Goodbye to North Lake

Silent Panther and I reached the last high peak of the Central Catskills. We do need to go back and finish a section farther South (we hiked up Slide Mountain, and back the same way). Once again, we stayed in the North South Lake campground, which is a magical place. On previous visits, we did not have the opportunity to fully appreciate the campground. This time, we experienced it to the max!

We woke up cold and stiff on Tuesday morning, fumbling around in the dark for our packs. I went with my second-best shoes, since the best pair got soaked in last evening’s storm (along with all our camping gear!).

We drove 30 minutes to drop a car at the end of the hike, at Elm Ridge Wild Forest. Ours was the only car in the parking lot. It was cold for August! The sun was rising and the fog was amazing. Then we drove back to the beginning of the hike, the familiar parking lot at the end of Big Hollow Road. We hiked up toward the Escarpment Trail, in a dense mist. Silent Panther went back for his sweatshirt, and was grateful to have it. We crossed the Batavia Kill on a couple of nice wooden bridges.

The ground was wet, and there were amphibians everywhere, like Lucky Newt:

We reached the Long Path/Escarpment Trail at the top of the ridge, and headed North.

At Acra Point, there was not much of a view. Farther along the trail, we got a good look at our upcoming challenge, Burnt Knob.

We walked down into a valley, then back up again to the Knob. Here we had a great view West to the Blackhead Range. From left to right, the peaks are named Blackhead, Black Dome and Thomas Cole mountains.

Looking North, we could see our next workout, Windham High Peak:

Back down into another valley, then up to the Peak. Here we found the dramatically-named “Great Northern Viewpoint.”

The mountains are shorter as you go North from here, and the views less spectacular. This picture shows some of the hills to the North that we will have to climb on the way to Altamont.

We descended from Windham High Peak, heading into Big Hollow. We saw a couple of interesting things: a bear footprint and a cool snake.

Unfortunately, I developed a big blister on my little toe, so the last couple of miles were painful! When we arrived at the Elm Ridge parking lot, there were lots of cars, and people biking on the trails.

Finishing the 10 miles early gave us time to enjoy the campground. After years of returning too late, we finally had a nice swim and soak in North Lake when we got back to camp. We did some fishing, and explored the shoreline. It’s easy to see how artists like Thomas Cole were inspired by this beautiful area.

Bridges & Boulders, Part 1

                                            by  Major Tom

Silent Panther and Major Tom had a crazy idea…a 2-day hike in the Southern Catskills! We would do Samson Mountain and Bangle Hill the first day, camp at Sundown Primitive Campground, and hike Peekamoose and Table Mountain the second day. What could go wrong?

Day 1 was a 10-mile hike from Riggsville to Bull Run. The weather was great, we got an early start, and life was peachy keen. We left a car at Sundown, drove down to Upper Cherrytown Road, and got rolling.

Even though we started with a long uphill climb, we were amazed at our progress…we were averaging 2 miles per hour over rough terrain! We took pictures at the beautiful Vernooy Falls…would have been happy to spend the day there. In fact, we both had a nice Hikers’ High, and were in great spirits J

We crossed countless streams, over innumerable bridges, every shape, size and style. The first wildflowers were opening up, almost before our eyes. There was virtually no animal activity visible, and hardly any bird calls. We literally did not see a single other hiker in 6 hours. It was a beautiful day…where was everybody?

Maybe they were scared away by the “steep and long” descent at the end of the hike! Ascending Bangle Hill was smooth sailing, but the downhill was brutal and interminable. We have hiked many trails over several years, done much longer hikes, and climbed up and down slopes where all fours were required. But never has a hill taken such an epic toll on the knees! Perhaps because the old wood road was so long and steep, perhaps because the slope never changed, I don’t know. But Major Tom had to stop and rest his knees a few times.

Silent Panther was giddy and goofy. He said “The farther down I go, the higher I get!” We followed a beautiful stream with endless small waterfalls, over a mile of straight descent in a V-shaped valley. When we got to the trail register at the bottom, Major Tom wobbled over to sign out. The previous entry read: “Bangle Hill. Steep descent? Nah.” We assumed that was Hikers’ Sarcasm.

As the trail reached Peekamoose Road, there was an enormous boulder decorated with grafitti. We were impressed to see that Kim Jon Ill (sic) had left his calling card! As we walked to the campsite, we felt that our tribulations were all behind us. Little did we know…

Since we had made such good time, we had plenty of daylight to set up camp. We wrangled the tent together, and built a nice fire. There was no electricity, no running water, no cell service, but hey…it was the wilderness! As the fire dimmed, the stars blazed. We saw the Big Dipper, Orion, Taurus and the Pleidaes. When it got really dark, we saw the Milky Way, which is not visible at home. While looking for a meteor, we found the International Space Station, and followed its orbit. All this while enjoying sandwiches and water! Life was good.

