Held In Trust

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Loon Family

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Autumn Plans?Hike Ampersand!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hill House Days

Posted on September 26, 2022September 27, 2022 by Greg Washburn

Monday morning and the rain has returned again. It is that time of year when it often gets very damp here. Autumn is taking charge now. I heard some local geese here on the lake last night but they aren’t the ringtone ones that I mentioned yesterday. The local geese have become a nuisance here these days. As daylight arrives I hear distant gunfire as hunters cull them from the cornfields.One thing I forgot to mention yesterday was snow geese. They are the true geese of the north these days. Their late season migration is a different ringtone. Almost like an alarm going off. But the ringtones haven’t rang yet so the rest of yesterday’s story must wait for now.

Wish me luck this morning as we battle the technical issues experienced recently. Maybe I should have thrown the technology overboard in Quebec and never looked back!But then you would be missing out on the balloon release of adventure, life, and exploration. I don’t want that for us. I will be sending out a brief message this morning speaking of all those writing projects that never get read by anyone but me. I do read them to Zane sometimes. I read him something after dinner the other night here at Camp Edith. He listened quietly and then said that’s good Dad! Then my often quiet son who sometimes reminds of my own father said something profound. You write like Mark Twain Dad! Funny I thought since I never read much Mark Twain. I was inspired by authors Zane Grey,Jack London, and Louis L’Amour.That’s an interesting start to today’s story. Then there’s the whole Wally Byam quote that is so similar to my childhood statement to my father many years ago.It’s all just a coincidence right? Or is it something much bigger?

Enter Hill House. Purchased in early spring of 2015 after a search of several months for suitable properties in the area.Town living in Hammond for almost 3 years after the fire was fine. I won’t go into all of the details of that time. The post fire years were busy. But I didn’t know that I was racing towards a slippery intersection.The Hill House property would demand some serious capital investments as it turned out. We were already heavily invested into this property when we eventually paid to bring electricity to it. Quite the story there. We had lived off grid for well over a year while I was still working full time. Solar charging and batteries.Using the sun to supply our power was a great connection to nature. Great in the summer.Not so good in the fall and winter. The “Dark Ages” I called those months when we needed a generator to keep the batteries charged each day. It got rather old after awhile. The price the utility company was demanding to bring the power in was an insult of its own! I can’t tell you how evenings that I walked the road along the bony rock cut looking for a better solution. As things sometimes happen a plan began to show itself one night. I pushed my plan forward as fall threatened to become winter. I called in a few favors and got the project finished. My plan had cut $11k from utility cost. We went onto the grid soon after and life got easier. Where’s the next connection to nature here you might be asking?The connection is in my stubbornness to challenge it by placing us in this location in the first place.Einstein once said you never fail until you quit trying. Not sure if he ever mentioned how to handle those things that “try” our patience.

The off grid property that I named Hill House sat high above an upper section of Black Lake. The views were spectacular! Nature set me up the first time I stood in the great room with the realtor. The snow covered lake was stunning off in the distance! I could envision the sun rises and sunsets! This could be home I thought! It’s my kind of place! I could picture Zane running free and safe here with the dogs. I hated the main highway in Hammond. Deadly to pets and something I always felt was a potential hazard to our young son. So with a reckless burst of positive energy Hill House was purchased.Sure I needed to go to the circus and jump through some fiery financial hoops. But we don’t talk about money and politics here.

The property encompassed some 41 plus acres of rugged land. Beautiful forests, a small creek, and a series of valleys. It had a back access road too. 5 miles from Hammond where Zane went to school. Hill House was .9 miles in from the town plowed road.The private road leading to Hill House was full of curves and several inclines. But one hill in particular was bad news. An 8% grade according to a graph on my truck’s dashboard. Getting the connection to nature a little better now? Think about it for a minute.The dusty dirt road was bad enough during the spring,summer, and fall.But winter was a beast of burden that challenged me after work many times. By now you know me as a lover of high ground and rock. The Hill House property was all that and more. The property certainly answered some inner call and offered a unique living experience. It was maddening at times though in the winter when I had to park my two wheel drive company van at the end of the road and walk the .9 of a mile up to house after work. Sometimes I had to wade through snow before getting the tractor out to plow the road. The walk in actually relaxed me on nights when I didn’t need to plow. There were several small pullouts that I kept plowed out so sometimes I parked much closer to the house. But rarely made “the run” on the hill after one night of getting the van stuck. I was possessed by stubbornness that is difficult to explain. Can’t make the drive in tonight? Walk and enjoy the sunset. Besides exercise is good right? Maybe I thought I was some type of modern pioneer. There’s a connection to nature in that statement.

Ok getting the picture? A big beautiful house overlooking the lake. Privacy and safety. The farm property a mere 15 miles away. A big outside wood boiler that heated the house and the garage for practically nothing. 20 face cords of wood were usually enough. We brought most of it in from farm. There was an abundance of wood there. The forest of the hill house property had limited access due to its rugged layout of ravines so we didn’t cut much wood there. Stewardship is a good word for how I hoped to manage the woods there. There’s a place of peace in managing a forest with an attitude of stewardship.

Enter the event: 2017. Few connections to nature that summer.Two big construction projects to fill my days. One was a monster of deadline and schedule. The best part of the job was all the roof work! Out under the sky playing music with my coworkers.Dozens of energy recovery units that were part of the huge ground water heat extraction project known as phase 4. Nice connection to nature there as they removed almost all of their fossil fuel boilers.My personal life was falling apart but my professional one kept me focused. Things were about to get interesting as I staggered out of “Dark Ages” of a different sort. Cancer had taught me a good many things especially how to fight for my own life. At Hill House I new found new freedom and made big decisions. Zane and I got busy redecorating and setting up the huge painted blackboard where there was always something chalked in. Quotes, rhymes, lists, and funny little drawings. Zane and I tightened up together. We summited our second set of high peaks one weekend in October. Our count was now at four! Only 42 to go! A great rhyming story was written in the sketchy motel room before the hike even started early that morning. Great story there! Especially the part where I could barely climb stairs at work Monday morning!

I was going to retire in November. Things needed to change and I was ready to put things in the rear view mirror. The race intensified to complete my projects as full on heating season approved the NYS school deadline. My boss was not very happy with my decision to retire! I tried to explain my need to take care of my son. We reached a place of common ground eventually. I kept my promise and finished both of my projects. Exit full time work!

I was free! The first two weeks of retirement found me on fire and writing a lot. Some decent material followed I feel.A series of short stories that had been tumbling around for far too long. All hand written on Quill paper pads with a ball point pen. I I got my first IPhone with unlimited data. I played a lot of music and started a collection of custom crafted Pandora stations. I discovered my love of Indie rock with its haunting and soaring notes.Retirement fit me well. A new beginning and a period of new growth. The quiet sanctuary of Hill House was perfect for writing. I had a desk facing the window wall of the lake. I was ok with being alone most of the time. But I missed Zane especially at bedtime. We found a new way forward though and life was good. I was empowered and bending to those proverbial winds of change. The same old me was growing into someone new. Outside on Hill House’s outdoor deck I captured many beautiful sunrises that I had missed while working. I counted my many small blessings in those moments. Zane was my one big blessing! Growing himself.

