Distance Limitations

I am feeling a little bit cooped up lately, which is strange considering it's summer, the weather's been gorgeous, and I've been outside a whole lot.  But the problem is, I get bored easily (WAY easily), and we have found our world considerably shrunk by Little Miss Barf-In-The-Car.

We are fortunate to live in a Village that's out in the country, so we have some wooded walks along the Erie Canal that don't require a car trip at all.  But from our house, one direction on the trail leads through a swamp that's nearly impassable this time of year because of swirling, terrorizing hordes of blood-thirsty mosquitoes and droves of savage deer flies.  The other direction is nice, but I'm simply tired of it.  We walk it nearly every single day because having a hyperactive puppy means needing to wear said puppy out.  So we've been taking daily 3+ mile walks either around the Village or along the very flat, fine gravel canal path that I don't find particularly interesting.  Technically there are trees, but it's not very nature-ey.

Here's the way you know I'm completely bored with our walk options: I haven't even been taking my camera along.  That's a bad sign.  We just fast walk/jog our route to get it over with.  By the way, it doesn't wear out the puppy much at all - Phoebe's still raring to go when we get home.  Simon, however, is exhausted by the time we get back.  He's badly out of shape, poor thing.  Phoebe's going to get us all into considerably better shape, frankly. 

Simon gone splat, post walk:

Phoebe, post walk:

And the damage the Tasmanian devil can cause if we don't wear her out thoroughly enough:

Although, then she gives me a face like this and she's instantly forgiven:

But we can't drive more than about 20 minutes with Phoebe, or she starts getting drooly and hurls.  We are making slow progress - we used to be limited to about 5 minutes before the droolies hit - but we still can't take her far at all.  So for now, almost all of our favorite hiking spots are off limits, even on weekends when we have time to get to them.

We did try one crazy adventure with Phoebe, involving the canoe.  There are photos, I hope, but since I took them with a disposable water-proof camera rather than my decidedly non-waterproof Nikon D90, I still have to develop them.  The only stretch of water I could think of that was within the non-barf range was the Seneca River, so we put the kevlar canoe on the car and tootled up to a nearby DEC fishing put-in.  On the whole I am pleased with the adventure because Phoebe did fantastic in the canoe.  She was a little more fidgety than I'd like, but didn't panic, dive overboard, nor flip us.  She also did not get seasick, which was another worry of mine.  I call that a good start. 

Canoeing on the Seneca River during the Saturday of 4th of July weekend, though, bit it.  There was so much boat traffic that it was downright nerve wracking.  Most of the boats were fairly curteous, and we hugged the shores to be out of their way.  But one overloaded speed boat drove right at us at high velocity and turned aside at the very last minute in an attempt to swamp us.  Oh ha ha, folks.  Very funny.  And very dangerous. 

I was furious.  I contemplated hurling something at the boat to give vent to my outrage, but I'd engaged in minimalist packing for fear Phoebe would swamp us and had nothing to throw other than one of the dogs or a paddle, both of which seemed inadvisable.  Thankfully I'm a good enough canoer that it's mighty hard to flip me, and with my shouting instructions to my poor husband, we weathered the massive waves without incident. 

I shall not be returning to the Seneca River again any time soon, however.

I have gotten one suggestion for another place we can canoe that's within our current driving radius, and that's 9 Mile Creek.  So perhaps we'll try that this weekend.  Or perhaps we'll just deal with the barf factor and travel further to a favorite hiking spot that's a little further afield.

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Planning a High Peaks Vacation

The last two summers, my husband and I spent a week in the north-easternmost part of Maine.  We love it there, up near Cobscook Bay.  But we also felt like it might be time to change things around a bit this year, and do a little less driving for our vacation, too.  We are allegedly on a quest to become Adirondack 46ers, but are a miiiiighty long way from accomplishing that task (like, 43 peaks away from it).  So what better than a high peaks vacation for 2011?

