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)

Autumn glory

(Mirror reflections on the Kunjamuk)

I have been nearly in a swoon for the past month over the gorgeous fall foliage this year.  Granted, I always think the trees are beautiful, despite what people say about this or that year being not as nice as another, but this year is stupendous.  I hope you have been able to get out to see the display!



While Bill attended a conference in Orlando, I spent a few days in late September and early October on day outings in the Adirondacks with friends. Karen took me to Speculator to kayak the Kunjamuk River. I almost never carry my camera in my boat, for fear of getting it wet, but I'm sure glad I did this time.  I was in complete awe at every bend of the river. 

(Karen is dwarfed by a brilliant overhanging maple)

Can you see Karen under the arch of this gorgeous maple?   Despite floating aimlessly at times to view the scenery and take pictures, we covered quite a few miles.  We had hoped to get to Elm Lake, but ten beaver dams used up a lot of our time and energy. We were able to stay in our boats and push ourselves through four of them, but we had to get out and climb over six dams hauling our boats behind us.  Apparently, the beaver population is booming in the Adirondack wilderness!

(Buttermilk Falls in Long Lake)

On October first, I took my elderly parents for, what I called, My Grand Boyle Adirondack Fall Foliage Tour. I knew they would love riding through the Adirondacks to places they used to visit.  We stopped at Sarah's Cafe in North Creek for coffee and a bun, visited friends in Indian Lake, walked the short distance into Buttermilk Falls in Long Lake, had lunch at the Adirondack Hotel with a view of the water after walking the causeway in Long Lake Village, came back along Indian Lake, and returned to their Saratoga home by way of the Lake Desolation Road.

(one of our favorite campsites at Indian Lake turns golden)

The gray macadam of route 30 literally felt like a thin line parting two walls of red, orange, and yellow, highlighted by dark spruce green.  My mother, father, and I were a tree-crazy trio.  We could barely hold a conversation, because every sentence was punctuated with "did you see that red tree over there?" and "it is sooo gorgeous!"  We decided that, if one of us missed a sight on one side of the road, there was always an equally glorious sight on the other.  Our heads swiveled.

(fallen leaves on a campground path at Indian Lake)

One time, a number of years ago, Bill and I were in Colorado, visiting the high-elevation town of Nederland.  A snow storm of a few days prior melted quickly in the strong sun.  The woman in the visitor's center told me how Colorado's brilliant blue sky always came out after a storm, unlike in the east where gray clouds might hover for days.  Then she said, "You should come here in the fall.  The aspen is beautiful."  I said, "I'm sure it's really pretty," and then added, with a smile, "but I come from the Northeast."  Need anyone say more? You wouldn't catch me leaving this area in late September and into October! 

(Lake Desolation)

My friend, Linda, said that she would like to go to Merck Forest.  Merck Forest is dedicated to teaching sustainable agriculture and forestry.  At 3100 acres, it also has lots of hiking trails.  "My foot is a little sore," Linda said, "so maybe we won't hike Mount Antone this time."  That was fine.  Merck Forest has great variety, all appealing.

(Merck Forest, Rupert, Vermont)

We drove through bucolic Washington County in peak foliage and into Vermont, entering Merck Forest's  maple-lined driveway.  Yellow and red leaves glittered in the bright sunshine, but when we got out of the car and began to walk towards the farm, blasts of chilly wind hit us in the face.  "I need to warm up," Linda said. "Let's hike the mountain," and we set off at a brisk pace.

When we reached the summit and saw miles of rolling hills and mountains below in dappled shades of color, we were glad we hadn't missed this. I have been visiting Merck Forest since childhood, and don't remember ever seeing as far as we could on this day with its clear cold atmosphere.  In addition, we were plenty warm, and Linda said that her foot held up fine. 

(view from the summit of Mount Antone at Merck Forest)

My Tuesday trips of 35 miles, to see my parents, give me a chance to watch the progress of fall color as it spread throughout the Capital Region.  Huge swaths of trees along the Northway glowed in red and gold by the 10th of October. Peak foliage was now close to home.

Sunday's forecast was for a high of 60 degrees and sunny. Bill was ready for a fall outing. We debated where we should get doughnuts.  Should we head east and try the new Cider Belly shop, highly advertised, in downtown Albany, and then continue on to Grafton for a walk around the lake?  Or go southwest, stopping at Indian Ladder Farms for doughnuts and hike a few trails at Thacher Park?  Despite all the good press, I was skeptical of Cider Belly and figured Indian Ladder was a sure bet for good cider doughnuts.  We decided to go southwest.

(Albany County from High Point at Thacher Park)

Indian Ladder Farms has the best cider doughnuts in the area (barring my home made ones!).  Half of the Capital District appeared to agree; the place was mobbed.  We wove our way through the crowd. However, the farm's well-orchestrated and friendly staff made the process of getting doughnuts and cider easy.  Outside, we found a picnic table and had no trouble demolishing our purchase!

Fortified for a walk, we drove up to Thacher Park.  Lots of families were here too, but the park has plenty of room for everyone, and, anyway, I like to see people enjoying the outdoors on a beautiful day.  We continued through the main park area to Thacher North.  Only a couple of cars were in the parking lot.  Scuffling in the leaves and smelling the fall aromas, we hiked the Fred Schroeder Trail to High Point Cliff, making a pleasant three-mile loop.

Again the atmosphere was crystal clear, the view gorgeous, and the colors a mix of bright oranges, yellows and reds with dark green for contrast.  

(Bill walks through a path of gold at Thacher North)

With peak color blazing in the Capital Region, Karen suggested that we take a final paddle for the season and go to nearby Kayaderosseras Creek. We called long time outings leader and friend, Charlie, to guide us, help us spot cars, and to add his pleasant company to our trip.  Charlie had been on the Kayaderosseras in all seasons over many years, and was familiar with every part of the calm gently-flowing creek. Besides the Kayaderosseras itself, we added a side trip to Lake Lonely, and eventually paddled into the exciting swells of Saratoga Lake, ending at the entrance to Fish Creek where one of the cars was parked.

As we parted to drive home, Karen and Charlie were already brainstorming adventures for next year.  It is never too soon to think ahead!

(Virginia paddling on the stream leading to Lake Lonely)

Now, in mid-October, I can see oranges and reds from my back porch, and throughout my neighborhood.  Fall foliage is going by in the north country, but I am stunned by the brilliant color right here at home. I'm still saying "Look at the tree over there!  Isn't it gorgeous?"  My head will be swiveling for another week or so, and I'll continue talking about this year's beautiful fall for a couple of weeks after that.

One of these days, I'll go for a neighborhood walk and pick up some leaves to iron between waxed paper.  The pressed leaves will hang in the kitchen window well into November as a reminder of October's glory. After that, I'll be ready to move into the next season, as winter brings a new beauty.

(it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood)