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.