Tag Archives: High Peaks

Cabin Life – #45

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The silence out here can be both comforting and disconcerting.  It’s not that there’s no noise, because there can be a lot.  But often, it’s just the wind in the trees.

There was one neighborhood in Jacksonville where I heard sirens every night.  For two years.  A woman had her purse snatched in broad daylight, and she was a cop.  I heard gun shots a few times and more domestic diputes than I care to remember.  I heard kids crying for hours on end and guys blasting rap at four in the morning.  There was a lot of noise in that place.  The apartment I got after that one was a few blocks from the ocean and on Sunday mornings, when everyone else was at church and Pico and I played firsbee, I could clearly hear the rolling sound of the ocean.

But out here, I’ve never heard sirens.  I saw flashing lights one time, when the fire department came to put out my chimney fire, but that’s it.  Occasionally I can hear a big-rig downshifting on Route 3, but even that is a quiet rumble in the distance.

I have one flashilight that is amazing.  This thing is basically a light saber.  After dark, before I let Pico out, I go out first and scan the fields with the big light to see what animals are hanging around.  Usually there’s a bunch of deer (nine the other night) and that’s it.  I let the screen door slam and they take off into the upper field, where Pico won’t see them and give chase.

Last night though, I went out and checked around.  About halfway up the Upper Field, I saw a set of eyes glowing green in the dark.  I waited and scanned around, thinking I would see some other eyes to confirm that it was just some deer, but no other eyes showed up.  I slammed the screen door and watched the eyes.  They didn’t move at the sound.  As I stood there in my slippers watching the eyes, they watched me back.

And then a thought entered my mind.  What if this was the bear that I’ve seen so many signs of?  There’s almost never just one deer hanging out by itself, and the non-plussed attitude displayed at the sound of the door slamming made me think that maybe it was the bear.  He was too far away for me to see clearly, but it was clear that he was not taking off just because some door closed.  But when I slammed the door again, the head came up and I caught a good glimpse of a doe standing near the upper edge of the field.

My tensions relaxed, I went and got Pico, comfortable in the fact that the deer was far enough away that Pico wouldn’t take off after it, and that it was not a bear.  When Pico’s tags jingled, the deer took to the woods.  I could hear the low bass vibrations of it bounding away.  Pico sniffed around and I watched with the light saber pointed not directly at him, but off to the side.  I don’t want to blind him.

It was quiet and calm, with only an infrequent rustle of leaves to fill the void.  And then I heard the low bass vibrations of a moving animal.  I shined around and saw no eyes, but the upper field hasn’t been mowed in years and the shrubs are getting big, providing great cover for whatever it was I was hearing.  The sound grew louder and I looked at Pico to see where he was.  He was at least a hundred yards away with no clue about what was running through the field.  I couldn’t tell where it was coming from or what direction it was heading, but my immediate thought was “bear.”

I glanced at the clueless Pico once again and just then six set of eyes came into view.  It was a doe and two fawns, apparently hidden in my first inspection of the field, taking off in the opposite direction.  I relaxed then and shut off the light.  I could see Pico trotting back towards the cabin in the moonlight.  Just then a shreik came out of the night.  It took my brain a moment to process that it was an owl, and it scared me.  Bad.  Stupid owl.

Cabin Life – #42

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Bizarro World.  If you’ve never heard of Bizarro World, then you didn’t read Superman comics as a kid.  Well I didn’t either, but I learned about it in an episode of Seinfeld.  I am in my own personal Bizarro World right now, flying about thirty thousand feet over the country on my way to South Carolina via Chicago.  And I can’t think of any place that could be more different from my normal lifestyle.  This is as far from simple as you can get.

The guy sitting next to me has commandeered the armrest, which I guess is alright since we’re in an exit row.  You have to take the good with the bad.  I’m also pretty sure he is reading this as I write.  It’s ok for you to keep the armrest; I have the aisle, and that’s a fair trade.

It has been simple lately out at the cabin.  The leaves are gorgeous, and I hate to break it you if you’re not in the Northern Adirondacks, but peak leaf season is just about over.  The red carpet of leaves on the trails is so bright it almost hurts your eyes, and the yellows, oranges and golds overhead create the appearance of a nice bright day even when it’s overcast and rainy.  But those random shafts of light that penetrate the trees bring out so much color it’s a wonder to behold.  This is what I missed while I was in Florida.

There’s a bear lurking around out here, and the evidence is obvious, even though I haven’t seen or heard him at all.  There were a few old logs lying by the outdoor fire pit which were turned over, revealing what no doubt was a huge horde of bugs.  I also found the remnants of a ground hive that the bear must have dug up.  It was apparently a huge hive down in the lower field, since the hole that was excavated was about the size of basketball. 

There was leftover honey comb at the mouth of the hole, but not very much.  I don’t know how much honey ground bees produce, but I am jealous of what the bear got.  Not that I would have gone in after it like he did, however, I give him kudos on taking the hit to get his honey.  The bear must be hurting for food with the lack of berries this year, but he hasn’t tried to get into the cabin, so I can’t complain about his presence too much.

Yup, the guy next to me was reading.  He just said “Thanks” as he put his arm on the rest between us and tucked a pillow under his head.  He closed his eyes and leaned the seat back.  Now he’s asleep and snoring loudly, but his arm has fallen off the armrest.  Like I said, you take the good with the bad.

Cabin Life – #41

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The nights and days are cool, the leaves are bright and the fire wood is getting stacked in the shed.  The field is turning brown, even with the fall rain, and neither of the streams are running.  It hasn’t really been that cold, but it is coming.

