Local Hikes and More

Some of you know that I don't look forward to July, with its notorious heat and humidity.  Although June and August can also have unbearable days, it's refreshing to look back at my ongoing series of local hikes in May and June's cooler temperatures.

(The Sentinels, rocks at Dyken Pond)

(a board walk covers a swampy area of trail)

In early May, Bill and I headed to Dyken Pond Environmental Education Center in the Rensselaer Plateau.  Trails spread out from a small parking lot in every direction, covering over thirty-three ecological communities ranging from beech-maple forests to spruce-fir swamps, beaver ponds and vernal pools.  I especially like the large rocks here, which remind me of the Druid gardens at Blarney Castle in Ireland.

(Dyken Pond)

At the end of our walk, we sat by Dyken Pond and enjoyed a snack. 

I was shocked to discover that the sole of one of my hiking boots had become detached from the shoe!  I was glad that I hadn't tripped on the flapping sole. Although these are my "local hikes" boots, easily 10 years old and having been retired from more strenuous hiking, I would not consider replacing them during this COVID period when mail order was the only shopping option. 

(Uh-oh)

On a mid-week day, my friend, Karen, and I decided to explore the Keleher Preserve, a Mohawk-Hudson Land Conservancy property close to home in the Helderberg Escarpment. 

Between the gift of land in 2010 and a later purchase, the Keleher Preserve comprises 447 acres, but so far has only 4 miles of trails. I am so appreciative when people donate their large rural properties for ongoing preservation.  This land in Voorheesville could easily have become a housing development.

I was ready for our hike, having duct-taped my boot back together.

(Great signage at the Keleher Preserve)

(Making do)

Along ravines and through hard wood forests, the well-marked paths lead to a bench and overlook across the valley to the northeast -- a perfect spot to stop for a snack.  Early spring-green leaves just began to lend a chartreuse haze across the forest as sun filtering through the trees created a picturesque dappled floor.

On our next available weekend, Bill and I drove over to the Boulders in Dalton, Massachusetts, just beyond "hiking local," but still not far from our Albany home.  When a friend, who is on the Berkshire Natural Resources Council Board (BNRC), highly recommended visiting The Boulders, I put it on my list. There are 6 miles of trails on its 645 acres. This extensive preserve belonged to Crane and Company, makers of paper used for U.S. currency.  In 2015, the Crane family donated the land to BNRC. 

(the Reservoir at The Boulders)

(Rocks and view at the Boulders)

A woodland trail took us by a small pond, vernal pools, and damp woods where marsh marigolds bloomed. Again, a modest view could be seen through the trees.  At first, I thought these trails would lend themselves perfectly to cross-country skiing, but then decided that snowshoes would be safer on some of the narrow curving down-hill runs. Regardless, winter would be a good time to return.

(The Boulders)

Bill and I began June with a perennial favorite, the Huyck Preserve in Rensselaerville.  The Huyck Preserve has lower trails climbing from the parking area along the impressive Tenmile Creek Rensselaerville Waterfall and around Lake Myosotis.  The newer upper trails, that opened to the public in 2012, edge creeks, rise over hills and criss-cross the stonewalls of long ago farms.

(Lake Myosotis)

I regularly lead Adirondack Mountain Club trips to the Huyck Preserve in any season, and have visited many times with friends and family.  With over 2000 acres and more than 12 miles of trails, this preserve also includes one of the oldest biological research stations in the United States and has supported research continuously since 1938.

(Narrow bridge across a wet area)

(Rensselaerville Falls)

My friend, Karen, and I drove into Rensselaer County to explore the Kinderhook Preserve on a sultry morning.  Neither of us had previously been to this small 85-acre Rensselaer Land Trust property with its five miles of trails.  A half-mile trail goes along the edge of Kinderhook Creek where sandy beaches looked inviting for a swim.  Other trails border rock cliffs and lead up and down ravines, adding a lot of interest to this outing. Karen and I hiked the perimeter trail first and then the interior trails.

Again, I considered whether the wide trails would be a good XC ski spot, until we reached the steep ravines.  Definitely, snowshoes only!  One section even had a climbing rope to aid hikers. 

(Kinderhook Creek)

(Karen pulls herself along with the climbing rope)

The Kinderhook Creek Preserve is built around the concept of a “working forest” which includes ecological and environmental protection, outdoor recreation, timber production using sustainable forest management practices, wildlife habitat enhancement, and nature study.

