Tag Archives: Adirondacks

Cabin Life -#34

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I like bees.  They really don’t bother me that much.  It’s not like I want to get stung, but they tend to leave me alone, maybe because I don’t freak out when they fly near me.  I understand those who are allergic or just don’t want to get stung, though. 

I remember vividly the first time I got stung by a bee.  It was at our house on 5th Ave in Gloversville, and I was already strapped into my car seat in the back.  Mom was locking up the house or grabbing something from inside, and when I shifted in my car seat, the bee stung me right on the butt.  I don’t know if I started screaming (I couldn’t have been more than fifteen at the time) and I don’t remember the aftermath, but the sting itself is clear as day.

At work there is a window air conditioner.  I was mowing the lawn and noticed a lot of bees around near the a/c unit.  I stopped to watch, mainly to see if there was a ground nest nearby.  Watching the bees for a minute, I realized that they were going to the ground under the a/c to drink, not because their hive was down there. 

With the ridiculous drought going on, I’m not surprised that the bees are hanging around a reliable source of water.  It’s fun to sit a few feet away and not really be in any danger of getting stung.  As long as I don’t get too close or let Pico run through them, I figure it’s safe to hang out and watch.  I won’t bother them if they don’t bother me, and the feeling so far seems to be mutual.

Cabin Life – #32

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The baby osprey are getting big.  They poke their heads up above the lip of the nest and look down on us.  The chatter they make is for food, though, not because I’m standing about twenty feet below their nest.  The people and the cars and the bikes don’t seem to bother this particular family. 

Their nest is built on top of an electric pole right behind the entrance booth of the campground.  It’s about three feet across, sits right on the electric feed for the whole park.  It stinks pretty bad right now, as there hasn’t been any rain to wash the area in and below the nest.  The shrubs and pavement are splattered white but amazingly no one has gotten hit.

The osprey are a big attraction along the road, with three nests.  But the ones at the booth are my favorite.  Watching them circle around with a bullhead in their talons they seem so graceful.  It’s another story when they are getting chased and harassed by birds one tenth their size.  I’ve seen the osprey running from little red-winged blackbirds and even the great blue heron has chased them off a few times.

It’s great to be able to watch a bird daily, just going about its life.  Lot’s of people ask if they are eagles, but once they get a good look at the birds, it’s apparent even with the similar white heads that they are not.  And while it would be great to have eagles nesting right there, the osprey are good enough company.

Cabin Life – #31

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I was watching the sun come up over the Vermont mountains, listening to Pico splash in the lake and really appreciating the bug free morning.  The haziness of the air made for a nice sunrise, all pinks and purples.  Pico loves the water, even though I have to give him a warm-up throw or two of the ball to get him to really swim.  But once he’s in, he loves it.

Ed caught a mouse last night.  At three in the morning.  And he wouldn’t kill it.  He just walked around for half an hour with the poor thing in his mouth.  Every couple of minutes Ed would drop him just to catch him again.  He was growling at Herbie and Pico and me.  Finally I just picked Ed up and carried him outside, where he dropped the mouse and it ran off. 

I’m no fan of mice, especially in my house, but I was surprised when it ran off.  As far as I know, it’s only the second mouse Ed’s ever caught.  And he responded to my travesty of releasing his prey by knocking a glass onto the floor, shattering it.  He maintained eye contact the entire time.  Now, the next time this happens, I will be faced with the decision of letting him torment the mouse or incurring Ed’s wrath.  Well, sorry little mice, but I gotta live with that cat.

Cabin Life – #30

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I was slapping myself stupid trying to get all the mosquitoes.  There was a nice breeze coming off the lake and the fire was helping keep them down a little, but I was still getting eaten alive. 

I threw another piece of wood on the fire.  It was some leftover wood from last year’s hurricane that had blown down during the storm.  The red pines that came down around here were huge old trees, but growing in sand a lot them just tipped over.

Back in the cabin, the woodstove hasn’t been used in months.  I think back to all the winter nights when I really would have liked to see the fire.  But my stove doesn’t have any glass in it, just a big black box.  A little bit of light is nice when the sun goes down at five in the afternoon.