But…as the night progressed, the temperature dropped alarmingly. Major Tom’s sleeping bag turned out to be lacking a zipper. This proved troublesome all night, as his feet turned into blocks of ice! We woke up to frost in the morning, gulped down a cold breakfast, and hit the road. The adventures of the second day will be chronicled by Silent Panther, in Part 2.

However, I would like to end Part 1 on a happy note. Back in the 1970’s, I had visited my Aunt Helen in Ithaca, NY. She took my family to the Cornell Ornithology Lab, and we met the legendary Peter Paul Kellogg. He taught us the call of the Barred Owl: “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?” In all the years since, I have never heard that call in nature (although I have imitated it for many young uns).

As night fell on day 1, we heard an owl across the stream. It was saying “Who cooks? Who cooks?” I was disappointed, because I did not recognize that call. But toward morning, after a long night of tossing and turning and freezing, I heard what seemed to be the same owl. And this time, it asked about “you all”. Thank you, Mr. Kellogg.

Bridges & Boulders, part 2

                               by Silent Panther

After somehow surviving a nearly sleepless night in the freezing cold, we got up at the crack of dawn and prepared for the second day of hiking.  We said goodbye to our campsite, never more grateful for the heating systems in our cars, before driving and dropping off the cars at each end of the hike.  Along the way we spotted two glorious bald eagles perched in the trees and made sure to stop to get a picture.

Shortly after we began hiking we realized we were in for a long day.  Unlike the previous day’s hike which began with optimism and was easier than expected, this hike was initially marked by fatigue and frustration.  We were sore and sleep-deprived and quickly became dismayed as the hike began with a long series of steep, never-ending inclines.  We were certain the guide’s mile markers were off as it took an eternity to scale Peekamoose Mountain. 

Our spirits eventually brightened when we reached a series of landmarks:  outcrops of large boulders, a spring, and a sign confirming that we had reached 3,500 feet in elevation, which the soreness in our legs told us was a drastic understatement.  The views from the top of Peekamoose gave us an idea of why we were crazy enough to do this in the first place as we gazed out upon the endless hills and serene fields of the Catskills.

After a much needed rest in the midst of a dwarf spruce forest straight out of Lord of the Rings, we flew down the surprisingly snowy trail with new life in our battered bodies.  

An easier ascent up Table Mountain was followed by a painful, knee-punishing descent.  Additional misery arrived when we realized we weren’t done going uphill.  We had to scale two hills described as “small knolls” which looked more like Himalayan horrors.  Our reward for conquering the knolls was an awesome log bridge which carried us high over a crystal clear stream.

  We encountered a few more bridges, as well as some campers, as we ground out the final stretch of the hike and triumphantly exited out onto Denning Road, having conquered 18 miles of rough Long Path hiking in two epic days.

From Napanoch to Riggsville, Southern Catskills

The Hex Sign Says Wilkom

Cows Leading a Decent Life

Soaking Up the Sunshine

Epic Scarecrow

The Pony and the Donkey

The Southern Catskills

Red Berries

Beautiful Boathouse

A Greenhouse Named "Camelot"

We Saw 2 Rainbows, and then This One

Paper Birches and White Pines

Weeping Willows and a Farm Pond

Tired But Happy!

The Ears Have It: Wawarsing-along

What a beautiful day for a hike! We begin with a chilly fog, that lifts to reveal a gorgeous Fall day. But it is the sounds that make this a magical hike. As Jerry said, "Wake now, discover that you are the song that the morning brings."

We pick up where we left off, on Berme Road. A few inches of blacktop have been added to the surface, so it isn't easy to find a place for the "Ferrari" to ease onto the shoulder. But Silent Panther and I work it out, with the sound of tires scrunching on the gravel. The last time we were here, a year ago, we were rescuing dogs. Berme Road winds on for miles, with rarely a passerby in either direction. We head West.

The most amazing sound is the absence of sound. We walk among ghosts: along the towpath of the old D&H Canal, not hearing the shouts and animal noises of yesteryear...along the railroad bed, over chunks of coal, not hearing the steam trains.


Bridge on the Canal Towpath

An exquisitely beautiful community of houses and trailers, so rich in Nature. Kids home for Yom Kippur, playing with dogs, joyful sounds. We cross not only the gorgeous Rondout Creek, babbling yet brilliant, but also the Ver Nooy Kill, smaller in stature, and eager to make up for that with enthusiasm. Happy noises of aeration and deposition. Epic bridges.

Through the cornfields...the ears are still there! Perhaps they must dry out before they become food for dairy cows. The wind makes a mysterious sound as it disturbs the leaves...it sounds like people whispering, or maybe spirits. I suppose that Corn Spirits would be benevolent. We wonder why raccoons or crows haven't eaten the corn.

Across 209, and left on Lundy Road. It would be tough to get pizza delivery up here, but what an amazing neighborhood. The babbling of the Ver Nooy Kill is constant yet ever-changing. Rapids and pools, water moving around bedrock and snags tells stories of adventures upstream. 

