at long last, my vacation!
Apologies for the delay in posting. There was return trip and then sleep, then panic about my summer work, then waiting for the pictures. Which I'm now waiting to load and will be added later tonight.
Part the First: The nostalgic, the prosaic, and the wonderful.
The whole trip started because my sister got a job with a research project that was doing measurements of vegetation along the Snake R. in the Adirondacks. She'd been up there since the beginning of July, and so naturally, the idea of going up there for a bit of a family vacation at the end of the time emerged. So we drove up, and got my sister from North Creek, where she'd been staying at a ski cabin. Yes, she was suffering for her work. Suffering with a sauna, no less. After poking around to see where they were working, and people she'd met there, we headed up to a campground on Lake Harris, by Newcomb. We got a nice site, with some privacy, and a little trail down to the lake. One of the days we took a day hike in the high peaks.
Part the Second: "And the loons! Don't forget the loons!"
Next, we drove to near Saranac Lake. We rented a 17 ft, 65 lb canoe with two seats and room for a third to ride garbage, and a somewhat shorter, 55lb one-person kayak. We put in on Floodwood Pond, and travelled down the creek to Little Square Pond, then portaged over to Follensby Clear Pond. There we found the most wonderful campsite, on a peninsula in a more deserted part of the lake. It had a tall clear area, the sort of campsite with a cathedral ceiling.
We liked it so much that instead of moving on the next day, we did a day trip. We portaged, in a couple steps over to Upper Saranac Lake, poked around, gawked at the houses and floatplanes of the rich, then headed back to Follensby from the lower end.
The third day, we headed up into the St Regis Canoe Area, squeezed through a culvert
, got drenched, did a challenging portage, to stumble back to the rental place wet, muddy, sore and cold. They gave us cocoa, and it was heavenly.
oh, right. Loons, for those not familiar with them, make an interesting variety of noises. There were many, and we were treated to nightly choruses!
http://www.atl.ec.gc.ca/wildlife/loons/images.html Here are some of the sounds. The third day, as we were heading to the first portage, we saw two adults and a baby!
Movie of loons-IMGP0593.MOV
Part the Third: Hugs are better in person.
This third part served two purposes. One was the Scott family(mom's side) third annual Gene Pool trip. There's only 8 total, so we can hardly call it a family reunion. The second, as is no longer a seekrit, was to see Andre!! After meeting at the Gerald, and talking online nearly every day since, we decided that *hug*, while nice, is not nearly equivalent to the real thing. Thus it was with great sneakiness(by suggesting to my mom), that I nudged the Gene Pool trip north into Canada, within visiting reach of a certain lovely cuddly person.
It took a half-way house night in a hotel to return us to a level of civilization suitable for a stay in a city, but then we headed off to Montreal. We met up with one aunt/uncle pair,poked around the Vieux Montreal(Old city), met up with the other pair and went to dinner. Then, there was Andre!! and hugging and whatnot. Then, in retrospect, I was rather evil. I took him up to meet my whole family. Fortunately, though hardly surprisingly, they liked him, and at least from my POV, a good time was had by all, though I'd be open to an alternate description from another's...
Over the next couple of days we went to the Botanical Gardens, a lovely hungarian restaurant, the BioSphere(a really big Bucky ball!)
, and finally wandered up Mont Royal, where Andre and I encountered an impressive SCA melee with a variety of boffer weapons and techniques. All in all, a lovely time, wonderful vacation, and wonderful, if all too short Andre-time.
Part the Scattered: thoughts written down during the trip.
Nagrivate: to navigate(assisting the driver), in a nagging or aggrivating manner.
Camping is much like the Jack Sparrow quote from PotC1, when they are on the island, with the fire. When you think of camping, the accutrements come to mind: tent, sleeping bags, plastic dishes, water bottles. But that's just what people need while they are camping. Camping is the deliberate setting aside of the civilized, technical world. It isn't denied, totally, but just set aside to be called on when needed: the book to read, the conversation of current events or politics, the crab and parmesan quiche baked in a reflector oven. It is also a compelling combination of the nostalgic, and the prosaic.