2018 was a year of intense recreation and continued education in a new direction. Enter the land trusts and conservation volunteer work. Fun and we met a lot of great people. I became involved with SLELO Prism.They are the people who battle and track invasive species across New York State in five different regions. I began to attend all different types of seminars and presentations. Zane came to some of them. It was fun and educational!Worthy of a story and definitely a connection to nature. We moved into Camp Edith in late June. I adopted a rather tough conditioning workout into my weekly routine. Weights and a 40 pound field survival backpack. Evenings would find me kayaking on the lake to further condition my body. The conditioning paid off with huge dividends. We pounded the trails leading to the high peaks of the Adirondacks. Several great rhyming stories were scribbled hastily in the firelight while Zane and I recounted the day’s events. We laughed and laughed as I wrote them!Life was good! I even managed to work a little! We left Camp Edith in late August and returned to the comforts of Hill House. We regrouped for the next adventures. This brief foray into that year doesn’t even come close to covering all the details. But you don’t want to hear about everything. At Hill House we discovered that we weren’t alone! We had uninvited guests! Mice!

Fast forward to 2019 when I first decided to sell Hill House and listed it with an agent. Retirement was great and I was working part time for my former employer. There were more periods of creativity and writing projects. But Hill House had started to feel like an anchor. My connection to nature and Hill House was beginning to break.We loved many things about it but it was becoming something else for me. A symbol of “The Old Life” as I began to think of it that way. The house didn’t sell and we preparing for another winter as the seasons changed. Life was good. Good health and good fortune. Many happy adventures as Zane and I pounded down our ADK 46 high peaks challenge. I was trying to figure out a plan for my writing but I wasn’t pushing towards publishing. I blamed making myself too busy for my hesitation to advance. Work, adventures, and all the other small details that filled my days. It is of little consequence now as those days are the proverbial water under the bridge. We were needing a new direction.

Fast forward to 2020 and another real estate agent. Once again the contract ran out despite her hard work. People would come look at the property but always step away. The remote location we loved so much was the problem. The road and the whole winter situation was too much for most people. We were searching for that one special buyer. Little did we know they were searching too! We just hadn’t found each other yet.Things were good for us though. I counted our small blessings. I took a job in Beaver, Pennsylvania to raise extra funds for future writing plans. The setting kept my words subdued but I did write the funny rhyming story “Beaver Cracker Head”while I was down there. Zane and I finished our final Adirondack high peak in September while I was home from Beaver on a week long break. The real estate contract expired and I tried a different approach. Zillow. But it just sat there as we prepared for another winter. I ditched Beaver in October and took a short call job at Whiteface Mountain near Lake Placid. Things were entering my circle that would ultimately change many things for me. Back home to Hill House by early November I enjoyed freedom once again. I threw myself into firewood and farm details. Sugar wood and getting hay put away. But new energy was about to enter the equation as autumn sped past.

Enter a new character. It was Xmas eve when I got a message inquiring about the property. I didn’t take it seriously at first but a fellow named Scott kept messaging me and asking questions about the property.He eventually wanted to talk on the phone and we exchanged some background information. He told me quite a lot about himself and I liked chatting with him. He expressed interest in looking at the property sometime that winter.It was now 2021.Someone from Pennsylvania had also inquired about it too through a realtor. The realtor and I would enter into a partnership to attempt to get it sold. The Pennsylvania people toured the property but didn’t make an offer. Scott came up one winter day and we became introduced. I gave him a guided tour of the house.We ate lunch together inside hill house before heading over back to tour the remainder of the property. It was a fun day and we had some great conversations. Scott knew about the Pennsylvania people because I had mentioned them to him.He asked for a private moment to call his wife then came in and said that they wanted the property contingent on his family’s approval. We closed the deal and shook on it. Very old school and I liked his honest demeanor. He asked if I would hold the property until he could bring his family up to check it out. We agreed on a timeline and that was that! We had found our people and they had found us! Things followed quickly after that and we left Hill House in late March after the closing.

Scott and I became friends although we never saw each other that much. We stayed in touch with texts and the occasional phone call. He had questions about the house and I would help him navigate his way forward with the new property. He and his family loved the property! They renamed the house and began making it their own. I got to see it on occasion as they repainted walls and got the place furnished. Everyone got what they wanted in the end and I figured that was some positive energy in motion. I can’t think of anyone else that I would have wanted to turn the property over too!2021 was filled with adventure, work, and so more. Those days keep showing up in these posts from time to time.

2022. A year of change again as new intersections were reached. Lots of time to tell that story once I reflect on it further. Autumn has arrived now. The perfect time to find reflections in the waters of northern New York.This past week I got a text from Scott that he was going to be staying up at the property for over a week. We made plans to meet up at his place where we got a chance to meet his friend Mike briefly. I returned to see Scott and Mike late Sunday. We got into some heavy conversations! Turns out that Mike had gone to college and become a writer years ago! All this before he joined the military and later entered his present career.Mike’s Dad had also been a writer! Imagine how those conversations went!We talked a long time while Scott finished up some last minute house details. At one point in our conversation Mike started calling me a story teller. He said my writing reminded him of Mark Twain! The same thing Zane had mentioned to me! That’s very flattering! There were lots of things to learn about Mike! His personal journey story inspired me as did his Dad’s story. We plan to keep in touch and I asked if he still wrote. No he said but I am thinking about starting up again.You should Mike! I told him.Let’s push each other to get busy with our projects!

You could say that all this is nothing more then a series of unique circumstances. Sure I paddle my canoe of life in a certain direction. But not always. People continue to enter my story with an energy and unpredictability that can’t be simple coincidence. One in particular.Impressions. The magic of the first and of the lasting.Mark Twain and Wally Byam entered the journey despite being long gone but are now destined to leave a lasting impression. What connects us and brings us together? The living and the dead. It’s been said that energy is neither created or destroyed. What brings us all together? Nature in it’s most elemental form. We all need this tiny planet to survive. The questions are many and keep coming.Where’s all this lead and what will happen from all these chance meetings? New friends and new stimulating conversations. New directions and new beginnings. New places and endless possibilities.

I hope you enjoyed this very personal and continued introduction to my journey. Why do I tell you so much? That’s an easy one! Can you find yourself anywhere in my lines?Ponder this one: growth. Let’s make a date! Let’s come back to this day a year from now and see where we are in the ever changing now. Will there be growth? I can’t promise you anything. Just an honest story about life and my personal journey.As I so often say: It’s enough! And when it isn’t? Make it become enough! I think Mr. Jangles said it best: And you thought being me was simple! Silly you!

