It's snowy outside and I'm bored, so I wrote this fictional, and possibly humerous, account of a telephone call...
Hello, President-Elect Obama? This is Governor Palin. Is it OK if I call ya' Barack? Sure, I'm invitin' you and Joe there to come on up here to the great State of Alaska to do some huntin'. Because there's no roads up here, we do all our shootin' from airplanes, and it's a lot safer that way too, so those darn bears can't get ya' when yer not lookin', right? And if ya' shoot somethin', I'll have Todd here ride over on his snow machine. He'll cut it up and do all of that huntin ' and guttin' stuff, and he'll bring it on out for ya'. What's that? You'll have to get back to me? OK... can you put Michelle on the phone then? Hi, Michelle? Yeah, this is Sara...... Palin....... Sara Palin......... P-A-L-I-N...... Yeah, the one that ran there for Vice President against Joe... yeah...... B-I-D-E-N. OK then, never mind... I'll get back to ya'...
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
French River Trip Report - September 20-21, 2008
http://tinyurl.com/FrenchRiverSat3
Because this paddle trip was originally planned for September 2007, I was very much looking forward to kayaking on Ontario’s French River this August. As the date neared, my paddle partner had to again postpone our trip due to business commitments, and nearly cancelled when the stock market crashed just days before our trip in September. Still, my paddle buddy Brian managed to get away for our long anticipated kayak trip, but it had to be reduced in length from our original plan of 2 nights.
This is the story of…
Brian and Bob’s Great 30-Hour Adventure on the French River.
That’s right; we drove 300+ miles, paddled down the river to camp for one night, then paddled out and drove home. A 5 ½ hour drive up north to spend less than 30 hours on the river. You do what you can, eh? The weekend began at 4AM Saturday morning when I picked up Brian in a nearby Buffalo, NY suburb. After driving through Toronto, we continued north on Highway 400, which eventually turns into Hwy. 69 along the shores of Georgian Bay. Sometime in the recent past, the Province of Ontario made the French River area into a Provincial Park, which pretty much means only that they can collect over $8 per night per person for the privilege of camping up there somewhere on a rock. They don’t even provide a parking area or launch site. We had to park ($10 per calendar day) and launch ($8 per kayak or canoe) at a little gold mine of a marina called Hartley Bay. At least all of those parking and paddling fees made my wallet lighter for the carries! The marina obligingly offers “free valet” parking, which means they park your car after you unload, keep your keys while you’re out paddling (more weight savings) and give you your car back when you paddle out to pay the launch and parking fees for however long your were in there. Oh, and Ontario is also building and blasting through bedrock to construct a massive thruway sized 4-lane limited access divided highway along side of the seemingly ample Hwy. 69, which takes the occasional traveler to the great metropolis of… I’m not sure where… maybe Perry Sound or Sudbury!? It’s hard to believe that summer traffic could justify a project of this magnitude. Up there, projects like that are not called “pork” - it’s called “back bacon”, and you can have it either in the form of a huge, expensive, possibly unnecessary thoroughfare, or as a $1 add-on to your *Harvey’s Angus burger. I prefer the latter, and with poutine, please.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Back_bacon
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poutine
We loaded and launched our touring kayaks from the low dock (again, $8 each for that privilege), and headed out onto the river under cloudy skies and with the knowledge that a thunder storm was predicted for mid-day. Brian was the navigator by virtue of having the only map. There are many channels and islands all around the French River region, so following a particular course was challenging. Summer cottages are numerous there. Sometimes we would paddle for while in what seemed like wilderness, then we would come to a junction with an inn or several cottages all around us. There are a couple places where major channels cross, creating a giant intersection of waterways and private properties, and that allowed us to determine our location. We initially had a problem converting miles per hour and kilometers, while trying to estimate our speed in order to guess how long it would take us to paddle a certain distance. We arrived at the first major water intersection much sooner than we expected, causing us to doubt that we were actually that far along. Later, we measured our speed using my GPS receiver, and determined that we cruise at 4 to 4 ½ MPH, which converts to about 7 KPH. That explains how we covered the initial 3 KM in only 25 minutes.
After making our left turn at the big junction, we paddled along the relatively narrow channels toward Georgian Bay. The frequency of buildings lessened as we paddled closer to the outlet. Unlike most rivers that carve their own path out of the rock and soil on their way to the sea, the French River is a maze that seems to have been carved out of solid rock by the glaciers that also passed over much of New York State several thousand years ago. The French River’s source is the outlet of big Lake Nipissing to the northeast. There is very little soil to be seen anywhere along the river - mostly rocks and boulders. Even on the islands, the topsoil seems to be just a couple inches deep, and the trees are holding on only by spreading their root systems out across the rock surface and grabbing cracks in the surface.
