness and eco friendly practices the Florida manatee population has increased in the past few decades to approximately 6500. Their population once dipped below 1300 and they became part of the endangered species list. Federal regulations have helped restore their numbers but they continue to face new threats as pollution,climate change, and greater human development in their range increases. I knew very little about manatees until today. I had only ever encountered two on two different occasions while vacationing in Florida years ago. I did know that many were injured and killed by boats each year. It’s a topic sometimes mentioned in newspapers and on the news. All these facts may seem a little negative and somewhat depressing I suppose but they are very real. I feel such facts need to be noted for greater public awareness of the manatees situation. In a more positive direction I found these manatee facts interesting and noteworthy! The manatee has earned the nickname “sea cow” as a result of its grazing appearance underwater. Manatees are mammals and must breath at the surface every 3-5 minutes. They are capable of staying under for 20 minutes if necessary! They exchange 90% of the air in their uniquely shaped “hemi” lungs with each breath. (Humans exchange a mere 10%).Their average weight as adults approaches 1000 ponds. They can live for up to 65 years in captivity. They can produce only one calf every 13 months upon reaching maturity. These gentle giants of the gulf tolerate humans rather well given proper etiquette and respect. They are capable of speeds up to 19mph in short bursts! That surprised me honestly watching their slow gracefully executed swimming today! Another cool fact is that manatees are distant relatives of the elephant. A group of them is known as an aggregation. Usually 6 or so but sometimes many more when winter water temperatures force them to seek shelter together. Now that you know what I know about manatees I will get to today’s adventure. Crystal River is known as the manatee capital! I had arrived here just ahead of the annual celebration which begins this Saturday. The manatee were in the springs and the tour business was in full swing. I decided to book a kayak paddle adventure to view the manatee with a local rental shop. I also opted for a guided tour as I felt it would offer a better experience. I chose Hunter Springs Kayak for my adventure. A random choice but they are located walking distance from the launch which was a huge bonus. I arrived early and was informed that I was to be fitted for a wetsuit! I would have dieted weeks prior had I known I mused as I squeezed my slightly overweight body into the stretchy garment. Perhaps I would be less likely to spook a manatee given my somewhat plump appearance I decided after a short deliberation. I sucked in my gut and exited the changing room trying not to be too self conscious. I don’t look that bad I told myself. The suit rather flatters my arms and legs even if not so much through my mid section. I quickly dispelled my anxiety and got busy concentrating on the instructional manatee etiquette video. Our guide was a slender fellow named Matt who was a lifelong resident of the area. He typically captains a tour boat for the manatee swim experience but was to be our kayak guide today. He uses a paddle board instead of a canoe or kayak. Our group was small totaling only 5. A mother and daughter, a married couple of retirement age, and myself. We also had a trainee along to assist Matt. We were given masks and snorkels along with a pool noodle for floating. The sea kayaks we were assigned were flat and very stable. I launched mine with practiced ease and immediately felt comfortable with its maneuverability. One person had never kayaked before and struggled somewhat at first but gradually made some forward momentum. I wasn’t concerned with time or anything really. There was a gentle breeze and wonderful sunshine touching my face while sea birds flew in all directions around us. We headed up into a narrow canal and passed under a bridge. Every inch of shoreline is developed with houses, docks, and a huge marina dominating the landscape. Pretty typical for much of the Florida coast but not offensive or rundown in any capacity. There were several tour boats and private watercraft that passed our kayak procession as we began to near the first manatee sanctuary ahead of us. Rope barriers were strung across the mouths of the bays and spring inlets to give the manatee safe haven. We didn’t see any in the murky water however until we reached the mouth of a large barricaded bay. Beyond the ropes the backs of dozens of sun seeking manatees were visible. And suddenly we were in the thick of it! Manatees all around us! Surfacing for air and dipping under. Swimming below our kayaks. I lost count rather quickly and began trying to snap photos. Difficult at best as they surface and disappear rather quickly. There were several that were in a mating group that we were cautioned to avoid. They can easily tip a kayak when engaged in mating and unaware of little else. It was all happening fast with more