The electrical wires on the poles diminish to one. Pavement is a distant memory. The river sounds more confident now, rarely having to compete with human noises. A dam. Rapids. A swimming hole. Steep slopes all around. The sounds get stranger! An oddly human cry repeated at intervals turns out to be a rooster...could there really be a farm or a home up there?

Gunshots! We wince instinctively. People use the wild lands in different ways. Hopefully the target-shooter has good aim...we would like to hike without being hit. The shots are in groups of 5, repeated in intervals. Hopefully he is hitting something appropriate. Shortly he drives back down, a grim look on his face. We breathe a sigh of relief.

Upon reaching the quarry parking lot, we turn around. The next leg of the Path will have to wait til the bone spur in my right foot decides to be more accomodating. Right now, 5.6 miles is about all I can handle!

Magic moment. The shadow of my vulture passes right in front of me, on the trail It seems that the same bird has been leading me for years now. I don't catch a glimpse this time, but I'm sure that one wing feather is still askew. Big smile.

  We scramble down to a gorgeous waterfall and pool on the Kill. The sound is inscrutable, ancient and bold.

We began to feel lightheaded on the way back down. The Autumn leaves falling, in their thousands,sound like distant applause. We take our bows, stumbling downhill through the dappled sunlight. Silent Panther moves beyond his name, reminiscing about paths traveled, and yet to be met. Next time we will forge onward and upward....10 miles, to heck with the bone spur!

Back at the Ferrari, we say Goodbye to Berme Road. It feels like we have been here many times. Looking around one more time, it seems like such a lonely and valuable place. Maybe it's the sound of all the ghosts, still walking the trails and towpaths. Maybe it needs to be lonely. As Jerry said, "Sometimes the songs that we sing are just songs of our own."

Barred Owls, Bella, Bandit & Bear Poop

We finished the Shawangunk section of the Long Path! But at what cost? Silent Panther and I did 13 miles from Sam’s Point to Berme Road. Three days later, we are still reckoning the physical and emotional toll. Was it all worth it? If you ask me in a few years, I will probably say “Yes.” Speaking of years, I realize that I now have too many of them! My knees, calves and feet are unanimous that any future hikes should be a maximum of 10 miles…

So, Silent Panther said we should leave before dawn, and watch the sun rise as we drove up the Thruway. Sure, nice idea! We were up at 4 AM, and on the road by 5. It was definitely still pitch black as we took the big curve at Hillburn. As we approached Woodbury, the huge fields on the right were covered in a thick layer of ground fog. A spectacular and spooky sight. We took the New Paltz exit, and zig-zagged up the mountain. At the scenic overlook, there was a superb sunrise. Thus far, our timing was perfect.

Berme Road was a pretty cool discovery…people living the good life, truly out in the woods. We left Goku on the shoulder, and made the bizarre journey to Cragsmoor. Such a charming town…on top of a mountain! Everything was going great, but: the gate at Sam’s Point was locked! No parking allowed anywhere else. Uh oh, I hope they open at 8:00 AM. We drove to the nearest deli (a loooong drive) to kill some time. Another customer said that she had seen a black bear that morning. Interesting! But not relevant to us, right? Riiiight?

Back at the gate…it was still locked at 8:10! But who is that behind us? She whipped out a key and drove on in. I pulled up behind her and she closed the gate on the nose of the Ferrari! (Okay, it’s not actually an Italian supercar, but I did put a Ferrari logo on the hood of my 1999 Celica). I protested, and Ranger Rita said that the gate opens at 9:00. I told her of our dreams and aspirations for the day, and she agreed to open the gate a bit early. Wow. Okay. We cooled our heels til 8:50, when they finally let us in. $10 (!) to park in the old Ice Caves parking lot, now part of Minnewaska State Park. SP and I were off and hiking by 9 AM.

Well, we were pain free and full of energy as we set out. The awesome views started almost immediately; you gotta love the ‘Gunks! After about a mile, we decided to take a detour to check out the Ice Caves. If this decision had come at the end of our journey, when we were dragging ourselves along the last mile, the idea of extra distance would have been laughed off (with an exhausted and very dry laugh J. In any case the caves were super cool, and are highly recommended.

We then set off through miles of blueberry scrub and pitch pines, heading North along a ridge. Then down into a valley with a spectacular waterfall on Verkeeder Kill. Then around the other side of the ridge, with multiple viewpoints from stacks of sedimentary rocks. By the time we reached High Point, we had hiked about 7 miles. We were tired, but not in bad shape…yet! We had drunk more than half of our water, though…nice hot day with strong sunshine.

After that point, things started to get really weird. For one thing, we had a bizarre series of wildlife encounters. There was a crusty old crow, who flew back and forth across our path for an hour, repeating his raspy retorts. There were many tiny toads hopping along our trail. There was…Bear Poop! Huge and purple and full of blueberries! Not be outdone, the local coyotes had shat early and often. In one case, a coyote had pooped on top of a stone cairn that was marking the trail. Impressive product placement!

We took a short detour to Panther Rock. We did not speak, but climbed silently to separate perches, where we remained alone with our thoughts for awhile. A magical spot.