We kayaked toward our first and only portage of the day. Just before reaching that point, I saw a large animal swimming in the river. I called out to Brian, who was close behind - “Moose in the water!”. As the animal turned to go back to shore, I noticed that the antlers were definitely not moose-like and changed my identification call to that of an Elk. I managed to get off a couple shots with my camera before the large animal reached shore http://tinyurl.com/ElkEmerging . That’s when I made the definite ID that it was a bull Elk, and I snapped off one more photo as he stepped out of the river. We had our first unique wildlife sighting, and had been paddling for only a couple hours.
Soon, we slid onto shore and began our short carry around a good-sized Class 2 rapids http://tinyurl.com/FrenchRapids1 . After unloading our gear and doing the carry, I saw another very short Class 1 rapids ahead. We put-in and first paddled to the bottom of the larger rapids that we had just bypassed, then one by one, Brian and I did the easy run down the second set. I spent most of my effort just steering and trying not to get turned around. It was fun. As we paddled down the rocky river channels, Brian monitored the map and looked for interesting parallel channels for us to explore.
As the day progressed into late afternoon, we finally approached the mouth of the river where it emptied into Georgian Bay among countless closely spaced rocky barrier islands of all sizes. The wind was blowing down the river and out onto the great Canadian bay as we began to seek a place to camp for our one-nighter. Unlike campsites in Algonquin Provincial Park that are indicated by very large orange signs, campsites along the French are marked only by small round discs on a tree. I never did actually see one of those markers, but the map indicated we must have passed many. One barrier island that we steered toward turned out to be occupied, as indicated by a canoe near shore. Brian got out at another spot and scouted for a flat place to put our tents, but had no success. The day was just beginning to fade into early evening when we paddled across the choppy water to another island. I got out and walked around a while before finding the only flat spot on the island. It was a soft patch of ground beneath a couple pine trees, surrounded by low brush and rocks, adjacent to a small stand of trees, and just big enough to pitch our 2 small tents. It would be our home for the night.
We both paddled around to a closer take-out spot, emptied our kayaks, dragged them up onto shore, and secured them to a tree. The wind was blowing steadily and pulling our body heat with it, so I tied a tarp across one end of our flat spot to provide a windbreak. That made a big difference as we set up the tents and began the business of making it comfortable for our short stay. The view was of other nearby islands http://tinyurl.com/CampView2 , and reminded me of a painting by a member of Canada’s famous **“Group of Seven” artists. The open water of Georgian Bay was still a couple more barrier islands away from us. We boiled water and had our dinner while Brian discovered cell phone reception and called home. We soaked in the great view and recounted everything we had seen that day, with the highlights being the Elk, the small rapids, and the satisfaction of knowing we had paddled 10 miles and made it out to Georgian Bay. After the previous night of almost no sleep, and our big day of driving and paddling, we settled down to rest before doing it in reverse order the next day.
Normally, I have a trip philosophy that the last day “belongs to the road”, so I don’t dawdle on driving days. Since we were there only one night, we treated the morning more as if we would be there for a second night, and took our time in order to “grab all the gusto” that we could muster in our brief time there. We slept as long as we needed to, and woke up without the aid of an alarm or the need to be up by a certain time. Day 2 dawned clear, wind-free, and consequently a bit warmer. Lucky for us, the cold inland temperatures were buffered by the warmer Georgia Bay water, and it never got below 50F on our island that night - much warmer than the frosty mainland temps.
