Tag Archives: hiking

Bush Cabin 5:Branching Out

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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!✍️

Beyond It’s On.

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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! ✍️

Tales Of An Ice Walker: The Origins

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

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Winter Whims

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

More Days Like These.

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

Day 4

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

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

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

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

Ice Age:Part 1

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Mid February approaches here in northern New York and we are surrounded by ice. Frozen streams,rivers, swamps,ponds, and lakes.Driveways and parking lots. Icicles hanging from house eaves as the sun melts rooftop snow accumulations.Ice is powerful. Cracking concrete and road surfaces.It transforms shorelines as water levels change throughout the winter. It coats highways with an almost invisible layer sometimes that we call “black ice”. Dangerous and unpredictable for drivers. Residents of northern climes have learned to dread the occasional winter ice storms. Freezing rain wreaks havoc on trees and electric power grids.Residents here remember the major ice storm of 1998. It crippled this area for weeks. I also remember a less severe one in 1991 that caused a power outage for several days. It would seem that ice is a detrimental part of living in this area. True to an extent when it disrupts our daily routines. However the annual formation of winter ice can be an outdoor enthusiast’s source of joy! Ice fishing is a favorite pastime of ours. We venture out preferably once it reaches a thickness of 6 inches or greater. It’s a subject worthy of a future post! Winter ice also provides for some great hiking opportunities. Snowshoes,skis,or just plain walking. Traveling ice enables a person to access areas that prove difficult in the warmer months. Safety is imperative always!Along the rocky cliffs of the Beaver Creek gorge ice takes on a new meaning. Huge icicles and ice falls form as winter progresses each season. Beautiful in color and detail. Hiking to view them is an annual event. I never really thought much about climbing too high on them although we have donned spikes and captured some awesome photos under them! It wasn’t until December 2020 while on an Adirondack holiday with Jennifer that I would suddenly be inspired to even consider the sport of ice climbing!We were browsing a store in the Keene Valley called The Mountaineer when it happened. One section is dedicated to climbing gear. Photos of climbers decorate the walls above a wide selection of items that were foreign to me. I found the gear interesting and intriguing.We browsed our way up to the second floor where there were even more photos of happy climbers grinning with obvious pride of accomplishment! I suppose some would call it an epiphany. I suddenly was struck with an intense curiosity! What did it take to be a climber? Rock climbing never struck me as a hobby that I would pursue even though I love high places. But ice? Hmm…. what if? I asked a clerk about renting gear and how did an individual break into the sport of ice climbing?I learned that a guide could be hired for an introductory training session. I consulted Jennifer. A Xmas gift for Zane? For us to try together? I wondered if I was even fit enough or had the nerve to try it in the first place. I left with the information to enroll in a class in January if I decided to sign up. I wasn’t even sure if Zane was interested so later that evening I decided to flat out ask him. Yes, it spoiled the element of surprise but this was no ordinary adventure! He seemed receptive and interested so the next day I got us signed up for a January date. So began the process of booking a room and making preparations. It was settled to a degree. Xmas was past and our date was fast approaching when we decided to expand our adventure to include volunteer work working on the Saranac Lake Winter Carnival Ice Palace project. But nature is fickle sometimes. I was packing the car for our adventures when the call came in from The Mountaineer. Subzero temperatures were forecast forcing a cancellation. Unsafe and ill advised to ice climb. They were cancelling all weekend excursions for safety.I was directed to call a local guide service for a possible rebooking.It was at this moment that I was introduced to Adirondack Rock and River Guide. The owner and founder “Ed” took my call. In business since 1988 he had lots of questions about our expectations for an adventure. He recommended we book out a week and hire one of his guides to train us for our ice climbing outing. All equipment would be provided, training,and a custom climb would be