Then, things got weirder. Rounding a corner, we saw a pitbull staring us down! We froze and the dog froze too. After 5 seconds, I yelled out, “There’s a dog here!”, figuring that the owner was nearby. Suddenly, the dog turned and ran down the trail, dragging its leash behind. After a respectful pause, we rounded the corner, prepared to encounter a neglectful owner. But what was this? Another pitbull, this one stuck with its leash wrapped around a boulder. How strange…if you did let your dogs run free, why wouldn’t you remove their leashes? The dog seemed calm, but I did not dare approach it. We were miles from any human contact.

We headed on down the trail, but the dog owner never materialized. We started to come up with scenarios that would explain the situation. Silent Panther is a true animal lover, and he expressed his concern that the second canine might be trapped there all night. Okay, I said, I will make one phone call…

That call was to the Minnewaska Park office, and it caused me to be called back by the Park Rangers, the Sheriff, the Animal Control officer, and the dog owners. I spent a LOT of time on the phone, while still hiking down the trail. We were exhausted, and trying to conserve our remaining water. We learned that Bella had run down the trail, and Bandit was stuck on the rock. Rangers had set out from Sam’s Point…but that was 9 miles away! I suggested that the owners hike up from Berme Road, which was only 3 miles from the stranded pooch.

Well, the last couple of miles turned into a surreal journey. SP became delirious, and went laughing and dancing down the trail. I had hit a wall, physically, and was feeling a lot of pain in my calves, knees and right foot. I kept hearing a strange rhythm behind us, a type of clicking. Finally an enormous hound burst into view! Bandit had snapped his nylon web leash clean in two, and escaped his rocky prison. He turned out to be very friendly and obedient. I called his owner, who was waiting at the trailhead. She was happy, but where was Bella? Her husband would walk up the hill toward us, calling her.

Sure enough, we heard a loud vocalization in the woods, but it did not sound human. I finally recognized the call of a barred owl…very cool! We never did encounter the hubby, but that story has a happy ending. Silent Panther and I finally stumbled out of the woods at 5 PM. It had taken us 8 hours to cover 13 miles of rugged terrain, with dramatic changes in elevation. Bandit was reunited with his mom. We collected the other vehicle, and made it home safely. I swore that I would never try to hike over 10 miles again. Before I went to sleep, I called the dog owner one last time. Bella was home safe. All’s well that ends well! 

Big Cat Clove

            We didn’t see any big cats, but we could feel their presence. Hiking up the Kaaterskill Clove, we had the sensation of being watched. Which cliffside cave had a pair of big bright eyes, just out of view? Silent Panther and I had an amazing experience walking from Palenville up to North Lake, in the beautiful and mysterious Catskills.

            After a couple of years, we are finally back on the Long Path! Most of the remaining sections are 10 miles or more, so we picked this 5-mile trail to get back into the swing of things. It’s a nice smooth path, but an impressive increase in elevation. Both of us felt our ears pop on the way up. And the spookiest part: an invisible army of Canadians we could hear in the distance…singing their national anthem!

            We used two cars for this trip, which made for less hiking, but more driving. We left the first Subaru (“I’m Number Two!”) down on route 23A, just outside Sarah Palinville. I think you can see Russia from here. Then we drove the other Subaru (“Goku”) up to North Lake State Campground. Twisting and turning around the mountain roads, over dramatic gorges, along beautiful waterfalls…

            Anyway, there was a problem this time: massive road construction projects. I don’t know if these bridges were damaged during Irene or what, but there are still epic attempts to fix the crossings. We had to pass through the construction zones multiple times to jockey the vehicles around. Finally, we had the cars positioned, and we were ready to roll.

            Silent Panther is about to be a Senior in college. His school is up near the North end of the Long Path. We will enjoy all the sections of the trail that are in the Catskills. This part is very smooth sailing: an old carriage road. Even though we were climbing steeply, the path is pretty smooth. And the bedrock here is very forgiving. We are accustomed to the hard igneous diabase of Rockland County and the primordial metamorphic rocks of Harriman Park. These Catskill sedimentary rocks form nice flat layers and steps. Much easier for hiking. And, they form epic caves, cliffs and overhangs. We found several shelters that would be perfect for big cats.

            To get an idea of the views and the history of the area, you can read the excellent Long Path guide on the NY-NJ Trail Conference website. I will just say that the 5 miles went by in a fluid, feline manner. Major Tom started floating on the Hikers’ High about halfway up. Silent Panther claimed he wasn’t feeling it, but he sure was smiling a lot. I kept a lookout for my vulture friends, but never saw any. It seemed like a perfect sunny day for rising air currents, but nobody was riding them.

            But the Big Cats were nearby; we could feel them. I would scan a cave way up the hillside, and know that my glance was just a split second too late. Something large and limber had eased back into the dark recesses. A memory of a wilder time? A spiritual presence? A smaller cat who is living large? I know there is something magical and feline up there.