After dipping lake water to boil for our breakfast of oatmeal, we began the melancholy task of breaking camp. We were in the midst of a rocky, water-filled maze, had a general idea of where we were, but didn’t know exactly where our route out would be. Brian had charted us a course that formed a big loop so we would have minimal backtracking and maximum new scenery to enjoy. There were some navigation symbols on rocks and nearby islands, so we took an educated guess and started paddling back up a different channel. Brian described the shape of our intended channel, and we dutifully followed the map, hoping we were on track. As Brian described what our goal might look like, I began to recognize those features around us. We were definitely paddling in the proper direction, and soon after that, I saw a dock at the end of the channel. We had managed to find the portage on our first try. The small wooden dock was linked to a boardwalk that had an old rusty 4-wheeled cart on it, also called a tram. We were again lucky that the tram was already at our end of the carry. Although the ancient cart had one or more split tires, the inner tubes still had enough air to carry a load. We hauled the fully loaded boats up onto the dock and began to conspire as to how to load the wagon. It was decided that we would put both loaded boats on at the same time and tie them into place with the thin line I used for my tarp. As I tied the lightweight cord around the kayaks, we remarked how much easier it would be if we had a couple cam straps. After I was about finished, Brian realized that he had 2 cam straps in his boat, “just in case”. Those 1-inch cam straps made the load much more secure for the not-so-long walk up the little hill to the other end of the wooden tramway that led to the inlet of Bass Lake, another part of the French River network. Mid-way through the portage, we saw a couple old wooden cottages built on the rocks close to the path. Seemingly abandoned, the small cabins might see occasional use in the summer, as they are sometimes used by weary travelers who decide to stay there for a night; we did not go inside. Just as we came to the end of our walk, we saw a couple canoes approach. They, too, were lucky enough to have the tram waiting for them at the right end of the carry. We slid our boats down the rocks to the water’s edge and were once again on our way. http://tinyurl.com/BassLakeTram1
Brian was always looking for an alternate and more interesting way get “there”, and one of those side tracks led us to what looked like a dead end channel. I was ready to turn back, but he insisted we continue, because “according to the map…”. Even when I told him that we were headed into an stand of small maple trees, he wanted to continue. I should note that water levels were high that weekend, with no high water lines visible on shore anywhere, so we were paddling during a high water period. We forged ahead into the grove, paddling and pushing our way through the trees, and forcing our boats over the muck in about 6 inches of “water”. At last, we emerged from the trees and now had only to paddle through very tall grass - it would have made a great video, with the bow of the kayaks splitting the thick grass as we blindly paddled through a marsh. As I approached a dead end, Brian called me back to take another path, and we emerged into the main channel again.
Different and interesting was the theme of our weekend. Soon after we entered open water again, while I was in the lead, I saw another animal swimming across a narrow river channel; I called out to Brian just before it climbed onto the rocks. I didn’t get a good look at it then, but Brian thought it was a coyote. As the animal swam and hopped across 2 more narrow parts of the river, I was able to observe it emerging from the water both times - it was, as we learned later, a timber wolf.
Soon, we were on the final leg of our trip, and some of the scenery became familiar once again. In short time, we were at the end of the final channel and at Hartley Bay - our paddling was done. As we unloaded our kayaks, the friendly staff offered to get my car, and collected their launch and parking fees. There was a officer of the Interior there who told us there probably aren’t any coyotes in the area, and that we had seen a wolf. I had no photos of the wolf, but everyone was very interested to see my images of the bull Elk. We learned that the Elk herd is very small, and sightings are few. Our lucky weekend was nearly over, but the wildlife sightings continued. While driving on the dirt access road that took us back to the main highway, a red fox crossed in front of us. It paused in the middle of the road to look at us as we looked at him, then continued on its way. That left us with just 300 miles or so to drive on Sunday. Earlier that day, Brian and I had both agreed that, even though we were there for only one night, it definitely was a “2 Thumbs Up” weekend!
Complete Photo Album http://tinyurl.com/FrenchSept2008
References
*Harvey’s Angus burger
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwS0WnyqXhg
http://www.harveys.ca/eng/index.php
** Group of Seven
http://www.answers.com/topic/georgian-bay
http://www.artchive.com/artchive/G/groupseven/varley_georgian.jpg.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Group_of_Seven_(artists)
http://tinyurl.com/FrenchRiverSat3
Because this paddle trip was originally planned for September 2007, I was very much looking forward to kayaking on Ontario’s French River this August. As the date neared, my paddle partner had to again postpone our trip due to business commitments, and nearly cancelled when the stock market crashed just days before our trip in September. Still, my paddle buddy Brian managed to get away for our long anticipated kayak trip, but it had to be reduced in length from our original plan of 2 nights.
This is the story of…
Brian and Bob’s Great 30-Hour Adventure on the French River.