Our friend D is a 46er, and will undoubtedly be assisting us in our planning.  But I'd love to gather advice from other folks who've done some of the high peaks as well.  We are thinking of camping for a week at the Adirondack Loj Wilderness Campground, which would be a nice central spot with access to lots of high peaks hikes.  Plus, it has showers, and a week of climbing high peaks in August sounds somehow more appealing with a few showers thrown in.  That, and having a central base means we don't have to hike a week's worth of food and gear with us at all times.

Any of my readers have any favorite high peaks hikes that start from somewhere near Adirondack Loj?  Tips for stringing a few mountains together into a day hike?

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The next one is going to be a REAL dog

We don't take the Basset hounds on very many walks in the winter because they are complete and utter wusses.

To put this in context, I should explain that our last dog was a Bernese Mountain dog and Border Collie mix.  Among his many nicknames was "Snow Thing."  This is Clancy in his element, playing in a snow fort we built him in the back yard:

We'd let him outside in the snow so he could just sit in a snow bank for an hour or so, watching the world go by and absentmindedly licking the snow every so often.  No matter how much coaxing we did, he would only come in when he'd had enough of the snow.  Every year the first snow fall would elicit massive happy dances, and he'd frolic through the yard and chase falling snowflakes or try to catch snowballs we'd throw for him.

Not so much with the Basset hounds.  They spend the entire winter shivering.  After 5 minutes outside, at most, they are barking at the back door to come back in.

To be fair to them, the hounds just don't have the kind of fur coat Clancy had.  Every spring it would take us a good 6 hours to bathe Clancy, remove his undercoat, and give him a haircut.  His feet were so hairy he had toe sprouts: 

Clancy was built for snow.  All his built-in cold weather gear was great for us outdoorsy folks - we could just snap on a leash and go.

In contrast, taking the hounds for a walk in winter involves a ridiculous amount of work and preparation.  They need their fleece jackets.  If it's really cold they need fleece jackets and their heavy denim and fleece overcoats.  They also need boots.

I've already mentioned our difficulties finding stump covers for Lucy-fur.  On Sunday, we could only find three of the Ruffwear boots for her, so she had one mismatched boot.  Slimy had another brand of boots on.  Have you ever put boots on a dog?  It's hilarious.  This is Simon goose stepping while trying to adjust to walking in them:

And this is Lucy bucking like a bronco as she tries to adjust to hers.

Here's how we started off down the trail:

We came back with Simon wearing one boot on his back left foot, and Lucy wearing her stump cover on the right front.  Our pockets were stuffed with cast off boots.  Some fell off, others we removed because they were bothering the dogs for who knows what reason, and at least one built up ice inside it.

Lucy whined so much about her feet being cold that my husband wound up carrying her the last 3/4 of a mile.  You have never met stubborn until you've had a Basset hound.  That damn dog is notorious for sitting down in the trail while holding up the cold foot/feet, and refusing to budge another inch further.  There's no choice but to carry her if you ever want to get back home.  Please remember this is a dog who fearlessly scales Adirondack high peaks on 7+ mile long walks so long as the temperature is above 32 degrees.  Add snow, and she sulks.

After our pathetic 2 mile walk on Sunday, they rocketed into the house and collapsed in front of the still warm fire.

Sheesh.

Wusses.

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Low bridge, everybody down

(If the title of the blog doesn't ring a bell, try here and make sure the sound is up on your computer).

One of the biggest attractions of our house before we bought it was that it is only about a block from the Erie Canal path.   It seemed like such an appealing idea to have a path through the woods so close to home.  And it is an appealing idea.  Unfortunately it isn't always quite so great in practice.

I must admit first of all that the canal path can be lovely.

Lots of stretches of it make for excellent bird watching, and I've spotted ducks, herons, deer, rabbits, muskrat, beavers, turtles, coyotes, ermine and other cool critters along its banks over the years.  It's easy walking, has great history, is good for low-impact mountain biking and other activities that can rip up more natural trails, and generally brings people closer to nature.

Sadly, however, our stretch of the canal path is not one of the most desirable.  We got the swampy bit.  The path itself is always dry as it's a fine gravel:

Along the other side of the path, however, is a massive swamp that breeds gargantuan swarms of mosquitoes.  That means the path is pretty much off limits during mosquito season.  It also sports the healthiest crop of poison ivy I have ever even conceived of.  Those two things combined make me itch whenever I even think of the trail.