The writing projects that no one gets to read will be published eventually. It’s going to take me some serious focus to get to that next level.The problem is me always hard charging the future. I hate to sit for too long. I will be taking to the road on Sunday with the Airstream for my next set of adventures and life on the beloved Adirondack clock. It’s where the rubber meets the road as they say.Autumn in the Adirondacks. Nothing heavy there. I will be covering old ground and searching for new. There’s always something to discover that will charge my spirit batteries. The “A” in MOONTABS this time? Adventure!✍️

The Special Day

Posted on September 25, 2022August 7, 2023 by Greg Washburn

4AM. I woke suddenly while having the most bizarre of dreams. In the dream I was standing on a pile of logging slash next to a house trying to figure how how to get down. The pile was huge and was made up of entire trees,evergreen limbs, and brush. The bark hung from the fallen trunks in shreds as a result of being dragged and knocked about. There was no order in the manner the pile had been arranged.It was if it had just been pushed in place by a huge machine that was no where around. There was a house beside the pile and I was thinking about how strange it all was getting. I started getting anxious because I couldn’t see a safe way down from the pile.Each direction looked the same. Dangerous. Weird as I have no fear of heights. I loved to climb trees on the farm as a boy. In the dream I turned in a slow motion circle. The devastation around the pile was disturbing. A huge clear cut of stumps and torn earth. A road of devastation had been carved out of a landscape that definitely wasn’t upstate New York. It resembled the Canadian bush to a degree but seemed different. The road was leading to a lake that was just beyond an untouched section of forest. The machine of destruction was out of sight but I knew where it was headed. I was afraid suddenly. I needed to get off the pile and run to the safety of the forest. And I knew what I needed to do. The fear left me and I got ready to jump off….Ok! Alrighty then! Wow! Dreams are strange! I wonder what Freud would find in that one!

I got up shortly after and reassured myself that all was well in Camp Edith. Gracie was lying next to the wood stove near the door to Zane’s room. All was well! I checked the fire and the large pieces of firewood that I had loaded in before bed last night had been reduced to glowing coals. One small piece of unburned wood sent out a wisp of smoke that assaulted my nose. I refueled the wood stove and headed for the Keurig.Destination numero uno! Ok it’s showtime! Busy day ahead! Lots to do today and there would be no time for writing. Too bad I thought because my creative hangover had been replaced by a familiar feeling. I was suddenly overcome with warmth! It had been a wonderful evening. A meal with Zane, small research projects, and conversations. A phone call.The Keurig finished brewing with its squishing sound that pushed out the final drops of morning rocket fuel. I dumped in an random shot of maple syrup. Followed by a healthy shot of half and half. Talk about a constant! My first fix of the day to satisfy an addiction of over thirty years. Just how did I get addicted in the first place? A different sort of story with a different connection to nature. Natural selection they call it.Not sharing that story today.

I headed back here to my cluttered bedroom to prop myself up against the headboard and started gulping my sweet brew. I really need to do something about this room I thought to myself. But how about a little music first? I knew what would set the mood. Andrew Belle. His music can bring me to tears! Yes tears! I once read that tears aren’t the measure of a man. I once mentioned that to Zane. I often dose a writing post with the phrase blood,sweat, and tears. It was like that on the farm. We had lots of livestock. Cows,horses,pigs,and chickens in a rotating cycle of farm life in harmony with season. There was the magic of birth. The time in between. Then the tough one.Death. These animals weren’t all pets. I learned things fast in those years although I never recognized it until years later. But that is the magic of discovery! Discovery doesn’t always wait out there beyond that next hill. It’s already there sometimes. Already inside us.Under our feet and already there in places of our heart rarely visited. Buried in our memories. Sometimes buried on purpose.A different story for a different day.

I learned the true kindness taking care of the livestock. They depended on us. Their needs came ahead of ours quite often on the farm where I had learned to climb trees with no fear and little regard for the danger of a fall. I guess I trusted my own hands and my balance. I am almost ready to jump back into the next chapter of my rural heritage series. I am waiting for something though. The day of autumn that stirs up certain memories and a special feeling.I can’t stage it or mark it on my calendar like some random event.It is a revolving event though that is tied into nature and always a new discovery in itself. Enter the familiar phrase: if only I could bottle that feeling and share it.Why do I write like I am creating a screenplay? Because all the world’s a stage they say. Not going there this morning!

I can safely say that my “special” day will fall sometime between mid October and late November. I will get a inner spirit call coming in from somewhere from an unknown number and I won’t let it go to voicemail. I will drop everything to answer it. I never know the time or exactly when my custom ringtone will chime. Many times the call comes as the sun is setting and a busy day of firewood cutting on the farm property ends. Tired and dirty as we put the tools away. The custom ringtone that is now set inside me originally came from miles above me. In the sound of distant goose cries as they begin their migration south.It is a sound that can span decades in the fraction of a second. Backtrack to a small younger me playing in the backyard with my sister at the first home I ever remember. I don’t remember every single detail but what I do remember is the feeling of excitement I got that long ago day when I spotted the first flock of the season. I can picture myself pointing to the sky and yelling to my sister! Geese! This was the 1960’s and geese didn’t frequent our section of the St. Lawrence valley all that much. They came from much further north stopping occasionally to rest and feed in the post harvest corn fields.A lover of the higher places at a young age although I didn’t know where that would eventually lead.I was being a kid and the forests of Tasmania were mere seedlings far in the future. I envied the geese their lofty status and wondered why they honked as they flew. Enter the Canadian goose and the stage was set for a grand performance.(to be continued)

Oh btw! It’s a special day indeed! Ironic given the title I chose!You are not going to believe what just happened!

I lost most of today’s post somehow! I had started it yesterday actually as a draft. I thought that I had it edited and published correctly. I went back several hours later to review my own work and was shocked to see what had actually uploaded. A total piece of something that had no rhythm nor reason. It dropped off in the middle of a sentence practically. What a disaster! So much of the once longer post is lost now! There’s some question as to what happened and why. The post was as heavy as a lead balloon but I was determined to try and fly it anyway due the amount of time I had spent on it! There must be a ghost in the machine! There’s only one possibility! A small mouse named Mr. Jangles! I know! I know it sounds crazy! You still are a little skeptical about Mr. Jangles and that whole story! Believe what you want! Ask Zane. He was there. After the post crashed I realized something. Mr. Jangles still wants to play! I don’t how he got the ghost virus into my tablet but it’s raising hell with everything! I know it’s him because of the photos and videos he hacked into my gallery. That one of me snoring? Horrible!So embarrassing and I am worried it may go viral!There’s also a cartoon version of himself that shows up like a screen saver and loops continually. His mouse laugh is creepy. He must have access to some sort of forest command post with satellite Wi-Fi and a backup generator. He’s pretty resourceful and I respect that about him! He hasn’t done anything serious yet I suppose. Unless you think destroying hours of my work is serious. And that notice from my bank that someone got in and tapped my checking account for a few hundred Canadian! I guess he’s just playing or he would have taken a lot more!I was mad at first and ready to go back up there tomorrow. But I don’t have time for that right now. I need to figure out a way to reverse hack him but he’s using someone else’s equipment somehow. I can picture him sitting hovered over someone’s laptop keypad.Hey it’s only a game right? I you know you get bored Mr. Jangles but how about a tv series or something. I can recommend one. I thought we were friends and I didn’t throw a fit over that last practical message joke of yours.