That’s right; we drove 300+ miles, paddled down the river to camp for one night, then paddled out and drove home. A 5 ½ hour drive up north to spend less than 30 hours on the river. You do what you can, eh? The weekend began at 4AM Saturday morning when I picked up Brian in a nearby Buffalo, NY suburb. After driving through Toronto, we continued north on Highway 400, which eventually turns into Hwy. 69 along the shores of Georgian Bay. Sometime in the recent past, the Province of Ontario made the French River area into a Provincial Park, which pretty much means only that they can collect over $8 per night per person for the privilege of camping up there somewhere on a rock. They don’t even provide a parking area or launch site. We had to park ($10 per calendar day) and launch ($8 per kayak or canoe) at a little gold mine of a marina called Hartley Bay. At least all of those parking and paddling fees made my wallet lighter for the carries! The marina obligingly offers “free valet” parking, which means they park your car after you unload, keep your keys while you’re out paddling (more weight savings) and give you your car back when you paddle out to pay the launch and parking fees for however long your were in there. Oh, and Ontario is also building and blasting through bedrock to construct a massive thruway sized 4-lane limited access divided highway along side of the seemingly ample Hwy. 69, which takes the occasional traveler to the great metropolis of… I’m not sure where… maybe Perry Sound or Sudbury!? It’s hard to believe that summer traffic could justify a project of this magnitude. Up there, projects like that are not called “pork” - it’s called “back bacon”, and you can have it either in the form of a huge, expensive, possibly unnecessary thoroughfare, or as a $1 add-on to your *Harvey’s Angus burger. I prefer the latter, and with poutine, please.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Back_bacon
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poutine
We loaded and launched our touring kayaks from the low dock (again, $8 each for that privilege), and headed out onto the river under cloudy skies and with the knowledge that a thunder storm was predicted for mid-day. Brian was the navigator by virtue of having the only map. There are many channels and islands all around the French River region, so following a particular course was challenging. Summer cottages are numerous there. Sometimes we would paddle for while in what seemed like wilderness, then we would come to a junction with an inn or several cottages all around us. There are a couple places where major channels cross, creating a giant intersection of waterways and private properties, and that allowed us to determine our location. We initially had a problem converting miles per hour and kilometers, while trying to estimate our speed in order to guess how long it would take us to paddle a certain distance. We arrived at the first major water intersection much sooner than we expected, causing us to doubt that we were actually that far along. Later, we measured our speed using my GPS receiver, and determined that we cruise at 4 to 4 ½ MPH, which converts to about 7 KPH. That explains how we covered the initial 3 KM in only 25 minutes.
After making our left turn at the big junction, we paddled along the relatively narrow channels toward Georgian Bay. The frequency of buildings lessened as we paddled closer to the outlet. Unlike most rivers that carve their own path out of the rock and soil on their way to the sea, the French River is a maze that seems to have been carved out of solid rock by the glaciers that also passed over much of New York State several thousand years ago. The French River’s source is the outlet of big Lake Nipissing to the northeast. There is very little soil to be seen anywhere along the river - mostly rocks and boulders. Even on the islands, the topsoil seems to be just a couple inches deep, and the trees are holding on only by spreading their root systems out across the rock surface and grabbing cracks in the surface.
We kayaked toward our first and only portage of the day. Just before reaching that point, I saw a large animal swimming in the river. I called out to Brian, who was close behind - “Moose in the water!”. As the animal turned to go back to shore, I noticed that the antlers were definitely not moose-like and changed my identification call to that of an Elk. I managed to get off a couple shots with my camera before the large animal reached shore http://tinyurl.com/ElkEmerging . That’s when I made the definite ID that it was a bull Elk, and I snapped off one more photo as he stepped out of the river. We had our first unique wildlife sighting, and had been paddling for only a couple hours.
Soon, we slid onto shore and began our short carry around a good-sized Class 2 rapids http://tinyurl.com/FrenchRapids1 . After unloading our gear and doing the carry, I saw another very short Class 1 rapids ahead. We put-in and first paddled to the bottom of the larger rapids that we had just bypassed, then one by one, Brian and I did the easy run down the second set. I spent most of my effort just steering and trying not to get turned around. It was fun. As we paddled down the rocky river channels, Brian monitored the map and looked for interesting parallel channels for us to explore.
As the day progressed into late afternoon, we finally approached the mouth of the river where it emptied into Georgian Bay among countless closely spaced rocky barrier islands of all sizes. The wind was blowing down the river and out onto the great Canadian bay as we began to seek a place to camp for our one-nighter. Unlike campsites in Algonquin Provincial Park that are indicated by very large orange signs, campsites along the French are marked only by small round discs on a tree. I never did actually see one of those markers, but the map indicated we must have passed many. One barrier island that we steered toward turned out to be occupied, as indicated by a canoe near shore. Brian got out at another spot and scouted for a flat place to put our tents, but had no success. The day was just beginning to fade into early evening when we paddled across the choppy water to another island. I got out and walked around a while before finding the only flat spot on the island. It was a soft patch of ground beneath a couple pine trees, surrounded by low brush and rocks, adjacent to a small stand of trees, and just big enough to pitch our 2 small tents. It would be our home for the night.
