The Return

Posted on August 16, 2021August 30, 2021 by Greg Washburn

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.

The Last Day

Posted on July 29, 2021July 29, 2021 by Greg Washburn

The simple words of my title likely mean different things to different people. Perhaps it’s the last day to get a project completed. Or the deadline for a bill or payment. The last day of school. ( something I always enjoyed!)Or maybe it’s the last work day of the week for you! Friday for many folks who have weekend plans. It could even be that last day before you head off on a vacation. There’s a certain energy that follows that last day before a vacation that only working people truly appreciate. On a more somber note maybe it’s the last day for you to take a medication. Or your last day of chemo treatment. I find myself needing to mention that today. Health is on my mind. Not mine. But that of people I know. Those hit hard by health issues. I could head down a somewhat different path than I originally intended quite honestly. It’s a rather troubling fact of life and of the end of it.I acknowledge the struggles so many face and honor your courage here on my page.This week Tuesday was a last day for me. The end of living in the Adirondacks on campgrounds since July 10th. I remained the sole occupant of our campsite. Everyone else had gone home for one reason or another.Lucky for me I still had the dogs Stella and Gracie close by to keep me company! Jennifer had left just that morning and it was very strange being the only one there. I continued packing up the miscellaneous items that were no longer needed to save time on Wednesday morning as I needed to leave the site by 10am. The day had started calm and somewhat sunny but as noon approached the sky began to darken with heavy clouds. A damp chill settled in and a message from Jennifer mentioned rain was inevitable by afternoon. Phone service is unreliable and unpredictable in this part of the Adirondack park so I was lucky it got through to me at all! I found my mood getting as dark as the slowly approaching clouds. My last day and it was going to rain yet again! I had planned on an exploratory paddle into Floodwood Pond with the dogs. My choices were before me and a decision needed to be made. I considered sitting in the Airstream and drafting a blog post. Always a decent use of time but not when I had gotten interested in an adventure first. Leaving was an option also. I thought about packing up everything and hooking onto the coach. I’d being using my time productively I figured. The unknown provided the answer to the decision in the end. The fact that I had no clue how much it was going to rain or how long even. Adirondack weather has been fickle this summer. But it was the greatest unknown that would truly set me in motion. Floodwood Pond. Zane and I had explored a tiny piece of it just a week ago on a loop paddle. Jennifer and I had explored the upper part of it months ago. The sections that were still new to me held a certain draw. Sure I had looked at a map! But not extensively. I prefer to understudy as opposed to the opposite. It keeps things more exciting for us and adds to the sense of adventure. Not studying a map had led us to Rock Pond days earlier. I was pretty sure we were headed to Floodwood Pond that afternoon as we fought our way up a narrow waterway filled with beaver dams and abundant aquatic plants choking the passage. I forced us to retreat backwards after we found no passage through eventually. We had struggled up a chilly,narrow channel after leaving a pond we knew couldn’t be Floodwood. Our voyage ceased at an ancient beaver pond with no channel leading anywhere. It was breathtakingly remote and wild. Fresh and totally absent of human activity. Quietly sitting at the base of a large ridge in a rounded swampy basin of sorts. Our second dead end that afternoon where the daylight was fading along with our strength. We fought our way back out,paddled back to camp, and later studied our map. We had paddled to Rock Pond we learned! Good for a laugh at that point as we headed to the shower house to clean up and shed our muddy, soaked clothing. Perhaps it sounds a little reckless but traveling upstream on water leaves little chance of getting lost when returning the same direction as you come in. So maps are optional many times. Tuesday afternoon would find me enthralled with the prospect of the unknown. I quickly packed some drinks, a spare sweatshirt, fire making devices, and stuffed everything into a waterproof dry sack. I tossed in a small handsaw as well. It began to seriously rain as I prepared to launch the canoe. No thunder or lightning so I loaded the dogs and we left the campsite behind us. The rain intensified and we passed two kayakers returning to their campsites. The pond was quiet with most campsites devoid of human activity. Their boats and kayaks beached securely as they hunkered down in tents and campers. Some had their fires burning near tarp shelters and the smoke hung just above the trees. A faint,foggy mist hovered on the surface of the pond as large rain drops sent out thousands of tiny ripples. I felt warm and cozy inside my raincoat! Strong and confident. Ready for the probe into new waters. The temperature had dropped some but I gauged it well within safety margins. I knew better than to underestimate an Adirondack July but felt that I was well equipped. I ran the small outlet that leads from Rollins Pond into Floodwood Pond as it was running high from all the recent rain. Much easier than the canoe carry and faster! Not to mention fun! The dogs hunkered down oblivious to the steadily pouring rain. As I reached the main body of Floodwood Pond I began to feel a slight discomfort as my rain jacket began to soak through finally. A mixture of sweat and water running off my hair. I had thrown my hood back for better visibility some time earlier. There was smoke rising from several primitive campsites on Floodwood Pond and the scents reached me out on the water. The sweet, pitchy smell of burning evergreen mixed with the more pungent smell of damp hardwoods. The distinctive scent of burning birch suddenly made me think of the warmth next to those fires! There are several privately owned camps along the shores of the pond and one had woodsmoke billowing from a chimney. The occupants dry and comfortable inside no doubt waiting for the weather to break. The rain fell steady and the temperature continued to drop. My discomfort grew somewhat but I pressed on into sections of the pond that were new to me. I overtook a couple of older gentleman fishing from a canoe. Clad in full rain suits and as determined as me to salvage their day.We exchanged greetings and laughed about the weather. I found an inlet dumping into the pond and headed up to explore. Beaver dams forced me to get out and drag the canoe forward. Gracie jumped out of the canoe and waded along with me. She was forced to swim in the deeper sections. Stella stayed calm never once jumping out. The inlet narrowed dramatically and I decided to turn back since I was soaked. It was really starting to cool down. I donned my dry sweatshirt and put my soggy rain jacket back on over it. Definitely time to return I decided as the Icewalker’s Motto echoed in my chilly head: the distance traveled in must be traveled out. My own words that I never forget. Summer is a much safer time of year to explore but it’s still best not to ignore a chilled body! We quickly paddled back to the outlet creek of Rollins Pond but first I stopped to gather some resin wood from an old stump. It would be handy later for my evening fire. We skipped the canoe carry again and I pushed the canoe up the creek against the current in the still pouring rain. I gathered a few awesome beaver sticks that had washed up on the sandy banks from a high water event. We found Rollins Pond empty of any watercraft. The dogs and I had become the only paddlers. Now very wet and chilled yet happy in the moment. We reached our beach and took shelter immediately after I unloaded the firewood. I was quite cold by this time so I ditched my wet clothing and turned on the furnace in the Airstream. The heat was wonderful! The rain slowed some and with dry clothing in place I kindled the fire with the aid of some dry birch bark. The somewhat wet resin wood did the trick and my fire surged with fragrant abundance. I had made the most of my last day! Not the most comfortable but certainly fun in its challenge! The rain returned eventually and forced me inside where I prepared a warm meal as the rain pounded the metal rooftop of the coach. A staticky radio played some old eighties music and I reflected on my time living in the Adirondacks this summer. I remembered the many trips when we had no camper. Our time in the Canadian bush cabins next to a wood stove. We lived with savage intent. Tarps and leaky tents at times. Emerging to face cold and uncomfortable days. We made it happen and left with a greater appreciation of nature in the end. So many stories and memories! MOONTABS!The older me loves the comforts of the camper. But the future will find me far from it. Wet and cold. Embracing the hardship for all it has ever meant and all it still can mean.For adventure is addictive and intoxicating in ways not everyone can understand. I hope it never leaves me. This powerful draw of the unknown destination and the need to challenge myself. I have a willing partner in Zane! Jennifer in a similar capacity. It won’t be easy or always cozy. That’s ok. The inner core burns as hot as resin wood. Bright and fragrant in the realms of the five senses where the sixth sense waits to surround us with invisible spirit energy. To that we run. In nature we live our finest days and become our truest selves. It is the unfinished work of a lifetime this endless wander of discovery.

