Category Archives: Fun

Fun Stuff

The Continuation

Posted on by

Part of the fun of camping on waterways is the prospect of exploring new areas with relative ease. Rollins Pond offers some unique paddling opportunities we have discovered.Today’s was no exception. It was more then I expected before it was finally over. It’s worth telling if only to keep others from following my route of arduous folly!

The adventure I had decided upon was actually a continuation of some exploration I had done one cool,rainy day in August of 2021. Zane and I had gotten familiar with the Rollins Pond outlet paddle down into Floodwood Pond after we paddled the “loop” one sunny day while camping last summer. It’s a fun trek with two short carries that I would rate easy. The paddle starts at Rollins Pond continues into Floodwood Pond then down the narrow connector to Little Square Pond. From Little Square the loop takes you into Copperas Pond. At the far end of Copperas you will find the first carry which takes you to Whey Pond. The second carry brings you to the Rollins Pond boat launch. From there you paddle back to your site. There are plenty of secluded spots where you can get out and take a break,swim, or casually drift into back waters. The proximity of the forest will reward the paddler with plentiful birdsongs and wonderful evergreen scents. There’s nothing like a whiff of balsam to enhance the already heightened senses.The water has a somewhat organic smell that’s difficult to describe. Not unpleasant just something you notice immediately in the narrow sections of the connectors. My exploration last August took me in a different direction then the loop.But first a previous noteworthy adventure of a similar nature. Some lessons are never learned!

It happened on our first ever camping trip to Rollins Pond last summer. We knew that Rollins connected to Floodwood but were uncertain of the route. I decided to skip checking the map. It will be more fun! I told Zane! I like the mystery of the unknown.We spotted a large culvert draining in the lower section of Rollins Pond and assumed that it led to our destination. It was challenging to get the canoe through the culvert but totally fun! Carrying it up and over the old railway bed was the only other option anyway. Once through the culvert the waterway became very weedy and difficult to navigate. We encountered three other paddlers so we assumed that we were going in the right direction. The waterway suddenly began to narrow down becoming difficult for paddling. The other paddlers disappeared so we assumed they must have turned back. The first of what would later become several beaver dams needed to be crossed. The ponds behind the dams made paddling easier so that was a plus.We forced Gracie our dog into the water as it was getting tedious dragging her extra weight along. She swam and swamp cruised the highly vegetated shoreline often out of our sight. We had no trouble hearing her however as she splashed her way through the thick swamp growths. The entire place had a jungle like appearance. Huge aquatic plants and tall,lush grasses. Bogs and small wetland brush. Lily pads covered some sections of the shallow ponds behind the beaver dams. It was wonderland of quietness and we suddenly started to wonder if we were going in the right direction. There were old chop marks where someone had cleared a path through at some unknown time. We encountered a man made footbridge that we assumed was used by hunters. It was tough paddling and we were expending a fair amount of energy moving forward. The waterway suddenly opened up and split just before a large pond appeared. I was keeping track of the time and mentally calculating the time that we would need to turn back before dark. It would be close if we didn’t reach something soon. We paddled up into the pond that I soon realized wasn’t Floodwood. Too small and there was nothing I recognized. We turned back to the split and headed up against the current. We soon encountered more beaver dams and the stream itself became ice cold. The beaver pond ended and we found ourselves at the end of any discernible waterway to paddle. We decided to turn back. Heading back was tough on our spirits having not reaching our goal but there was nothing else to do. We were muddy,wet, and scratched up from the brushy narrow spots. Eventually we reached the culvert and with some difficulty made our way back into Rollins Pond. Back at the camp we checked the map stashed in the camper. Epic fail to reach Floodwood! We had made our way up into Rock Pond we soon learned. But it was quite the adventure into a place few people seem to go.Wild and quiet. The kind of place that later you realize was worth the effort. True Adirondacks. We laughed about it later after the bug bites and scratches healed.