So here we are and I never got to finish my post. That’s ok as there’s always tomorrow!Just remember about the special day and the custom ringtone. Remember the farm property. Remember my promise to tell the stories of rural heritage. I keep my promises and tell the truth. Sure I have a big imagination. I told lots of true facts here. There is a mouse in Western Quebec. A cabin too and an actual Lake Dumoine.There was a big piece of blog post lost today. Can a mouse work a keyboard and understand passwords?Hack into someone’s system? Come to think of it I was missing some cash when I got back home last August. Maybe Mr. Jangles has a helper he pays. He can read as we already know. It’s difficult to say really.. ✍️

Surrendering To The Bush

Posted on September 21, 2022August 7, 2023 by Greg Washburn

This is the fifth post of the Canadian bush series. Initially it was going to be a single post but I decided that there was a much bigger story. I left a lot of myself between the lines.And openly in the lines. Consider it the driftwood of life. I’ve written of driftwood on other occasions. I am a collector of driftwood actually. It speaks to me of nature’s power. There is a shallow sandy beach in the Adirondacks where sunken driftwood lies in rippled sand. On sunny days under gently lapping waves it appears with mesmerizing clarity. I wade there sometimes collecting small pieces that catch my eye. It’s a wonderful place to relax and reflect. Perception and imagination wait just below the surface to be discovered. The sandy sections of beaches on Lake Dumoine were littered with driftwood. In these posts I set my personal driftwood of life afloat there for you to discover. You’ll never need to dig below my surface. I want you to know certain things. And perhaps see what I see in those tiny weathered pieces of time. I hope you find a greater connection to nature there.

Monday morning arrived with the precision of routine firmly established. We were settled in and truly having a wonderful time. Running free with renewed spirit energy I felt. My companions might have their own words for how they felt. Greg was firmly ahead in the competition in the remaining two categories. Zane was becoming intent on the total number of walleye caught. We got up and there was zero visibility on the lake. A heavy fog covered everything and the boat was almost invisible at the end of the dock. No worries right? We know the lake now! It was cool and we all were decked out in heavy rain gear as we left the dock. The motor was a little sluggish and had started harder then usual. It was impossible to see very far in front of the boat and my eyes began to feel strained almost immediately. I tried running the center of the finger that made up our portion of the lake. I couldn’t see the trees or anything else I used for navigation. We never thought to bring Greg’s gps unit at the time. He had loaded it with fishing locations and it plots courses automatically. We sure could have used it! I did fairly well at first navigating the initial finger but we soon entered one of the larger sections of the lake. Fog in all directions! I grabbed one vague shoreline glimpse and pointed in the direction I felt was right. I kept the throttle cracked full on. Nothing dangerous there. The 15 horsepower motor doesn’t push us along all that fast especially with three good sized guys in the boat! On a side note I would have to mention how happy I was with the four stroke Yamaha engine. Easy to operate and super efficient on gas. We hadn’t used much gas given the miles we were covering each day. I did all the driving and my two companions were thrilled with that. Conversation was difficult when underway even though the motor wasn’t all that loud. Combined with the wake noise and the noise of the boat itself conversation at the stern of the craft wasn’t happening. I plenty of time for thinking while driving and I enjoyed those private moments.

I knew it was about 4 miles to our destination and that a large expanse of unbroken water needed to crossed. My eyes were really feeling the strain by this time. Off on the eastern horizon the sun was getting brighter but the land masses remained in gray shadows. My internal compass told me Ile Quabie should show itself shortly. It’s a huge island that dominates a southern section of the lake. We were searching for Raspberry Point on the eastern side on it. Suddenly I spotted a land mass off to my right and slowed our forward progress. It looked familiar but much of the lake shoreline looks the same. Rocky with the forest coming right down to the water. You can’t just stop anywhere on Lake Dumoine and exit your boat. The broken glacial rocks of the shorelines are uninviting. They are a risky proposition. Out alone with no rescue plan in effect you protect your hull and motor propeller as if your life depends on it. None of us relished ever needing to spent a night on shore or trying to row back to camp. Those thoughts weighed heavily on my common sense rather often to be blatantly honest. But we were somewhat prepared for emergency. Lighters and flashlights. Some water and knives. Snacks and almost always fish that could have been cooked on shore. A plan for future trips began to percolate in the recesses of my mind. Enter the lists jotted down in our personal camp journal.A book in itself. A story within a story. To plan to return to the bush is the story of hope itself. That place of dreams and drive. Hold that thought and I will return there. The forest that is the bush itself is thick and lush. It’s wild and beautiful The sandy bays and sections of beach offer better opportunities. In fact all of the cabins we had seen were built up above sandy beaches. This beautiful place was a hidden gem of many facets. It caught the light from every angle. Lost in a fog? No concern of mine.

As I slowed the boat and neared what I believed was Raspberry Point I suddenly realized that something was amiss! That island feature sure did look like Raspberry Point! But that rock shouldn’t be there. Nor that line of rocks that created a shoal. Ok! Time to stop and regroup. None of us recognized our location but I can’t say I was anything more then confused. The sun was rising even higher by the minute and it was only matter of time before the fog lifted. But the morning walleye fishing window would be closed by then. It was the perfect walleye morning. Walleye chop and cooler temperatures. I consulted the map then handed it to my companions. Greg and I couldn’t reach an agreement as to our location. I gazed through the murk and my internal compass found the bearings suddenly. I engaged the gears and said here we go! I got this one! I wasn’t entirely sure at first as we sped along side of what I knew had to be Ile Quabie. The sun had turned the trick of location and realigned the compass. And just like that Raspberry Point showed itself and we were back on track. This was to be Zane’s morning to shine and show his walleye skills.

Greg is definitely the best walleye fisherman of the three of us. His jigging techniques and choice of colors had assured his standing. My leeches keep Zane and I in the standings. Jigging has never my strong suit. Greg had given Zane one of his jigs that was rocking the boat. He then coached him with his technique. Zane already had a good jigging technique and had proved himself in 2016 at the Quebec lake known as Echouani. He had taken the prize of catching the most walleye.With my help and guidance I suppose but the credit became all his. Some nights his skill with the rod would amaze me! My catch would suffer as I netted fish after fish for him. But I was the clear winner of fatherly pride as I lived those treasured moments with my son. I can’t tell the whole story now or the story of Echouni in 2015 when he took his first ever bush trip. Magic lives in my son’s fingertips. Be it fishing rod or in his guitar these days.

Monday morning was all Zane’s. He was dialed in and his jigging was productive. He took the morning count easily. Greg and I were happy for him! I was off and missed multiple fish. But my mind wasn’t on fishing. It was lost in small details of nature. An eagle put in a brief appearance for the second time that week. The sun and lifting fog were beautiful. Although I was trying to block it out I knew Tuesday was our final day of bush living. My companions spoke of it too. But there was still time to run wild and free. Age means nothing in those moments for me. We were all equals on the lake. Far from the expectations of modern life and society. Far from technology even though we had it in our hands. As crazy as it sounds there were moments when I wanted to toss everything associated with technology overboard in some strange gesture of rebellion. But it would pollute the lake and a blogger needs technology. Let me think on that one.I think harmony is the best word for what my companions and I were feeling. We all felt something powerful. The energy radiated in laughter and excitement. Enter the surrender. I had surrendered to the power of the moment. The now. If only. If only I could bottle that moment and share it.It was nothing new to me this buzz of nature and experience. It had found me many times over the years. And the words I so often repeat: I will chase it forever!