The Subtle Art Of Camp Life

Posted on July 24, 2021July 24, 2021 by Greg Washburn

July presses forward with somewhat unseasonal weather here in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. The rains have dominated the forecast and pound the area with incessant,unrelenting frequency. Our soggy debut camping trip of six days at the end of June left us more experienced with boondocking in the Airstream but found us regrouping with a more weather focused preparation. We purchased additional tarps and light tethering ropes. We retired the screen house in favor of a larger steel framed garage sale tent. We only had six days before leaving our staging area in Jennifer’s yard and heading back up to the Adirondacks for our next trip. The forecast was anything but promising but we decided that canceling was not an option. Jennifer had toiled hard to secure the dates through a cancellation website. Giving up wasn’t an option for us at any rate. We headed out on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The truck fully loaded with gear, a kayak, and canoe pulling the Airstream. Jennifer’s car also fully loaded with gear. Sporting a canoe on top and two dogs in the back. We were a party of four. Jennifer,Zane,Garrett (Jennifer’s nephew), and myself.The dogs Stella and Greaser. Coolers,drinks, and all sorts of dry goods. A fully loaded refrigerator and freezer in the coach. The cupboards and drawers packed in advance. Jennifer is a fabulous planner and organizer. She’s set up the travel coach for efficiency and order.It remained up to us to learn the locations of the different things we’d need as the days unfolded. Our camping locations are state parks without full hook ups so there’s a little extra planning on my end of things. We need the generator and extra gas for it. I use a plastic siphon to gas up my generator. It’s clean and efficient.Better than a funnel I feel.We checked in at our campground then headed to our site after a quick stop to fill the 40 gallon water tank of our coach. I prefer to travel with minimal fresh water on board. At 7 pounds plus per gallon it adds a lot of weight to the trailer.Next came my least favorite part! Backing the trailer into the campsite! We like camping in forested parks so the abundance of trees makes for tricky parking at times. It’s a group effort with spotters on both sides. It’s always a relief once I get it close! We then work together to get it level side to side and front to back. We employ a variety of plastic ramp pieces and pieces of lumber. It gets easier with experience! Front to back is never a problem with the electric tongue jack doing all the work! We begin to work separately after that as I finish the final coach setup. The camp takes shape fairly quickly once the large tent site is chosen. It takes a couple hours of brisk activity to get everything in order in a manner that flows. The boys settle into their space after blowing up air mattresses and rolling out sleeping bags. Our bedroom area is set up permanently at this point so that saves us time! The cooking/dining tent is a vital part of our camp. It cuts down on traffic in and out of the coach. We also have learned to set up an outdoor dishwashing station behind the coach. I mentioned much of this in a recent post but there’s a direction of thought here that begs reflection. It’s that point early in the trip where you settle into a sort of informal daily routine. We spend most of the day outside if the weather is favorable. Cooking and dining both. Evenings find us close to the campfire talking about the adventures of the day. We don’t always do everything as a group. It just depends on the activities that are chosen for any given day. I suppose it’s the use of my time each day that takes me into a pensive forest of thought. I very quickly adapt into a life of late evenings and late mornings. I find myself sleeping in longer. Eight hours in bed sometimes. Very different than the four to five hours of sleeping each night during my working years. I find myself feeling as if I am wasting time or missing out.Perhaps I am still too driven to truly relax. After all time can be a nemesis for me as you may know if you follow my stories. I’m trying to overcome these strange thoughts but it’s going to take some time it appears. A typical morning has certain tasks that must be performed. Perked coffee the first order of business. Much more time consuming than a Keurig but very tasty! Generators can’t be started prior to 9am. The boys sleep late so breakfast becomes a daily brunch. Today we didn’t eat until almost noon! The morning walk to the toilet and drive to the shower house. Our daily activities begin after 1pm many days. Rarely before 11am. Sometimes brunch is early with no cooking at all. Today is day thirteen here for me. We were supposed to go home after six days but Jennifer picked up some cancellations that tied two separate trips together. We actually moved to an adjacent site for one night last Friday. Talk about tear down and set up! We didn’t need to set up the tents at least! Then the kicker! The site we vacated remained empty that night! The whole reservation system is a mess in my opinion! Reserve America? How about we focus on New York State? But that takes us down the dark trail of negativity so let’s get back on track! When I stop and take a solid inventory of my days here where exactly did my time get spent? Most definitely on camp chores. The constant rain events keep us scrambling to dry towels and gear. We had a couple of somewhat destructive rain and wind events. The one two nights ago nearly destroyed our cooking tent.It hit suddenly and fiercely with little warning. It had been a rather lovely day. Warm and humid with a mix of sun and clouds. Zane and I had spent several hours paddling what’s known as the Floodwood Loop. Very fun with two short canoe carries. We had just gone to the shower house to clean up when the storm hit. Jennifer and Garrett rescued the tent and a bunch of our gear. We returned to help salvage the cooking tent and reset it. The boys sleeping tent and large tarp above weathered the storm like nothing happened! Regardless those types of storm events keep us busy! Zane and I have spent quite a bit of time paddling and hiking during the time he’s been here. It’s been in and out some for my three companions here with the endless details back home that can’t be avoided. I’ve pretty much put life back in the valley on hold these last thirteen days. One thing that takes time here is getting to town to get decent cell phone and internet service. We basically need to drive into Tupper Lake to do that most days. We double down picking up necessities like milk and ice. Firewood if we run low. It gives us a little diversity at times. Zane and I often need to drive to reach our hiking trailheads so we do our business on the way. Our most recent hike was up Catamount Mountain. It turned into quite the ordeal when we got separated from the dog on a tough rock scramble! It pretty much finished our day by the time we bushwhacked our way back out after losing the trail while retrieving Gracie. We learned a valuable lesson of teamwork and the importance of not getting separated! We didn’t return until after 7pm and a thunderstorm drove us into the coach. It was one of those nights where we were glad to have it’s kitchen and sleeping amenities! I think it may take some post camp life living to truly reflect on our time spent here. The days run together here and time passes much too fast. I need to run home for a few days before returning for the last three days of our reservation on this site.Today a north born wind chills me when the sun hides behind a cloud for a moment. The clothesline sways and our items finally dry! All is well and the afternoon awaits our decision of how best to spent the remainder of our day. Evening will require the second meal of the day to be crafted. Dishes and the purring generator recharging the batteries. A carefully laid fire if the rains don’t return. Camp life as I have never known it continues for the moment. How best to describe it and honor those moments remains the writer’s challenge. For the hours become rambling and difficult to follow at times in their silent passage. I don’t watch the clock here. I watch the sky and track the movement of the sun if we’re lucky enough to view it. Life flows with the daylight and the darkness. And if I sleep long and deep perhaps I need it. Leaving the race has been a challenge. Not to worry. I always seem to find my way back onto the track for a time. The home on wheels can’t stay here forever nor can we. The energy lives in the forward motion. This life that has become MOONTABS In Motion.Places of outdoor beauty where loons cry and waves gently lap on sandy shores. I try to find my balance here as these summer days tick past. I pull out my map and gaze upon the many unknown waterways that wait for us to explore them. And fondly remember those we know now. The dashes of untraveled trails on a map call with an urgency at times. Perhaps the drive represents more than I can understand at this moment in time. I must enter the now and count my small blessings. To question is to learn new answers. To follow the heart brings passion and love into the light. It is enough this simple existence.The spirit energy will fuel the journey.The stories will follow.