(Steep terrain abounds at the Kinderhook Preserve)

By mid-June, lush green was everywhere.  My friend, Linda, and I went back to a long-time favorite, Thacher Park.  It is notable in this blog post that friends became a larger part of my local hiking experience than previously, although Bill and I were still getting out on weekends as well. 

On this day, Linda and I drove separately, not yet comfortable with sharing a car ride.  We hiked at a social distance and had our masks at the ready, should we meet other hikers.  Incidence of COVID-19 had become extremely low in our Capital Region, but we still took precautions.

(View to Albany from High Point at Thacher North)

We chose to hike the Fred Schroeder Memorial Trail in Thacher North.  Besides leaving a huge volunteer hiking legacy introducing hundreds of underprivileged children to the Adirondacks, Fred Schroeder led weekly hikes for the Adirondack Mountain Club for 30 years. This trail, near his home, was designated a memorial to him after his death in 2010.

Besides its testament to the accomplishments of Fred Schroeder, the trail includes the end point of the Long Path, a 357-mile long-distance hiking trail beginning at the George Washington Bridge in Fort Lee, New Jersey and ending here. 

(The Helderberg Escarpment from High Point)

Linda and I found a shady spot at High Point Cliff for a snack and visit, facing spectacular views.  And to top it off, I had new boots!  Thanks to LLBean re-opening, I was able to try boots on and found these that should be perfect for half-day local outings.  My old taped-together boots went in the trash.

(LLBean Alpine Hiking Boots)

While all these local preserves and parks are wonderful, I longed for the Adirondacks with its wild character and majestic views.  I was open to going to any part of the Adirondack Park -- the Lake George area, the high peaks, Indian Lake, anywhere!  But the hostels I liked were closed and campgrounds were not open for new reservations or walk-ins.

(Evening view with Heart Lake from Mt. Jo)

As Outings Chair for the Albany Chapter of the Adirondack Mountain Club (ADK), I receive regular updates from the Club's main office.  When an email arrived stating that the ADK-owned campground at Heart Lake, nestled in the high peaks would open at 50% capacity, I knew I had found my destination!  With just half of the 31 tent sites open for use, this campground fit my bill. 

(Evening and a swim at Heart Lake)

What a treat to go to a place I loved for a short camping and hiking trip.  Taking my "serious hikes" boots along for this trip, I rationalized that it was okay to break away from the Department of Environmental Conservation recommendations to "stay home" and "hike local" just this once.

(Asolo hiking boots, some of the most comfortable I have ever owned)

A chilly June spell was just beginning to change into a heat wave, but I squeezed in an evening hike up Mount Jo and a day hike to Phelps Mountain, with a swim after each.  Camping at Heart Lake was a wonderful break in this COVID period. And there would be more beautiful local places to explore close to home upon my return -- once the heat wave passed. 

(Phelps Mtn. is #32 of the 46 Adirondack High Peaks.  For my third time hiking this mountain, I was rewarded with the best views I had ever had there.)

My "Hiking Local" Evolution

What a period this has been.  Anxiety abounds in this time of the COVID-19 crisis.  Early on, New York State recognized that people need natural areas for both physical and mental well-being. The Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) suggested that people visit our state parks.

In response, the Adirondacks requested that people not drive long distances from other areas, carrying the virus with them to small rural communities where there are limited health care systems.  In the Catskills, some trails have closed because of overcrowding when resources could not handle the possibility of injured hikers as well as COVID cases.

(Bozen Kill Preserve, a Mohawk-Hudson Land Conservancy property)

Along with those statements came the dictate to "hike local."  DEC has not said what staying local means so people have defined the term for themselves.  Like many hikers I know, I have ascribed to the policy of the Adirondack Mountain Club which says that "hiking local" means not driving more than 30 minutes from your home.  We are fortunate to have an abundance of local parks, conservancies, and preserves to explore. 

(My friend, Karen, and I saw no one while we were at the Bozen Kill Preserve.)

For me, local hiking began casually.  One late-March day, I went to the Pine Bush alone.  The next time I enjoyed the company of my friend, Deb.  Besides staying local, social distancing had become buzz words that required people to stay 6 feet apart so as not to share air space and possible virus molecules with others.  Deb and I were careful to maintain some distance, but we were not overly vigilant.

(Old stone walls remind us that the Bozen Kill area was farmed not long ago)

Every day, new protocols made the news. Social distancing had taken on a sense of urgency.  The third time I went to the Pine Bush, my friend, Linda, was with me.   Linda and I were more strict than Deb and I had been. We considered where we walked with every step.  And, as if the virus were not enough to worry about, we needed to protect ourselves from ticks.  Despite all, Linda and I enjoyed the woods and fields, small brooks and waterfalls, had a good workout and a visit to boot, while still staying within the social distancing directive.