Snapshots in time:
-The unceasing, but unchanging patterns of water dancing around rocks on it's way downriver.
-Sitting on the lakeshore in the warmth of the afternoon, with the breeze rippling the water onto the shore
-taking the lake path after dark, with a flashlight. The water still, the moon reflecting a path out from our feet, broken only by moon-brightened concentric circles of waterstrider feet pushing off. Further, the reflection of the mountain across, though not meeting feet with the source, broken by rippled water. The night so still that we could hear a frog hopping through the leaves behind us, and feel against our faces the slow flow of cooling air moving downhill toward the lake.
-The pop and crackle of the fire, the hypnotic movement of the flames, the focused concentration on the slow turn of the marshmallow on the stick, trying to achieve the perfect, multi-shelled marshmallow.
Long day hikes hit many of the spokes in the emotional wheel: Joyful energy, curiousity, amusement, frustration, irritation, exhaustion, determination, accomplishment, awe. We often pick hikes that are on the edge of what we think we can do, whether because they have interesting features or seem a challenge. This particuar one, in the High Peaks region, was 4.4 miles each way to Indian Pass. It followed a stream gradually upward for the first 3.9, then climbed steeply upward to a lookout point near the top of one of the hills forming the pass. Neither section is adequately described by the previous statement, however. The first section of ups and downs through dense vegation, with substantial muddy places at low points and stream crossings. The old family hiking joke, "don't step where I just stepped," got hauled out and oft used. Many little stream crossings, and one dramatic stream crossing with a broken bridge, so we crossed on the rocks instead.
Long in the past, a massive avalanche tumbled down, creating the cliff face above and an extensive boulder field. SInce then, moss, then plants, then bushes and quite large trees have grown up among and on the rocks. The trail wound around over and under the rocks, in some cases larger than a house. Two sets of ladders were needed along the way. The view at the top, however, was quite good: the cliff across, a vew down the valley to a distant lake, and a dramatic view of the boulder-strewn valley.
Part the First: The nostalgic, the prosaic, and the wonderful.
The whole trip started because my sister got a job with a research project that was doing measurements of vegetation along the Snake R. in the Adirondacks. She'd been up there since the beginning of July, and so naturally, the idea of going up there for a bit of a family vacation at the end of the time emerged. So we drove up, and got my sister from North Creek, where she'd been staying at a ski cabin. Yes, she was suffering for her work. Suffering with a sauna, no less. After poking around to see where they were working, and people she'd met there, we headed up to a campground on Lake Harris, by Newcomb. We got a nice site, with some privacy, and a little trail down to the lake. One of the days we took a day hike in the high peaks.
Part the Second: "And the loons! Don't forget the loons!"
Next, we drove to near Saranac Lake. We rented a 17 ft, 65 lb canoe with two seats and room for a third to ride garbage, and a somewhat shorter, 55lb one-person kayak. We put in on Floodwood Pond, and travelled down the creek to Little Square Pond, then portaged over to Follensby Clear Pond. There we found the most wonderful campsite, on a peninsula in a more deserted part of the lake. It had a tall clear area, the sort of campsite with a cathedral ceiling.
We liked it so much that instead of moving on the next day, we did a day trip. We portaged, in a couple steps over to Upper Saranac Lake, poked around, gawked at the houses and floatplanes of the rich, then headed back to Follensby from the lower end.
The third day, we headed up into the St Regis Canoe Area, squeezed through a culvert
, got drenched, did a challenging portage, to stumble back to the rental place wet, muddy, sore and cold. They gave us cocoa, and it was heavenly.
oh, right. Loons, for those not familiar with them, make an interesting variety of noises. There were many, and we were treated to nightly choruses!
http://www.atl.ec.gc.ca/wildlife/loons/images.html Here are some of the sounds. The third day, as we were heading to the first portage, we saw two adults and a baby!