We both paddled around to a closer take-out spot, emptied our kayaks, dragged them up onto shore, and secured them to a tree. The wind was blowing steadily and pulling our body heat with it, so I tied a tarp across one end of our flat spot to provide a windbreak. That made a big difference as we set up the tents and began the business of making it comfortable for our short stay. The view was of other nearby islands http://tinyurl.com/CampView2 , and reminded me of a painting by a member of Canada’s famous **“Group of Seven” artists. The open water of Georgian Bay was still a couple more barrier islands away from us. We boiled water and had our dinner while Brian discovered cell phone reception and called home. We soaked in the great view and recounted everything we had seen that day, with the highlights being the Elk, the small rapids, and the satisfaction of knowing we had paddled 10 miles and made it out to Georgian Bay. After the previous night of almost no sleep, and our big day of driving and paddling, we settled down to rest before doing it in reverse order the next day.
Normally, I have a trip philosophy that the last day “belongs to the road”, so I don’t dawdle on driving days. Since we were there only one night, we treated the morning more as if we would be there for a second night, and took our time in order to “grab all the gusto” that we could muster in our brief time there. We slept as long as we needed to, and woke up without the aid of an alarm or the need to be up by a certain time. Day 2 dawned clear, wind-free, and consequently a bit warmer. Lucky for us, the cold inland temperatures were buffered by the warmer Georgia Bay water, and it never got below 50F on our island that night - much warmer than the frosty mainland temps.
After dipping lake water to boil for our breakfast of oatmeal, we began the melancholy task of breaking camp. We were in the midst of a rocky, water-filled maze, had a general idea of where we were, but didn’t know exactly where our route out would be. Brian had charted us a course that formed a big loop so we would have minimal backtracking and maximum new scenery to enjoy. There were some navigation symbols on rocks and nearby islands, so we took an educated guess and started paddling back up a different channel. Brian described the shape of our intended channel, and we dutifully followed the map, hoping we were on track. As Brian described what our goal might look like, I began to recognize those features around us. We were definitely paddling in the proper direction, and soon after that, I saw a dock at the end of the channel. We had managed to find the portage on our first try. The small wooden dock was linked to a boardwalk that had an old rusty 4-wheeled cart on it, also called a tram. We were again lucky that the tram was already at our end of the carry. Although the ancient cart had one or more split tires, the inner tubes still had enough air to carry a load. We hauled the fully loaded boats up onto the dock and began to conspire as to how to load the wagon. It was decided that we would put both loaded boats on at the same time and tie them into place with the thin line I used for my tarp. As I tied the lightweight cord around the kayaks, we remarked how much easier it would be if we had a couple cam straps. After I was about finished, Brian realized that he had 2 cam straps in his boat, “just in case”. Those 1-inch cam straps made the load much more secure for the not-so-long walk up the little hill to the other end of the wooden tramway that led to the inlet of Bass Lake, another part of the French River network. Mid-way through the portage, we saw a couple old wooden cottages built on the rocks close to the path. Seemingly abandoned, the small cabins might see occasional use in the summer, as they are sometimes used by weary travelers who decide to stay there for a night; we did not go inside. Just as we came to the end of our walk, we saw a couple canoes approach. They, too, were lucky enough to have the tram waiting for them at the right end of the carry. We slid our boats down the rocks to the water’s edge and were once again on our way. http://tinyurl.com/BassLakeTram1
Brian was always looking for an alternate and more interesting way get “there”, and one of those side tracks led us to what looked like a dead end channel. I was ready to turn back, but he insisted we continue, because “according to the map…”. Even when I told him that we were headed into an stand of small maple trees, he wanted to continue. I should note that water levels were high that weekend, with no high water lines visible on shore anywhere, so we were paddling during a high water period. We forged ahead into the grove, paddling and pushing our way through the trees, and forcing our boats over the muck in about 6 inches of “water”. At last, we emerged from the trees and now had only to paddle through very tall grass - it would have made a great video, with the bow of the kayaks splitting the thick grass as we blindly paddled through a marsh. As I approached a dead end, Brian called me back to take another path, and we emerged into the main channel again.
Different and interesting was the theme of our weekend. Soon after we entered open water again, while I was in the lead, I saw another animal swimming across a narrow river channel; I called out to Brian just before it climbed onto the rocks. I didn’t get a good look at it then, but Brian thought it was a coyote. As the animal swam and hopped across 2 more narrow parts of the river, I was able to observe it emerging from the water both times - it was, as we learned later, a timber wolf.
Soon, we were on the final leg of our trip, and some of the scenery became familiar once again. In short time, we were at the end of the final channel and at Hartley Bay - our paddling was done. As we unloaded our kayaks, the friendly staff offered to get my car, and collected their launch and parking fees. There was a officer of the Interior there who told us there probably aren’t any coyotes in the area, and that we had seen a wolf. I had no photos of the wolf, but everyone was very interested to see my images of the bull Elk. We learned that the Elk herd is very small, and sightings are few. Our lucky weekend was nearly over, but the wildlife sightings continued. While driving on the dirt access road that took us back to the main highway, a red fox crossed in front of us. It paused in the middle of the road to look at us as we looked at him, then continued on its way. That left us with just 300 miles or so to drive on Sunday. Earlier that day, Brian and I had both agreed that, even though we were there for only one night, it definitely was a “2 Thumbs Up” weekend!
