Snakes Alive!

From the Town of Walkill (Orange County) to the base of the Shawangunks.

Brutal. I don’t normally complain, but the first few miles of this section were brutal. “Road Walk” is a pretty inadequate description of this trail. Major Tom and Silent Panther stuck it out, and finished off the 17 miles of this section, but wow. The previous section of the Long Path in Orange County was described as a “Road Walk,” and recommended for bicycle. We enjoyed riding that section, so we assumed that this portion of the Path would be similar. I guess we should have done our homework better, because this was pretty tough going.

We parked on Hidden Drive, where we had ended a previous section. Pedaling across Route 211, it seemed like we were in for a pleasant ride on a beautiful Spring day. How wrong we were. The pleasant vibes lasted less than a minute, as we encountered the “field” that we were supposed to “skirt”. It was wet. Really wet. The kind of wet where you try to keep your feet dry by stepping from clump to clump, then you realize that the clumps are rushes, not grasses and this is a wetland and there is no way to keep your feet dry so you keep on pushing and try not to think about the fact that your feet will be soggy for the next few hours. Uh-oh…in between the rushes is a lot of poison ivy. Uh-oh…all these tall rushes must be full of ticks. Uh-oh…what else is in this marsh? Push the bikes faster, up the hill. Why isn’t it getting drier as we go up the hill? Seems like sheets of water are flowing down over the surface. Almost like we are in a shallow pond. Scream! Okay, I admit it. I screamed. Two large snakes were under my wheel. Northern water snakes. I guess this “field” is really wet! They were almost black, about two and a half feet long. On top of each other. One slinked away immediately, while the other looked at me reproachfully, then gradually moved off into the rushes. Water snakes are non-venemous, but they can be aggressive, and give a painful bite. Not what I needed to cheer me up.

After the longest five minutes of my life, we reached the relative safety of the woods. We found two deer ticks on our bodies immediately, and two more later. Yikes. I told Silent Panther not to touch his legs, because of all the poison ivy we had trampled on our mad dash through the swamp. The snake theme was even harder to escape; indeed it persisted throughout our odyssey.

But we were out of the wetland! Everything was going to be groovy…except that the “woods road” was too rocky and steep for our bikes. We panted up a switchback, wishing for lighter bicycles to push. Attempting to ride down the other side of the ridge, we wished for heavy-duty vehicles. It would have been easier to hike this section, since the bikes were a heavy burden to push. Occasional stretches were possible to ride, though filled with drama: sharp rocks, deep puddles and wild turns. It took us almost two hours to “ride” the first 4.5 miles of the trail.

Did I mention the mosquitoes? Huge and hungry. Fast and furious. Numerous and numberless! On the smooth stretches where we could ride, we stayed a heartbeat ahead of the bloodsuckers. As soon as we had to dismount to coax our steeds through a patch of jagged rocks, the vampires were upon us, as thick as a brick. If we stopped to swat at them, more enemy reinforcements caught up. The least bad option was to push the machines as fast as possible, while trying to ignore the blood loss. How long had the demons been waiting for victims? Certainly, we saw no one else in Highland Lakes State Park all day. Maybe we missed a memo about the human sacrifices scheduled for that date!

As predatory as the insects seemed that day, my brain was stuck in reptile mode. The sinuous trail slithered over the harsh landscape. Were those water snakes following us? Were their venomous cousins lurking around the next corner?   What is that pretty wildflower? Oh no, it’s rattlesnake plaintain! I just knew that something was slytherin around like Salazar, slightly out of sightly. A lovely sweet smell? Yikes…honeysssuckle! Should we run, to get out of this den of vipers as fast as possible? Or should we slow down and stamp our feet, to give the copperheads a chance to slink away? Maybe our next encounter would be with the basilisk!

“Bear to the right at an intersection in a particularly wet low-lying area.” Okay, the Long Path book really nailed that description. Nobody’s fault but mine, to tempt fate like this. And I know very well that it has been a wet Spring. What kind of father intentionally brings his first-born son to a place like this? “Okay,” I hear you say, “Your feet are already soaked, you’ve been bitten and bruised; why would you care about a little more mud?” Fair enough question, so let me add two more M-words: millipedes and manure. Normally, I am fine with multi-legged creatures. Hey, at least they have legs! But at that point in time, with my brain stuck in Snake Central, these poor little critters took on a menacing character. I didn’t want to see anything remotely serpentine. Certainly, I did not wish to crush one under foot or wheel. No prob; we would just navigate around them. But wait! What were these brown globs everywhere? Horse manure? You have got to be kidding me! It was probably only about 10 meters through this “low-lying intersection,” but it took us at least 5 minutes, which seemed liked approximately 10,000 years. The mud/water/manure was knee-deep, for crying out loud! We attempted to keep our feet on narrow ridges and logs, but you know how well that worked out! Probably the low point of our quixotic mission. I will spare you, gentle readers, the foul language we sputtered during that treacherous passage.

 And now…high ground! No more mud! No more manure either; perhaps the horses had been inspired by the crappy conditions to do their thing in the “particularly wet area.” So now everything was guns and roses, right? Well…definitely looking up, but you never saw so many sssalamanders! There were several hundred on the trail. Apparently, the area contained many thousand of these slimy, dare I say snakish, amphibians. We really didn’t want to squish any of these guys, but they were virtually wall-to-wall (slight exaggeration). When we were able to mount our machines and ride, we tried our best to believe that no newts were harmed in the production of this film.