            The trail took us up along Kaaterskill Clove, with beautiful views all around. The wooden trail signs were contradictory and confusing, but the LP Guide had it right, as did the map from the campground. Halfway along, we had great views to the East, featuring miles and miles of the Hudson River. Split Rock and Boulder Rock are both pretty cool. The Canadians were singing again as we approached the old Mountain House site. Suddenly, we found the coolest cave of all.

            This deep dark recess was formed by a huge flat slab of rock perched on a much smaller erosional remnant. The resulting cave was the same height all around, going way back and back and back. Silent Panther got really quiet, feeling the presence of a kindred spirit. He said “Dad, there MUST be something living in there…” and I said “Oh, yeah!”

            We bounced down the other side of the hill, on a much more rocky and twisty path, hopping from boulder to boulder. Too soon we were in the parking lot at North Lake. What a great hike! So many special things to see and feel in just 5 miles. Driving home in silence, we thought about the power and the mystery of the mountains, and the magical creatures just out of reach…  

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.

Out of the Woods and Into the Frying Pan

What a transition! After miles of hiking in the near-wilderness, we spent the other day biking along the highways and byways of Orange County. And guess what...it was still the Long Path! The previous section of the Path is the 10-mile trek over Schunemunk Mountain, which we did last year. The contrast was no less vivid from our Shawangunk hike last week. This was a whole different ballgame.

Our expedition began at the Hil-Mar Lodge in Salisbury Mills. This brought back happy memories of stumbling down Schunemunk to the Lodge, what seems like a long time ago. We parked in the exact same spot, and unloaded our bikes. Hmmm. I thought we swore not to do any more "round-trip" expeditions. What happened to the "car at either end" plan? Maybe we ran out of bike racks. Anyway, how hard could it be to bike along nice paved roads in lovely Orange County?

We began to find out the answer to this question as cars and trucks whizzed by us on Clove Road. They were going really fast, and we had no shoulder to ride on. Kinda scary. Soon enough we turned onto an old abandoned road, and things got more pleasant for awhile. Up a hill and down the other side. Past a beautiful pond, with turtles basking on a log. Silent Panther sped ahead on his hybrid bike, perfect for the rough pavement. My old beach bomber got a run for its money. Luckily, all seven gears were working.

Uh-oh, back on the public streets. Woodcock Mountain Road was just paved, and the drop off the edge of the road is precipitous. We did not want to end up in that ditch, so we had to switch sides a few times to avoid speeding cars. Does everyone drive too fast up here? Well, the scenery is beautiful, and the farms are still in business. At the corner of Route 208, a big sign welcomed us to Washingtonville. There was a huge cornfield, and cars going even faster.

Luckily, we soon turned off 208 onto Horton Road, which was more relaxing. We were getting quite a workout with the hills, and started to question our goal of 9 miles. Left on 94, past the Blooming Grove police station. I feel safer already. A quick right on Tuthill Road...hey, there's a deli. That could be useful in the future! Left on Cherry Hill Road, and down into a valley. There's a pretty stream, and a wide floodplain. Everything is under water, thanks to the rainiest month of August that I can remember. Around and down and left on Hulsetown Road, and...

You've got to be kidding me...it's the longest uphill climb in the universe! You never saw such a hill! It just keeps going up and up and up. All the Long Path Guide book says is "go straight." I think it should say "Warning! Longest uphill climb in the universe!" No way the old beach bomber was making it up this hill. (Or maybe I am out of shape. You can try biking up that hill and let me know). Anyway, it wasn't easy pushing that beast up that incline. Did I mention that it was about a thousand degrees, and very humid? Whose brilliant idea was this?

Finally back in the saddle, along route 51, down hill, then up alongside a beautiful stream full of rapids. Right turn on Goshen Road, and there's a scenic bridge over the stream, and a private park. The church nearby makes this park available to visitors. Thanks, guys; we really needed a break. Silent Panther and I ate crackers and drank water in a nice shady picnic spot. I explored the bank of the stream, and watched the water race around a tight curve. Bedrock jutted out all over, and the rocky islands were covered with moss. What an amazing place, wild and wet. Two teenagers rode by in the back of a pickup truck. Is that legal in Orange County? It worked out pretty well, because they went to the church, fired up their instruments, and played some heavy metal music. If that song was from the service, then I want to join that church!

Just ahead, the railroad crossing marked our 9-mile destination. We can park a car here next time. And guess what; two cars would be nice...one at each end. Because, we did not do that today, so now we had to bike 9 miles back to the car! I must admit, the endless downhill was much more fun than the endless uphill had been. We ended up at the bottom, looking out over Tomahawk Lake, our hair blown back, and ridiculous smiles frozen on our faces.

The highlight of the return trip was the Blooming Grove Deli. What an oasis! What a lifesaver! The nice lady made us sandwiches, and we found cool drinks. Maybe Orange County is okay after all. After a much-needed rest, we saddled up and pushed back to the Lodge. We were both exhausted, and needed a lot of stretching to work out the leg cramps. 18 miles is one thing on a rail trail, but it is a different story when hills and highways get involved. I will have more sympathy for the bikers that come through our town, but I still don't understand why they insist on riding next to each other, in the middle of the lane. It's nice to get home alive.