Complete Photo Album http://tinyurl.com/FrenchSept2008
References
*Harvey’s Angus burger
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwS0WnyqXhg
http://www.harveys.ca/eng/index.php
** Group of Seven
http://www.answers.com/topic/georgian-bay
http://www.artchive.com/artchive/G/groupseven/varley_georgian.jpg.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Group_of_Seven_(artists)
Sunday, September 14, 2008
107 Years Ago Today...
I have become an aficionado of these circumstances, and a bit of an expert I might say…
When President William McKinley was shot in 1901 by a would-be assassin, the President was visiting the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York. McKinley was treated in Buffalo, and Vice President Theodore Roosevelt traveled to be at the President’s side. Because McKinley didn’t seem to be in danger, Roosevelt’s presence seemed unnecessary, and he was urged to leave Buffalo.
Roosevelt then resumed his vacation, traveling to Newcomb in New York’s mountainous Adirondack region, and staying at the Tahawus Club with his family. On September 13, 1901, the Vice President and several others in his group climbed Mount Marcy, and were having lunch after descending the high peak a short distance to the shore of Lake Tear of the Clouds, the highest pond source of the Hudson River. A forest ranger approached the group at the small lake with news that the President’s health had deteriorated. Roosevelt and the others returned to their camp and were again informed late that night that McKinley was near death, and the Vice President was summoned to Buffalo immediately.
Roosevelt accompanied a driver in a horse-drawn wagon (buckboard), and in the darkness of that Adirondack night they made their way over perilous roads toward the train station in North Creek. When they arrived at the station, Roosevelt was informed that William McKinley had died. Somewhere on that "rough ride", at 2:15 A.M. September 14, 1901, near Newcomb, Theodore Roosevelt had become President of the United States.
Roosevelt boarded a private rail car and traveled overnight by rail to Buffalo. In Buffalo, McKinley’s close friend wanted Roosevelt to be sworn-in at his house, but Roosevelt instead chose to take the oath of office at the home of his own friend, Ansley Wilcox. The Wilcox Mansion still stands today on Delaware Ave., and is a National Historic Site.
PS: An interesting side note -
The doctor who attended to McKinley treated him with all the usual standards of the time. Nevertheless, the President succumbed to a complication that now is considered quite treatable - an infection. It has been said that a second doctor who would have been McKinley’s primary care physician, had he not been out of town when the shooting happened, would have treated McKinley a bit differently. That doctor had been practicing a new technique that treated patients in such a way as to prevent the common infection - that man’s name, the medical director of the Pan-American Exposition, was Dr. Roswell Park, namesake for Buffalo's famous Roswell Park Cancer Institute.
http://library.buffalo.edu/libraries/exhibits/panam/hsl/rpbiog.html
http://www.nps.gov/thri/historyculture/index.htm
(As president, Roosevelt hated the nickname Teddy, but the public loved it and the name endured.)
When President William McKinley was shot in 1901 by a would-be assassin, the President was visiting the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York. McKinley was treated in Buffalo, and Vice President Theodore Roosevelt traveled to be at the President’s side. Because McKinley didn’t seem to be in danger, Roosevelt’s presence seemed unnecessary, and he was urged to leave Buffalo.
Roosevelt then resumed his vacation, traveling to Newcomb in New York’s mountainous Adirondack region, and staying at the Tahawus Club with his family. On September 13, 1901, the Vice President and several others in his group climbed Mount Marcy, and were having lunch after descending the high peak a short distance to the shore of Lake Tear of the Clouds, the highest pond source of the Hudson River. A forest ranger approached the group at the small lake with news that the President’s health had deteriorated. Roosevelt and the others returned to their camp and were again informed late that night that McKinley was near death, and the Vice President was summoned to Buffalo immediately.
Roosevelt accompanied a driver in a horse-drawn wagon (buckboard), and in the darkness of that Adirondack night they made their way over perilous roads toward the train station in North Creek. When they arrived at the station, Roosevelt was informed that William McKinley had died. Somewhere on that "rough ride", at 2:15 A.M. September 14, 1901, near Newcomb, Theodore Roosevelt had become President of the United States.