(The Albany Pine Bush Great Dune area has miles of trails)

When Governor Cuomo declared that everyone must work from home if at all possible, my husband, Bill, settled into his office in our basement.  He had plenty of work to do.  Days went by without him getting a breath of fresh air or exercise since he was no longer biking to work. We made a point of going out together for a few hours each weekend.  At least, as housemates, we didn't have to be concerned about social distancing!

(Lichen and fungi add color and texture to the Great Dune Trails)

We began with Five Rivers Environmental Education Center, just 15 minutes from home.  Five Rivers is an old favorite and we know the trails well.  Mud season lasts a long time in the Northeast so we skipped our usual route for a dryer one.  I heard a high-pitched noise that got louder as we walked -- peepers!  The sound of these little frogs in chorus signals the beginning of spring.  We sat on a bench by a pond for a few minutes and listened.

 

(Peepers at Five Rivers Environmental Education Center)

When protocols first attempted to curb the spread of COVID-19 and adults and children all suddenly stayed at home, it seemed that weekdays and weekends were the same.  But, as people settled into Monday through Friday work lives and homeschooling, weekends got busier.  On our second weekend, Bill and I went to Thacher Park and were surprised to see that all the parking spots near the overlook were full. 

(A lot of people wanted to see the view from the Thacher Park Overlook, so we stayed only a few moments.)

We parked in the Paint Mine area where we saw few people and where even the cars practiced social distancing.  We headed out on the nature trail with its immediate ascent.  As we went uphill, we left families behind.  By the time we hit muddy bogs, we lost adults as well.  Small streams and brooks tumbled with snow melt under a bright sky -- a perfect day to be outdoors.

(Mine Lot Creek rushes through Thacher Park)

An Adirondack Mountain Club acquaintance, Terry, and I went to the Saratoga National Historic Park (Saratoga Battlefield) on a weekday.  The sky was a deep blue.  I love the battlefield, a place I have visited in all seasons since I was a child.  Terry and I chose to hike the 4.6 mile Wilkinson Trail that meanders through fields and woods along the battle lines of the Revolutionary Battle of Saratoga.

Terry and I very very carefully maintained distance while still soaking in the beauty and serenity of the area.  After a while, though, this diligence felt stressful and exhausting...and we hadn't even seen anyone else on the trail!  By the time I got back to my car, I decided that, as much as I enjoy my friends, I would hike alone now and then. 

(At the Saratoga Battlefield, the Wilkinson Trail goes through woods and fields)

On our third weekend, Bill and I chose to visit Hollyhock Hollow in Feura Bush, just a few miles south of Albany.  Hollyhock Hollow is a charming Audubon property with trails up a hillside riddled with stone walls, and back down to the Onesquethaw Creek.

(Sun filters through the trees at the Saratoga Battlefield)

I was on the lookout for wildflowers.  I had seen pictures that other people posted on Facebook of little forest flowers, yet I had seen none.  On this day, I finally saw a little hepatica blooming through the brown leaves.

When we reached the creek, we sat on rocks and watched the water. Even on a Saturday, we saw no one the entire time we were at Hollyhock Hollow.  I almost forgot about COVID-19.

(Some of the stone for the Brooklyn Bridge is said to have come from this quarry at Hollyhock Hollow)

All of these short outings were great, each in their own way, but I began to worry that my muscles would turn to mush before I ever got the chance to go back to the Adirondacks.  I reserved the nicest day of the following week to head south of Albany and slightly beyond my 30-minute driving restriction for a more strenuous adventure.

Hiking gear now included a mask.  During the first half on my hike, I saw no one.  On my return, only 6 people, 3 groups of 2, passed me, heading in the opposite direction.  As soon as I heard them in the distance, I pulled my mask out of my pocket, put it on, and stepped off the trail so that they could go on by with lots of distance.  I kept my mask on for 30 feet or more while I thought I might still be in their air space.  Once sure I was well past, I took the mask off and put it away.  I thoroughly enjoyed being by myself in beautiful surroundings, keeping to my own stride, and still maintaining safe directives.

(A lonely but cheerful spring hepatica)

Back at the car, I reached for my antibacterial cloths and hand sanitizer.  I realized that, if I got in my car in my own driveway, drove to a trailhead, came in close contact with no one, took precautions when necessary, touched nothing beyond my own backpack and its contents, and drove back to my own driveway, I was not at risk of COVID-19 either to myself or others.  I was satisfied with my efforts and with my solo experience.