Monday post morning fishing presented us with a new and pressing problem. The routine went well until Greg went to shower. Zane had his first and all had gone well. Greg was not so fortunate however. It seems the hot water side of the mixing valve was not functioning. He got a rather cold shower and he was not happy! Not good for me either as I was last in line. Why of showers in the first place? First and foremost not all bush camps even them. Or flush toilets and running water.Bathing in the lake is an option with consequences in most of the bush lakes I fished. The wonderfully clean water holds a predator other than walleye! Bloodsuckers! I hate getting them on me! So no lake bath for me! I chose to tackle the water issue head on. The ridge gravity tanks were full and everything else worked but the hot water knob of the shower. I crawled under the cabin looking for potential problems. Found one! Wait two! Leaks in the hot water lines! Small but enough to cause a problem perhaps. Guess we now why the propane ran out. Hot water was leaking out 24/7. I’m sure Eric had no clue and it appeared rodents might the root of the issue. I knew the mouse escaped under the bathroom when we pursued it. There was nothing we could find that we could fix at any rate. Not given our lack of tools. I took a cold shower and my demeanor was threatening to spoil the happy feelings of the morning. We headed out early that afternoon to contact Eric for assistance. Rewards are always waiting there for us when we least expect them. It was mostly clear as we cruised the finger on our mission to find Eric. By now the lake shore was familiar. We were running the center of the finger in the safety of the deep water. I noticed something in a small cove off to left that resembled a brown stone. I thought to myself that’s strange! I don’t remember that rock out out in the bay. My “ rock” moved and the calm surface of the water exploded! My rock further appeared from under the surface and I realized it was a cow moose! I throttled down and yelled to my companions! The moose didn’t want to have its picture taken though and burst out of the shallows on a dead run. It crossed the beach quickly and hesitated for a moment. It looked over its shoulder before racing off into the forest. Just like that and no one saw but me. We found Eric out on the lake and flagged him down. He said he would come up by the next morning at the latest. We were ok with that as we wanted to get out for the evening fish.

The evening fish once again proved the worth of the lake. Zane and I continued to add to our take home count. Greg carried the night and we were now tossing back walleye that would make some fisherman cringe. I was still off though catching fish. Not concentrating. I wasn’t concerned though. My numbers were solid and we had fish enough for the last two nights of frying. One day we had eaten walleye twice. I was ready for something a little different for dinner and promised the boys Alfredo pasta for one of the sides. Beans and potatoes are great but not every night. We had a great evening and yet another spectacular sunset. We discussed a plan for our final full day and decisions were made to include everyone’s wishes. As we cruised all of us seemed a little caught up in the moment. Zane was snapping photos and videos. He was talking to Greg but I couldn’t hear a thing. The routine played out with a comfortable rhythm. But something or rather someone was missing.

Our friend the mouse had been strangely absent. I felt maybe it was stressed after the last harrowing game of cat and mouse. I began to worry about it actually. I won’t lie here. The mouse traps were still set but I was forgetting to bait them. Or was I? I kept hoping it would show up while we were making dinner. I expressed my concern about the mouse to my companions but they had no answers. We were all wondering if there were still others though. We were at the table and the conversation turned to the movie “ The Green Mile” starring Tom Hanks. If you know the movie you might assign me as being Percy! Trying to kill the mouse and almost successful. Hmmm. I had never given my opponent a name or implied gender. I had been referring to the mouse as It. Creepy if you ever saw the movie:The Silence of The Lambs. Very derogatory and disrespectful to my worthy opponent. At this point in the story I am going to name the mouse Mr. Jangles. The mouse has earned that privilege. I hope it’s not a copyright infringement. The evening played out and Mr. Jangles never showed. We were all feeling a little melancholy about our trip nearing its end. But it wasn’t over and we still had time! This story must continue!

At this point in the story I wish to add a new character. Kathy. No she wasn’t in the bush country of Western Quebec. But she’s a blog reader and offered me some interesting encouragement! She liked the story but was interested in hearing more about the mouse from the start! I valued her feedback and assigned the mouse Mr. Jangles a greater place in the story. He’s the constant I once mentioned. He provides levity in the middle of this very real story. In a continued introduction to myself please note I am not lost or trapped in the pragmatic wilderness I call Tasmania. Quite the contrary. I liken Tasmania as a vast forest where I go to unload some heavy thoughts and escaped for awhile. Sharing stories and hoping to make a difference. Nature heals me and helps me grow as an individual. I will end this post with a quote written by someone I know very well. “ The answers to all questions in nature might be found. Never to have asked them, uncertain future bound”. ✍️.

Bush Cabin 5:Branching Out

Posted on September 20, 2022September 20, 2022 by Greg Washburn

This is the fourth post of the Quebec bush trip. Final? Can’t say just yet. The front brim of my hard hat at work sports the Looney Tunes character the Tasmanian Devil.Under it the name Taz. My nickname on the job. Are you a devil I am often asked? No I reply. “The devil is in the details”. That’s what I throw back at them before I walk away. So I can’t say how many posts it will take to get this story told right. But it’s a fun web to spin.One of details and tiny strands that connect. I do one know thing.For most people I know bush camping is a place of discovery,exploration, and adventure. For me? Yes to all of them.But there’s a much deeper place where I find myself as the memories build. Deeper then the one section of Lake Dumoine where we found ourselves in 142 feet of water while approaching an island. A place where everything disappears in between. The tiny boat above the depths and far below expanses of ever changing sky. I was lost to those moments. Lost to everything that was back home. The triumphs and the failures. The average and mundane. And yes the intersection. The bush had empowered me. My mind had become a clean slate suddenly. And the minutes of the day were the chalk in a calm,steady hand. I had everything I needed as I drove the boat while my son and friend gazed into the distance as miles of lake would fall behind us. If Lake Dumoine was the stage then the characters kept arriving to play their parts. Who was playing the main role? The mouse of course! It had became the constant in the turning of the clock. Our time was growing shorter and although I tried not let the thoughts creep in they would. The best of story writers couldn’t possibly have imagined the events that occurred. That place where I was bent over with laughter! You can’t make this stuff up!

So we were back to normal as Sunday morning turned to afternoon. We decided to skip the naps and get our showers since we had hot water again. We had secured another map from the outfitter and sat around the table studying it. All week we had been observing a large and narrow island that was across the lake from our cabin. It had a large bald section that begged summit to me. It was decided to circle the island first by boat. We would be close to another lake that was off limits to us as it was leased by another outfitter. His clients had been border hopping all week and entering “our” territory. We had mentioned it to Eric but he seemed unconcerned. We had reached the point of our trip that I would title Success. Fish in the fridge. Fish frozen to take home. We were dialed into our fish factory. Raspberry Point. Our totals were approaching some impressive numbers. Greg was intent on breaking a total my friend and I had set in 2013 on a different Quebec lake while on a fly in bush trip. Lawrence and I had caught 194 walleye in 6 days of fishing. Big story to write there someday. And the picture that Lawrence took of me writing in the cabin journal?Priceless to me. I often wonder how many people ever read my simple rhyming words. The poem Lac Hebert was born of experience, the magic of the setting, and me missing Zane. I vowed to Lawrence one night to never go to the bush again without him. A promise I kept.