The winter, of course, eliminates the mosquito problem and reduces the poison ivy problem (at least visually).  It also brings with it snowmobiles, some of which are driven by incredibly inconsiderate and even dangerous riders, and all of which stink to high heaven.  Thus, it's less than ideal for skiing or snowshoeing (not that I have snowshoes... yet).  Other drawbacks to our stretch of the canal are the garbage along the trail:

Although honestly some of that stuff has apparently been there so long it has practically become a collection of historic artifacts.

There is also, however, a landfill at the one mile mark.

Thankfully it's not a stinky one.

Sunday it also sported hunters, which freaked me out.  I support hunting, like eating venison, and want people to help control the deer population that gets out of control because humans have decimated their natural predators.  I just wish that hunting were always done legally by people with a modicum of intelligence and no alcohol in their blood streams.

Anywho, the proximity of the canal path still does have some perks, and we make use of it on occasion.  If nothing else, when there simply isn't time to drive to a more wild spot at least it's a stroll in the woods.  It's actually great for a jog that is lower impact on one's joints, and is easy to measure distances along, too.

Here are some of the highlights of our short stroll on Sunday:

The ice makes for great critter tracks, although I'm abysmal at making identifications from tracks.  There must be someone who reads this who can recommend a good field book for IDing tracks in snow?

 

 

This set of tracks I can identify - it's been made by a rare wild Basset hound sporting the latest in boot fashions with Vibram soles:

I noticed this debris in the snow, and paused to point out the sawdust to my husband.

Looking up, he replied that it isn't technically saw dust, it's more like jaw dust... from really small munchy jaws.

I kind of have to agree.

We also happened upon a massive pile of frozen apples that someone had apparently dumped along the trail, and which was being enjoyed by the wildlife.

Unfortunately none of the munchers were working on the pile when we were there, but to me those look like they might have been made by squirrel-sized teeth.

Finally, I like the sun shining off the wings of the geese flying overhead - as with most of the photos in my blog, you can click on this to enlarge it.

At least our canal path gave us a brief breath of fresh air and delicious hush of winter forest.

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Pretties and Ickies

While Creepy Man ruined the usual mood boost I normally get from a walk in the woods, our Sunday stroll did have some nice moments, too.  Autumn fields are awesome.  I've always loved the fields along the highway in the fall, with gold and red slowly turning to brown with fluffs of white.

I'll start with the milkweed, just because it has so much charm:

 

 

Then there were the lovely flashes of color in a sea of brown.  I love raspberry leaves and grapes because they're just so autumnal.  Anybody know what the purple is?  I can't seem to spot it in my flower book but have a nagging feeling I ought to know what it is.

A very blurry Basset hound at the end of a long hollow log (you'll have to take my word for it):

And just a few random pretties that I can't identify without a book, and haven't gotten around to looking up just yet:

 

Here's a "Where's Waldo" puzzle for you.  Or Waldoette?  Or perhaps just Waldoe.  Can you spot her?  If you click on the picture you can zoom in.  She's just about dead center.  I mean - oops - perhaps that's not the best turn of phrase during hunting season.  She's - ah - in the middle of the photo.

Then there were the moments that would have made a lot of people say "ick" but which make me say "oh, cool!"

One stretch of trail was covered, covered, I tell you, in pellets.  There were dozens of them.  I didn't have the time to hang out and dissect them, but wished I could have.  I am no good at identifying predator or prey from pellets, but suspect this might be a good place to go for an owl walk of an evening.  One fine example:

Methinks that might be a bad area in which to be a mouse or other rodent.

Then there was the fungus that looked like a Nerf ball that had been chewed on and left out in the rain until it started to grow mold.  That's about the right consistency for this thing, too.  I had to poke at it gingerly to make sure it wasn't actually a Nerf ball some camper had left behind.  Then I realized there were a whole bunch of them, of varying sizes but all looking almost exactly as moldy and munched on.  I couldn't even begin to identify it.

hm.  Nerfy.