boats and people began arriving. Matt suggested that we continue up to the next area to another spring. I paddled out in front along the shore and occasionally would see a manatee as it passed under me. We reached a location where we would tie up and get into the water. Now the real adventure truly began! I had never snorkeled before but with the pool noodle under me I found it easy and very relaxing! Schools of fish began to appear below me as I searched for a manatee. We had been taught to move slowly with minimal movement so we would not disturb the manatee. I got a glimpse of one beyond a rope barrier but the water was rather murky from all the activity. Matt told me that many times the water is crystal clear but there was just too much agitation for that to happen. I reached a section next to shore and was rewarded to have two manatee swim right past me! What a thrill! I headed back towards the kayaks and suddenly was next to a mammoth one! It was feeding along the bottom with a nonchalant attitude. More boats and people began to arrive so we headed back downstream eventually. The wind had picked up and I was actually cold despite my wetsuit. We passed several more manatee headed upstream and even watched two feeding on sea grass that was floating on the surface. People seemed to have a respectful attitude today but the shear numbers of us made me wonder if perhaps additional barriers should be implemented at some point to create more undisturbed sanctuaries for the manatee. As we paddled back I reflected on the adventure itself. I rated the experience as extraordinary and would highly recommend it to others of all ages. These gentle creatures deserve our respect and our stewardship! I hope to return sometime and visit them again!✍️

What I Never Knew

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History is an important part of adventure for us! There’s nothing like stumbling upon old foundations, buildings, and other human impacts that nature is slowly healing and covering with vegetation. Some areas however have been changed forever by large and costly human endeavors. At a glance these locations might never catch my attention at first glance. But everything changes when I suddenly find myself in one of those locations and realize something much larger once occurred there. I can and will explain but first I must lay some groundwork. It’s January 11th 2022 and I have flown to Florida to visit a friend. I escaped northern New York just ahead of a bitter cold front that has temperatures well below zero. I have settled into a fully functional Airbnb in the Dunnellon area and have a rental car at my disposal. I arrived here late Sunday and spent the day yesterday catching up with my good friend Norm. He once was a neighbor of mine at Black Lake where he and his wife Ellen owned a summer cottage below my former home we called Hill House. We became friends and we fished together occasionally out on the lake in his pontoon boat. He also loved to hunt so I introduced him to our farm property where he could roam at his discretion anytime he wished. He became hopelessly addicted to our farm crafted maple syrup at some point! He once asked me what I put into the stuff! My answer was simple and honest: energy and love of tradition. To craft the finest tasting maple syrup and be proud when people noticed! Norm became a steady customer and would always stockpile his supply of maple syrup before heading south each autumn. Time passed. Years that sped by with season and task. Norm and Ellen decided it was time to sell their lake property and would only be visiting upstate New York on occasion. We talked on the phone and I continued to get his syrup to him through a courier type system when necessary or through the mail. I missed my friend and our time together. Norm is 24 years older than me and I had confided in him when we fished together as the sun would set on a tough day for me. I trusted his advice and wise consul. I believe I thought of him as someone who was much like my father. Older and someone to be trusted for advice. I never told him that though. I think I will before I return home. Some things shouldn’t wait I have learned. At the time however it wasn’t necessary in the givens of common bonds. Some history to note. Norm and Ellen had been and were travelers. Wanderers.Full time Rver’s for over a decade. Adventure lovers and nature enthusiasts.In their stories I could feel a kindred spirit.Wow! I fear that I begin to stray far from the original story! Suffice it to say that Norm and Ellen invited us to come to Florida to visit them at their place on Lake Rousseau. Circumstances kept us away until I finally decided enough was enough in 2021. I won’t go into lengthy details of how those plans changed or how it finally occurred. I am here now and writing in the moment. Yesterday after Norm and I had some breakfast together we headed out onto Lake Rousseau for some fishing. I was immediately interested and intrigued by the lake itself. Channel markers everywhere amid dead tree stubs that rose above the water with a stately perseverance. Below the surface algae