The Happy Campers

Posted on July 15, 2021July 16, 2021 by Greg Washburn

Summer is in full swing! Mid July already.Day six camping here in a wooded state campground in the Adirondacks where I finally take a moment to write. Looking around I can safely make some fairly accurate observations. The “happy campers” surround us. A medley of human diversity and age. A joining together of fellow campers with a variety of gear specific to their personalities. Tents,travel trailers,and motor homes spread across the grounds of this large campground. One thing is very apparent. All types of people gather here. Senior citizens quietly sitting,biking,and walking.Large groups of rowdy party types laughing and hooting as the evening approaches. The family groups. Babies, children and adolescents. The water lovers.Speed boats pulling tubers and skiers. Pontoon boats cruising and checking out all the campsites. Kayakers and canoe enthusiasts. Stand up paddlers and floating inflatables. Those who take time to fish the abundant ponds here. Some are enamored with their shiny towing hardware. Cruising the campsite roads trying to attract attention with horsepower,music, and horns. We’ve thrown ourselves in the mix with our Airstream travel coach parked securely in our reserved space with our boundaries marked by a clothesline covered with towels in a flapping flight of privacy. Different to me this manner of camping but I am growing accustomed to it. The mornings quiet and slow to come to life. The pond calm and still. The time of the loons although I question their choice of home turf with all the boats and jet skis.People begin heading off to the wash rooms and shower facilities. Dry or soaked in this game of weather and circumstance. Plenty of dog lovers out and doing their “duty” walks. The joggers and walkers. Coffee sippers relighting their fires from the former evening. Eventually the vehicles take to the campground street headed to unknown destinations. It’s a late rising sun of energy. Noise the normal here over the course of any given day. There are no full hookup sites here so generators quietly charge batteries sometimes roaring when someone loads them heavily. Constant chopping sounds of fire building folks as afternoon fades to evening. Smoke rises in all directions often hovering over the water like a scented blanket.As the daylight dwindles the campfires glow and twinkle as laughter crosses the water. The happy campers enter the twilight phase as campground enters the realm of nighttime. It’s that time when most engage with the flickering campfire flames and dancing shadows that bounce off the trees and forest canopies. The boats return to anchor. The water calms as darkest comes. Predictable almost until possibly a tricked-out pontoon boat hits the cruise. Party folks relinquish the light with stubborn perseverance it seems. Quiet comes eventually as we retreat to the coach to settle for the night. Zane and Garrett head to Jennifer’s large condo tent where they each enjoy a separate room if they happen to be with us. A routine develops after a day or so. The frantic first day set up forgotten until the last day tear down. We try to work as a team in camp sharing the various responsibilities. Similar to many folks here we brought a separate pole tent that covers our picnic table and serves as an outdoor cooking area as well. Handy when the rainstorms come. We sealed two sides in with tarps to weather proof it further. We hope to purchase one like some of the other campers have set up. Four sided affairs that can totally block out the weather. We are gaining ground as newbie travel coach owners. We add to our gear and continually try to improve our camp life experience. We have the ability to cook inside the Airstream but prefer to make our meals and dine outside mostly. Rain events drive us inside and it’s nice to have the option of using the stove and microwave! We also leaned after our debut trip that setting up a dishwashing station behind the coach makes for a better quality experience. We use a folding camp table next to our outside shower spray head. Hot water and cold. We are fortunate enough to have a water spigot right in front of our site! Handy for filling jugs and the rinse water dish pan. Since we are basically boondocking we need to watch the volume of flow into our gray and black water tanks. We have adapted quickly I feel and have had no trouble to date. I call our manner of boondocking “hybrid” since we use the park facilities for toilets and showers. It works out well for us! The properly set up camp assures that we are truly happy campers! The weather certainly can change our attitudes at times but it’s to be expected when you try to live outdoors. We prepare for the rain as much as possible and regroup after every storm. Some folks however become the unhappy campers! We see blown over tents and soaked gear as we drive to the shower house. “Tarp worlds” sagging and torn from the wind. The energy of the returning sun finds people digging out and drying their possessions. Then there’s the other type of unhappy camper! The ones who fail to notice overhanging trees along the campground roads until they rip their awning or other parts of their rigs. Pull ahead with their trailer jacks still extended as one fellow did the other day. Some wedge their rigs into impossible places to the point of having trouble getting them back out onto the road! I truly admire the driving skills of some who get backed onto tight places! Backing into the site makes me rather anxious even with the camera systems on the truck and coach. It’s a team moment that counts! A lot goes into getting that happy camper atmosphere built. The good thing about this location is the ability to paddle beyond the range of where the motor boats are allowed. There’s also a few nice hiking trails here. There’s certainly an abundance of hiking trails within a short driving distance here near Tupper Lake,N.Y. Zane and I hiked Coney and Goodman mountains a couple days ago on a very cloudy day. Easy and fairly short hikes both well under four miles round trip. Super views from the top of both. We also did a little fishing recently. We didn’t have much luck until we embarked on a late afternoon paddle into a remote pond. We returned with three barely legal bass and good stories of the ones that got away! We stayed out way to late and didn’t make it back to camp until after dark. I cooked the fish the next day over a hardwood fire in a large cast iron skillet. Well worth the trip we took and a tasty appetizer for our evening meal! Happy campers most definitely! It’s a typical sunny day here as I write this post. Boats pulling tubers and people floating on the gentle waves. We love our waterfront site and have quiet neighbors. We are the happy campers provided everyone follows our simple camp rules! Jennifer maintains a certain expectation of camp protocol and I respect her dedication to adherence to the rules! It takes some perseverance to keep a camp from falling into chaos. I drafted a name for camp today! “Camp 4C”. It means cleanliness,consideration,cooperation,and concentration. I realize that as a father I must lead by example if I expect our group to be happy campers. I wrote it for my benefit primarily. To serve as a daily reminder of the importance of thinking of others feelings and well being. I hope this simple name will serve us well for many years to come! I hope Zane and Garrett copy it. Carry it forward like a torch of positivity. Einstein once said that we never fail until we quit trying. Agreed! I wish for those who camp with me to have many happy MOONTABS! Especially my ADK Girl Jennifer! The Queen of her coach! Our adventure continues tomorrow as we tear down and reset the camp for one night before moving to a new location nearby. A new happy camper will occupy our site and I sincerely wish them well! We will pass many campsites on the way to reach ours Saturday. We share a common thread with these unknown strangers. We smile and wave. Always say hello. We make every attempt to be good neighbors and good stewards of this special place. We are blessed! For a time we are living in our beloved Adirondack Mountains! We must make this fleeting days of summer count in every way possible. As teachers and as students in this school of coexistence. I make a solemn pledge this day to make camp life better for those who join me here. That way we all become the happy campers!