Our exploration mission was done with the utmost caution. By now we realized how vulnerable we were to breaking down. We talked about at length. We were alone and away from everyone.We would see the outfitter’s family occasionally out fishing or running gas to clients. But there were few clients and most of the cabins were unoccupied. Things continued to add up as we formed our opinions and made our assessments. One thing was crystal clear though. This was wild country and the fishing possibilities were endless. All that being said as the helmsman I protected our prop at all costs. That meant using the depth finder and cruising at low speeds in new sections of water. Rocks and shallow sunken shoals would appear without warning. In the narrow passage the rock formations closed in on us from both sides. Glacial erratics in spots. Tossed into the most unlikely places. It was eerily beautiful! Calm and very quiet. We reached the end of the island and entered the lake that was off limits to us once we crossed a certain point. We called it the Forbidden Zone. A name that fit in with other places we had named. Imagination runs wild in the bush country. Zane sees me in a new light then. I am more friend then father. Equals in the fishing competition where fairness and honesty prevail. Endless teasing between the three of us where language is crude and boisterous. So much had changed in 6 years. My boy was fast becoming a man. It didn’t trouble me though. He was happy and running wild here. I see myself in him sometimes. We share a special bond that nature strengthens with each passing season.

We eventually circled the island and found a rocky landing zone where a faint trail entered the forest. Greg decided to stay with the boat and not hike to the cliff. We had discussed the unique photo opportunities we would attempt to capture. So it was on! Our first hike after countless hours of fishing. We soon learned that the trail was a beaver skid way. They were harvesting aspen far up onto the slopes of the island. They had chewed down some very large trees! Their persistence pays off with the large trees. Often only partially notched by them before the wind does the rest. Regardless their trail gave us a nice path towards the cliff. I noticed a hanging piece of hollow birch bark beside the trail. It would make the perfect fire starter rocket. A trick I had taught Zane years before in the Adirondacks one rainy camping trip. It didn’t take long to get to the summit of the cliff . As we approached I pointed out some bear scat to Zane. We found several piles of them but they weren’t very fresh so we weren’t too alarmed. Black bear are abundant here as are moose. The view from the cliff was awesome! Far below Greg was out in the boat. Our cabin was visible beyond him in the distance. The view of the lake was impressive under the mixed sky of sun and clouds. I shouted out to Greg and we were rewarded with several echoes from different directions. Zane shouted out too and we reveled in the moment.No one to hear us so what did we care? We relaxed there for awhile before heading down to retrieve our birch bark prize. I suddenly noticed something that had escaped me on the hike up. Charred stumps sprinkled amongst the thick bush growth. There had been a forest fire here years ago. The island would have kept it isolated but had it been part of a much larger event? Research project there. We returned to the cabin and I assembled the rocket stove fire stater on the beach away from the cabin. It was decided to make a run to the ice house for bait and ice. The outfitter had told us we could get worms there. Our bait was disappearing fast. I was being careful to keep our leeches cool and in clean water. We had started with a full pound of them and were destined to run out before the end of the trip. They sound gross but they aren’t true bloodsuckers. Baited on a hook and presented properly they catch walleye! A trick a French Canadian had taught me over 20 years ago at nearby Kipawa Lake. We got to the site of the icehouse and cabin 6 to find it occupied. Four rather intoxicated fellows inside and staying there for a few days. We talked awhile and gathered some interesting information about our outfitter. They had been coming every year for over 10 years. They were a wealth of information! One guy had a pistol and I didn’t care for the nonchalant manner he had when he started waving it around. I made sure Zane was out of harms way and decided it was time to go. I would entrust myself to protect my son out on the water but not around this setting. They asked us to return and I knew we wouldn’t. Sometimes in life you get but one chance to get things right. This was one of those times. A loaded revolver should always have the hammer on a unloaded chamber. His was not and I had noticed right off. Greg had also. Their circus and their monkeys. Nice guys though and entitled to their decisions. Exit newest characters.

We had a great night fishing after our visit to cabin 6. We tried a new place off an island we seen the outfitter fishing one night. It lay off the super deep spot where the depth exceeded 140 feet. There were fish suspended at about 50 feet. No one had mentioned lake trout but I know a little about their habits and became curious just what species were lurking down there. There were even a few fish on the bottom. The rise of bottom leading up to the shore of the island was impressive. It jumped in 10 foot increments and we anchored in 20 feet of water. It was a boney bottom and snags were a problem from the start. Greg started catching great walleye from the front of the boat in the deeper water. I was stuck fishing in 10 feet of water and getting nothing. It’s that fickle sometimes. Greg was slightly in the lead in the contest at this point. He continued to pull ahead. He’s a very good walleye fisherman having been taught by a Canadian uncle over in North Bay,Ontario. Zane and I had some decent numbers though. We were a true team effort though. Taking turns netting the fish for each other. A lesson there for Zane. Netting is tricky and a serious responsibility. There’s nothing worse then losing a nice fish because the netter blows it. It does happen though as does having one break loose. We rarely had our lines break as we all use super strong braided line. Almost invisible and a hazard to the netter if they get caught up in it. It cuts like a knife especially with a thrashing walleye on the end of it. I think we all ended up with small cuts by the end of the week.Not to mention pierced by the super sharp dorsal fins the walleye sport. We use a gripper to minimize hazard to ourselves and to protect the fish.I requested to move the boat up to Raspberry Point where there were no snags on the sandy bottom. We named the place Keeper Point as we left due to the size of the walleye it had produced. Another dot on the map of a huge lake.

Back at Raspberry Point the wind picked and the “walleye chop” began to slap the boat. Perfect conditions! The waves seem to make the walleye feed. We all started catching fish and were having one of our best nights so far. We shared a few jokes and had some great laughs over goofy things! The sun set over the island in front of us and the trees took on a detail that the phone camera couldn’t quite capture. It was an epic moment for me. Totally checked out to our bush camp routines and the magic of rolling waves. Waiting for the tug of a finicky walleye. Trying to gauge the moment to set the hook. Concentration that supersedes all else. Only broken by the call of “fish on!” The netter’s job to drop his pole and take care of business. We had become the well oiled machine. We had become much more in fact. A band of brothers who had and were enjoying life to the max. I remember becoming quiet that evening and drifting in the rhythm of the waves. A dance of sorts as I stood there fishing. And I suddenly felt something come over me. I didn’t want to leave this place. Or all the places like it that were such a part of my core being. I had synced into the circle of nature. A place of rising and setting sun in midst of the cycles called seasons.That’s why I had agreed to come on such short notice. Money of little consequence. It can always be earned back in the afterglow of experience. Spontaneous and thrilling are these sudden decisions. There were many reasons why I had come here. Life can be heavy. Challenging and confusing.Filled with crushing heartbreak in many forms. I thought of our good friend Gerald lost to cancer last spring. Oh how he would have loved all this! He so loved to fish. I missed our 4th man who chose not to come. Our dear friend of adventures! I wasn’t filled with sadness. It was something so profound that I may never figure it out.Or even want to. It was turning point at a grand intersection of my life. I would soon be 60 and I was struggling with the idea. The solace of the bush was helping with that.I was living the dream. All those years of work had paved the way forward. I closed my eyes with a setting sun caressing my face and whispered to the sky thanks for my good fortune. All this was enough and would always be so.