Ed crashed around last night, and I thought he was going to have a mouse.  He didn’t, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.  There was a mouse turd on the table though, so the mice are definitely trying to move in for the winter.  I checked the small hole in the floor where the sink drains out and the steel wool was gone.  I shoved some more in there to try and keep them out.  I don’t have anything against mice per se, but I don’t want them in my food or on my bed or on my table.  Or in my cabin, actually.

I think it’s going to be a rough winter.  Seems like it’s much colder than it was at this time last year.  I’ve got myself set up better for this winter with solar lights and radio, and the cabin is a lot cleaner than when I moved in.  There’s less furniture and more room.  The animals are happy here and so am I.

But the weather is worrying me. I cut and split wood well into October last year with nothing more than a light flannel on and no need for a jacket.  I took a ride on the four wheeler today and my hands were stiff for a while.  It’s not looking good for those of us who were hoping for a late start to winter.

Don’t get me wrong, I like winter.  I like to ski and snowshoe and enjoy the general quietness.  But an early winter means burning more wood, plowing the driveway more and spending a lot more time in long johns.  Nothing against any of those things, I just wish they would start when I want them to.  Like in December.  Oh, and the snow should be gone by the first day of spring.  That’s not too much to ask, is it?  I’m afraid this year it will be.

Cabin Life – #38

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Pico was just digging in the ground, making a cool spot to lie down in.  After the rain we got last night, the disturbed ground had a nice, earthy smell to it.  A week ago, it would have been just dust, floating up into my face and choking me.  Now it smells good.

This is my favorite time of year.  The leaves are starting to change color and it’s not due to the drought this time.  There are bright yellows and orangeish-reds.  Most of the trees are still green but that just makes the few that are changing really stand out.  They look striking even though I have to see them through red, scratchy eyes most of the time.

The road is covered with dead leaves that blow around on the dry days.  The good news is that since there are dry days now, it also means that there must be wet days.  The rain we’ve gotten isn’t making up for the summer yet, but at least it is raining once in a while.  We needed the water, but it’s also nice to get a free car wash now and then too.

I’ve always liked fall the best, and after this ridiculously hot and dry summer, the cool nights and warm days are a huge relief.  Just cool enough for a long sleeve shirt at night.  The mosquitoes are starting to die down and there’s a noticeable difference in the amount of daylight we’re getting.  I’ve seen some geese heading south and even with no water, the few apples that made it are ripening up.  I guess that’s what I like about fall.  All of the above.

Cabin Life -#37

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I love lying in the hammock.  There’s a cold beer on the upright log next to me and Pico is lying on the other side.  Shamelessly, I use Pico as a push off to swing the hammock.  He weighs enough to absorb the push, and seems to be content with the petting.  Luckily he hasn’t attempted to join me in the hammock yet.

There are a couple of spider silks strung between two branches, and the afternoon light is glinting off of them.  When the light breeze blows, they disappear and then reappear as a shimmer in the middle of nothingness.  I can’t see where the silks tie into the leaves, but the suspended middle of the strings is visible more often than not.

Even when I’m not tired, the hammock seems to lull me into a state of pure apathy.  Especially with the heat we’ve had this summer, the feel of the breeze encompassing my whole body is very relieving.  Whatever book I’m reading inevitably ends up on the ground, and I have no qualms about spending an hour in semi-consciousness while hanging out in the hammock.  Even Pico seems to relax when he’s there, only getting up to chase a red squirrel or chipmunk up one of the pine trees.  He hasn’t gotten hit by a pinecone yet, but it’s not for a lack of trying on the squirrel’s part.

I push off of Pico again and run my hand lightly down his back as the hammock swings away.  It’s a small price to pay for having such a reliable and useful partner.  Lying in the hammock not only relaxes me, but brings back lots of memories from growing up.  My grandparents had a summer camp on the Sacandaga Reservoir, near Vandenberg’s Point.  The camp was set up on a hill, but it was just a short walk down to the beach. 

They had a flight of wooden stairs that went down from the camp through the blueberry bushes.  Halfway down the stairs, there was no railing on the right side, and that’s where the big, classic, white cotton hammock hung.  It was low enough to the ground that an adult could put their foot down and push off.  I just belly flopped onto the thing, shoved my arm through the netting and pushed off of one of the big knotty roots with my hand. 

It was one of my favorite things about spending time at camp.  The place was pretty close to home, so we would go up there a lot.  There was no hammock at home, though, and the one at camp always seemed special.  Maybe it’s because I shared it with so many of the important people in my life, but I don’t think I got lazy when I lay in that particular hammock.  I just got happy.

Cabin Life – #36

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It’s dry.  Too dry.  I dug a hole the other day and it was like digging in a sand box.  A foot down and the dirt was still bone dry.  I only remember one other drought like this, when I was at Paul Smiths.  Doc Kudish pointed out to me that the leaves on the trees were actually wilting.  The same thing is happening now, and there’s even a few that are starting to change color.  And it’s not because it’s been cool out.

Both of the spring-fed streams that run through the property are dry because the water table has dropped so low.  There are no blueberries, which is a shame because wild blueberries are hands-down one of the greatest foods known to man.  We did get some rain earlier this week, and it was much needed, but it’s not enough to make up for what we haven’t gotten over the course of the summer.

There haven’t been as many fires this year though.  In 2002 there was more than three hundred and twenty fires all over the Adirondacks.  I was listening to NCPR one day and they had a story about a huge fire out west that had burned thousands of acres and hundreds of millions of dollars of property.  They then switched to local news.  The story was that there was a seven acre fire threatening a lean-to. 

We’ve got it pretty good compared to a lot of the country.  Almost seven million acres burned.  It’s hard to believe that the acreage burned nation wide is the same as the entire Adirondack Park.  Just imagine if about one-third of New York State was on fire.  Luckily it’s not, and I guess that’s something to be happy about, even during this drought.

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 – #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 – #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.