We have 3 more sections of "road walk" left in Orange County, then it's back to the Shawangunks, and then the Catskills. Onwards and upwards! And back into the woods as soon as possible.

Shawangunk Ridge Trail Adventures

It’s a nice day for a hike. Let’s do a chunk of the Long Path along the Shawangunk Ridge Trail. We’ll save the Orange County portion for a bike ride at a later date. Off Route 17 in Sullivan County, up a gravel road. No one out driving, but lots of pickup trucks in the yards. It’s always amazing how quickly you can get to a truly rural area. Why did a Smart Car just go by? Wurtsboro is a land of contradictions.

Ditch the car, stride into the woods, cross into another dimension. The Green Zone. The trees are very lush and happy; lots of rain lately. The woods don’t have that dry, brown August thing going on. Electric-colored fungi are poking up randomly, and all the berries are big and juicy. We sample blackberries, blueberries, huckleberries and wintergreen. Uh-oh…somebody else had the same idea, and they left an enormous chunk of scat on the trail. Definitely could be a black bear. Judging by the size of its calling card, it could be as big as a Smart Car!

Out on a ledge, with a great view of the ridge across the valley. Nothin’ but trees. In the bottom of the valley, however, there are a couple of strange things. An enormous rectangle? The Long Path Guide book says that it is a Kohls warehouse. It’s really big. Next to that is a tiny airport. We watch gliders getting towed behind airplanes, then being released to swoop around and float slowly down to the runway. Where did humans get this idea? A sharp cry reminds us; it’s a red-tailed hawk soaring on thermal air currents. We wonder if the hawk’s scream will scare a little critter into making a crazy dash across the clearing. We find several little critters, but they are bright orange salamanders, and they ignore both us and the hawk.

Oddly, we are following blue plastic disks, instead of LP blue blazes. The disks lead us down into a valley with a maze of streams flowing around and under the massive root systems of beautiful trees: birches, cottonwoods and maples. The streams appear and disappear suddenly at the bases of trees; tiny pools are full of tinier frogs; the burbling sounds join to form a watery symphony. Major Tom loves this spot, and Silent Panther is even more impressed. My feet are soaked, but I am still smiling.

Up the other side of the valley, there are memories of fire all around us: some trees blackened and dead, some with charred trunks but new leaves sprouting forth in odd places. Lots of undergrowth taking advantage of the increase in sunlight. We use burned sticks to draw our signs on a rock. Silent Panther draws his footprint (claws out), and I draw the shape I found on a rock carving years ago: two curving parallel lines approaching an ellipse. I think it is a symbol or a map, but an expert on petroglyphs said that it is a coincidence of natural weathering. I gave the rock to the Ramapough Lenape, but I have adopted the symbol as my sign.

The next summit is covered with more blueberries than I have ever seen. I eat hundreds (or at least dozens). There are pitch pines and scrub oak, and more bear scat. We look around nervously. The woods seem really quiet all of a sudden, and we are pretty creeped out. As we sneak around the curving trail, we are confronted with an awesome sight: a huge mountain in the distance. “Mt. Doom!,” whispers Silent Panther. The LP Guide suggests that it is actually our first glimpse of the Catskills, but I am not so sure. Definitely a spooky vibe.

Down again, toward Roosa Gap, and we are getting very tired. The climb up to Ferguson Road is tough. Must be snack time. Reaching the road, we find it hard to believe that we have only hiked for 3 miles. I guess we have to hike back about…3 miles. Next time, we will bring two cars, so we don’t have to double our hiking distance. After popcorn and granola bars, we feel a bit stronger. I hang my socks up to dry, which helps a little. Silent Panther sneezes, and is answered by some small furry critter, who lets out a burst of mammalian static. Another sneeze, another screech in response! What the heck was that?

Must be time to start stumbling back. The downhill is not so bad, and we cross Roosa Gap in short order. Climbing the other side is more of a challenge. I’m slowing down, and SP is getting farther ahead; I guess he is in better shape than me. By the top of the ridge, I am really dragging. Even trudging down through the burned forest is not too cool; we have been discovered by clouds of gnats. We start to have a negative attitude toward this whole expedition. It is taking us from 9 til 5 to hike three miles, including driving and re-tracing our steps. Feeling sore and tired and hot and soggy and then…

We are floating up the hill! Those gliders have nothing on us; we are borne aloft by the wings of the hikers’ high! No more pain or fatigue. SP says that his legs feel very heavy and very light at the same time. I wonder if my brain is releasing endorphins; my feet do not seem to touch the ground. The last few hills and valleys pose no challenge at all. Our moods lift, and we laugh and joke for the final mile. Everything seems possible, and we talk about upcoming expeditions.