What’s Over The Next Hill?

Posted on June 21, 2021June 21, 2021 by Greg Washburn

The simple words of a title can’t always capture the passion that inspires a story or even come close. Several weeks ago my short and sweet post titled Glamping would break the ice and provide a tiny background into my love of camping. In my desire to seize the moment and hurl myself into the realms of nature all else can fade somewhat. The words must wait as I chase the daylight across the sky. For there is intense energy in the poetry of motion and the magic that waits for us in the great outdoors. It’s as much a part of me as anything. As for the title of this post the words are borrowed. They will forever belong to a man named Wally Byam. I borrow them with respect for they truly resonate within my inner spirit. Who was Wally Byam? He was the creative energy,passion,and founder of the Airstream Company. You’ve no doubt see their signature travel trailers as you journey the highways of North America. Their metal hulls instantly recognizable and truly unique.Why my sudden interest and connection to Airstream? The story is much deeper than even I realized until today. It wasn’t until I visited the Airstream home page and read the story of Wally Byam that I could truly appreciate my connection to his words. Wally’s Creed. Powerful and meaningful to me.It sends a shiver up my spine and adds fuel to a fire that has always burned. As for the video Airstream created it’s remarkable! Check it out! The camera footage of vintage tow vehicles and travel trailers alone makes it worth watching! Why the sudden interest in the Airstream story and Wally Byam? I will need to back up for that one for a few paragraphs. Traveling was not a big part of my childhood or adolescent years. We never owned a travel trailer or even camped.I was the lover of camping! The thousands of acres surrounding us provided ample space for me to explore. Books and magazines connected me to far off destinations. Historically speaking, I have always secretly regretted not being born in the 1800s. Tales of explorers and fur trappers out on those wide expanses of America would trigger my imagination. Western novels of the old west as well. Ranches and cattle drives. Alaska and the frontiers of fortune. Our mom loved to travel but it was hard to get our Dad to vacation so our Aunt Betty Washburn traveled with us! We toured parts of upstate New York and the New England states as far up as Maine. Great memories that time turns hazy as years pass and the decades run together. After our Mom died our father eventually decided that we needed a family vacation around 1978. We left in a giant Ford Mercury. A boat of a car! Two weeks on the road would take us to Arizona and back. The Grand Canyon,the Painted Desert, and the Petrified Forest baked into my memory in the dry,arid lands so very different than home. I loved the experience although towards the end I was rather burned out by the daily long distance itinerary. Miles and miles of travel. Motel rooms and sometimes sketchy restaurants that challenged the digestive tract!But I’ve always treasured that road vacation as it was the only one we ever did together. Our Father’s job,the farm, and my sister’s entrance into college were all factors in lives dictated by time. By work and schedule. Overall the trip broadened my horizons considerably. On the roads we passed the Airstream trailers. “Sardine Cans” our father called them!Fast forward many years. 2012. The Alaska road trip towing a used travel trailer with a new Ford 3.5L Ecoboost power plant. I’d never lost my imagination or desire to travel and with the approach of my birthday it was time. Age 50 was one I’d be taking seriously. Time and travel had been grabbed in small pieces until that 5 week road trip.The trailer was sold in Alaska and never replaced in the frantic years that followed. But retirement in November 2017 changed the game. Zane and I threw ourselves in camping and hiking in the Adirondacks. I met Jennifer.A woman who’s love of travel equals if not surpasses my own. We’ve discussed traveling many times. We’ve experienced some fabulous family vacationing in the Adirondacks and once in California together. The drive to branch out and head off to new places has intensified since the events of 2020 forced restrictions that halted long distance travel.This year we began to seriously consider purchasing a travel trailer or Rv after I sold my home of 6 years. Hours upon hours of research. Endless reviews complete with purchaser horror stories. Indecision began to steal the fun from the moment. Buy new or used? Which brand? Certain ones were impossible to locate and would require waiting almost a year if one was ordered! We found a decent used one that we decided would work this year. We’d order our new one and have it in the spring in time for summer travel. But the deal feel through suddenly and without warning much to my dismay. I began to search once again. I looked at a few new ones here in the St. Law. Co. area but nothing felt right. No offense but there are some rather disposable travel trailers out there. I recently read that the average life of some travel trailers is a mere 15 years! Yikes! Not a good investment considering the cost. I wasn’t thrilled with any of the used travel trailers we located near us. It was a very disappointing moment for me! But the energy of the universe works in mysterious ways. I suddenly began considering an Airstream for the first time. Call it that gut feeling we sometimes get. I previously had felt that an Airstream was beyond our reach as a sensible investment but as I researched every aspect of them I decided that we should try and find one! There were several key factors that factored into that long term investment of features, and quality.Finding one proved somewhat difficult however. But I was not easily deterred once I decided that an Airstream was the perfect fit for my long term vision of MOONTABS. My search led me to Colton Rv in Orchard Park, New York just outside of Buffalo. They had 4 used Airstreams for sale so I made the 4 hour plus trip down on a Tuesday morning just planning to look. I had never stepped into an Airstream despite my researched familiarity with their floor plans and accessories. I ended up buying one! The experience deserves a more detailed post. There’s an energy that lead me there having never read Wally Byam’s words until today. I need to ponder it and try to get the story right! The dream of MOONTABS can be found in the life of Wally Byam and what his company has represented since 1931. Honestly, I still haven’t totally gotten used to the fact that we now own an Airstream and it’s parked in Jennifer’s yard being prepped for a trip! The time spent researching a travel coach purchase is behind us. The open road is there ahead of us! We’re proud of our decision and all it represents for the MOONTABS dream!Watch for an upcoming post showcasing the life of Airstream founder Wally Byam,Colton Rv, and the Airstream family of travel coach’s! It’s inspiring to say the least! As for my connection to Wally Byam? My word’s as a young boy quoted back to me by our father eerily and similarly echoed in a quote of his. They were penned by me in November of 2017. My story is called “The Other Side of the Hill”. I leave you with Wally’s quote: “Keep your eyes on the stars,and the stars in your eyes…see if you can find out what’s over the next hill, and the next one after that.” (Does that give you a shiver or pause to reflect?)I feel I made the right choice without even knowing why. Spirit energy? Or simple coincidence? I chose the energy every time now. It’s going to be a wild ride my friends!✍️

Glamping

Posted on May 17, 2021May 17, 2021 by Greg Washburn

I have spent many years camping since my early boyhood adventures shortly after we moved to the farm around 1970. My first campsites were primitive but carefully chosen for their rock formations or views. The locations scattered across the one hundred plus acre of the farm. Little or no evidence remains of those sites these days. Maybe a few fire circles crafted of gathered rocks that nature continues to reclaim with each passing year. Some day to transition back into their former state of wildness. They will only exist in the hazy depths of my memory. I show some of them to Zane on our many wanderings in Macomb. As a well seasoned camper since his earliest memories they hold little allure to him as actual camping destinations. He’s conditioned to mountains and waterways where more abundant activities abound. But as boy I didn’t have the benefits of those distant locations. My father wasn’t a camper but encouraged my love of it. None the less I enjoyed many adventures within walking distance. I learned to prepare and pack for an overnight trip where I would need to prepare dinner, build a fire, and try to escape the hordes of biting mosquitoes. My trusty basset hound Hush Puppy would often be my only companion although as I got older my friends began to join me. As for my shelters they varied from simple leanto structures constructed with an old canvas tarp and poles of wood to a small pup tent I got on my 12th birthday. 46 years later I still possess that tiny shelter of countless memories as only a hoarder type can enjoy. In time my wanderlust expanded and with a driver’s license,bigger tents, and added camping equipment the destinations crept out to new terrain. My friends joined in and we had some pretty crazy times out there. The tempting warm days of spring where mornings would cover the landscape with blankets of frost. Blistering hot summer nights where it was almost impossible to sleep with hundreds of buzzing mosquitoes attempted to breach the tent screen. Chilly fall storms and freezing temperatures would find us hunkered by the campfire. Offering silent prayers to the sky that morning would find us dry. But I remained ever passionate and true to my love of the outdoors. The wet gear was dried. Dirty clothes and bodies washed clean. The discomforts would be forgotten and the next adventure would take form in the mind.Many stories live within this story and probably should be written in time. Years passed and I became a more experienced and well traveled camper at any rate. It wasn’t until 2012 that I would enter the world of I call “glamping”. We purchased a used 19 ft travel trailer and a new truck for an extended road trip to Alaska. That too is a unique story. I took to the life of a camper traveler quite quickly actually. Not without a serious and stressful learning curve! I survived the trial and made the 4600 mile to Alaska safely with family intact. After a 2 week stay we made the decision to sell the trailer in Wasilla after our friend’s dad said he’d help us accomplish that objective. That would end my ownership of a travel trailer every since. But that brief life of adventure has never left my heart or my mind. It tugs like an invisible magnet and lifts my inner spirit. The road calls and many of my questions I offer into a sleepless night may be answered out there somewhere in those vast and wild expanses. It is my life long passion to wander and seek the unknown. That story is written in my short story “The Other Side of the Hill”. I have no reservations about placing it in my first book. It’s tied to everything. I wander far within this post itself and apologize for the length of it! But here I sit outside a rented travel trailer in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York with a calm lake awaiting our paddles and sunny skies beckoning. What would you do?Sit and tap out a blog or take off? A day waits for us out and a new story waits as well. I am the happy camper once again. Or should I say Glamper? A little of both but I will explain that later. Sorry no time for edits! Teachers grab your red pens!