covered stumps were abundant and needed to be avoided. My curiosity perked and I began to grill Norm with questions. What had happened here and why? What was this lake all about? Man made reservoirs are nothing new to me most certainly. But this one in this location begged further investigation. And just like that history unfolded and opened up the doors for a much larger story! A place of history that I had never knew existed. Enter the story of the cross Florida barge canal. Lake Rousseau had been created in the early 1900s to create power for industrial purposes. The Great Depression would create a larger vision that actually was put into motion. The cross Florida barge canal was begun and never completed. It was a potential environmental disaster that was averted if the facts are correct. It’s a piece of history that I would have never known if not for my friend. I have visited Florida many times over the years. I came for sun and warmth. A break from the north country at times. I know the traffic packed highways await me as I become a part of the problem each time I visit.History was never a motive for visiting but now it will draw me back again. Norm and I discussed the need to keep the mind active and alive today.Those things we do to aid in that capacity. History is the perfect place to keep the mind in motion. What can I learn tomorrow? What did I learn today? I learned that we as humans often don’t truly make the best decisions. But the habitat of Lake Rousseau has become a place of refuge. For birds and other wildlife. It controls flooding and more. It is a marvel of human engineering and worthy of praise. It could have played out much differently but it didn’t.One thing is most certain. It is of a very human and personal nature. Don’t wait to visit a friend. Tomorrow is uncertain. Today was secured and now a memory to cherish forever. MOONTABS! They’re as simple as it gets! Wherever you find yourself!When you enter the realm of history and reality it can offer a new place of spirit energy. We can’t live in the past but must acknowledge it sometimes. It has shaped the world around us. It as shaped us.✍️

The Game of Unfinished Words

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It’s a cool afternoon here on the shores of Black Lake, New York.43 degrees and falling slowly. I have just finished settling into Camp Edith for what appears to be a period of the next week or so. It’s going to a little rustic however as the camp has been winterized so there’s no running water. Well that depends. Me running to the lake to carry buckets of water up the hill is a form of running water. It’s nothing new really. For many years there was no running water in the cottage. We hand pumped water from a dug well down by the old horse barn next to Sand Bay. As a young boy it was my responsibility to keep the camp water bucket full each day. It was the late sixties and we actually used the water for drinking too. My Grandmother Edith and Grandfather Wayne had built the cottage in 1927. They actually lived in it after their farm house burned one winter. It was a mere 480 square feet with a screen porch on the front. It’s difficult to imagine them crammed into that tiny space with several children! A large potbelly wood stove provided their heat source. The outhouse they built was still in service until 1995 when I decided to upgrade the cottage by adding an additional bedroom, full bathroom, loft, and utility room. We pumped lake water directly from the shoreline and ran it through a basic water filter system. We brought in our drinking water from home. The old dug well had gotten rather toxic I felt so it was filled in one summer. The cottage entered a new realm of existence with the addition of a septic system, hot water heater, and all the amenities running water provides. I began to refer to it as a “summer home”. Indeed it was really! It had electricity, refrigerator, and many other small creature comforts. Fast forward several decades and little has changed. Some minor renovations to improve upon living space, a few new windows, and a larger front porch would transform the cottage further. I began to use it less however as years passed and I found myself drawn into the exploration of new locations. During the summer of 2018 though Zane and I lived here for much of the summer in between our Adirondack hiking trips. It’s sat rather idle since then however. It wasn’t until the pending March sale of Hill House in 2021 that we seriously began to visit Camp Edith again. I moved in officially on March 26th. The ice went that evening just before dark. I spent the night hunkered down in front of the pellet stove that had replaced the old potbelly stove of years past. The pellet stove was no match for the temperatures of late March and April. The cottage is very open to the rafters and mostly uninsulated with the exception of the 1995 addition. It was a rather challenging time for Zane and I for a few weeks! Fetching water from the frigid lake for flushing the toilet and doing dishes. We showered next door in my sister’s basement bathroom so that helped aid in our survival. We