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)

A Walk in the Woods

(snow-covered crab apples look festive)

It is just a week before Christmas and I am "feeling low," as my mother would say.  I am thinking about my friend, Sandra, diagnosed a month ago with terminal brain cancer.  Last night I spoke to her on the phone and she told me that new tests showed cancer in her lung, and four vertebra as well. Her family is reeling, and I am sad.

I go about my tasks for the day, but I need to get outdoors. Twelve inches of gorgeous fluffy snow fell over the weekend with an additional five inches yesterday.  It beckons.  Where should I go?  I want someplace peaceful, restorative, and quiet--a woodland area, but nearby, so I don't have to drive far.  Oh, and I can't spend too much time there, so it needs to be a small place.  It is already after 1:00 p.m. and darkness comes early these days.

(the Onesquethaw Creek)

No ideas that fit the bill jump into my head, so I consult my old ECOS book on Albany County trails.  Hollyhock Hollow!  How could I forget?  It fits all the criteria.  I toss my snowshoes into the car and head out.  At first I feel a little guilty, having the luxury of being able to take off like this, but I soon put that thought behind me.

The parking area has not been plowed, so I drive farther along the road where I see a couple of safe pull-offs.  I choose one near the Creek Trail, a trail I would normally finish with, but, since I'm parked here, I will begin on this trail and go in the opposite direction from my usual walk.  I put my snowshoes on and stand by the  creek for a moment.

A former farm, Hollyhock Hollow is in Feura Bush, and is owned by the Audubon Society.  At only 138 acres, it is very small.  I can make a nice loop in just over an hour.

With numerous warning signs to watch for cars, the trail leaves the creek and crosses the road into the woods on the other side.

How odd to be going in reverse.  I enter the woods where I would normally exit.  Someone else has been here after the first big snow, but before yesterday's.  His snowshoe tracks are softened by the more recent snowfall, and I add a fresher track through the snow-laden hemlocks.

I walk slowly.  I'm not in any hurry.  My point today is not a work-out.  Instead, I absorb the quiet.  At this pace, I am easily side-tracked by natural curiosities.

A few feet off the path, I see a deep hole in the snow, surrounded by animal tracks.  I peer in, but can't see too far.  Maybe I shouldn't disturb whomever may be living there!

About six feet away is this, much smaller, exit hole.  Only a few animal tracks are visible at this end.

And what about this tiny hole?  I know mouse tracks when I see them with the fine line of a tail dragging between the paw prints. This guy went in and hasn't come out, unless he has another exit too. 

I leave the hemlocks and enter a hardwood forest.  The sun comes and goes.  When it comes out, it creates beautiful shadows.  I take a minute to enjoy them before the sun slips behind a cloud again.  Even though I'm walking slowly, I can feel my heart beat.  Maybe I'm getting a little work-out after all.



I go up this hill that we usually clamber down.  Going in reverse is fun, but a little confusing.  I had to check for trail markers a couple of times.

Big rock ledges criss-cross the hillside.  Today, the rock is barely visible under deep snow.

At the top of the hill, the land levels out into a little plateau.  I can see over the wire fence into a private field not owned by the Audubon Society.  I like the variety in the landscape.

My trail takes me back into the forest.  The sun is low in the sky, already, even though I've only been here about 45 minutes.

As I descend from the plateau, I see this crazy snake.  It's a heavy vine, making an odd curly shape.  Generally vines like this climb trees; they don't hang in mid-air off the ground.  I walk closer and see that it is actually attached to a tree, but that the tree has fallen.  I wonder if the vine will begin to climb a new tree.  I know better than to touch it, though.  I have learned that thick climbing vines like this are sometimes poison ivy!

And juxtaposed in this natural environment, is evidence of man.  This beautiful stone wall, made from Heldeberg blue stone, is actually fairly high, with this section in pretty good condition.  I'm guessing that, in this area long ago, it fenced in sheep or cows.  Now it fences in trees.

And what about this flower of birches?  They rise up as if coming out of a vase.

On closer look, I see an interloper!  See the tiny pine tree growing out of the middle that I have circled with a hexagonal line?

The snowshoe tracks that I had been following left the trail long ago, and I am breaking trail.  For being so close to Albany, Hollyhock Hollow is often left untouched. There are other places, like Five Rivers Environmental Center, that people visit first.

Whenever I come here, I like to take the Wildlife Trail which goes by this remains of a quarry.  It is believed that stone from the quarry helped build the Brooklyn Bridge.  How far away from here New York City must have seemed in the late 1800s.

I'm ready to cross the road again. I have arrived at the place where I would have expected to park, in the parking lot next to the Audubon Society headquarters.  It looks like no one has come to work here this week.

I jog down the short steep hill from the building back to the Creek Trail.  Today's snowshoes all have teeth on the bottom, so I can't slide down hills like we used to, but I like the feeling of control that I have now.

The sun is behind the ridge even though it's still only mid-afternoon.  A small flock of ducks hears me and scatters, as I walk along the creek back to my car.  I feel refreshed.  Coming here this afternoon was a good idea.