Cheesecote to St. John's, Harriman Park

It's an amazing transition from the suburbs to virtual wilderness. It happens so fast. The people of North Rockland are lucky to live so close to Harriman Park. From the mystic vibes of Cheesecote, across Call Hollow Road, and up into the highlands. People have lived here and worked here, but they are gone now. I admire them, and how hard they must have worked. Is it better now, gone back to the ancient rocks and roaring streams and gnarled trees and invisible animals watching you? Maybe sad to see the foundations and rocky roads grown over, but the overwhelming sensation of time puts it all in perspective. Nature is more patient than we are. Even with our frenetic bursts of energy and development, she will always wait us out in the long run. It seems all right somehow.

Major Tom and Silent Cougar continue their gradual progress up the Long Path. MJ and ZMan came along today, with a gray sky and a chilly breeze. Spooky weather, but we did not get the ghostly shivers of Cheesecote. Even when we stopped for our silent meditation on a rocky hilltop, I couldn't empty my mind enough to truly commune with the elements. Oh, it was beautiful and lonely and special; I just could not shake the physical parameters. We had a nice climb up, with lots of birds (including a pileated woodpecker), streams with mesmerizing eddies, and tunnels of mountain laurel. Maybe it was me, just being too rooted in reality.

About halfway along our 3.5 mile hike, I felt a sudden shift. Perhaps the "hikers' high" kicked in. Maybe it took that long to shed the emotional baggage of a long week at work. I don't know. The exact moment for me came when a bird vibrated past my right ear. A sudden explosion of wingbeats. At the same instant, four snowflakes hit my face. Were they tiny, cold raindrops? As fast as I turned, the bird was gone. Was it really ever there? I was finally transported where I needed to be. Nature never lets me down; I just have to be patient sometimes.

Silent Cougar was up ahead with ZMan. We had gone through the social phase of the hike, and they were now waiting and listening. I recovered from my mental shift and quietly joined them. They had found a hollow where there was no sound. Uncanny. One of my favorite feelings. Ancient eyes watching us. Animals that have prowled these woods for thousands of years. People have come and gone. The elders will wait patiently, knowing that we will soon leave also. When SC and ZMan whispered, there was an amazing projection, almost an echo, then an awed hush, as if no one had ever spoken before. I felt the power of the place too. A rocky bottom, filled with trees, a tiny waterfall in a slow vernal stream. Looking up at the slope ahead of us, dozens of boulders, just sitting there. Or were they moving slowly downhill? How far had they moved since the glaciers melted, 10,000 years ago? Maybe if they were in fast forward, or if we slowed down, we would see them creep downhill. The Stones of Years that ELP sang about. Up the big hill...

At the high point, we came to a beautiful old shelter, on top of a mountain with an amazing view. It was all downhill from there, in a beautiful way. The second half of the hike was much more special than the first. Was it mind-set or setting? Either way, I would recommend walking from South to North on this stretch. MJ loved the ice on the rocks, and the beautiful swampy pond on top of a hill. Frosty sheets with leaf patterns. Fluffy green sphagnum moss. ZMan put his hands in every stream and pond that we passed. He lay flat on rocks, crouched on bridges, and jumped from stone to stone across streams. A watery paradise.

Almost to the church of St. John's in the Wilderness, we passed through a beautiful grove of red pine trees. A place of dignity and power and timelessness. I felt completely humbled as I stumbled back onto the blacktop. A pleasant hike in the woods had irrevocably changed, when I felt a natural mystic blowing through the air.