We also stumbled upon a lovely hornets nest, long empty, sitting on the ground.  Out of sheer curiosity we did a little poking into it, and were astounded by how beautiful the striations were in the paper.

 

Funny to think they apparently mastered the art of paper making thousands of years before humans did.

And finally, the coup de grace, a rotting deer hoof in a tree.  I'm not sure if someone found it in the trail and put it up there for people to see, or if a critter made a meal of it while sitting in the tree.  Regardless, kind of cool. 

Spouse stuck with me through the hornet's nest and the owl pellets, but this one finally made him say "oh, GROSS.  That's just... ew."  When I protested that I though it was fascinating, he looked at me oddly and said, "I repeat, that one's really kinda gross." 

Grossing out Spouse?  Now that's a successful jaunt in the woods for this fearless female.  :)

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Day in the woods FAIL

Sunday, I woke up in a vile mood.  I stayed up too late Saturday night fiddling with a new (used) stereo receiver we were trying to hook up but which refused to work properly, and then reading.  Sunday morning dawned fresh and bright outdoors, but it dawned indoors for me with wafts of rotting fish mixed with something worse (garbage?  dead things?) as the hounds tried to get me up because they were bored.  I know, they desperately need their teeth cleaned, and that would help with the horrific dog breath.  I'm too broke for that at the moment.

Woof.  Woof.  poke - poke - poke.  Wiggle.  Nudge, nudge, nudge.  Poke.  LIIIICK.  lick, lick, lick.  lick, lick, lick, poke.  wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, pounce!  Mreeeeaow!  Purrr, knead, knead, knead.

Great.  It's a conspiracy and the cats are in on it too.  Once that happens there's really no hope of going back to sleep.  *groan*

All I really wanted for my weekend was some relaxation and a jaunt in the Adirondacks, up a high peak and back.  But there was way too much on the weekend schedule, and despite the intoxicatingly lovely weather, we were stuck with spots no more than about 45 minutes from home.

I figured that it didn't really matter where we went, the woods would be restorative.  It's always lovely to spend some time with the bugs and birds and plants and sun - we'd feel better after a walk.  So we rounded up the kids and camera, and drove over to Green Lakes State Park.

I shall post some pics of general autumnal sorts of things in another blog, but first I'd like to vent about the miserable wretched human who actually made a walk in the woods make my day worse.

Green Lakes has a campground, a couple of cool geologically interesting lakes, some fields, and a decent patch of woods.  It also gets an incredible amount of traffic.  There are boat rentals and swimming, and trails for hiking and mountain biking.  On such a gorgeous day it was very crowded with walkers, runners, bikers, and dogs.  Green Lakes isn't the sort of place one really goes for solitude in the woods.  We didn't venture very far (not much time) but wandered along a trail that winds through the fields, and through a little snippet of woods right along the edge of the campground.

In that narrow little wooded strip sandwiched between camp sites and picnic tables and playgrounds on one side, and a high voltage power line on the other, we were delighted to find some cairn art.  Some ambitious folks had come through and constructed a series of little stone cairns along the side of the trail.  They were quite appealing in a natural arts sort of way - at least to me - and I hoped as I looked at them that some kids had had fun building them while camping, and would want to spend time in the woods again.  I actually took pictures because I liked them so much.

We wandered past the power lines and through the fields a bit more, and were sorely disappointed on our way back through to discover that someone had decimated all those stone cairns.  Every last one had been violently dismantled, and the stones hurled into the woods.  It made me sad, so Spouse volunteered to rebuild my favorite cairn for me, since we had a picture of it still:

Part way through the rebuild, we encountered the individual who had destroyed all the cairns.  I expected teenagers, but so much for stereotypes.  Instead, what I got was a tall, paunchy, middle aged, aggressive creep of a man.  He announced his presence by running down the trail shouting at us: "Don't you know you're violating state law by doing that?  That's against the law!  You can't do that!  It's against the law to disturb anything in the woods!  I'm a citizen of New York State, and you're violating state law RIGHT NOW!" etc.  Seriously.

My reaction was to turn to him, look at him, and say "You're kidding, right?"
 

That, apparently, was the wrong reaction.  He proceeded to scream, yell, rant and rage at me for at least 5 minutes.  It felt like 20.  He got in my face and in my personal space.  He tried to physically take my camera from me (over my dead body) and actually threatened to sue me, and threatened to send park rangers to get me.  While I thankfully cannot remember the full extent of his commentary, the choicest bits I remember are that I "am one of those people who is DESTROYING the natural environment by building those disgusting human MONSTROSITIES" and that "the world doesn't need people like" me.

Oy Veh.

Spouse was hovering inches from my elbow through all this, adrenaline pumping through his body, wondering if he'd have enough reaction time to deck the guy the instant before the creep hit me.  It certainly seemed like creep was about to start raining blows on me.  Meanwhile, I was standing there wondering how much of my Tae Kwon Do I remember, and why he was screaming at me when Spouse was actually the one rebuilding the cairn.  I was also feeling incredibly sorry for the man's kid.

Because he had a kid with him - a shy young girl of about 9 or 10, with Down's Syndrome.  She was dressed in ragged clothing, hung back a little ways up the trail, paced nervously, and looked very worried and upset the whole time the man (presumably her father?) was shouting belligerently.  When I finally convinced him (I had to shout it to be heard over him and the frantically barking dogs) to go get his stupid park ranger to arrest me and leave me the hell alone, he stalked off down the trail, yelling back at me over his shoulder about how the world would be better off without people like me, yelling at the little girl to follow him, and walking way too fast for her to keep up.

It.  Was.  Horrid.

Now, should we have been off the trail?  Nah, surely not, although we were only about a foot and a half off it.  Should we have been rearranging the rocks?  Uh, again, no, prob'ly not.  But Green Lakes is not exactly pristine wilderness, and we were virtually in the much tramped-over camp ground that is intended for bringing people closer to nature.  Had we been in the High Peaks Region of the Adirondacks I admit I wouldn't have gone off the trail at all, much less rearranged the scenery, so a part of me has to admit the guy had a point.  But then again, the Adirondacks High Peaks are full of cairns, marking the herd paths up the trailless summits. 

I wanted to ask the guy what kind of car he drives, what kind of light bulbs he uses, how he heats his home, and where he gets his food and clothing.  What impact is his life really having on the natural world?  Because it strikes me that a small stone cairn along the side of a path in the woods is a lot less impact on the natural environment than an average American's daily existence.  I'm no angel when it comes to the environment.  No, I don't yet have a hybrid car, but it's not an SUV and we do at least car pool.  I'm not great about turning off the lights in the house as Spouse can attest (it drives him nuts), but they are CFLs.  I occasionally buy a piece of fish from Alaska or coffee beans from South America, but most of our food is local and organic.  We have a long way to go, but we really work at it.

I wish all humans could stand back and assess our lives from that orbiting-Earth-in-a-space-shuttle sort of perspective to recognize what our real impact on the planet is.  I wish it were easier to understand how all our little impacts add up and what the consequences are.  I also, however, refuse to believe that how we treat our fellow humans doesn't matter.  When it comes to the Golden Rule, that creepy dude gets an F-.  And don't even get me started on that poor little girl, and how much it worries me that she's with him.

It took a couple of hours for the adrenaline to fade from my system.  He definitely prevented the woods from doing their therapy-for-the-human thing that they usually do to me.  I very seriously considered filing a report at the rangers station about the guy, but in the end lost my resolve.  I was frankly afraid I'd cry if I tried to tell the story, which may have garnered me sympathy, but which would have made me feel pathetically female on top of feeling outraged, angry, frightened and violated.  Instead, we finished rebuilding the cairn (on principle), crept back to the car and got the heck away from the place.

Oh, and the icing on the cake of my day was that we all came home covered in TICKS.  Ugh.  I hate ticks.  The give me the hot-and-cold-crawly-all-overs.

Well.  I shan't be returning to Green Lakes any time soon.  Or building any more cairns.

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