Here begins the true continuation.It was Saturday and I was alone with only Stella the dog for company. I felt like I needed a break from the noisy,busy surroundings of the campsite. Civilized camping comes with some conditions.For our adventure I decided to push further up the creek that empties in Floodwood that I had discovered last August in the hopes of finding a hidden pond or lake.I had gone up it a short distance but the pouring rain had finally chilled me so I felt it wise to turn back.Saturday the forecast was hot and dry. The perfect sort of day to explore. I knew the creek would be challenging but I had no clue to what degree. Getting there was pleasant enough. I spotted an osprey diving down to grab a fish but it appeared to miss the target. There were plenty of other paddlers around but everyone was spread out given the size of the ponds. I reached the mouth of the creek and hopped out for some photos. I waded up for a while getting past some small beaver dams but the water got deep in spots so I paddled as long as I was able. I suddenly came across a couple in a canoe much to my surprise. I asked the young man where did the creek go but he didn’t know or if it even was passable. He did say I would reach a bridge where a road crossed. Stella and continued upstream passing under the bridge shortly after. A truck pulling a trailer load of canoes crossed the bridge filling the forest with noisy echoes. The creek soon became choked with fallen trees but it appeared that someone had forced their way through at some point. Encouraged I pressed forward dragging the canoe along with Stella adding weight that wasn’t a problem at that moment. It was a lovely setting despite the fallen trees and shallow water. Balsam scents filled the air and everything was fresh from all the recent rainfall. Large pines and hemlocks pressed in upon the narrow stream. The current was rather swift and the creek flowed with a melody of natural forces. I was becoming a little frustrated with the constant obstacles however.Some were huge trees and often several were interconnected in a maddening tangle. I no longer suspected that other paddlers had been through ahead of me. I began to seriously wonder just how far did this meandering Creek continue? We pressed on with stubborn fervor. I decided to let Stella wade beside me. She got smart and ran along the shoreline. Quitting wasn’t an option I was entertaining at the moment. I suppose I could write many more words about our struggle up the creek but if you can picture the maze of fallen timber, shallow water, and the efforts of dragging the canoe then that pretty much covers it!However there was a positive facet of the mission! Quiet, pristine forest all to myself! A babbling brook where few venture. The deer flies and mosquitoes were a slight inconvenience but they weren’t too bad. The brook contained small fish that were difficult to identify in the current. Trout perhaps? I rounded a bend in the creek and was suddenly rewarded with a magnificent sight! A concrete sluiceway under what must have been a railway or road. There was an old battered sign that stated canoe access only. Strange. Getting through the sluiceway was difficult but we managed. The sluice way was inscribed with the date 1927. Whoever had constructed it had taken pride in their craftsmanship. We pressed beyond with a refreshed determination.For a time the creek was a little easier to wade and I became encouraged that I would soon reach something. But it became shallower and choked with deadfalls once again. I was becoming somewhat fatigued and with a heavy heart decided to scrap the adventure. Stella and I got a thrilling ride down through the sluiceway shortly after. We climbed up the steep grade and discovered what I recognized as the old railway bed. After that we plowed our way back to Floodwood and paddled back to the campsite. I was shot! I got out my maps and studied the route had taken. I had been close to reaching ponds but how close will remain a mystery for now. The map shows splits in the creek that I never saw. It shows two sluiceways under the old railway. The questions remain for the moment. Should I return and press beyond? I think I will present it to Zane when he arrives Monday. I think the draw of ripping through the sluice way a few times might seal the deal!And I might not mention all those many deadfall’s! I will leave out a few! ✍️

Summer Begins

Posted on by

It’s been a busy time these past couple weeks. Lots of details in our modern lives to attend to as most people would agree. I made a grueling trip to Buffalo with the Airstream for its annual checkup at my dealer near Orchard Park. It was a long day that started early at 4am and finished at 10 pm when I returned. The interstate is a wild place to spend 10 hours driving. Even after a layover.The magnitude of the energy it takes to keep us all in motion is rather mind boggling to me. Out on the road with all the other vehicles I realize that perhaps this way of life we enjoy will no longer be possible at some point. The traffic on the interstates runs 24/7 and that thought itself makes my head spin!Gasoline prices have shot up dramatically in recent months. Traveling with the Airstream will come with a steeper price tag. It’s not something I hadn’t considered before purchasing it. It’s just a new reality of cost per destination. And so enters the revised summer plan.

Jen had booked us time at Rollins Pond beginning June 20th and running till June 30th. I sit here on the campsite beach tapping out this post while the busy lives of Happy Campers fill the air with sound. Conversations that carry from nearby campsites. A mix of French and English on this particular site. There’s barking dogs and gleefully screaming children. A late running generator grinds along with steady precision. I turned our suitcase Honda off early and will rely on the Zamp solar charger to power up the batteries till later today. It’s a nice addition to our boondocking set up. Out in front on the pond there is a constant procession of paddlers going by. My neighbors left to do some fishing and I expect they will be gone most of the day again. Nice young men and very polite when I met them Thursday night. I offered them an extension cord to power their trolling motor battery charger yesterday while I was charging the batteries during the evening generator time slot. They were used their truck inverter and needing to run the engine. I figured why have them waste their gas? They were thrilled that I offered. Being a good neighbor makes a difference when surrounded by other campers. Last year one of neighbors used to start my generator while I was still at work. It was a grand act of kindness I felt so I bought them a gift certificate to a local Italian restaurant in Tupper Lake. Out front the pond remains calm under mostly sunny skies. Stella the dog guards the campsite from red squirrels and chipmunks while a feeding fish surfaces very close to me. The day is getting well underway. Time to make a solid plan for a paddling adventure! But first a glimpse at our new summer strategy.

Jen follows the campground cancellations closely and has managed to book us some rather substantial Adirondack camping time. We will be spending it between Fish Creek and Rollins Pond. I will need to move the Airstream several times in a roving cycle of days. It’s actually handy as I will use the move days to hit the dumping station and refill the water tank. We scrapped our proposed New England/Canada trip due to circumstances beyond our control. I can’t mention those circumstances here but wanted to emphasize the importance of making quick decisions and landing on our feet. For me it’s all about the importance of using the travel trailer to its fullest potential. Things are flexible and I have the ability to work part time at the Lake Placid Olympic Center Revitalization Project again this summer. So it’s a bit of a free for all as we move forward. Life throws so many unexpected challenges our way and some people seem to get more then others. I hope to find a quiet getaway today where I can reflect and find a place of positivity to move forward. I go to find those things that nature has placed for me to discover. The Adirondacks are becoming a second home to it seems as I spend more and more time here. Camp life is filled with small task and flows with a daily rhythm. Coexistence is a big part of this camp life. Not all neighbors are polite and respectful unfortunately. The water beckons and it’s time to get moving! ✍️

Beyond It’s On.

Posted on by

The daylight increases with each passing day as summer solstice quickly approaches. It’s been a busy spring between my part time work and everything else that needs to be tackled post maple syrup season. There’s equipment to clean and store as well as a sugar house to fill with firewood for next season. We have managed to procure some decent slab wood to fast track the process. I was fortunate to secure some Adirondack goof off time while camping back in May. I will start the story there as several memorable events occurred.

I briefly posted on May 23rd about the start of the 2022 camping season. It’s the post titled “It’s On!”.This post highlights some of the more memorable events that followed. It started out a bit wet my first week of camping but I found time to finish a novel that I had been reading for some time. I got caught in the rain one afternoon while paddling up the Fish Creek and headed to Floodwood Pond. It’s a lovely paddle through narrow connecting waterways in a couple of spots. It got pretty windy as I was returning especially on Little Square Pond. Waves don’t trouble me too much typically but it had gotten rather chilly and going into the water wasn’t something that I relished all that much. Gracie held down the bow of the canoe which always helps me control my progress into the wind. She’s a good canoe dog until we get close to shore and she can’t wait to hop out. This backfired on her recently when she jumped out into deep water and totally submerged for a moment! Back at the camper I turned on the furnace and got dried out after awhile. Gracie retired to her dry blanket under the camper out of the rain. My evening was spent reading and enjoying a simple dinner that I made inside the camper. Outside cooking is great but only when the weather cooperates! Jen showed up on Wednesday and we explored Lake Luey near Indian Lake with the canoe. The rocky face of Snowy Mountain got me thinking about the weekend. After paddling we ventured over to Longview Lodge in Long Lake for dinner. It’s a favorite place of ours while staying in the Adirondacks. Great food and a nice atmosphere.A bit pricey but we feel it’s always worth it!The following day was spent exploring the area leading up into the Moose River Plains on a car road trip since it was raining intermittently. I hope to further explore this area sometime when the gates are open. They are kept closed during mud season and open just before Memorial Day. This roughly 80,000 acre tract offers primitive camping along the dirt access road. It’s destined to be a future adventure journey!

Friday found me returning to Hammond to pick up Zane and bringing him back up to the campsite. He had expressed some interest in hiking fire towers so I mentioned Snowy Mountain which has one. We decided to hike there Saturday as the weather looked promising. It was going to be a hot one and the black flies would be out full force!Saturday morning came quickly and we decided to stop for brunch at Chef Darrel’s Mountain Cafe in Blue Mountain Lake before tackling the mountain. The dogs ( Friday we had picked up Stella!)were welcome to sit outside with us on the deck. Great breakfast of eggs Benedict washed down with vanilla milk shakes. Anything goes at brunch time!Fully fortified we headed to the trailhead several miles beyond the hamlet of Indian Lake. I hadn’t told Zane the entire story of why I wanted to climb Snowy Mountain.