Gone Central:Part I

Posted on May 3, 2021May 3, 2021 by Greg Washburn

The weather Friday night at Camp Chaos was rather frightening at times! The wind shifted and driving rain pounded the cottage from the north for hours as the pellet stove rumbled it’s heat producing rhythm with a comfortable backdrop. I had a sudden realization about my dependency on its mechanical continuation and constant hunger for the pellets I load into the hopper once or twice a day. It numbers as one of my pieces of “tired iron” that I coax along with a practiced gentle hand. It’s fickle controls would madden the less inured perhaps but I never expected to need it daily as the first of May waits for me to turn the page of my kitchen calendar. Lake living has been interesting as the chilly weeks of April continued to slip past with the new routine dictated by the move from Hill House. Summer will come! We’ll add our memories of this unusual spring to our collection of MOONTABS and revel in the deeds of our ever changing now. It follows the motto we followed on our quest for the Adirondack 46 high peaks. “Never settle for the path of least resistance”. Zane likes lake living and the rough charms of its rustic interior. We have everything we need really and what we lack we tolerate with a stubborn mountain man mentality. My goals remain simple here but progress seems painfully slow at times. Camp Chaos will return to being Camp Edith at some point before summer. It’s easy to blame the weather for our moods and dips in positive energy. Quite honestly I know the blame is mine to own if I use the weather as an excuse to procrastinate and delay certain tasks. My lack of drive can simmer in my consciousness like a forgotten pan on the stove. Eventually it will boil over if left unattended and unstirred. The weather Friday was not conducive to outdoor task so I spent my time researching writing projects and tossing blog subjects around like a platter of chopped up soup ingredients that never actually ended up in the crock pot. They become a byproduct of potential creativity and are packaged for another time. Hopefully not frozen and forgotten in the back corner of the freezer. Unfortunately I fear some will never see the table in this ever changing now of circumstances. A late call from Jennifer Friday saying that it was snowing and accumulating quickly brought me to a startling conclusion about our as yet to be determined outing for the weekend. I slept fitfully as the rain/snow mix beat it’s drumbeat on the camp roof. Dawn arrived frigid but somewhat sunny and my determination to salvage the day was decided with some strong coffee laced with dark, robust maple syrup. Jennifer and I still had no definitive plans but I packed an overnight bag just to be prepared for what my mind was percolating into a potential adventure brew. I arrived at Jennifer’s to snow covered steps and lawn. She was dressed,waiting, and ready for suggestions for the day. I had a sudden impulse and recommended something we had discussed recently thinking that the warmer days of spring would find us. I suggested we take our chances on the road and head to the Old Forge area on a reconnoiter. I also suggested that we spend the night despite the chance of rain or any weather that we might encounter. She agreed immediately and without question headed off to pack while I played in the snow with the dogs. I quickly searched for an overnight accommodations and found most were unavailable.I sent out a request to book a hastily chosen cabin and we were off on our adventure! It was sunny and cool but I felt an inner warmth from our spontaneous decision. Warmed by the fact that we were off on a new adventure together. Modern technology has its moments and a chiming email rang in saying our booking was declined. Jennifer tackled this new dilemma and quickly found us another location. A booking request was quickly sent with no delay as I continued driving East towards the blue line of the Adirondacks. It’s strange to ponder our new age progression into cyberspace where you never actually speak to someone or actually pay them in person. It all occurs with tapping fingers and a super efficient exchange of codes and currency sent silently with practiced ease.We continued our journey and the booking confirmation arrived with a familiar comforting tone. We relaxed into the drive and offered thoughts on our potential outing once we arrived at our destination. Traffic was light as we entered the Adirondacks headed towards Sevey’s Corners on Route 56 and we enjoyed the scenery around us. I can’t say that this winding road is one of my favorites but I know it’s features well and enter the turns with confidence ever watchful for wild game. Turkeys are the biggest daytime threat typically but the occasional whitetail deer will surprise you at times. We traveled quickly and the towns of Piercefield and Tupper Lake fell behind us. We stopped for a small shopping spree at Hoss’s General Store in Long Lake. It’s an Adirondack browser’s mainstay of books,clothing , and gadgets. Refrigerator magnets in the candle section where balsam permeates the air and triggers the desire to hike in freshly snow soaked forests. We decided that we couldn’t leave the Long Lake area without a trip to Buttermilk Falls. We were not disappointed and it had warmed up nicely as we explored and took pictures. We found sunny spots and easily avoided the other spectators as we walked together. I began to truly enter that magical place of peace and blissful oblivion that the Adirondacks bring to me in the awakening of the five senses. The mysterious sixth sense followed as I took Jennifer’s hand and saw her smiling face light up. Her eyes alive with happiness and her laughter blending with the roaring water. She is truly the ADK Girl in this moment and I am happy with our decisions that led us to this place of powerful moving water. The cost of this moment had been almost free yet priceless in its gifts. These are the moments that dwell in so many of my words and deeds as we live out our daily existence. I chase them with Jennifer every chance I get. Zane as well but he doesn’t always get the chance to join us. They are the MOONTABS of our time together and forever ours to hold within our hearts. A bright star in the heavens to view with hopeful eyes when darkness overtakes us and guide us forward with positive energy. One that lifts the burdens of grief, challenge, and adversity. I moved closer to the rushing water and a gentle spray washed my heavy thoughts away. We left secure in the now and bonded in silent security. We share much but we respect the other’s silence of what was thrown into a set of falls each time we find ourselves next to them. We don’t always know exactly what troubles a person next to us at any given moment (if anything)but we can always offer a strong hand to grab if they need it. Or take their offered hand .We resumed our travels and soon reaching the Eighth Lake State Campgrounds. It was on our reconnoiter list in the central Adirondack region. We drove through the grounds and walked some as well. It’s a destination new to me and a possible summer camping location. The sun remained warm and inviting but the day was passing so we traveled onward to Old Forge to check into our Airbnb rental and stow our gear. Jennifer and I are similar in our mutual desire to familiarize ourselves with our accommodations well before dark if possible. It serves us well and we will usually discuss possible dinner options. It’s a planning thing and Jennifer is the mistress of preparations!No arguments need ensue there.We secured our bedtime destination and found ourselves with ample daylight remaining so we drove East from Old Forge towards Inlet to scout the Limekiln State Campgrounds. We had spent a wonderful series of camping days there in July 2019 and were hoping to book a site there this summer. I could write an entire blog post on the NYS campsite booking procedure as it has existed since last year but will simply say that’s it’s somewhat flawed at the moment. Limekiln is a lovely lake for paddling and exploring. They provide large metal “ bear boxes” for storing food and supplies at your campsite. Our day would wind down touring the campsite and taking notes. We are rather particular campers as we bring watercraft and like to launch from our campsite rather than engage in the continuous daily transport of them.We were disappointed to find the Screamen Eagle Pizzeria was closed in the hamlet of Inlet but got a good meal at Tony Harper’s in Old Forge. It’s a busy place on a Saturday night! You order your drinks and food at the bar,pay, and are given a number to place on your table. A server brings your meal and attends to you after that. It works and the food was good but it was rather loud. Prior to his death in 1972 Tony Harper rented camps in Racquette Lake and had a home in a roadside building. A family who had rented from Tony purchased the property and started a small pizza/sub business around 1973 in Tony’s home. ( they called his home a shack with humerous respect I am guessing). They named the business in his honor and have since expanded to Old Forge and Lowville, N.Y. Why do I add this information.? The menu shows a picture of an older gentleman dressed in Adirondack fashion but offered no explanation so I had to research Tony to satisfy my own curiosity. Perhaps I can gather more information and facts at a later date. Jennifer and I concluded our day of adventures with a drive to find Nicks Lake State Campround just as darkness overtook the hamlet. There was no time for exploring but in typical fashion for the “Paddling Pair” (as we sometimes call ourselves) we had secured the location for Sunday’s adventure. We returned to our cozy room and spent the remainder of the evening reading our new books and studying maps. It had been a wonderful day and we had been successful in our escape from the energy draining snowfall of the night before. We were well fed,warm, and safely in for the night. Together and making MOONTABS. I must leave you here in the living room! The coffee is ready to brew for my morning ritual but I forgot my maple syrup! You won’t wish to hear me snore the night away. I sincerely hope you are not snoring right now trying to follow the story but if you did I suppose my words can serve multiple purposes. I write them for you. I write them for me. I write them for all of us. I dedicate this post to all who wander and seek to explore the unknown with a tenacious passion born of the struggles of life.Our destinies await in the haze of future days that will often begin quite ordinary. It is in the days of ordinary that the extraordinary may be found. In nature I am free and lost to an energy that words will never describe. MOONTABS are more than just memories. They are my spirit energy full of hope,dreams, and love for chasing the path of the sun with reckless abandon.There are no finer moments or finer blessings for those who seek to be lost outside. I leave you with my personal quote: The answers to all questions, in nature can be found. Never to have asked them, uncertain future bound.