used a couple electric heaters to assist with heating the cottage for a time. I decided to move in a beast of a wood stove we had in storage at the farm. It was easy to load once we managed to ramp it down a crude structure we built to reach the warehouse loft. We then used the tractor’s loader to place it in the bed of the truck. Getting it through the cottage door proved difficult and somewhat dangerous actually. There was a mere quarter inch of extra clearance passing through the door. Zane and I managed to get it stuck on our unloading ramps at one point. Tipped sideways it was lodged in the door frame until we figured out a strategy. Basic physics to the rescue! Levers and fulcrums. Ramps and pry bars. Brute strength and the necessity to get the job done or have no heat that evening. We had taken the pellet stove out that morning to make room for the huge wood stove. We finally settled the beastly wood stove onto its resting spot after finally freeing it from the door frame! I think Zane learned a lot during the entire process. If nothing else then what it takes to accomplish something with inadequate manpower. We connected the stove pipes and just like that we had our supercharged heat source! One that defies the need for insulation with pure mega btu’s of wood burning capacity. It’s ironic that warmer spring temperatures arrived shortly after and the wood stove was rarely used most of the time thereafter. Fast forward to November. It’s been a whirlwind of migratory living. Camping in the Adirondacks in our gently used Airstream. Staying at Jennifer’s some. More camping in the Adirondacks in the weeks since returning to work August 9th. The recent Airbnb rentals of the past 4 weeks. Sometimes spending the night in the cottage but mostly away usually. I recently drained the waterlines as we do every fall. The huge wood stove would quickly heat the cottage on the nights we chose to stay over. We stocked the porch with a small amount of firewood for those times that we would need it. We find that no running water is no great hardship expect for there being no shower to enjoy. It seemed that the cottage would be mostly uninhabited for a time. Until today. Things have changed suddenly and with no warning. I will not be returning to work until the end of the month. The reasons for this will remain unwritten with full words. There are certain key words that I don’t use on my blog site ever. Or topics of sharing. This page shares my experience with connections to nature. Emotion and reaction. Survival and existence. Learning and personal growth. Positivity and the power derived from it. Thus the title of this post. The game of unfinished words begins. It is a puzzle board type of field. One where I give you a letter and a short description. You identify the word that I leave unfinished. Clue number one involves the timeline of recent events that have become rather commonplace yet often distant from our daily lives. The most important clue is the year 2020. The first unfinished word begins with “C”. The second word begins with “P”. Words such as fear and uncertainty could possibly assist in your choices. Enter a second “P” word to the game. It involves choices made by citizens. Also a word banned from my page. It is ever in the public focus. A new word to ponder begins with the letter “V”. Something I chose to receive while others refuse. Maybe you don’t find this game fun or entertaining. Let me speed things up and bring you into my present reality. The next series of letters that form words are connected in a sequential timeline. They begin in this lineup. First “E”. Next “T”.Next “Q”. One follows the other directly. As for what falls in between it is not a game. It is about the power of nature or power that humans have constructed from natural forces. I am newly educated to that which once was distant and unknown to me. What connection does this strange game of words have to nature? Survival and adaptation. What I have I will try to utilize. What I lack I will try to go without. Key words that I do allow on my page:Rural heritage. History. Adventure. Remember our ancestors. They survived similar circumstances with much less than we find necessary. I find comfort in the simple ways of my ancestors. With a few simple things I can provide myself with so very much. With wood and the wood stove I have heat. I can make hot water with water that I carry from the lake on the stove. I can cook on that same stove if necessary. I must simply do the work. This manner of living takes time. This I have in plenty suddenly. I embrace the challenge and find positivity there. I have no desire to become soft and helpless. In challenge there is a deeper understanding of nature and life itself perhaps. In that which brought me here I must reflect further on a much deeper level. I end the game with a final letter and its word. It will answer your questions. The letter is “I”. The word is isolation. Camp Edith is a fine setting for that! But there are even finer places if necessary. Places where challenge was a practiced pursuit of happiness by an imaginative boy of hills and books.