We headed back to cabin with a beautiful sunset lighting the way. We passed the outfitter and some others fishing a huge sand bar we named The Markers. They fished there almost every night. We honored their private spot and only fished there once.It was business as usual back at the cabin. Fish to clean and to prep the nightly fry. A few freezer fish were added to the take home count. We were pushing the 194 record and felt pretty confident we would pass it. We were all in the main room when the mouse decided to visit. I know three had died but I persisted in the belief that my adversary hadn’t been killed. It sounds foolish I know but I felt it was true. My companions rolled their eyes at that one! Too much time in the sun perhaps. Why did the mouse tempt fate by showing up while we were there anyway? Something strange was afloat here. It had plenty of time to raid the place when we weren’t there. That’s why I know this was my mouse! He was fearless in a rash and cocky manner. Daring me to try for him again. He brazenly ran along the sink and in behind the stove. “Oh you want some of this? You want to play? It’s on my furry friend!”Yes I may have talked to the mouse! It was business as usual with him taunting me from behind the stove. I knew I was in trouble and called for backup. Zane moved into position and hovered just past the sink like a waiting predator. The odds were in our favor! I faked a move to the left of the stove and the mouse made his signature move! But Zane reached out with cat like reflexes as the mouse sped past. He grabbed the mouse but then screamed as the mouse bit him! The mouse let go without breaking skin or inflicting a wound. That said a lot about it’s character I decided. A good sport and a worthy opponent! The mouse once again reached the safety of the bathroom and we were left humbled by its skill. I reloaded the mouse traps and was thankful we had an abundance of peanut butter.By now I was recognizing the mouse by its size and color. I would know it if I caught it that night. But morning brought nothing but empty traps. And I was happy for that actually. Entertainment comes in different forms as does art. I hoped to soon square off once again with my opponent! The mouse had overstepped its boundaries by raiding in the first place. My companions were beginning to worry about me. Shut up about the mouse! ( sorry stole that line from a movie!) John Steinbeck said it well. “ Trouble with mice is you always kill ‘em” Or this Scots quote: “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry”. There is a bigger picture here. This story can’t end! There’s still too much to tell!✍️

Days Between Too

Posted on July 8, 2022July 8, 2022 by Greg Washburn

I often find it helpful to break stories into two parts. This portion of my adventure revolves around my fishing experience in a remote Adirondack pond I choose to leave nameless. It’s a destination where I encounter few people and rarely other fishermen. I arrived at the pond and was happy to see it was totally calm. Rare as it’s usually tossed by wind driven waves. I noticed a pair of loons immediately and something seemed out of place with one of them. I paddled closer and realized there were two tiny chicks perched on the one loons back! The loon let me get close enough for pictures and I left the family to pursue their loon activities. The one without the babies moved closer despite my peaceful retreat to a respectable distance. It began to get very animated and uttered a series of calls. Fluttering and flapping as though injured it would rise up out of the water before crashing back down. A ruse to divert my attention and I played along. Eventually the loon settled now and came very close to me. The dogs seemed indifferent to its approach and watched with sleepy eyes throughout the performance. I spoke to the loon and tried to mimic its calls. It answered back and we had a small standoff with the loon the clear winner. My attempts to perfect its sounds may have amused it actually. It decided that I was no threat and swam off to rejoin its family. I wondered if snapping turtles were a threat to the babies. I know they reside in the pond as I see them surface occasionally. What I didn’t know then was that a far more dangerous threat also occupied the pond.

I baited my pole with a weedless sienko setup with light sinkers and began trying for largemouth bass in the deeper waters of the lake. The weeds were invisible below the surface but my rig would twitch and tug my rod tip as it raked over them. I prefer to fish with a 7 foot walleye pole equipped with a quick fire open faced reel. My line is a super strong synthetic that is very small in diameter but has incredible breaking strength. It’s my preferred choice for walleye and it great for all around fishing. I wasn’t using a steel leader as it messes with my slow trolling technique. My rubber bait was rigged wacky and why fish find that enticing is beyond me! It was finally underway! Afternoon fishing. Not the best time of day but with the dark sky I felt I had a good chance of getting something. It was more about the chase anyway and the peaceful mental checkout that fishing supplies.

I missed the first nibble and cursed my lack of attention! It wasn’t long though that another fish struck and I was able to set the hook. I brought the bass to the surface quickly and it danced on its tail for a moment. That moment when they often throw the hook. But it was solidly caught and dove back under with another surge of energy. I had it next to the canoe shortly after and was able to successfully net it. Not huge but looked like a keeper. Yup! The start of a fish fry I thought as I stuck it onto the stringer. No easy feat with it fighting me every step of the way. I worked my way around the pond for sometime after that with no action what so ever. I decided to try a section that I usually skip over and was rewarded with a second legal bass for the stringer. I decided to work the deep hole I had found further after my success. A slight breeze had picked up and I needed to steer occasionally to keep my position. I had thrown my bait over the side and let it sink while repositioning the canoe. Things were about to get wild!

The canoe was back in position and I picked my rod back up to begin my retrieve. There was a serious resistance on the line and I thought I was snagged. However I was able to lift the “snag” some so I figured good just a sunken branch. My sunken branch suddenly began to move and I tightened my line more. It’s a fish I suddenly realized! Seconds later my hooked and invisible adversary sped off into deeper water! My pole bent at a crazy angle and my drag screamed off line to accommodate the increased force. It’s a big one I thought! I gently kept pressing on the fish and managed to get some line in but it soon surged off once again. The power being exerted below the surface was incredible and I kept expecting my line to snap. But the drag worked flawlessly each time the fish sped off. Finally the fish began to tire or so it seemed. It sat below the left side of the canoe and I began to bring it up through the dark green waters of the pond. Suddenly I got a glimpse of my prey!Not a huge bass as I had hoped but a northern pike of mind numbing size! It was hooked in the outer portion of its toothy mouth so it hadn’t sheared the line despite my lack of a steel leader. My view of the pike was short lived however. It spotted the canoe and ran down towards the bottom with a fresh urgency. I don’t know exactly how many times the pike ran or how many times I brought it to the surface as seconds turned into minutes. It charged the surface once and surfaced out from the canoe about ten feet. It employed a typical pike fight response as it snaked back and forth on top of the water. Many will be lost to a fisherman when this occurs but a Native American guide had taught me to bury the end of my rod down into the water to force the fish down. It worked and the battle continued. The pike began to weaken further and I soon had it alongside the canoe. The dogs were somewhat alarmed as it splashed and made one final run. Netting it was damn near impossible by myself. It’s head was in the wrong direction so I attempted a tail first netting. Big mistake as it didn’t even come close to fitting! I heaved it up and into the canoe. I was amazed at its huge girth and length! On the floor of the canoe the pike was out of the net and with a huge flop went over the side! Snap! At first I thought my rod was broken but it was just the knot at the hook that I heard. I had failed despite my best attempts! My huge pike would never make it into a photo and never would I get to measure it! I was still pumped from the encounter and disappointment suddenly washed over me. But I quickly shrugged it off as one of those moments that so often occur while fishing.Man what a predator!!