(The Onesquethaw Creek runs through Hollyhock Hollow)

I knew, when Bill and I chose Peebles Island State Park for our next weekend excursion, that we would probably not be alone even though we were out early.  A volunteer gave us a map, not passed hand-to-hand mind you but instead dropped onto the ground and picked up, with the location of an eagle's next marked in pen.

(Peebles Island has wide sandy trails and great views)

Peebles Island is at the confluence of the Mohawk and Hudson Rivers where cliffs rise above fast and raging water.  It has historical and natural significance.  Bill and I took a trail that crossed the island until it met with the perimeter trail.

Just a couple of days previous, Governor Cuomo had made the wearing of masks mandatory in close situations. We saw a couple of families, put our masks on when we passed them, and then took our masks off.  At times there were long distances between other hikers.

(Blooming shadblow hangs onto cliff edges at Peebles Island)

We got a great view of the eagle's nest with an adult eagle clearly visible.  Even though eagles are more common now, I am always thrilled to see one.  No longer early morning, lots of other people had arrived and were excited about the eagles too.  We put our masks on.  From there back to the parking lot, we never took our masks off.

We had had a beautiful morning walking quiet sandy trails through grasses and airy woodlands, and we had seen the eagle on its nest.  Still, it felt good to get in our car and take our masks off.

(Eagle on the left in the nest, second eagle on the right in the tree.)

Whether hiking with a friend, with Bill, or on my own, each outing has been a learning experience.  I and my companions always complied with the ever-changing and ever-more stringent protocol and will continue to do so if more restrictions occur.

Nevertheless, each location has had its own beauty at a time of year when everything is new under a spring sun.  And, while I miss the mountains and can't wait to head north someday, there's a lot to be said for re-visiting so many nearby natural areas.

Bill and I have already chosen next weekend's walking location -- a preserve slightly off the public's radar.  

(Wolf Creek Falls Preserve, Mohawk-Hudson Land Conservancy)

"Home Clearance Distribution"

In 2007, my parents moved from their Saratoga Springs home of 45 years where I grew up to a one-story ranch.  Ranch houses are not common in Saratoga and they were pleased to find one they liked.  A bigger house than they needed, it enabled them to take almost all of their possessions.  This especially pleased my father, who didn't want to get rid of anything. After he died in 2018, my 94 year-old mother began to give the place a once-over.

She started by asking me to find homes for five sets of cross-country skis. "Someone could be using them," my mother said.  At that time, she found it difficult to come to terms with the fact that well-used outdated gear, even if in good condition, would not bring much money. Just finding someone who might continue to use and enjoy various items was my priority and that eventually became hers.

After I lugged all the skis, boots, and other smaller items to the Adirondack Mountain Club winter gear sale and brought them all home unsold, I tried the online gear swap sponsored by my father's favorite hiking group.  I got instant response.  I only made $35 for my mother, but recipients had plenty of enthusiasm.

Usually a few emails were exchanged with gear shoppers to find a meeting location.  Eventually, we could set up a time and place, often in the Yaddo Gardens parking lot.  One man said, "I used to ski and I want to see if I will want to get back into it now that I'm retired.  These will be just right and the boots fit!"  Another explained, "I just bought a camp up north.  I want a collection of gear for people to use who come to visit."  I told him that all of the items I had brought were free.  As he considered every one, he asked, "is this at the same good price?"  He was thrilled.

(After emailing the Historical Society director, I sent this set of prints featuring Bergen County, New Jersey, Colonial buildings as a donation to the Bergen County Historical Society)

Over quite a few months, I have given gaiters to the Sierra Club silent auction, many many clothes to the RISSE, our local refugee center, knitting needles and supplies to UpStitch, a shop that sells donated yarn and fabric for a minimal price. Grassroots Givers accepts any housewares and has a huge library of used books, to which I have contributed.

Sometimes I have had to dispose of things such as toxic automotive fluids and paint cans that I took to our landfill's toxic waste day. And I have thrown some things out like curtain rods that no place that I have found accepts.  I've recycled AAA travel guides from the 1980s and 90s.

Still, I am convinced that, for most things, there is someone somewhere who can use my mother's no-longer-wanted possessions.  She agrees.

(When I learned that a man who lives just a mile from me has such a huge post card collection that he built an addition on his house, I invited him over.  He bought 30 post cards.)