Autumn Finds Us

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The final week of Adirondack camping for me. It’s been an incredible summer here! One that led to autumn ultimately. It’s such a gentle transition that I marvel sometimes at the progression of season. Summer days seemed to flow with a different pattern. Autumn crept up suddenly and quickly. Yes I saw the soft maples giving me their hints way back at the end of August. No surprise there. The change when it came hit with mind shattering speed! Slow at first I suppose. Maybe I didn’t tune in quite quick enough. Long work days draining my energy could have had an influence. I did tune in eventually and once I did it was game on! On my commutes I’d focus on certain sections of forested slopes. The winding roads in the Tupper Lake and Saranac Lake area don’t allow for careless driving!So it was glance and go! But as the weeks passed it became a place of sensory overload! Almost overwhelming in its magnitude! The colors intensified every day. There was so much to see with every passing day. Going home on the weekends brought a different perspective to everything. Down in the St. Lawrence Valley we seem to run a solid two weeks behind the Adirondacks. I could notice the difference on the commute down as the miles passed.The peak came just before Columbus Day weekend in the Lake Placid area in my opinion. Then the rain and wind took their toil on the foliage. The ground began to be littered with more and more fallen leaves. Suddenly you could see it. The forest opening up. But beautiful sights remained. The vastness was too great to be done that easily. The beauty was found in a smaller landscape. The overwhelming vistas replaced by simple fixtures. For me the magic lives there. I love the over stimulation of peak leaves but relish the search for the secondary treasures. It will can be found long after many depart the area. I wait with patient anticipation one of my personal favorite fall spectacles. The turn of the tamaracks. Also known as larch.They are the strangest of trees! Carrying needles like a conifer yet shedding them each season. Unnoticed in the forest most of the time they step forward late in autumn. Their beautiful time occurs well after peak deciduous season. I suppose that’s why I find them captivating. The forests will have shed their thousands of leaves and the tamaracks will still be holding their golden needles. They favor wet locations and can often be spotted on the outskirts of marshes and beaver ponds. They grow throughout the St.Lawrence Valley and well into the Adirondacks. Once prized for sturdy timbers and rafter poles they live on in old barns and houses. Large ones seem uncommon now although I am sure they exist. I hope to find some old growth ones someday. I pulled their large timbers from the barns of the past when I reclaimed wood in the time around 2006. The barn builders of the late 1800’s obviously prized their strength and versatility. I wander far here into places some may fail to appreciate. Perhaps my love of the tamaracks may need further explanation. Not today however. I think the simple message I hope to offer lies in the transition itself. That place where you move beyond the super stimulation of peak leaf viewing season. The beauty remains in smaller places. It’s easier for me to see then. I’ll take it all! The full on and the less noticeable. My connection to nature lives to its fullest there. The beauty and the magic of the autumn transformation goes far beyond when you take that extra time.To notice. To look closer. To connect in that which you may have missed. Short and sweet. To the point. Little more may need be said. And if more need be said then let it be said.✍️

The Transition

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Wow! Week 7 here in the Adirondacks of upstate N.Y. as my work adventure continues since August 9th.Tonight camped out here at Little Wolf Campground in Tupper Lake. It’s had unexpected bonuses! The sunsets here are unbelievable! I never expected that I would like it so much! I initially thought this place was too small and crowded. But in September it’s quieter I think. Pretty busy on the weekends it seems. When I return on Sunday nights the Happy Campers are still in full swing. It’s a party place for a certain group it appears. No worries here as I spend most of my weekend in the valley. No surprise that I will exit the ADK park tomorrow night after work. Always details that need my attention. It’s my time to grab Zane and spend some quality time with him. As for the transition it’s underway. Today the first day of fall ushers in a new season here and in the valley. The leaves are changing fast with each passing day. Thus the transition. Less daylight greets me on the morning commute.32 miles that I actually enjoy driving each end of the day.The sun rises through the trees and over the mountains with a weather determined predictability.It usually seals the deal for me on most mornings. It’s so very different than the flatter lands of the St. Lawrence valley. I watch for deer and truly hope to see a moose sometime. As for the job I signed on for? In the dirt and totally outside at the mercy of the weather. I love it though! The simple tasks.The big sky