Roosevelt boarded a private rail car and traveled overnight by rail to Buffalo. In Buffalo, McKinley’s close friend wanted Roosevelt to be sworn-in at his house, but Roosevelt instead chose to take the oath of office at the home of his own friend, Ansley Wilcox. The Wilcox Mansion still stands today on Delaware Ave., and is a National Historic Site.
PS: An interesting side note -
The doctor who attended to McKinley treated him with all the usual standards of the time. Nevertheless, the President succumbed to a complication that now is considered quite treatable - an infection. It has been said that a second doctor who would have been McKinley’s primary care physician, had he not been out of town when the shooting happened, would have treated McKinley a bit differently. That doctor had been practicing a new technique that treated patients in such a way as to prevent the common infection - that man’s name, the medical director of the Pan-American Exposition, was Dr. Roswell Park, namesake for Buffalo's famous Roswell Park Cancer Institute.
http://library.buffalo.edu/libraries/exhibits/panam/hsl/rpbiog.html
http://www.nps.gov/thri/historyculture/index.htm
(As president, Roosevelt hated the nickname Teddy, but the public loved it and the name endured.)
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Adirondack High Peak Hike: Mount Marcy - Panther Gorge - Mount Haystack
June 26-27, 2008 - Marcy & Haystack Mountains
In ‘06, I solo hiked the Adirondacks' Great Range from Route 73 to Haystack and back out to the Garden, over a course of 3 days. Last year, I set out with a young coworker to repeat that hike, but we began with Lower Wolfjaw via Johns Brook. Turns out that his enthusiasm greatly exceeded his determination… we quit after just one peak. That was quite unsatisfying. For the past year, I’ve been looking forward to my “annual” Great Range hike, and once again chose to go solo. I again chose late June, in order to take advantage of the long days that we enjoy this time of year.
Over the winter, I bought a new, larger pack, and am now able to carry all of my lightweight weekend gear inside the pack, including an extra large foam pad, sleeping bag, and bear canister. With my “full pack” still weighing in under 30 pounds, including food and water, I felt ready to go. My Day 1 itinerary called for hiking from the Keene Valley trailhead known as "The Garden" to Mount Marcy, then down to Four Corners and into Panther Gorge.
After work Wednesday, I finished packing, grabbed 2 hours of sleep, and hit the Buffalo section of I-90 at 2 AM. At around 3AM, I hit a raccoon. At around 6AM, I nearly hit a deer, but we both escaped that trauma. Finally, at about 9AM, after driving through occasional light rain for hours, my old Honda pulled into the Garden parking lot. I paid my money to the envelope slot and readied my gear. It was 10 o’clock when I began my walk along Johns Brook (in the rain), and seemed to make good time as I broke the long day into physical, and more importantly, mental sections.
First comes the Southside Trail junction, then the first lean-to, the second lean-to, followed by a long section of forest that concludes with a downhill to the trail register near the interior outpost. I signed in and walked over to inspect the new suspension bridge over Johns Brook. It’s a nice wooden deck bridge supported by (a pair of?) cables. The approach to the bridge had not yet been completed, requiring some climbing and high-stepping to access the new structure. The grassy meadow by the ranger cabin is a nice contrast to the miles of forest that you walk through to get there. Sun-loving wildflowers grow within the tall grass, and you might see a snake or a deer enjoying the open areas as well. Getting back to business, I donned my pack and headed up the brook toward JBL and a refill of my water bottle (in the rain).
My next goal was the Bushnell Falls lean-to. Before reaching the side trail to the falls, I was passed by several young men wearing simple clothes and straw hats. I had intended to visit the falls that I hadn’t seen since my second ever High Peak hike up to Haystack in ‘02, but the voices down the hill meant that others were enjoying those falls, so I continued onward. Like Terri (Tmax), I chose to split right at Bushnell Falls and hike up the Hopkins Trail toward Mount Marcy. I’d never hiked that particular section of trail, and just wanted to see it. The trail is obviously lightly used, and was quite closed in at times. The smells of Hemlock, and Balsam permeated the air, as did the beautiful melodies of song birds. I had a great time hiking up that trail….. until it flattened out near the top. The flat section that leads to the Van Hoevenberg trail is quite wet; boggy you might say, but the pleasant trail leading up to it more than compensates. Besides, the distance to Marcy is virtually the same either way you go.
Continuing along the very familiar trail, I soon found myself on the “floating” planks that guide one through the Marcy marsh. I scrambled up the steep rocks that guard the top of New York, remembering how difficult that same section was in February one year, when I lent my crampons to a young man I was hiking with while I made my way up with just snowshoes. The open summit was refreshingly cool and windy, allowing me to once again don my rain shell. The cloud I was standing in precluded any views, but I have my memories of a brilliant April day three years ago to sustain me. The state mile-high point was all mine that day, but I didn’t linger. Working my way down the south face, I followed the cairns that guide you down to tree line and to the sometimes steep path where I fell last November and smacked my noggin on the slick rock. I remember that, too!