Snowy Mountain is known as the 47th Adirondack high peak unofficially. That was the draw for me but the fire tower had convinced Zane to go. There was some confusion however about the total distance round trip. One site listed it as 7.8 miles while another said 7.1 miles. The state sign by the road said 3.4 miles one way. 6.8 round trip. No matter we decided. The hike to Snowy Mountain started out fairly easy and there were plenty of streams for the dogs to enjoy.The trail was well maintained and wound its way through a mixed deciduous growth with many large trees. Eventually the trail began to ascend quite aggressively and the forest changed to conifers. There were a few other hikers on the trail most of them returning from the summit. The black flies weren’t too bad provided we were moving. It was hot most definitely and the dogs were overheating at times. Zane dunked his head and upper body into a super cold stream while the dogs were resting. The trail continued to rise and the streams were left below us. The trail became steep and rocky with a trickle of water keeping some of the flatter surfaces slick. It’s a game of foot placement for me. Zane leaps and scrambles with a recklessly controlled rhythm. I envy his youthful ease! I was feeling somewhat out of shape but managed to keep up rather well. The dogs were struggling with some of the steeper rock scrambles but managing well overall. The last section before the false summit was quite aggressive but we soon reached the flat overlook below the actual summit. Further up we found fire tower and no view whatsoever. At the top of the fire tower the views were incredible! The dogs only went up partway however as the wire fencing surrounding the stairs was missing near the top. Too risky for them we decided. We took pictures and celebrated our latest summit! The return trip was difficult for me and seemed to last forever. I joked with Zane about it being 3.4 miles in and 3.9 miles out! The black flies increased their intensity and became rather irritating. We finally reached the car and enjoyed the return trip. Hot showers and dinner made for an early evening. We spent the next day paddling up to Floodwood Pond and catching a few panfish for fun. We released all of them even the keepers. And just like that the weekend was over.

The remainder of camping trip was spent working at the Olympic Center in Lake Placid. Evenings were short after a 10 hour work day and short commute back to the campsite. Jen came up Thursday night and we hit another favorite restaurant of ours in Tupper Lake. It’s called Amado. Brazilian flair with several unique entrees to try out. We always enjoy it there! Pet friendly in certain sections too! We packed up the campsite some Thursday night and did the rest Friday morning. The trip was over! A successful one filled with special memories! MOONTABS!Adventure waits for us to discover it. The thrill of new destinations and the comfort of familiar settings. Balanced out and lived to the fullest! ✍️

Soundtracks

Posted on by

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.

The Many Changes Of A Season

Posted on by

March 20th. We have been maple sugaring for a full two weels now after tapping our first trees on Saturday March 5th. The weather continues to challenge our efforts with its roller coaster swings but we have managed to make some good quality syrup. Thursday’s temperature was a bit extreme though (70 degrees) and the nights have remained above freezing since. Zane and I decided to tap some additional trees Friday regardless since I feel it will boast our sap production this upcoming week as temperatures begin to drop at night. Freezing nights and warm days make for good sap flow typically. We targeted some of our larger maples that survived the 2016/2017 die off in two different sections of our former sugarbush. We call them the reserve trees. They have sat fallow for the last two seasons as we waited to assess the fate of our forest. The reserves sit in a mixture of dead ones sprinkled with the stumps of some we removed as part of the salvage project. It’s taken some mental acceptance to move forward in these devastated woods. It’s been heartening to note the number of young saplings that are going to replace the fallen giants in time. The trails continue to require clearing as the upper canopies continue to fall during each big wind event. It’s getting better in some sections though. This season many of our taps are on our neighbor Tom’s property again. Similar to last year actually. We call the trail system we carved out two years ago the “Big Loop”. It takes some time to gather all the buckets around it’s meandering route. There are four runs of “mini-tubes” that collect from small clusters of hard to reach trees. I have covered some of these facts in previous posts if you have been following our stories. At the moment we have close to 500 taps set after Friday’s work adding about 60 more. Things are pretty normal in the sugar house once we got set up and rolling. A leak in the drop flue back pan gave us some concern but luckily the fire sealed it off. We will need to have it reconditioned this summer after we finish up boiling. We still have plenty of firewood for the evaporator but will use up most of it if the season lasts long enough. We are using a dry slab wood/hardwood mix again this year. It works great at keeping the evaporator stoked. We usually need to fire up the evaporator twice between batches. Our old 4×10 foot unit produces about 2 gallons of syrup per hour average. A full storage tank of sap is about 400 gallons which translates into about 5 hours of actual work boiling. There’s lots of activity in the sugar house during a fully fired boil. Constant firewood to handle and move in from the attached woodshed. Jen or Zane usually assist with that when they are available. There’s hot syrup to strain and pack after each batch is drawn. I don’t sit much if I am working alone some days. The evaporator is a engine of sorts where the air damper acts as a carburetor and the firewood is the fuel. Keeping a steady constant boil takes practice but isn’t too difficult really once you learn the needs of the evaporator. Monitoring the flow of sap into the evaporator is crucial for maintaining the needs of the evaporator. This is accomplished with a simple device known as a float. The float rises and lowers with the evaporator level opening or closing a simple valve. Once set up it just needs to be watched. I listen for it actually. Immediately after firing the evaporation the boil intensifies and more sap enters the raw sap chamber of the back pan. This produces a certain sound that you learn to recognize as a properly functioning float system. You also learn to recognize when the sap trapped in the finishing pan gets close to becoming actual syrup. Tiny golden bubbles rise to the surface and prompt the operator to start testing the batch. We use a simple hydrometer in a test vial for hot testing boiling sap. It works fine and I keep a new one on hand to verify the accuracy of the one that I am actually using. All this may seem a little boring perhaps but this is a snapshot into a typical boiling day. We test each batch of syrup for color grade before tagging the containers for sale. I also taste test each batch for quality. Especially as we move into the mid-season and the sap quality deteriorates due to tree budding and increased bacteria count. No worries about the bacteria!They are destroyed in the intense boiling procedure and merely contribute to altering the color of the finished product. We have been producing good quality syrup to date that is graded as Amber Rich. Probably the favorite of the majority of our customers. Myself I prefer the hearty syrup that is graded as Dark Robust. Full maple flavor with a darker color. Eventually the syrup will pass into a commercial grade product that we will barrel up to sell. These are just a few of the changes we experience in any given syrup season. This year we are experiencing a number of other changes as well unrelated to the maple syrup season. Friends and family who are facing serious health issues and treatment decisions. Some who are losing their battles to ongoing health situations. I shun from politics on my blog but the state of world affairs at this moment is disturbing and troubling. All this things can burden the heart and dampen our spirits at times. They press on us and occupy our thoughts far too often. In the forest gathering sap and in the sugar house I seek a peaceful place of reflection where I try to count my blessings and find inner strength. Not just for myself but to help others as well. These are trying times and I seek to find a positive momentum forward. We are in the midst of great change. Both in reality and in season. Spirit energy can guide us I feel. To a place where we might relax with natural connection and wholesome reflection. Today we move forward into the ever changing syrup season of 2022.