above. The high peaks in the distance. Close and familiar to me.I came for the experience and the location.A chance to live a few months in the Adirondacks. Money and benefits that will further the MOONTABS vision as winter settles over the northeast. My schedule taps my energy and severely impacts my writing! The stories add up and don’t get written. They occupy my mind and grind away like the contents of a cement mixer. It’s hard to focus sometimes on a certain post. But I live in the midst of an incredible transition.Autumn in the Adirondacks. My first ever. That’s what lies at the heart of the transition.Deeds.Work. A shuffle of time and energy. Miles and purpose. But most importantly nature showing her colors. It represents so very much to me this special time of year. Perhaps the primordial hunter/ gather lives in spirit energy at the heart of my enthusiasm. Mental or something much more? Something more I can safely say after my many decades of experiencing this feeling. The transition is as much a part of my identity as anything I have ever known. It’s raw and powerful. A place where words fail me. If only I could share it properly. The challenge presents itself I suppose. Autumn doesn’t happen overnight after all so why should my words? While experiencing the change I too transition. If the decades of my life are likened to seasons then perhaps I have truly arrived to my temporary destination of autumn. A time to show my colors. The connection is obvious to me if not to everyone. And there lies the aspiring writer’s challenge. To draw you into the transition. It lives in scents and sounds. The changing leaves that will fall with a timeless grace of all that will be reborn. The migration and the preparation of those who remain to face the winter. The energy is intense and urgent. But never unfulfilled or wasted. To the watchful observer it plays out with a familiar progression. The transition. Follow it.Embrace it. Find it in yourself. It’s so simple in its perfection. True happiness lives there I think. Other things can wait in the demanding burdens of a frantic society. Small blessings and simple truths multiply during this magical time of year. It is now week 7.Day 4. The final 10 hours of work on the Olympic Center Revitalization project in Lake Placid, New York. Who knows what waits to be discovered today!✍️

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More Days Like These.

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Week 5. Day 1. Once again at the lay down area waiting for work. I enter the final days of camping in the Airstream at Rollins Pond State Campground. It’s become a bit of a ghost town now. The empty campsites out number those that are occupied. I think about writing a post about this exodus of Happy Campers but can’t seem to get past the title! It was a busy long weekend of soccer games,endless driving, and a tough day of hiking Sunday. We had wished to complete our Saranac 6 challenge but decided to wait until we had enough time to devote to it. Sunday’s weather was iffy but we decided to give it our all. We had the usual camp life details to attend to first Sunday morning before we could leave however. Running the generator to charge the AS batteries, breakfast, showers, etc. Pretty typical for boondocking at RP. We hit the trailhead for our hike around 11:30 am . A bit later than I wished but well within the timeframe for an exit before dark. The arrival of September brings a noticeable shortened amount of daylight. Much different than the days just before and after summer solstice. We had a modest safety pack stocked for trip with water, water filters,snacks, extra clothing, lighters, and a flashlight. Not a full on safety pack but adequate I felt given our destination. The hike itself was a bundle type loop trek. We would first hike to Haystack Mountain then pick up Mackenzie Mountain before hiking the remaining miles of the loop back to the car. Sounds easy right? The mileage was estimated to be at least 10.6 miles total.We left the trailhead with a very energetic Gracie dog pulling hard on her leash. The trail starts out rather typical for an ADK hike. A mix of up and downs. Curves and cobbles to hop across the damper sections. Crews had done some really awesome trail hardening in several spots. They had even filled in some sections with gravel that they must have extracted from a stream bed somewhere close by. It wasn’t too long before we encountered small groups of returning hikers. Some were actually running the trail and none were inclined to initiate conversation so we never really knew just how far they had traveled. We hiked briskly with the fresh energy of new day of hiking Oh wait! I have postponed the writing.It’s now Week 6.Day 1. More miles. More work. A Thursday night move from Rollins Pond Campground after work that left me totally drained. I arrived here at Little Wolf Campground in Tupper Lake after dark for my first ever nighttime “back in”with the Airstream. Lucky for me the park manager Arnie helped me accomplish that tricky maneuver! We stood on the beach behind my campsite and chatted for a few minutes enjoying the moon over the pond. It took me another 2 hours to complete my unpacking and set up. Friday morning came early