I stop to pick a cup of blackberries for the family. As we glide out of the woods and onto the gravel road, the Smart Car comes driving back in the opposite direction. What a bizarre coincidence. I wonder what he was doing for his 9 to 5. He probably went more than 3 miles. Oh well, we feel good, and we can highlight another chunk of the Long Path on the map on the wall of SP’s room. That was fun…let’s do some more next week.

Happy Earth Day!

In celebration of Earth Day, Silent Panther and Major Tom decide to traverse four peaks in the northwest corner of Harriman Park. This is our last section in the lower portion of the Long Path. After this, we will be biking up in Orange County, heading for the Shawangunks. With Spring coming late to the Ramapo Highlands, today’s hike feels like an ending and a beginning.

Uh-oh. There is frost on the deck when I wake up this morning. It has been a long, cold Winter, but frost on April 22? Wow. Last night’s clear skies must have let all the warmth escape. Early sunshine brings the temperature up into the 40’s, then the sky covers with gray clouds. Hey, at least we won’t be sweating too much.

We get dropped off on the side of route 6, west of the intersection with route 293. Cold, tired and stiff. Only half-awake, we don’t talk much. Trudging into the woods, we are confronted with ominous military warnings. Looks like we will be walking along the border of West Point Military Reservation. Some distant rifle shots emphasize the point. Okay, I guess we will be sticking close to the trail.

Sometimes we hike for hours before we are transported into an altered state. Today, it happens immediately. Both of our spirit animals make their presence known as we crest the first ridge. My vulture sweeps low overhead, freezing us in awe. He has one feather missing on the left wing, just like the first vulture I bonded with on West Hook Mountain. I briefly entertain the impossible thought that it is the same bird.

Silent Panther is focused on the cliff across the valley. There is a sizable cave, about right for a family of big cats. We don’t explore closer, out of a healthy respect for both felines and the U.S. Army. I wish for the hundredth time to see a bobcat in the wild. I have heard them yowling at night, a sound that froze my blood. As for panthers, the experts say that they do not live in New York state, but there are stories…

The remoteness of this location adds to the feelings of wildness and raw beauty. It seems like people rarely come here. As we hike five miles today, we only see one other human being. Much of the path is covered in a thick carpet of moss. It would be rapidly destroyed by the boots of hikers. We walk softly, enjoying the cushioned bounce. The mountain laurel is starting to think about blooming in a few weeks. The trout lilies are everywhere, but only showing blossoms on a few South-facing slopes. Wintergreen berries from last Summer are still delicious. Thousands of acorns are splitting open, showing their red insides as they sprout. The skunk cabbage is poking up in the wet areas, with a couple of brave frogs peeping nearby. The sound of a machine gun is not from West Point, but from a woodpecker. All is right with the world.

There is a spectacular waterfall on the east slope of Blackcap Mountain. The rock face, almost vertical, is coated with a thick layer of moss. The water starts as a free flow, but the green carpet absorbs so much that the water is conducted silently and invisibly, till it drips out the bottom. We stand in silence for many minutes, watching all the variations in color and texture and flow. It’s a remarkable place.

Across route 293, we climb Brooks Mountain. Whoever laid out the Long Path here was in a real hurry. No time for switchbacks, just head straight uphill! We are out of shape and exhausted. On the positive side, the Hikers’ High really kicks in. We stop for a snack on top. Then down the other side, with a beautiful view of Lake Massawippa to our right. The Long Path Guide book describes the lowland that we are about to cross as “a classic U-shaped post-glacial valley”. As advertised, we come to the outlet stream from the lake, but that’s when things get ugly.

The promised log bridge is nowhere to be seen. Major Tom makes a calculated risk on a jump to a slimy rock. Bad idea. I pull myself to shore, cold and wet, with a throbbing ankle. Silent Panther chooses a better spot to cross, then takes five steps and twists his ankle! This is the low point of the day. All of a sudden, civilization seems very far away. No cell phone signal. Well, we would tough it out anyway.

We are faced with a steep climb up Howell Mountain. Not much fun on bad ankles. We decide to stop for lunch. The ice pack numbs everything, and we plan our final assault on Long Mountain. The sandwiches taste great, and our state of mind improves. Who needs ankles anyway? It is a beautiful day, and we are out in the woods. Onwards and upwards! There is a great view from the top of Howell Mountain, and our spirits soar.

Down, down, down into Deep Hollow. We pass striped maple trees, rarely seen in these parts. Several streams snake across the bottom of the hollow, some rocky and some with sandy bottoms. We cross much more carefully than before, inching across a fallen red oak. One more major uphill climb to the top of Long Mountain. Wow, what a panorama. The best view ever of Popolopen Torne, probably the coolest peak in the park. There’s Perkins Tower, on top of Bear Mountain. Stockbridge to the South, and a beautiful lake below. For the millionth time, I am grateful to the people who had the vision to preserve this magical landscape.

On down the final slope, our pain forgotten, we talk about the challenges ahead. There is still a lot of Long Path waiting for us. It’s only April, and everything seems possible. Harriman Park did not let us go easily, but we are ready for our next step.

Nuthatches, Acorns and Furry Scat!