Of Highways,Hikes,Hills,and History: Part 2

Posted on April 26, 2021April 26, 2021 by Greg Washburn

Wow! I really took you off my intended path yesterday! I’m worried now that there’s some lost readers in the forests of the Taz Grand Wilderness in need of rescuing! Maybe they will chose to hide and never be seen again rather than being rescued. Who knows?I think I’ll blame Jennifer’s daughter. She may not read the post tonight. She introduced me to some coffee pods called “Electric Buzz”. Are you getting the picture? Me. Nicknamed Taz. Busy gulping maple syrup infused coffee called Electric Buzz while tapping out a blog post?Questionable and possibly a dangerous combination! Today’s coffee spin wore off hours ago so I think I can get you back on the path of Saturday’s interesting adventure. I left you on the Low’s Lower Dam headed to the trailhead. I’ve known about this trail that leads to a pond on the other side of the dam for many years. I always intended to hike it someday but never bothered to take the time or research the pond itself. It’s actually a lake I recently discovered called Big Trout Lake. One of some size in fact. It’s also been called Big Trout Pond as well. Sometimes simply Trout Pond. Jennifer recently bought us the book titled:Hiking The Trail To Yesterday Volume 2 by William C. Hill. We enjoy reading volume 1 by the same author so she purchased volume 2 without question. He’s an author from the Edwards,N.Y. area and injects his stories of trail wanderings with fascinating history. Once I read his description of the trail to Big Trout Lake and what we’d find there I was hooked! The factional information that I am going to share mostly goes to his credit alone. It comes from his research of the Low’s Dynasty as it’s known.I was very familiar with the story of A.A.Low and his Adirondack enterprises. He dammed the Bog River in two locations, generated electricity,built camps, ran a large maple syrup business, and built a rather impressive list of other accomplishments. In time his family liquidated his holdings and the state of N.Y. purchased much of the land. The two dams remain. The lower one the subject of my post and the upper one upstream that holds back the water of Low’s Lake. As I previously mentioned it’s a favorite paddling destination of ours. Beautiful and wild with nature reclaiming the ruins of A.A.Lows empire. I never knew until recently however that the Big Trout Lake area had been part of that empire. Knowing that there were historical ruins to explore proved too much for my curiosity. I felt that a hike back to the lake was in order regardless of any trail conditions we might encounter. Mud season can be tricky but it’s been a fairly dry spring so I hoped the trail would be fine. Here’s the part that might confuse you however. I had only gleaned through the book without making field notes or bothering to consult a map. I left the book home and didn’t bother to read it again before deciding on the hike as a destination. It’s that thrill factor that some explorers crave. I am not immune to seeking thrills. It gets people into trouble sometimes usually because they fail to prepare properly. We didn’t fit that mold Saturday. There’s no mileage sign at the trailhead like some areas of the Adirondacks. Just a wide well trodden path leading up a small grade. Off we set! The trail traveled through a mixed forest of maples, birch, balsam, and spruce. The occasional hemlock graced the forest as did a few white pines but the deciduous trees dominated most of forest. The leaves are just now forming and the woods have an open feel. In shaded groves patches of recent snow lingered but was disappearing fast as the warm sunny day gained heat. There were only a few flies here and there to annoy us as well. The trail continued to rise in elevation and was pleasantly dry most of the time. This changed however in one section and we rock hopped across small cobble stones or sometimes even left the trail . The brown layers of last seasons leaves crunching under our feet were flattened by the winter’s snowfall. Their fragrance earthy and organic to match their plain coloring as they begin to return to the earth. Jennifer and Garrett stopped frequently at points of interest along the trail. There were funky shaped trees covered with many different species of decomposer fungi. Rocks,burls,and a large erratic boulder that I felt compelled to climb. I grew very warm after and needed to shed a layer. Stowed into the day pack after a few sips of water during the break. The trail continued to rise slightly but a break in the trees told me that the land was about to fall away. I figured the lake would greet us as we summited the small ridge but there was only a forested valley below. My companions looked at me for guidance as to the lake’s location but I had nothing to reassure them about the amount of distance remaining. A quick glance at my phone for the time prompted me to make a decision. I decided to leave Jennifer and Garrett behind while I ran ahead to see if I could find the lake. I feared they might wish to turn back if I couldn’t give them tangible evidence of the lakes’s location. The trail turned left in a long sweeping descent of the ridge. Very dry and smooth it was great for a forest jog. I covered some ground quickly and soon reached a place where the trail began to descend rather quickly. I still couldn’t see any lake! I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and decided to ascend another ridge that was directly beside me. It was the highest ground around and with the absence of leaves would give me an extremely good vantage point. I reached its small summit looking East over the much lower ground. Nothing! No lake! I turned 180 degrees scanning the forest for the lake. At first I saw nothing then suddenly it appeared on the far horizon. Water of some magnitude. It had to be the lake! Words can fail to describe the sudden rush I felt. It’s that moment the explorer chases with a tenacious attitude and resolve. It was that moment of seeing something for the first time and the buzz that follows. It reminded me of a pair of beautiful green eyes that had held my gaze some time ago for the first time. Intriguing and deep with mystery. Exploration of another kind had ensued. The brain would buzz and the heart would stir. Very soon the lips would fail to remain silent and utter simple words filled with all a heart might contain or ever hope to contain. There lies that place of peace that beckons through the trees. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and a sudden chill brought me back from my romantic muses. I quickly gauged the distance to the lake and raced back to Jennifer and Garrett. Pleaded the case for continuing the hike as we were painfully close now. They agreed and we continued on with a renewed sense of vigor. The trail remained dry as we continued our descent to the lake. It became more visible through the forest. I suddenly noticed something off to the side in a stand of white pine. A folding camp chair on a primitive camp site below us.A closer investigation revealed old concrete piers also. This had been the location of a cabin or some structure. Some old car parts littered the ground as well. Rusty and unidentifiable. We continued on towards the lake and encountered additional concrete piers. There was a more intact foundation with more loose metal debris scattered about. An old hubcap. A rusty bed frame. Misc. leavings that you’d expect around an old building site. The lake was close now and wind tossed waves slapped the somewhat low shoreline. Floating logs were washed up and pinned into the shallow sandy bottom. The lake surface rolled with small white caps and the far end looked to be close to a mile in the distance. 157 acres of lake I later read. We scouted a small waterfall coming off the ridge. I searched for more building sites but found only a second primitive camp site and a well hidden canoe. I’d later learn that there were once 19 buildings at the end of the lake. Their remains are in a somewhat swampy section that we didn’t scout. It was time to head out and I really didn’t want to leave the peaceful lake setting. We had it all to ourselves. On the descent to the lake I had noticed what I suspected had been another road. I followed it’s downward curve and suddenly spotted an old vehicle! It’s worthy of its own post once I research its timeline. The remainder of our trip out was uneventful but pleasant. My mind full of questions and happy thoughts. I heard the most wonderful sound suddenly. Laughter in the sunny forest. The sound of a happy ADK Girl lost in the moment in this beautiful,pristine place. I offer these memories to you. These MOONTABS and all they truly mean. These are the finest moments one could possibly experience. We came to find a lake. I found so much more. I dedicate this post to Jennifer and Garrett for placing their trust in me once again. For going the distance. Over 15 thousand steps give or take a few. I will be back with Zane to find the ruins we missed. Another story for another day.