I kept fishing after that on the pond with no further success. The dark clouds released a soaking downpour and I continued fishing huddled in my rain jacket. I kept replaying the battle with the fish and wondered if I had made any mistakes that I should avoid in the future. Yes there was one big mistake! Fishing alone! The same thing had happened to me fishing in my Alumacraft boat on Middle Saranac years ago. A monster pike and a monster battle that ended in a similar fashion. Without someone to help net the fish it’s much more challenging. Perhaps a larger net would have been beneficial. I am not worried about the pike. The hook will dissolve eventually and it’s not down in the gills or other vulnerable soft tissue. I was suddenly struck by a greater worry. The loon babies! My monster pike is big enough to easily swallow them! Nature will prevail I suppose but I hope the loons survive.The big pike will be rested and hungry after our battle. What does he eat in the pond? Pretty much whatever he wants! As for me I returned to the creek and tossed a surface plug above some of the deeper sections. I stopped at a place where a log jam blocks most of the creek. Shaded and deep where the current holds the floating logs. A bass fishing spot if ever there was one. I lodged the canoe on a snag and fired my plug next to the jam. I was rewarded with a large surface strike from a bass. Hooked well and soon brought into the canoe. I felt better after that. Lost in the moment of sights and smells. My small catch of three bass plenty for my fish fry to come with some to freeze for a second meal. The rain and wind picked up as I returned to the campsite. I reflected on the day and all that had happened. No one to witness anything or recount the memories themselves. It only lives here now and in my memories. MOONTABS my friends!✍️

Days Between

Posted on July 7, 2022July 7, 2022 by Greg Washburn

July 4th. A holiday for most and certainly a day to celebrate all things American! Freedoms are plentiful in this nation of ours. Sometimes it’s difficult to fathom what’s to become of our great nation as time speeds on. I chose not to wander the paths of politics or government during our time here together. Rather I prefer to find positivity and hope that common sense may prevail. There are many good people who want to enjoy simple freedoms and are content in counting their small blessings. I find myself surrounded by the Happy Campers in these Adirondack state parks. They are frequent visitors to my ADK summer posts!

Looking around just what observations can be made about the Happy Campers? Most noteworthy is the display of positive energy most of the time. The joys of the upcoming stay that people post on social media.The arrival and the inevitable departure. It is weather and uncontrollable circumstances. It is family and friends. Or solitude of peaceful avoidance. It is the grand mental checkout before needing to return to the normal routine. Camp life is elemental and grounding. The ultimate immersion into nature and all the wonders that follow the sun across the sky each day. This is our story. Perhaps it is your story.

To say that taking time to write some days is difficult would be an understatement. I get so caught up in daily camp life and chasing adventures that writing sometimes takes the backseat. More like the trunk actually. Sometimes I can get a few words down during the morning generator slot of 9am to 11am but not very often. Often I will sit by the evening campfire and find inspiration in the events of the day. There have been a lot of challenges in my personal life these past few months. Not mine personally but in the lives of those I care about. It is not information that needs to be shared but it’s important to note that emotions often run high and finding a positive place in the now becomes more important than ever. Finding positivity and counting the small blessings lights a path where you might help others through hardships. Here when living life on the Adirondack clock there are numerous small blessings. The five senses are sharper and life takes on a certain clarity. And if the moment is right you may suddenly be swept away by the mysterious sixth sense. It is invisible and powerful. It is when your spirit energy syncs with nature and you feel part of something so much bigger than your own existence. It’s something that I wish I could gift to those with heartache and infinite sorrow. If only I could enter the circle of natural cycle and never leave. Perhaps it would no longer be so meaningful or healing. It here the questions begin. What could I be doing different? Should I grasp for a simpler life with a minimalistic mindset? Or should I trust an inner compass and enjoy the forward momentum. Reflections. I found something in the reflections of the forest yesterday on a quiet Adirondack pond while fishing in my canoe with the dogs. Perhaps I would do better by paddling you through yesterday’s adventure!

Tuesday morning I woke to the tapping of raindrops on the Airstream roof well before dawn. By the time I stated my morning coffee perking it was obvious that light rain was going to settle in and stay. Pulling up the weather on my phone is impossible as service is never very good here at Fish Creek. I was eager to fish so after I completed my morning routine I dressed warmly and donned my rain jacket. The dogs could have cared less about the rain and they happily jumped into the front of the canoe. We were across the pond from the inlet of Fish Creek itself and it took a few minutes to paddle to the entrance. The rain stopped and heavy gray clouds threatened to release more. It was very calm however and that was a huge plus for a fishing adventure. We made good time and soon passed the sign that reads “special waters”. No motorized boats are allowed past that point. It is also here that the campsites are left behind. The setting becomes lush and swampy with numerous lily pads and aquatic growth. The creek widens into a narrow pond of some size. The forest is thick and lines the banks on all sides. Tamaracks grow right out into the shallows but remain small as if the water impacts their growth.As the noise of the campground falls behind you immediately notice the bird songs. Chickadees and oven birds compete back and forth. The trumpet-like calls of the veery echo on all sides. But it is one birdsong that lifts my spirit energy! The white throated sparrow! My favorite of all birdsongs! To hear their signature song is to step backwards in time and remember trips to the Canadian bush fishing years ago.The forests are full of them there and they greet the dawn each day with energetic purpose. They live here in the Adirondacks but are fewer in number. Their songs will never fail to bring me into the now. The count of small blessings begins! To recognize the significance of even being in this beautiful place is the first and many follow.My connection to nature suddenly takes on a different perspective.The paddle continues and we enter the connector creek. Our destination grows nearer!

I have written of the connector creeks that are part of the Fish Creek waterway in several different posts. Winding and twisting in a medley of depths they are a most unique setting. The forest muffles any man made sounds from the distance and birds supply the backdrop. There are numerous fallen trees but the creek is maintained so the route is always passable. What really stands out here are the forest scents! Balsam and hemlock fill the air with a nostril enticing mixture. The lush scent of all things green is tantalizingly fresh after the recent rain. As for the rain? It had stopped and I was looking forward to fishing under cloudy skies. It’s never as productive in the afternoons on sunny days it seems. The dark and overcast sky might aid in my endeavors. The creek suddenly became wider as the first of the ponds appeared. It was almost time to begin drifting and trying for fish! ( to be continued)

Beyond It’s On.

Posted on June 14, 2022June 15, 2022 by Greg Washburn

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! ✍️