tailored to ensure a safe trip.It was on again!Booked and on the calendar. Jennifer mentioned to me that Adirondack Rock and River also had lodging and other activities.But finding rooms on short notice is sometimes difficult during the busy Adirondack winter season. We settled for a motel in nearby Wilmington after traveling up Saturday afternoon. I wanted us fresh and ready Sunday morning for our big day! Zane loves getting away and spending time together for a night regardless of our destination. We enjoy our conversation time, meals, and hunkering down in a cozy, warm room. Sunday morning the temperature hovered around 0 degrees but the daytime temperature was forecast for about 20 degrees. We arrived at Adirondack Rock and River early to find Ed shoveling some snow around the walkways between the various buildings. He commented that we were way too early but invited us to tour the lodge that was unoccupied. He gave us some further instructions while we bantered back and forth for a time. We gathered some history on each other then he returned to his shoveling. I thought it was cool that he as the owner shoveled snow!To not describe the quiet beauty of the location would fail to properly tell the story of our day! The complex is located at the very end of Alstead Hill Road just outside of Keene, N.Y. A flat location with mountains surrounding it in all directions.The Jackrabbit Ski Trail connects to one of the parking sections. A popular destination of cross country skiers and hikers this trail network provides a long connecting route to several local villages. The complex consists of three structures and a couple wood shed type buildings. There’s the main house and the two separate lodges. The stone fireplace in the Climbers Lodge is easily the largest that I have ever seen!We were outside enjoying the scenery when our guide pulled in promptly at 8:30. He hopped out of his truck and introduced himself as Chad. He was not a huge fellow but super lean and strong looking. Obviously fit. I guessed his age at 30 something but later learned he was 47! I liked him immediately.His calm demeanor and casual questions about our expectations for the day quickly squashed my coffee fueled anxiety. A veteran ice climber of 20 plus years he assured us we would enjoy the day. We headed into the lower level of the Guide’s lodge to be fitted for gear, sign paperwork, and have our personal gear inspected. Pictures of ice and rock climbers adorn the walls with an assortment of antique climbing gear filling in the gaps. Chad continued his questions. “ Do you want to spend 2 hours of your day in here learning about equipment or get out there and learn at the base of the ice falls?” He asked. He seemed pleased when we said let’s get right to it! I honestly told him we weren’t even sure we could do it or even wish to return. So began our formal education of being safely fitted with equipment.New words and terms to learn. It was exciting and interesting!Zane asked me if I was nervous when Chad left the room to grab some gear. “ Yes! I am! You?” I replied! He admitted he was nervous too! I simply stated that we needed to listen and follow all the instructions. Chad returned and the fitting began. Step one: ice climbing boots. Double type recommended for warmth. Some ice climbers prefer single boots but sacrifice some warmth for mobility. Step two: crampons. Fitted and adjusted to boot size. Sharp spikes front and bottom. Step three: helmets. Similar to a hard hat but with a lower profile. Step four: VIP! a harness. Proper fit is crucial!Chad took extra time with this step with good reason we’d later learn. Step five : an ice belay on a locking carabiner. Then the ropes used for climbing. Also crucial! We’d rely on one primarily. Color coded and labeled,we’d learn to recognize it as a “dynamic” rope. It’s composition allows a 7% stretch. So for a 100 ft extension it will stretch 7 ft! A safety consideration on the ice face. Super strong and inspected each time it’s used. We also took a “static line” rope. No stretch and used as a special purpose backup. Chad also carried a variety of carabiners, slings, and items that we couldn’t even identify at that moment. Ice climbing is considered an “extreme” sport. Dangerous if not equipped properly. Dangerous if attempting without proper training. Hiring a licensed guide is the best approach. We purchased a package deal with equipment provided as well as the guide.SAFETY,SAFETY,SAFETY!!! I brought us there for fun not a tragic experience!Sure there’s some risk but minimal when all risks are factored as possibilities. Next a lesson in proper knots and tying them. A little intimidating at first but Chad gave us “ crutches” to help us remember them!We learned the “figure 8 and double figure 8”. All important and always buddy checked! Our crash course lasted about an hour and Chad deemed us fitted and ready to roll! I will end part 1 here! The actual climbing adventure deserves its own story now that you know the basics! Did you learn anything?🤔

Snow bored? No Snowboard!