Most nights this summer have too hot to bother with a fire, even outside. The heat coming off the fire mixed with the stagnant humid air is just not too enjoyable.  The only thing making up for it is the late evening swims to cool off before bed.  And that’s a far cry from getting up three times a night to stoke the fire.

Cabin Life – #29

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A cast-iron pan, quart pot and tea kettle.  It’s hard to believe that I spent six months pretty much just using those three utensils to make all of my meals.  And it’s not that I’ve been eating out a lot or eating unhealthy meals, but with only a little propane stove to cook on, I got by with the bare minimum of dishes.  Plus it was really hard to wash dishes with no running water.

Another blogger told me to use spray bottles to do the dishes.  Put warm, soapy water in one and clean in the other to save on water, since I was filling a five-gallon jug every couple of days and hauling it to the cabin.  It was a great idea and definitely saved on water, but I found that using the spray bottle to rinse was just not effective.  The wash bottle was great, but I still just ran the spigot on the jug to rinse.

After reading Pete Nelson’s recent article on trail food, it reminded me of the best meal I have ever eaten.  I’m lucky to be in a family that likes to cook, and I’ve eaten at some amazing restaurants, but even though Aunt Jen’s crab cakes literally make my mouth water, they pale in comparison to the meal my buddy Derek and I made when we were hiking in college.

We set out from Gloversville very early one morning to do an overnight hike and knock out a few High Peaks.  After driving about three hours to get to Keene Valley, he and I started (with what I would now consider to be insanely heavy packs) along the trail.  After climbing Whale’s Tail, Wright, and Algonquin, we sat down on the leeward side of Boundary to make dinner before continuing on to Iroquois.

The wind was blowing and it took a while to get my little stove going, but we had our one little pot and enough water to cook.  Once the water got boiling, I dumped in the box of instant mac and cheese.  Then we added the pre-made “cheese” sauce and the coup de grace, a can of tuna.  I have never enjoyed a meal so much, and I know for a fact that it was the best meal I’ve ever had because it’s something like twelve years later and I still think about it. 

There was one other time I made this same meal at home.  It was terrible.  I ate about half and then threw the rest away.  I couldn’t believe that something that had been so good and so rewarding at one time, could be so outright awful on another occasion.  Clearly, the mac and cheese with tuna was only good because of the exertion we had put in prior to eating it.  I don’t know if Derek remembers this particular dinner, but I do.  And I will never eat it again.

Cabin Life – #28

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I’m sure there’s been plenty of people in my life who wanted to tell me to go jump in a lake.  Well, for the last two days, I’ve had to do just that.  The temperatures have been well into the nineties, hot, hazy and humid.  It’s exactly the type of weather I left Florida to avoid.

Around ten last night, I took Pico down for a swim.  As hot as I was, I can’t imagine how hot a dog could be in weather like this.  After throwing a stick a few times, I let Pico chew on his temporary toy and just sat in the water.  The lake was calm, with no breeze to speak of.  Even though it was hazy, some stars were out and lights fromVermont were reflecting on the almost-glass surface of the lake.  The mosquitoes were bad, so I sat in water up my neck and was glad that the horseflies had at least taken the night off. 

Pico and I had chased a flock of geese off the beach a couple of weeks ago, but apparently they didn’t go far.   They swam by, twenty yards out.  There must be twenty of them, parents and little ones.  In the calm water, they looked majestic.  The slow ripples coming off their bellies and the quiet mumblings were soothing, while the reflections of silhouettes graced the water, and I thought to myself:  “I really wish those stupid geese would stop pooping on the beach.”

Cabin Life – #10

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Pico.  What a lucky mutt.  As far as anyone can tell, he is half border collie and half Australian shepherd.  Seems good to me, and he really doesn’t care what you call him.

A couple of weeks after I moved to Florida, I realized that living with my brother was the first place I had ever lived where I could have a dog.  So I went out and got a dog.  I checked the local shelters and there were no border collies, so, I went on to Petfinder.  There were border collies galore on the site.  Most people think they want a border collie until the dog starts outsmarting them and gets bored and starts destroying things. 

As I scrolled down the page looking for my new little buddy, Pico’s picture popped up.  He had a huge smile on his face and was lying contentedly on a piece of plywood.  I emailed the organization that was fostering him, and got a phone call later that day.  The woman on the phone really wanted to know about me, and she grilled me about owning a border collie.  She wanted to know about my job, my yard, my plans, if I had a girlfriend, and lots of other stuff. 

After convincing her that I knew what I was getting into, I was allowed to go see him in person.  The forty-five minute phone interview was just the first part.  My friend Brett and I drove the hour and a half to Port Orange, FL to meet the foster parents and Pico. 

He came charging out of their office on a leash that one of the women could barely hold onto.  He immediately started jumping on us and trying to chew on my shoes as we talked.  I tried to restrain him the best I could, but at about a year and a half old, he was already pretty powerful.  The women filled me in on his history:  They had taken him and two other dogs out of a shelter on the day they were due to be euthanized.  The other dogs’ names were Roscoe and Train.  Put all three names together and you get Roscoe P. Cotrain, the sheriff from The Dukes of Hazzard.  Yup, I was living in the south.

They had had Pico for a while because the people who were interested in adopting him had either been turned off by his exuberance or rejected by the organization.  I was something like the eighth or ninth person to come and see Pico.  This crazy mutt with the sob story had me from the start.  The women agreed to take him back at any point in the future, regardless of the circumstances, but I knew I was in for the long haul.

On the way back to Jacksonville, Pico started eating the seat belt in the back seat.  When we got home, him and Duff (my brother’s huge German Shepherd) took off running in our tiny yard.  Pico was explosively fast and literally had a crazy look in his eye when he was running at full bore.  You’d better watch out because when he runs like that he is not in control of his own body.  It’s hilarious and terrifying at the same time.

In addition to being really high energy, it soon became apparent that the foster moms had not taught Pico any manners, or really anything except his name.  He was not housebroken, begged for food, jumped on the furniture, and every other ridiculous behavior that you can imagine.  But, being a smart dog and completely obsessed with the treats I dispensed, he learned pretty quickly.

I also learned swiftly that Jacksonville was no place to have a dog that needed as much exercise and room to run as Pico did.  We had a few quiet city parks where I could take him off leash, and then there was the pay-to-go dog park that was nice, but I couldn’t afford it.  I took him hiking, played Frisbee and walked him regularly.  His behavior improved consistently, even with a few bad habits hanging on.

For a few years, I had tried to get my old job back up in New York, mainly because I felt bad about being so unfair to Pico.  After a few years, he was a hell of a lot better behaved, destroyed almost nothing, and was my constant companion and friend.  He deserved to run around without a leash and I became determined to provide that opportunity for him.

We had come up to New York for vacation a couple of times, and I noticed that he seemed to be right at home in the Adirondacks.  In Jacksonville, he ran all over the place, on and off trail.  In New York, he rarely ventured from the trail, and never took off after wildlife.  He was an Adirondack trail dog, no doubt about it.

When it finally came time to pack my stuff and head back north fromFlorida, the main criteria I used in finding an apartment was that they had lots of open country around the house.  I found a place outside Dannemora, NY that had a five acre field and no one cared where he ran or what he did.  (That place was nice and I would have stayed there, but there was a double murder in the house shortly before I moved in that the landlord didn’t tell me about and when I found out it kind of freaked me out). 

I’d like to say that I did all this for him, but maybe it’s something more.  Maybe he came into my life to get me back to the mountains.  Maybe we led each other here.  I don’t know, but I do know that we’re both happy to be having the cabin experience together.

Cabin Life – #27

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A grackle got stuck in the porch yesterday. A few friends and I were playing horseshoes, and I went inside to grab a beer. In the twenty or so seconds that I was in front of the fridge, the bird flew in through the open door and was completely stymied by the wall of glass windows. Those windows are nice for me, but not so nice for an animal that has limited reasoning skills.