Of Highways,Hikes,Hills,and History: Part 1

Posted on April 25, 2021April 26, 2021 by Greg Washburn

Friday’s post was a little cloudy and saturated with emotion. I sprinkled you with emotional rain. I hope I didn’t leave you badly soaked! Perhaps today’s post will dry you out! I received several positive comments and one thank you after posting Stalled Out. That’s perfect! I wrote it for one. I wrote it for everyone. Nature teaches us that life can be difficult and heartbreaking. But also joyful and full of hope. Things occur quickly and without warning. Change is a constant of our lives. We must adapt to survive. It’s nothing new or some sudden revelation. It’s a fascinating study of mine. How life has evolved and flourished on our tiny planet. The balance of nature and steady cycle of season. Death and new life. We as modern humans still exist in a struggle of survival. It’s all about love and passion. Dreams and strength. Enough said. I followed through on my message Friday. I headed out with simple goals and a few tasks to complete. I picked Jennifer up at her house. Grabbed the dogs and we headed off to purchase ourselves some badly needed hiking boots. My trusted Merrill’s had logged many muddy Adirondack miles and were ready for honorable retirement. I keep them until there’s nothing left using them around the farm. Jennifer and I enjoyed a simple lunch in Malone. Frozen dog treats for Stella and Max!Yum!We then proceeded up through the Owl’s Head area. I like this part of the Adirondacks so feature it sometime as a travel destination for curious explorers. The remainder of our day was spent traveling around the Adirondacks. A quick stop at the Meacham Lake State Campground for awhile where we enjoyed a quiet abandoned setting. It was one of those carefree days Jennifer and I often enjoy. The road. The Adirondacks. A stop and go joy ride. Turn here! Wait! I just saw something. Go back! A real estate cruise through Saranac Lake then Tupper Lake. Conversations and the sometimes heavy topics that need to be shared with each other. The movement of the vehicle and rhythm of the singing tires frees them at times. The day follows the movement of the sun as do the subjects. The need to stem my steady flow of words and listen closely. Or just enjoy a comfortable silence together. Jennifer might say there’s rarely a comfortable silence around me! I probably shouldn’t drink coffee! She didn’t give me the nickname Taz without a reason! I create an energetic spin that’s a little too intense sometimes. Not always a blessing but it gets us into some interesting situations! Our day closed with a walk through the Higley Flow State Campground. Why all the exploring of campgrounds? Four reasons. Number one: scouting possible camping destinations. Number two: off season means minimal people. Number three: choosing to hike hard durable surfaces during the mud season. Number four: beautiful destinations that are easily reached. If I had to summarize Friday for myself I’d say objectives accomplished! The stalled out attitude gone and the tank was filling with enthusiastic energy. A good rest Friday night would usher in a coffee fueled morning for me. I exited Jennifer’s house while she woke up hoping to spare her from Taz energy for a bit as I tackled some lawn work and played ball with the dogs. The sun rose and the promise of the day showed itself as we completed our short list of tasks. We grabbed Jennifer’s nephew Garrett and headed out with two excited dogs pointed towards the Adirondacks. I had chosen our destination with a gambler’s decision to throw it all on the table as our day would be decided by it.The sun was warm and inviting on our drive as I divulged all that I knew about our hiking location and what we might encounter there. I hadn’t done a lot of research deliberately as I don’t always wish to dissect an adventure with every last detail. I like the buzz of the unknown. My companions asked about the mileage and trail conditions but I had few answers for them. I simply said that I felt it was well within our abilities with our daylight safety margin acknowledged. Zane and I had managed to safely complete our ADK 46 High Peaks quest in September of 2020 learning many things while experiencing those adventures! I was comfortable yesterday with my companions preparedness and abilities. I had chosen the Bog River area near Tupper Lake as we were all familiar with the location. We were forced to park at the locked gate near the access road to the Low’s Lower dam. It’s off bumpy Route 421 alongside Horseshoe Lake.The Low’s Lower Dam site is a favorite paddling destination of ours and is featured in an earlier blog post of mine. The locked gate meant that we would need to walk further to reach the trailhead I sought. It added .75 miles to our hike I later learned. But I felt we needed to complete this hike before black fly season hit in May. Last year our paddle up the flow in mid-May found us under the constant onslaught of biting black flies!Yuck!My reasons for choosing this destination were two fold. A double dip exploration and research outing. I had recently read a DEC notification about the lowering of the water behind the dam to complete necessary repairs for a breach of some sort. Having paddled it so many times in the past I was curious to see what it would look like with less water. Jennifer was interested in this as well as she loves our paddle outings up to Hitchin’s Pond and the upper dam. So the hike would also serve as a scouting mission for a future paddle sometime this year.Jennifer suggested we eat our lunch before heading out on our adventure. We basked bug free on some boulders in the sun while the dogs frolicked and enjoyed their snacks. There’d be less to carry and we would be well fortified prior to walking.We packed waters and some chocolate. We were dressed in season appropriate layers. We were ready!The gravel road beyond the locked gate was dry and easy walking. The scent of balsam teased our nostrils and never fails to draw me into the moment. We could hear the roar of spillway long before we reached the dam. Not before I heard a drumming ruffed grouse however. A sure sign of spring! The DEC had started their work and we found the water level about three feet lower than normal as we approached the dam. We spotted some paddlers up the flow and were reassured that a paddle could still occur at a later date if we desired. I remarked to Jennifer that I am going to need to make the paddle and see what’s become of our beaver friends up there. Just how will they react to the dropping water level? Will they suddenly feel the need to dam the river in a location that’s always been deep with no need for dams? But that is another story and I have no answers yet. Jennifer and I share a special connection to these beaver and this beautiful place. We made wonderful memories here together. As solid as the dam that hold the water back. Ours forever now. The writer in me holds these memories in my heart and in time I will open the gates and release them downstream as stories. The water isn’t meant to stay in one location nor can the dam hold it all back. The water flows with powerful energy and if I am the dam do I need repairing so the sanctuary can remain? Much like the dam I age. The flowing waters of gathered years erode and threaten my strength.It’s a perplexing thought and floats me far from my intended message. A side tributary of the original story that enters behind the dam. One which provides a calm and safe refuge against what could otherwise be a raging set of falls. The pond is deep but never meant to be frozen solid and trapped in eternal silence. The real story of yesterday’s adventure must wait until tomorrow. I’ve simply led you down the gravel road to the dam. I humbly ask you to stand there a moment and get lost in the roar while you search for the rainbows in the spillway spray. The path waits for you on the other side. But you must cross the dam first to see it. This new day can’t wait and tasks must be tackled before the setting sun drops in the west. Part two of this story lives in MOONTABS already secured. The dam will hold it back only briefly. That is the nature of flowing water and flowing words.

The Transition

Posted on March 9, 2021March 9, 2021 by Greg Washburn

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