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I share a special bond with my son Zane. He’s been a source of joy in my life every since his birth some 16 plus years ago. I’ve watched him grow into a rather powerful young man these days. On the mountain trails he tests my endure but has learned patience as well. I still hold my own rather well but must acknowledge that he will eventually surpass me. In some ways he already has I’d have to admit. I lead with upper body strength but not by much. I’m ok with the transition actually.It’s inevitable. It reminds me of something my Dad once said a year or so before he died. We were working with our bandsaw mill and moving some heavy planks we’d just sawn. I was on the front end of one and he was behind me. He suddenly said something most profound to me. “It seems like only yesterday when I was in the front and you were struggling to keep up behind me!Now it is I who struggles in the back!” My father was a man of much fewer words than myself of that make no mistake! I’ve always remembered that conversation and think of it as I watch my son move into the lead. My father was an incredible worker well into his late seventies. I still use him as an age based role model when I think a job or task has gotten too difficult because of “my age”. I shared a special bond with my father for many years. A bond forged in hard physical labor on the farm. In the forest and in the fields we spent many hours together working.It paid huge dividends for me over the years. No task on a construction site was ever more difficult than something I had endured on the farm. I think it was in the blazing hot hay mows that my endurance was secured for all time. Zane enjoys a much more laid back life than I ever had growing up. I’ve taught him to work but we take a lot more time to enjoy rigorous outdoor pursuits then actually working. It’s building endurance in him but in a much different manner. In Zane I’ve found a rough and tumble adventure buddy. The older he gets the rowdier the activities seem to get! A couple years ago we were sliding down hill with Jennifer and her nephew Garrett when Zane decided to ride the toboggan downhill while standing up on it!Of course I had to try this myself! It ended with me smashing my shoulder up some after a nasty spill but not before Jennifer had mentioned she thought I would be a good snowboarder. That’s all it took and the following Sunday would find Zane and I attending a beginners snowboarding class. I had done a little skiing over the years. Both downhill and water. But the snowboard was much different and very foreign feeling. Zane picked it up quite quickly and I struggled through the class falling many times. But my stubbornness would prevail. I would manage to pass the class and secure my lift ticket. Not everyone in the class was so fortunate. I spent the remainder of that day falling and getting back up. But I began to get the feel of it and eventually made some awesome runs! I was hooked! Zane’s happy face spurred me on past the point of exhaustion. I left the hill battered and hobbling but feeling something special had been accomplished. A new place where bonding with my son could occur! Not to mention my new sport was exciting and fun! I never went again that winter and the winter of 2020 would find me recovering from a broken pelvis. I watched from the ski lodge as Zane and his friend careened down the hill. Major bummer for me!But laying low wasn’t going to work for me so I pushed myself to recover. We hiked 13 ADK high peaks in the summer of 2020. It wasn’t easy but Zane was my lead dog and we counted them down one by one. I realized something as we finished our final one in September. I was ready to take up snowboarding again come winter! So recently we have gone twice. I took a second lesson before I tried it for my second time. Last Sunday was my third time ever and I finally started to feel like I was getting the hang of it. Zane couldn’t be happier! I drives me on. Pushing through fatigue and sometimes even some pain. It’s worth it ! On the lift together swapping stories and laughing! I feel like a boy at those moments. Not a father with my son but as two snowboarding buddies. They say there is no foundation of youth. I beg to differ. It flows from the excitement of new experience and challenge. From my son’s encouragement as he helps me back onto my feet when I get too tired to get up myself. From his cheers and fist bumps after a gnarly run where I pushed my limits and stuck the run. My battered and tired body heals after some rest. I’m ready for more. I asked him the other day on the lift what comes next?How will he challenge me? The energy flows through the rush of the board strapped to my feet. That need to stay standing to avoid a painful fall. In my son I’ve found a friend and fellow adventure junkie. Who knows what comes next? I do actually! Our next wild adventure came from an idea that I stumbled upon!He’s going to love it and I’m going to love sharing it!Until then it looks like I’ll be healed up enough to hit the slopes on Sunday. More snowboarding fun is in store. Monday’s were always rough when I worked. Now they’re rough in retirement!

