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.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Saturday, August 20, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, August 12, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, April 22, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Out of the Woods
On September 4, 2010, we left Harriman Park behind us. Well, we actually need to fill in three chunks in the Park, but on this day, we crossed the line. Nyack Rocks dropped Silent Cougar and two secret companions along the side of route 6, next to the intersection with route 293. Nyack Rocks drove down the long scenic highway toward the Thruway, while the three amigos headed into the woods.
It's a long way around this particular block. Once you cross 87, you try to head north on 32, but the Woodbury Commons creates a lot of drama. Finally you cruise through town, and try to to cross back to meet the hikers. Unfortunately, part of Estrada Road is closed, entailing much zigging and zagging. After driving several miles, you meet the hikers at the end of Estrada Road, where they have walked a very short distance through the woods.
The Long Path follows several of these small roads, then heads back under the trees near the Woodbury Creek. The Long Path Guide (5th edition, 2005) is no longer accurate for this stretch...should have checked the website. Silent Cougar and Brother went in from the South end, while Nyack Rocks and Nature Mom headed in from the North. This is a very strange section of the Path, having two major obstacles to cross. The Woodbury Creek must be pretty scary in the Spring, because the trail goes to bizarre lengths to cross it. In early September, the stream is rather dry. There is an amazing assortment of cobbles and boulders in the streambed, including the beautiful purple conglomerate from Schunemunk.
The other obstacle is a bit scarier: the MetroNorth track. The trains cross over the creek and route 32 on an old trestle, way up high. They move fast! The trestle reminded me of the one in the Harry Potter movies. The scariest part is walking under the old steelwork, which is rotten and rusty. There are holes in the girders, large enough to stick your finger through. Everywhere on the ground are metal parts: bolts and plates and unidentifiable rusty pieces. Mixed throughout are chunks of coal from an earlier time. An ode to fossil fuels.
Continuing south, the Long Path follows an old road bed along the Creek. Across the stream is a row of houses, then route 32. Drunken people were driving a tractor around in circles, singing and screaming. Their barbeque smelled good. They yelled something at us, then went back to singing. Here come Silent Cougar and Brother. Time to turn around, dash under the rickety bridge and cross the dry gulch. I guess we are out of the woods.
It's a long way around this particular block. Once you cross 87, you try to head north on 32, but the Woodbury Commons creates a lot of drama. Finally you cruise through town, and try to to cross back to meet the hikers. Unfortunately, part of Estrada Road is closed, entailing much zigging and zagging. After driving several miles, you meet the hikers at the end of Estrada Road, where they have walked a very short distance through the woods.
The Long Path follows several of these small roads, then heads back under the trees near the Woodbury Creek. The Long Path Guide (5th edition, 2005) is no longer accurate for this stretch...should have checked the website. Silent Cougar and Brother went in from the South end, while Nyack Rocks and Nature Mom headed in from the North. This is a very strange section of the Path, having two major obstacles to cross. The Woodbury Creek must be pretty scary in the Spring, because the trail goes to bizarre lengths to cross it. In early September, the stream is rather dry. There is an amazing assortment of cobbles and boulders in the streambed, including the beautiful purple conglomerate from Schunemunk.
The other obstacle is a bit scarier: the MetroNorth track. The trains cross over the creek and route 32 on an old trestle, way up high. They move fast! The trestle reminded me of the one in the Harry Potter movies. The scariest part is walking under the old steelwork, which is rotten and rusty. There are holes in the girders, large enough to stick your finger through. Everywhere on the ground are metal parts: bolts and plates and unidentifiable rusty pieces. Mixed throughout are chunks of coal from an earlier time. An ode to fossil fuels.
Continuing south, the Long Path follows an old road bed along the Creek. Across the stream is a row of houses, then route 32. Drunken people were driving a tractor around in circles, singing and screaming. Their barbeque smelled good. They yelled something at us, then went back to singing. Here come Silent Cougar and Brother. Time to turn around, dash under the rickety bridge and cross the dry gulch. I guess we are out of the woods.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)