The Run Of The Mill

Posted on by

I recently Goggled the term “rural heritage” to learn exactly what it means in terms of its usage today. It’s often used to describe buildings of historical nature. My usage differs as I use it to describe those things learned from living in close proximity to the soil. Not necessarily farming either. Rural heritage can span any number of subjects in the context that I freely employ. For me it’s a story of learning. One of family history and that of my own. It is a connecting piece of my story that has profoundly shaped my life in more ways than I sometimes even recognize.It’s easy to take for granted those things we associate with normal in our locales. Those things that we are accustomed to may not give us any pause for reflection. But when we engage in a conversation with someone who has lived in another part of the country or perhaps in a more urban setting we can suddenly realize our differences. Our normal may be very foreign to them. Our daily routines as we live out our existence in the places we call home could be considered “run of the mill” in terms of weather conditions and seasons. There’s a larger observation that deviates from my intended story. When I hear the term “run of the mill” something far different enters my mind. I think of a series of events that spans decades. The “run of the mill” in my life is a story uniquely my own. One with many gaps and unanswered questions. In my story are many small stories. I suppose they could be considered branch stories. True to the nature of my written work I leave clues buried in my stories for those who wish to dig deeper and search for larger meanings. In deeper reflection there can be a greater destination where a reader can arrive with a better understanding of themselves. I charge you the reader to remember your personal journey and your memories from that journey. As for this story? I hope to take you to a place of my youth where I can almost smell a certain memory! A story that revolves around a much younger me in the beginning. My memories are often gray in the misty years of time passage. It concerns me at times honestly. But that is another story. This I do remember and commit it to cyberspace.As a young boy we lived in a renovated farm house on the site of the original Washburn homestead in the Township of Macomb,New York. It’s the first place I ever lived and the source of my earliest memories.The house was set back from the road a short distance and had a huge lawn that was dominated by giant elm trees. Their sprawling branches nearly touched the ground in spots. They were a favorite nesting tree for families of colorful Baltimore Orioles each spring. The woven nests always amazed me as they swayed in the summer breezes. Our property also contained a small horse barn and two garages. Further back was a hay barn that was part of my grand parents dairy farm. We had a large garden area as well behind the house. I suppose I could write an entire post about my boyhood home at some point! My earliest and fondness memories are being outdoors playing in that large area. Some distance off was my grand parents large dairy barn. Beyond that their house and out buildings. A fence that surrounded our property was a boundary not to be crossed although as my parents would learn that my curiosity and desire to wander would challenge that boundary often. Living close to an operating farm was a source of ever changing sounds. Machinery and mooing cows. The milk truck with its throaty diesel as it slowly entered their bumpy farm driveway. But one noise stood out with a clarity all its own!The loud noise of the sawmill operated by my grandfather. I was taught to avoid the sawmill and the huge piles of logs in the stockpiles when visiting at my grandparents house. (I was there quite often as both my parents worked). My father would take me up to the sawmill sometimes and I was fearful of the large circular blade mill with its many moving parts. But the scents were the draw. Fresh pine sawdust from recently milled lumber in a huge stack where a drag chain piled it. Racks of milled lumber covering the ground in dimensional piles of certain lengths. And the logs. Everywhere.Always a big pile lined up on the landing where they were rolled onto the sawmill. My grandfather had built a large building that covered the entire operation. At the back there was a truck landing where slab wood and finished lumber could be loaded. It was large and intimidating to me in its layout. The building still exists to this day on my Uncle’s property but it’s only used for storage now. I have a faint memory of my father talking to my Grandfather about something while I stood safely beside him as my Grandfather throttled the engine down and the huge blade stopped spinning. Other than that I remember very little actually. But some memories still possess the ability to transport me. Those of playing in our lawn on crisp autumn days while searching the sky for migrating geese. I always hated going in at night! Winter memories also have retained their clarity. Cold and snow. Sleds and toboggans to slide down the steep hills in the pastures. One winter the snow became so crusted that we could walk on top and explore beyond the lawn. Far over back the pasture was covered in thick layers of slab wood where it was dumped each time