I watched the bird from inside for a minute or two, hoping that he would find his way back out the door. The black body and iridescent head of the grackle are beautiful in the sun, changing color as the bird looks around. I see them all over the campground, and the flashes of color off their seemingly black feathers usually brighten up the day. But this one was clearly in distress.

Its beak was open like it was panting for air, and it kept fluttering around in the middle of the porch, surrounded on three sides by the outdoors, but blocked by all that glass. He perched on one of the chairs for a rest, then dove headlong into the middle window down at floor level. He dove at this particular window several times, apparently convinced that this was the way out. It was not.

I grabbed a pair of work gloves, and watched the bird for another minute. He was not getting any closer to the open door, and seemed to be tiring. Plus he was hitting his head on the glass a lot. I eased out onto the porch and pushed the outside door open wider. The bird sat on the edge of my cooler, beak open, eyes wide with anxiety. The head shone a striking blue-green against the darker body. Even though I was sorry for the bird, I couldn’t help but be amazed at the colors coming off his scared little noggin.

I got within about a foot before he took off again. But this time, after diving into the middle window again, he took off, spun around and flew over my right shoulder and out the door. I watched as he glided across the yard and landed in a cedar about a hundred feet away. I glanced out at my friends to see if they had noticed the commotion, but the horseshoe pit was too far away for them hear or see the bird on the porch. I stood there and watched him in the tree, wondering if he would remember this experience. I know I will.

Cabin Life – #26

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Memorial Day weekend is over.  It was beautiful weather, the campground was full, and I’m exhausted.  After working three fourteen hour days in a row, I’m glad the campers are gone, even though we didn’t really have any problems with the crowd.  Lots of guys talking about fishing, wondering where to get ice and firewood, and wondering how long they can extend their weekend.

I like working in the campgrounds, even though dealing with the public is often unnecessarily stressful.  Drive slow, be quiet and keep your dog on a leash.  It’s not that much to ask, but many people find it difficult to follow those simple rules.  But what I love about my job is the chance to be on the trail crew.  They pay me to hike, and I have to pinch myself every time.

After Hurricane Irene, I was in the High Peaks doing cleanup.  Hauling a forty pound backpack while carrying a chainsaw and wearing steel toed boots, Kevlar chaps and a hardhat apparently is my notion of an ideal work environment.  From Lake Colden to Johns Brook Lodge, those were two weeks I won’t ever forget because the work was exhausting and endlessly rewarding at the same time.

This spring, I was helping out on trail crew, and got to go into Tahawus near Newcomb, NY.  My hero, Teddy Roosevelt, was staying here when William McKinley was shot, and the house where he was lodging is still standing.  Looking at the remnants of a ghost town, and realizing what hard work it must have been to carve out a living is a lesson in humility.  Sure, I walked some of the same routes, but I drove there in a four wheel drive truck while listening to radio.  Plus, we have chainsaws.  That makes it a lot easier.

Cabin Life – #25

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There was a loon swimming off the beach this morning, its haunting call reminding me of years past.  In college, I lived on one of the severalLoonLakeshere in theAdirondacks.  It was great until the loons showed up, all six pairs of them.  They wouldn’t shut up all night.

I know from experience that loons are smart animals.  As large as a goose, but barely able to walk, their black and white body with red eyes are an iconic part of theAdirondacks.  I used to monitor banded loons and their nests, and after a few weeks of kayaking around them, I was often treated to the loons swimming under my boat and tagging along on the weekly paddles.

It was always a shame when I found an egg that had been eaten by a snapping turtle, or an unhatched egg still in the nest late in the summer.  But life goes on, and few people are unfamiliar with their nightly calls.

I think my favorite part of working at the campground is the wonder campers express at being in nature.  The osprey nests are one of our biggest attractions, and kids’ eyes light up when they see these huge birds flying into the nest with a fish in their talons.  I anticipate that these kids will remember their experience here and it makes them want to be outside as much as possible.  Luckily no one will be able to make a video game that mimics the experience of actually being in nature.