Movie of loons-IMGP0593.MOV
Part the Third: Hugs are better in person.
This third part served two purposes. One was the Scott family(mom's side) third annual Gene Pool trip. There's only 8 total, so we can hardly call it a family reunion. The second, as is no longer a seekrit, was to see Andre!! After meeting at the Gerald, and talking online nearly every day since, we decided that *hug*, while nice, is not nearly equivalent to the real thing. Thus it was with great sneakiness(by suggesting to my mom), that I nudged the Gene Pool trip north into Canada, within visiting reach of a certain lovely cuddly person.
It took a half-way house night in a hotel to return us to a level of civilization suitable for a stay in a city, but then we headed off to Montreal. We met up with one aunt/uncle pair,poked around the Vieux Montreal(Old city), met up with the other pair and went to dinner. Then, there was Andre!! and hugging and whatnot. Then, in retrospect, I was rather evil. I took him up to meet my whole family. Fortunately, though hardly surprisingly, they liked him, and at least from my POV, a good time was had by all, though I'd be open to an alternate description from another's...
Over the next couple of days we went to the Botanical Gardens, a lovely hungarian restaurant, the BioSphere(a really big Bucky ball!)
, and finally wandered up Mont Royal, where Andre and I encountered an impressive SCA melee with a variety of boffer weapons and techniques. All in all, a lovely time, wonderful vacation, and wonderful, if all too short Andre-time.
Part the Scattered: thoughts written down during the trip.
Nagrivate: to navigate(assisting the driver), in a nagging or aggrivating manner.
Camping is much like the Jack Sparrow quote from PotC1, when they are on the island, with the fire. When you think of camping, the accutrements come to mind: tent, sleeping bags, plastic dishes, water bottles. But that's just what people need while they are camping. Camping is the deliberate setting aside of the civilized, technical world. It isn't denied, totally, but just set aside to be called on when needed: the book to read, the conversation of current events or politics, the crab and parmesan quiche baked in a reflector oven. It is also a compelling combination of the nostalgic, and the prosaic.
Snapshots in time:
-The unceasing, but unchanging patterns of water dancing around rocks on it's way downriver.
-Sitting on the lakeshore in the warmth of the afternoon, with the breeze rippling the water onto the shore
-taking the lake path after dark, with a flashlight. The water still, the moon reflecting a path out from our feet, broken only by moon-brightened concentric circles of waterstrider feet pushing off. Further, the reflection of the mountain across, though not meeting feet with the source, broken by rippled water. The night so still that we could hear a frog hopping through the leaves behind us, and feel against our faces the slow flow of cooling air moving downhill toward the lake.
-The pop and crackle of the fire, the hypnotic movement of the flames, the focused concentration on the slow turn of the marshmallow on the stick, trying to achieve the perfect, multi-shelled marshmallow.
Long day hikes hit many of the spokes in the emotional wheel: Joyful energy, curiousity, amusement, frustration, irritation, exhaustion, determination, accomplishment, awe. We often pick hikes that are on the edge of what we think we can do, whether because they have interesting features or seem a challenge. This particuar one, in the High Peaks region, was 4.4 miles each way to Indian Pass. It followed a stream gradually upward for the first 3.9, then climbed steeply upward to a lookout point near the top of one of the hills forming the pass. Neither section is adequately described by the previous statement, however. The first section of ups and downs through dense vegation, with substantial muddy places at low points and stream crossings. The old family hiking joke, "don't step where I just stepped," got hauled out and oft used. Many little stream crossings, and one dramatic stream crossing with a broken bridge, so we crossed on the rocks instead.
Long in the past, a massive avalanche tumbled down, creating the cliff face above and an extensive boulder field. SInce then, moss, then plants, then bushes and quite large trees have grown up among and on the rocks. The trail wound around over and under the rocks, in some cases larger than a house. Two sets of ladders were needed along the way. The view at the top, however, was quite good: the cliff across, a vew down the valley to a distant lake, and a dramatic view of the boulder-strewn valley.