the truck was full. I never got to really know my Grandfather all that well. He passed away when I was still quite young and the sawmill was no more. My two Uncles were too busy running the dairy farm to continue operating it. My parents moved us to our farm property about 1 mile away around 1970 and I lived there throughout high school. Sometime in the early to mid 1970s the elm on the farm began to die from Dutch elm disease. Everywhere elms of every size were dying in large numbers. My father decided to begin burning wood again in the farmhouse to use up the over abundance of dead wood. Some was used in the sugar house as well. It was during the fall and winter months of the 1970s that my training to become a woodman began in earnest. Most winter Saturdays were spent in the forests around the farm using a team of horses and a set of sleighs to draw loads of firewood. We also saved saw logs from some of the larger trees. One spring across the meadow from the farmhouse my father cleared out a huge section of large dead elms for logs. They were trucked to an Amish sawmill about 5 miles away on a wagon. The Amish had moved into our area and set up sawmills where they would do custom sawing if you delivered the logs. Elm is a heavy and difficult lumber to build with but very strong. It doesn’t hold up well to moisture though so must be used for interior construction. I spent a lot of time loading and unloading lumber from all those logs. Red elm was a prized saw log on the farm. They grew to large proportions and made wiry but strong lumber. One log in particular stands out in my memory. We labored long and hard to get it skidded out and loaded. That one log made an entire load for the mill. It sawed out nearly 1000 board feet of lumber! I learned a lot about hitching chains and skidding logs. The dangers of felling trees and chainsaw safety. I learned a variety of tricks for loading logs and safely binding them down for transport. My fear of sawmills hadn’t subsided entirely either.When we would deliver a load of logs to the Amish sawmill I would stand back and watched as the large circular blade ripped through logs at what seemed an unreasonable speed. The sawyer was an Amish named Ben Shetler. A friendly man who became good friends with my father. Ben’s manner of sawing was not my idea of fun I decided. Fast and furious! Regardless I learned to handle plenty of lumber at a safe distance from the blade. Eventually my father trusted me to draw loads of logs with the tractor to the sawmill. I learned how to unload them after marking them with our name and the “cut specs”. We used a simple lumber crayon to accomplish this necessary task. After unloading some logs I would need to load up any lumber that was ours and draw it home. I spent hours on a tractor in those days and wish I could remember more but much of that time escapes me. I just remember working very hard and how much I enjoyed working at the logging. Eventually the elms were mostly gone but occasionally we would find a dead one to salvage around the farm. My Dad used that tough elm lumber for everything around the farm. Once nailed in place it was almost impossible to break! Another memorable logging event occurred in my Uncle’s woodlot near Heuvelton, New York. My uncles hired my father to fell and skid out a large bunch of white pine logs. I loved the woodlot property! Sandy soil and low swampy sections full of blueberry bushes. Huge stands of white pine growths and stands of white birch and soft maple. Very different than the rocky ridges of our farm property. My father brought a single draft horse to skid the logs. A black Clydesdale/Percheron horse named Don. He was a true gentle giant! I was given the job of leading him to the log landing with single log hitches where the logs were loaded onto a truck owned by a bachelor named Claude Rayburn. I will write about him sometime! Don was such a good horse that he would actually pull a log to the landing without leading him! I don’t remember much more than that really. All I know is I found the logging venture fun and exciting! Beyond that the years on the farm continued with a “run of the mill” change of season and task. Each season with its own challenges and menial jobs to be performed. But the responsibilities I was given were to shape the form of the future me. I became more of a woodman. A farmer as well. I learned to care for cattle and horses. I became a lover of horses and riding. A great wanderer of all the surrounding land in an ever larger circle of travel. I hunted and trapped for fur. I was a wannabe mountain man I suppose. But my roots were grounded in nature and the many changes that awaited me would not tear those roots free. Yes I lived a run of the mill existence. One I treasure as a gift in my older years. The farm property is sacred ground to me. A place where I can go to escape in mundane task even now. There is a larger story that I will tell of logging and sawmills. But not today. It must be told with many words and great detail. For it is the second chapter of myself in a different time. A story of gains and losses. I must assemble the words with loving reverence.✍️

Manatees And Me

Posted on by

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

Posted on by

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.✍️

More Days Like These.