Selling a couple of my father's old rifles tops the sales adventure list.  Online, I found a gun shop not too far from Saratoga in the southern Adirondacks. I called the shop and made an appointment to visit.

(I thought this 1939 original program from the Gone With the Wind movie would be special, but there are already plenty of them for sale on ebay and Craigslist)

On a nice late-summer day, my mother and I struck out for the back of beyond, guns on the backseat of the car.  The ride was very pretty as I drove a winding road through wooded terrain looking for the house number on a mailbox.  When I found an opening in the landscape with cell service, I called the shop from the car and stated that I was having no luck finding the shop. "But you are almost here!" the kind voice on the other end said. He gave me a few specific landmarks which led us up a wooded dirt lane to the house with its upstairs gun shop.

(This 1963 Saratoga Springs Centennial booklet is fascinating, but too common to be marketable)

I parked the car, opened the back, and took out the rifles.  Then I walked to the other side of the car to help  my mother negotiate the uneven ground.  I held her arm with one hand and carried the rifles in the other.  A man in a pick-up truck parked next to me, opened his window and said,  "You ladies look great!"  Two white-haired women walking arm-in-arm, one with a cane and the other carrying guns -- quite the picture.

Inside, three older men, two behind two different counters, and one sitting on a stool working with hand tools, occupied the tiny but totally packed room. A glass case was filled with pistols, books lined a shelf, gun supplies and equipment were everywhere, along with a poster of Donald Trump and a picture of Andrew Cuomo with a red X across his face.  No sympathy for the Safe Act here.

(Bicycle gun)

I laid the rifles on the counter.  One of the men turned them over and studied the inscriptions.  Then he pulled a Blue Book of Gun Values off the shelf.  "Come on over here, and look at these rifles," the man called to another.  Turning to us, he said, "He's our history guy."

The second man said right away, "That one's a bicycle gun." We looked puzzled.  He told us, "A bicycle gun is the kind of gun a kid used to carry on his bike. He would shoot squirrels or other small animals from the bike."  I was struck by the vision of small groups of boys riding bikes one-handed holding loaded rifles in the other, but that sure sounded like my father.  In the 1930s, my father and his friends shot squirrels and rabbits near their childhood farms in Ontario.  They would take their bag of game to a fox farmer who paid the boys for any small animal that could be used as fox food.

The first man made my mother an offer.  I started to respond, but she said, "I'll take care of this."  This new assertive side of my mother amused me.  She quizzed him a little about the price, making it clear that she might be old but she wasn't a pushover.  We walked away with $220 for the two guns.  My mother was very happy.

(I have been given advice from a friend at the Fashion Institute of Technology in my efforts to find a home for this exquisite 1927 metallic thread shawl)

We took a hiatus from sorting for the holiday season.  But when January came, my mother took me back down to the basement.  "What can we do with these rugs? " she said.  Rolls of rug remnants lined an upper shelf.  I pulled a few down. When I came upon a piece of carpet from the old house that had been moved across town to the new house, I couldn't help exclaiming, incredulous, "You moved this with you?" 

I emailed a friend who volunteers at the ReStore.  She responded that the store would not take rug remnants.  I left the rugs and moved deeper into the basement, poking around a closet.  I started hauling suitcases.  Turning to my mother, I said, "One time you said you wanted to get rid of these."  "Oh yes!" she said, "But do you want to get into that now?  That's lot to carry."  I turned to her with a sheepish grin, "I guess you caught me on a good day."

I filled my car with myriad suitcases and luggage, a small board for ironing sleeves, VCR tapes, a carton of drapes and curtains, and more.  On my phone, I looked up the hours of the Goodwill.  I could leave Saratoga and still stop there before they closed at 8 p.m.  With luck I would unload my car without the things ever ending up in my basement!

(Shelves of rug remnants)

I was excited that Goodwill took everything I had brought. I called my mother when I got home.  "You are really a Volunteer Home Clearance Distributor," she said.  I laughed.  "No, you really are," she said emphatically. "It's amazing the way you find places for so many things.  You're a pro."

The next day when I talked to her again, she had had a call from a friend.  They had chatted about cleaning out.  "I want to tell her the names of some of the places where you take things. You really are a professional home clearance distributor,"  she said with a tone of great respect.

In just 24 hours I had risen from volunteer to professional.  Although the job doesn't pay and the work is very time-consuming, the reward is seeing a few empty spaces in a full house, and knowing that someone will use the things we are passing along.  Before you know it, I'll be driving a van  and wearing a bright yellow t-shirt with a business logo!