Cool pond. Trees chewed down by beavers. Wildflowers. Lots of frogs. Uh-oh; here come the skeeters…time to move on. Now a big field of tall grass, with bike trails in all directions. Riding full-time now, bombing through the meadow, way too fast, trying to leave all the scary stuff behind. Another field; hey, are we going in circles? Doesn’t matter; we are finally having fun!

Could that be blacktop? Civilization? Life forms other than herptiles and insectoids? Glory be…it must be Tamms Road! 4.5 miles down, 12.5 miles to go. Ouch. We were exhausted and filthy and soggy and starving. Okay, okay, I know that some people have real problems, but at that moment, I wasn’t too psyched to face a couple more hours of riding. The rest of the day was a blur, but I remember pedaling up a lot of hills, and walking up a few more. I recall that our sandwiches were the most delicious of my life. We ate them in a beautiful park that even had running water! We washed our legs, and attempted to dry our shoes and socks while we ate. It didn’t work too well, but hey.

Back in the saddle again. Onwards and upwards. A bewildering series of roads, of rights and lefts. Twice we forded streams where bridges had been washed out by last year’s storms. It got hot. We drank all our water; next time bring more. Finally a left turn on Shawanga Lodge Road. Down a long hill and pedaling furiously up one last rise. I was amazed that we had any gas at all left in the tank.

There’s the car! I told Silent Panther that I had left the keys in the mud-hole; we would have to go back for them. To his credit, he was able to see the manure for what it was. I dug the keys out of my pocket, and we sped off into the sunset. I’m sure that at least one snake was left by the side of the road, plotting its revenge.

On Top of the Catskills

We stood on top of an outcrop of sedimentary rock, ringed by dark spruces and firs. There were glimpses of distant peaks, and a feeling that anything could happen. Suddenly, snowflakes drifted out of the mid-April sky. It was a perfect moment to be at the summit of Slide Mountain, on top of the Catskills.

Much earlier, the four of us had stumbled out of bed way downstate, and packed into the vehicle for a day trip to the mountains. Zman, big and furry, fell asleep right away. MJ demonstrated her driving skills. Silent Panther was lost in the hiking zone. Major Tom comtemplated a variety of trail options. Up route 17 to Liberty, then farther and farther into the foothills. Frost Valley Road swept right and left around the great curves of the Neversink River. We decided to park at the Slide Mountain trailhead, start up the yellow trail, and join the Long Path at the ridge.

As we eased into the woods, all the stress of the long drive melted away. The waters of the Neversink chattered quietly to each other as we picked our way across, from stone to stone. A kingfisher perched in silent vigil above the stream. The water level seemed very low for April; I guess there's not much snowmelt this year. Onwards and upwards, we wound our way through a patch of spring beauties, with their delicate pink and white flowers. It was also fun to see striped maples, which do not occur downstate. As we headed uphill, the hardwoods gave way to evergreens.

A trail split off to the right, heading to the Denning Road parking area. We plowed on up the hill, a long and steady rise. Major Tom suggested stopping for a rest, but MJ said that we might not get going again, so we soldiered on. Soon we were switching back and forth through dense evergreens. She said it reminded her of narrow alleys in some ancient European city. Suddenly Zman announced that there was snow on the ground up ahead. Not likely; we had not seen that downstate since the middle of January. But he was right, and the snow patches become more frequent, til we we walking on a continuous bed of ice and snow. A couple passed us heading down. They claimed that we would reach the top in 20 minutes. Totally untrue!

After slipping and sliding up the trail up the trail for another half hour, we met a family descending the slope. Just around the bend they said. Another lie! But it was a beautiful day, and great exercise. We saw a swath of trees that had been blown down by a mighty wind. Views were starting to open up on the left side of the trail. An elderly couple sped down the trail, in ridiculously good shape. They had ski poles, and what looked like chains on their boots. Meanwhile our Zman was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, with his hair flying everywhere. Silent Panther was getting ridiculous, being the opposite of silent. Their wild energy and bizarre commentary propelled us up the highest mountain in the Catskills.

By this point, we were on the route of the Long Path. Along this ridge, the LP follows the Wittenberg-Cornell Slide Trail. It seemed strange to see red blazes instead of "Long Path Blue." The snow was packed smooth by many feet, and was very slippery in spots. The air was cold, but we had worked up quite a sweat. Eventually, the trail leveled out, and we found the foundation of an old fire tower. We were at 4,180 feet above sea level! A little farther, and we reached our destination: the outcrop surrounded by evergreens. It's a magical spot, with just tantalizing hints of a panoramic view. Some of the dates carved in the rock were very old, and the snow shower seemed out of time as well. This place had experienced many things over the years. A very patient and wise rock outcrop. Major Tom wanted to sit and eat, but was outvoted. Onwards and downwards!

We ran helter skelter down much of the trail, skidding and laughing. The ice seemed to know that it was an endangered species at this point, and did not try too hard to slip us up. Between snow flurries, the sun came out and felt quite warm. Soon this ice will be adding to the meager flow of the river below. The ankle gods were also on our side, as no one twisted anything on the long, cobbley downslope. Silent Panther made due note of the trail junction we will need to reach in the future, so that we cover every step of the Long Path.

Back across the river, to the car, the stretch and the tick check. It was a long drive home. We were quiet, filled with our thoughts. It's not easy to shift mental gears from mountain mode to modern mode. Part of your mind stays in that snow flurry, surrounded by conifers, on top of the catskills.