Posted on by

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

The Return

Posted on by

One of my favorite locations in the Adirondacks would have to be Bog River. It’s a location rich in history and a rather frequent subject of my writing. After paddling and camping there since 1998 I’d have to say it has a rich history for me as well. My administrator Gerry Washburn took a Facebook post of mine and used it for my first blog post. Simply titled Bog River Flow it told a small story. One Jennifer would enter some twenty years later when I took her there for a paddle in the fall of 2018. We return there a couple times a year since and have made some fabulous MOONTABS together! Last fall’s beaver interaction will be a memory that I shall cherish forever! There’s a certain energy that can be found there on an autumn day. A myriad of colors and scents as the daylight shortens each day. The beaver set a pace of urgency that a writer could lose him or herself in easily when entering their habitat. The beaver of Bog River Flow represent a constant. In harmony with the location itself. Perhaps that is the message I seek to bring to the reader. The lands and waterways of the Bog River Flow have changed little since my first foray there in August of 1998.What first brought me to this special place? Fish. The lure of big largemouth bass. Coworkers told me of camping there and catching fish. I was an avid angler in 1998 and drawn to the waters of the Adirondacks which were mostly unknown to me at that time. If you follow my posts you already know of my love of camping. The unknown expanses begged exploration. Summer was waning and Labor Day weekend was close when I decided to go for the very first time. It’s a story unto itself as I often write. Ones I promise to tell but sometimes fail to get together. But life moves forward quickly and other adventures take precedence. My stories are firmly secure in my memory and in the deeds of the past. They are much like an old jean jacket that I once owned. Faded but still very much something I treasured. Once again I take you the reader far from my path of intended subject! Perhaps I seek to paint the backdrop of a large and colorful canvas. One spanning decades now and a recent return to that treasured place of constant. This is a short story of this summer and three days of camping with good friends. It all started with a group message from my best bud Lawrence’s son Ryan. Ryan had some history of his own at Bog River Flow after camping with his Dad and us years ago. A mutual friend Greg had also joined us there several times. Ryan desired a reunion camping trip of sorts if we could organize one and get everyone together. Dates were chosen and penciled in on calendars. Easy for me the retiree and my student summer vacation son Zane. More challenging but doable for my working friends with a little careful planning on their end. As is often the fashion with a group of guys, the dates were chosen and little discussion followed for some time. As the dates closed in the details were finalized with a casual exchange of texts. This was nothing new to us. Greg,Lawrence, and I had a history of camping together. One that spanned more years than I cared to remember actually. We were the seasoned veterans of Adirondack camping trips. The bushmen of remote Canadian lakes. Our gear no doubt still carrying traces of those dusty logging roads that had taken us far from our normal routines. We had planned and organized. Cursed those things we forgot and thanked our buddies who had packed extra. We were more than friends having shared so very much over the years.We were coworkers at times. Tied to each other with family events and sorrow. We knew each other so very well and had the trust of years of friendship. We were the Band of Brothers. Our sons had joined in and enjoyed the so called “man trips”. All manners of shelter and conveniences or lack there of as was often the case. It was of little consequence for us thinking back. We adapted to the circumstances with a group energy of cooperation.We worked together as a collective drawing on each other’s particular talents and skills. We rarely argued despite our occasional differences of opinion. It was teamwork and mutual respect. That place of finding niches and occupying them with the attitude of benefiting the group objectives. We made MOONTABS that are secure in their timeline for ever more. This was our history. There was no need to overthink the packing and planning. We could assign simple lists and know that everyone would do their job. Solid foundations make for sturdy structures. Little more need be said of our planning. The weather for the day of our departure proved favorable which was a big surprise as this summer has been less than dry. We picked a time to meet at the lower dam access point and hoped parking would be available. It’s a bit crowded at times and tough to get a vehicle off the narrow gravel road that leads to a small parking lot. Zane and I were a little behind schedule that Monday morning and arrived to find the others already there unloading their camping gear. We exchanged some quick greetings and began to unload in earnest. There were some other paddlers filling up the small section of beach just above the dam where we would launch once it was open. We staged our gear just above them and as our piles grew so did my anxiety. Six guys,a dog,and all that gear needed to fit into two canoes for the most part. The two small kayaks would carry some of it but it seemed like a Herculean task next to the pile of gear!As the other paddlers began to depart, Zane and I placed our canoe