Two days after Thanksgiving, a feast for the senses. Silent Cougar and Major Tom head from Lake Skannatati to Stockbridge Mountain. Ten-and-a-half miles, as a cold clear morning turns into a colder and blustery afternoon. Seven hours in the near-wilderness of Harriman Park. This is our next-to-last section of the Long Path in Harriman...just one more 5-mile stretch, and the whole southern section of the Path will be in our rear-view mirror.

It seems like the joke is on us, but we just laugh along. We watch three nuthatches, at the beginning, middle and end of the hike, just dancing around and making fun of us. Tree to tree, upside-down and rightside-up, silly song like a confused chickadee. They can not imagine why we are hiking that trail; not eating tasty insects or scouting for springtime nesting sites. I guess we are kind of ridiculous. But we just shrug it off and press forward.

Crunch, crunch, crunch...hoarfrost and acorns. Have there ever been so many acorns? We see a few overworked squirrels: no dancing for them. Just dashing about with harried looks. How thoughtless of the oak trees to overwhelm their furry friends so. I assure Silent Cougar that the frost will soon melt, but it never does. Little vernal and autumnal pools with films of ice, and snow flurries on top of Fingerboard Mountain. The first snow of the year! Numb cheeks and stiff fingers. Are you ready for winter?

Never seen so much coyote scat. Imagine swallowing all that fur! I guess acorns turn into squirrels turn into coyotes. And such product placement...how do they drop it so neatly on the center of a stone? Generations of practice, I suppose.

I love the beginning of this hike: the shores of Skannatati, the mountain laurel, the south-facing cliffs with caves plucked by the glaciers, the burbling streams through hemlock ravines. So much of what is right about Harriman Park, summarized in a short stretch of trail. Tell a friend, child. Times Square has seen better days, but the Appalachian Trail intersection is still magical...signs point in the four directions, listing distances to magical places from Georgia to Maine, from George Washington Bridge to Altamont. Two legendary trails. I love this spot.

A beautiful buck pauses on the ridge to our right. He is posing for a picture, I guess. The moment passes as three women appear with dogs. The deer changes plans and passes out of view. His image lingers after he is gone; was he ever really there?

We miss the side trail to Lemon Squeezer, too captivated by a beautiful marsh on the other side. Amber waves of phragmites, glistening in the low rays of the sun, shedding a last few bits of fluff in the gusts of wind. The air is cold, but the sun still warms your legs. Along the edge of the marsh, an impossibly clear stream, tiny forests of sphagnum moss.

We pass through an area that burned, maybe twenty years ago. I remember when this looked like a battlefield. Today, you can still see charred stumps, but a new generation of pine trees is pushing up along the edges of the clearing. Bright green and full of energy...big plans! The ancient metamorphic bedrock in the clearing doesn't seem worried. Over millions of years, many generations of trees have risen and fallen. Even a forest fire seems insignificant after 10 glaciers have come and gone.

Arden Valley Road looks absurd; smoother even than glacially polished gneiss bedrock, and blacker than chunks of magnetite ore. Sharper edges than the harsh shadows of pine trees on vertical rock walls. We hurry across...this road does not seem to belong here. I think I hear Mother Nature laughing; she will close this road for the winter. Humans do not control this place.

Onwards and upwards, we are feeling strong. Stockbridge Mountain does not look so steep from here. The old woods road is wide and gentle. We are lulled into a false sense of confidence. A sudden left turn changes everything! A rapid climb, breathing faster, hiker's high! Feet heavy yet floating, legs sore yet tingling with anticipation, blood sugar low, fat reserves burning, brain just laughing because it is all so funny. Mother Nature strikes again!

On top of the mountain, the swirling snow flakes are just too perfect. A vulture wheels overhead: my spirit animal. He ignores me...our connection is too obvious to acknowledge, so he just plays it cool. I am impressed for the millionth time as he compensates for the wind gusts with slight adjustments in the angle of his wings. Suddenly way down range, but hey, just go with the flow. Bend but don't break. Maybe there is a dead coyote down there. Vulture droppings can nourish the oak trees, for the next crop of acorns. Keep the wheel turning...

Up another cliff, smooth face this time, no caves. The shelter on top is inhabited, so we move on. The sun is low over the hills. A panoramic view, but no other signs of "civilization." That's all right; Nature is okay with herself.

The long walk down, two miles on feet like lead and legs like noodles. A quick stop in the cave shelter. We make our marks on a rock with charcoal from the firplace. My symbol means "Listen!" and Silent Cougar, of course, makes a pawprint. He had visions here in the past. It would be nice to take the time today, but it will get really cold when the sun sets...

We are rewarded with our bookends: nuthatch, acorns and scat. Must be near the end of the line. The woods are smiling a benediction as we head out. Route 6 seems like an insult: dozens of cars driving too fast. Where are they all going? Holiday shopping at Woodbury Commons? I don't want to bring my head back into the material world. It is a relief to reach the car. Home to the other half of the family. We feel very lucky to have shared a day in the woods with our furry and crunchy friends.