and the 10 hours of Week 5,Day 4 polished me off physically. I am not being negative in any definition of the word for the record. This experiment of “real time” day to day existence is very honest. It’s a time thing. I am hoping to connect with you there.That place where we struggle to pull it all together.It’s been that way for me for years. No wonder I am obsessed with the passage of time! And here we are, far from the story of the hike.Let’s get back to it.The trail was pretty typical of an ADK hike for the most part. You know.Rocks, wet spots, twists and turns.Totally good quite honestly. But it got much better suddenly. We walked up on a concrete pier totally out of place along the trail. I had suspected that that we were on a old road for some time. Common sense prevailed when it was so apparent that this trail was man made. Carved from the hillside.Healed as only nature could accomplish. A short distance later we found the remains of an old building foundation. It had plumbing at some point as there were old cast drain pipes in one section. It was difficult to picture exactly what structure had occupied the spot or what it had been used for exactly. I will need to research historical archives to find out that information if it even exists. If only a person could talk to the builders! We took several pictures and continued up the trail to a junction point. We assumed the left fork would lead us to Haystack Mountain. Common sense given my glance at a map that morning.After a short distance we were rewarded with some additional history! A small dam of concrete blocked a tiny creek in a fairly steep location. It had been cleverly constructed to hold a small but adequate reservoir. There were pipes that we couldn’t follow underground leaving a screened box. It suddenly occurred to us that this may have been the water source for the structural remains downstream. Why else would it have been constructed? Zane and exchanged a few thoughts about our discovery. But we hadn’t come to unearth history. We had come to conquer a couple small mountains. The trail took on a sudden ascent after the dam and some brisk hiking gained us some respectable elevation gain. After a couple small rock scrambles we emerged onto the summit of Haystack. The views were good despite the cloudy,overcast skies. There were quite a few other hikers already there ahead of us. We chatted with a few of them for a moment. Some were stand offish and unfriendly. Not uncommon on smaller peaks.Rare on higher peaks. We had a quick snack that we shared with Gracie. She was with us once again for a mountain hike. Nothing new for her the well traveled high peaks dog! We left by the back trail off Haystack.The drop is very manageable and quite easy. We hit the intersection with the Jack Rabbit Trail after a short hike. It had gotten quite dark but we knew we were well within our daylight safety margin. We came to the intersection of the Mackenzie trailhead and headed up it with a steady pace. It was very cobbled early on with lots of rock hops. It suddenly rose abruptly and became fairly aggressive in incline. We hard charged the grade with an energy of determination rather than actual juice. We passed a young couple who stood aside as we pushed forward. Well equipped with high end gear we never saw them again. We think they turned back on the steep ascent. It was quite a workout given some of the rock scrambles. We overtook a second couple and they let us pass. We took to chat at a scenic overtook where they informed us we were only at the halfway point! Not exactly what we wished to hear! I checked my All Trails App and confirmed their information. Yuck! They were right! The trail leveled out somewhat after a fashion and we hit another overtook. The summit? No! Mackenzie still loomed off in the distance. I suddenly felt that feeling of … Oh Wow! It’s going to be a tough pull still! The false summit fell behind. We descended towards a col with some tough scrambles over wet rock. Eventually we began the final ascent to Mackenzie. We hit a scenic overtook just shy of the summit. The views lifted me to that place I chase! We hung for a time and snapped a few pictures. It was very cloudy and had gotten chilly. I bundled up and had a quick snack again. We met up with the couple from the overlook. Dennis and Rachael if my memory is correct! We left the beautiful place with an urgency of approaching night and waning energy on my part. The descent seemed long and difficult but we made it safely. Then the trail to the parking lot. Endless as my energy continued to depart with the daylight. We finally hit the parking lot with Zane well in front with me hobbling behind. I had a sudden thought. What exactly is the rating of this hike and what’s the actual mileage? Easy? Hmmm.Not for me. But done and we were Saranac 6ers! Later I learned that All Trails rates this hike difficult at 11.9 miles.Zane was tired but in better shape than me after the hike. Youthful energy is hard to beat! If you tackle this duo be prepared! Give yourself plenty of time! Mackenzie is around 3820 feet. It’s close to a 46er elevation. Great for us as we work towards tackling the Northeast 111. This duo is a great proving ground of history and endurance! Check them out!

Day 4