Tracks

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Time sure has a way of speeding past during the holidays!Today finds us one week into the official winter season already!We were unable to view the the planetary alignment last Monday on winter solstice due to cloudy skies. In fact it’s been very cloudy much of the time lately.Darkness seems pervasive and almost overwhelming at times in the days leading up to winter solstice.Also in the days that follow.I find it best to plan activities accordingly. If I fail to get moving in the morning I find myself cutting my outdoor activities short most days.Far different than the days of summer where my energy will be depleted well before the sun sets! The recent weather has cycled in a pattern that never truly enters winter. Very little snow and lots of rain. The absence of snow postpones our winter plans somewhat.There’s no doubt winter will arrive in earnest at some future date. We desired some post Xmas hiking since there was almost no snow.We made our plans. Got in touch with our friends who would join us. It was all set!Nature decided a few changes were in order!A surprise snow storm would dump several inches of powder in just a few hours.Not enough for snowshoes or skis but more than we would typically hike through. We decided to hike regardless. We chose a trail system near home as travel time in December eats daylight. This trail system is called the Grand Reserve. It’s part of a local conservancy known as Indian River Lakes Conservancy.IRLC for short. It was created just over 20 years ago by a small group of dedicated individuals who desired to build a legacy of preservation. Through acquisitions and donated parcels they’ve grown to over 2200 acres of protected lands and watersheds. They have a small full time staff and groups of volunteers who assist with trail stewardship, summer children’s programs, and educational seminars. I will showcase them further in a future post. Our family has been affiliated with them since 2018 so we have some interesting stories to share!Our friends weren’t familiar with the trail system so we wanted to introduce them to the location. A party of six people and two dogs would constitute our group.As we entered the trail after parking our vehicles we realized someone else had been there ahead of us. A person most certainly from the tracks in the fairly recent snow but others as well! Enter my special winter hobby of years! The study of tracks in snow!It’s a fascinating outdoor activity for me! It’s a bonus of winter treks especially on fresh snow. I become the detective and look for clues .Who is living in these woods?What are their activities? How many different species can I identify? Will I guess correctly and piece together the stories of the animals who inhabit this winter habitat? The birds as well. Their story much more difficult to unravel.The tracks will confuse at times but never lie. Those who leave them have no need to cover them up. Their’s is the business of survival.Winter brings challenge and struggle. Danger for some and advantage for others. Studying tracks brings me into a state of “ mental painting”. Picturing the event that has been left for me to decipher. It draws me deep into a place of quiet reflection at times. Beneficial and relaxing in its simplicity.Tracks are a gift of winter snow. Each thaw or storm to reset the canvas.A fresh set of stories to be gathered and recorded. I knew beforehand what tracks we might expect to find. I would not be wrong with my predictions. We spotted the tracks of numerous gray squirrels.Groups of cloven footed deer on the move.Porcupines whose distinctive waddle makes them easy to identify. Their tracks originating in the the fallen rocks of cliffs where they den up and then forking off to their feeding trees. The bare bark of girdled trees as obvious as their tracks. There was one set of tracks I had to guess at however. They belonged to either a large weasel or small mink. They entered the base of a hollow log and exited further towards the top. A well known habit of theirs. As is their hopping nature which gives their tracks a certain signature. This was the extent of the tracks we would find in the forest. It wasn’t until we reached the shore of Grass Lake that things would change. I had mentioned my desire of getting close to the thin ice of the lake to my son Zane. I hoped we’d be rewarded with the tracks of a water dwelling mammal.We’d spot nothing at first as we stood on the shore of the lake. But I suddenly spotted an abnormal spot in the ice. Falling snow collects in the water and freezes into a gray layer I call “snow ice”. There was a section of snow ice that had obviously been broken by something. It had refrozen into clear black ice. I carefully studied the evidence before me. “A beaver did this” I said to Zane. It had poked its head through the thin snow ice but had not come ashore. I turned to the right to study the swamp beyond us and there sat the beaver! On top and feeding some distance away! I felt a sense of accomplishment in that moment!I had guessed correctly! The presence of the beaver confirmed my observation. Darkness was approaching and we’d need to cut our hike short. But our first outing on winter snow studying tracks was successful!It gets me fired up and ready to return after the next snowfall. I’ve spent many happy hours studying winter tracks.There are many tales to tell! The tracks didn’t lie. I don’t either.