on the beach’s edge near our stash of gear. We loaded our gear easily into our sixteen foot Old Town that is actually called the “Camper” model.We assisted the rest of group after and even added some of their gear into our canoe.Lawrence has a large seventeen foot aluminum canoe that is capable of holding a lot of gear fortunately. But the problems multiplied quickly when it became apparent that much of their gear was packed into plastic totes of various sizes. We had some of our gear in totes as well but much less of it.The rounded,narrow sides of canoes don’t favor large,bulky rectangular objects. Loose,flexible packages fit in well around the totes and coolers. Lawrence’s canoe soon began to resemble an ocean bound cargo container ship as the plastic totes began to pile up.A revolving debate ensued as several different packing attempts took on the appearance of a geometric table top game. Zane and I continued to add gear onto our already well loaded canoe after cautious deliberation. Eventually I was forced to refuse any further infusion of awkwardly shaped camping gear and suggested to Zane a test paddle in shallow water. Once the dog had settled we found ourselves a little off balance but seaworthy to a degree. Our destination was over a mile away and balance would be key!Ryan and his cousin Matthew easily floated in their lightweight kayaks. It all was coming down to that critical moment when Greg and Lawrence would attempt their launch. Zane and I sat a short distance away watching it all play out.The final countdown! Mission control we have a launch! They are floating and in motion! No wait! Abort mission! They have turned back! We paddled back to find them unloading the canoe once again. Only one viable decision remained after that. A second trip would be necessary. So gear was stacked on shore and our small flotilla headed upstream finally. Shortly after leaving the small reservoir by the dam behind the river chokes down into a narrow channel with the forest rising high above on both sides. It’s somewhat dark and cool there even on a sunny morning. The scents hit you with a sudden clarity. The rich evergreen smells of balsam and pine mixed with the slightly organic scent of water as your paddle slices through it. I always take a moment to let it all sink in at this point. The trip is solidly underway and adventure waits for us upstream on the pond known as Hitchin’s. We hoped to find an open campsite there that could accommodate our group. We passed the earlier group of paddlers who had stopped to consult their map. We moved along quite quickly given our well laden watercraft sitting low in the water. I took Zane through a couple lily pad covered shortcuts to save a little paddling and we kept pace with the group easily. The river widened into a wide swampy series of small ponds in a couple spots before we reached the old railroad trestle. I don’t know the history of the railroad but it’s being made into a trail system now. It’s ties and tracks removed recently.It’s never been used in the years I’ve paddled there. I’ve always thought of it as the halfway point of the paddle but will bear no responsibility to accuracy of that statement. Some time later I began to feel the constant paddling begin to tire my arms some and called on Zane to “bend into it!”. I’ve used a kayak paddle to paddle a canoe for many years now. It’s a great workout and I find it very effective. As we passed the final corner just before the pond itself I looked for the high ledges that sit off to the west. Also a constant of the flow. They always invoke a certain feeling in me that I can’t truly explain. I always look back at them on the return trip as well. A time and earthly constant connection perhaps that defies words but touches a spirit nerve. It’s one of those “if only” moments.If only I could pass that feeling into you. The rise of rock beyond the forest where sky and clouds meet with picturesque perfection. We float and paddle far below under those open skies.It’s a point where I truly enter the adventure. We have entered a realm of natural beauty and now seek out our short term home. The entire area is beautiful but the pond setting pulls everything together. We gazed up the pond hoping to find our favorite site vacant and sent Ryan ahead to scout it out for us. A second closer site was available if necessary but we deemed it too small for the group if we wished to have plenty of space.It wasn’t too long before we heard Ryan’s shout of conquest! He had secured the site.The group soon reached the gravel beach just below the site. It’s actually part of an old road that served some purpose during the years of the Low’s Dynasty. There are a couple beaver ponds that lie just behind the old road. The culvert under the road plugged and deserted years ago. I read that one of the ponds was actually a bass pond that was constructed as part of the Low’s compound for the guests of the fishing lodge. Apparently it breached and the bass were released into Hitchin’s Pond. Ultimately to decimate the trout population. Our campsite sat further up the old road in a clearing that offers a spectacular view of the pond. Well trodden and used often by campers firewood is extremely scarce in the forest there. The previous campers had left some ridiculously large logs that they had attempted to burn unsuccessfully. Of no concern to me as I had already spotted some much better and readily available wood nearby. A previous camper had constructed a crude table next to a tree. It was rather cleverly constructed using some imported plywood and beaver sticks. Apparently they had planned for some sort of construction.