Soon enough, I reached the trail junction at the small clearing known as Four Corners, where a lean-to once stood (years ago, there was also a stone shelter on Marcy’s summit). That junction is where I again ventured onto new (for me) ground. Panther Gorge has been calling me for the past year or so, and this would be my day to see it. The descent into the “gorge” was much easier than I’d imagined, although I must admit that I didn’t review the guide book’s descriptions for this part of the hike. I found the trail to be easy to moderate through a pleasant open woods with occasional views of Haystack and Marcy. By the time I reached the lower junction, it was dark enough that I needed to wear my headlamp. Since my ADK/National Geo. map indicated the lean-to was 3/10 of a mile farther, I kept walking. I continued walking in the dark even after the sound of the brook faded (lean-tos are always near a good water source).
After more than 30 minutes, I turned back. This time, I scanned the dark ground looking for side trails. When I was nearly back at the same lower junction, I found the path to the lean-to. It was just 100 feet from the junction, and I had walked over an hour in the dark for nothing!
Never… trust… maps… The shelter was mine alone that night. I refilled my water bottles, drank, ate a couple of the lentil burritos that Jane had made at my request, and hit the sack (I’d forgone a stove and pot in favor of all cold food). I had hiked all day on just 2 hours of sleep the night before, so that sleeping bag was more welcome than usual.
photos http://tinyurl.com/marcyhaystack
Though the sun lit the morning sky at 5 A.M., I slept until 8. After stuffing 2 more lentil burritos down my throat, I began my climb up “the steepest trail in the Adirondacks”. This is what I’d been looking forward to - “the steepest trail in the Adirondacks”, complete with guide book warnings of dangerous ledges that you should never attempt with a full pack! The trail started out quite moderate, then steepened considerably as it gained altitude on the south side of the Haystack massif. The path was not covered by large boulders, like some of the other Adirondack High Peaks. This trail had several pitches of smooth, steep slabs to walk or climb up, like part of Algonquin Peak or the Ore Bed Brook trail, but it was “business as usual” for the Adirondacks. After not too long or too much effort, and after just one fall resulting in a scraped elbow, the bare rock, green lichen-covered summit cone of Haystack Mountain was in view. That trail was not any steeper or tougher than many other mountain trails…. I was so disappointed!
As I emerged from tree line onto the open summit cone, the black flies converged. A light rain fell, moistening the little beasts that clung to my arms. That gave me a good reason to don my rain shell, which had the added benefit of keeping some of the little black devils at bay. I soon stepped up onto the small summit rock and absorbed the incredible views of Mount Marcy’s steep slopes as they plunged deeply into Panther Gorge. With a few photos snapped, including the usual “Hero Shot” (self portrait on the summit), I continued down the other side of the mountain toward the Little Haystack col. Just as I began my descent, I heard the low rumble of thunder. Great, and me with my pair of adjustable length lightning rods in hand!
Just seconds after the rumble, both of my feet slipped out from under me and I came crashing down onto my backpack and left elbow. Ow. I took an anatomical inventory, climbed back to my feet, and continued. A minute or so after that, I stumbled, took a few quick uncontrolled steps, and once again came crashing down onto my back… and left elbow. Censored!
I remained on the ground a little longer that time, but other than a very bruised elbow, I was still all right. I had lost confidence in my footing, and very carefully climbed down the remaining distance into the saddle between Haystack and it’s little namesake. As I began the short walk across the col, a lone female hiker approached and asked what I was hiking that day. When I told her, she said, “are you Bob?”. It was Terri (“TMax“). She was doing a similar hike, but via a different route. I asked her if she had heard my cry as I took that second fall moments before, but luckily she’d missed it. After falling 3 times and hearing thunder while on a high summit (and feeling my age), I had decided not to continue over the remaining peaks of the Great Range - I would hike out to my car. We continued in opposite directions as I passed through the col and climbed steeply up the rocky cone of Little Haystack. I looked around, taking photos and mental notes, because I need to climb this peak again next winter if I want to complete my quest for “Winter 46er” status.
After walking over the rocky puddle-covered summit of Little Haystack, I descended to the main Range Trail, climbed up over a big hump, and began my final 9-mile descent to the “Garden” parking lot. Slant Rock, Bushnell Falls, Johns Brook Lodge, a lean-to, another lean-to, fading light, more thunder, and finally the parking lot. I’d made it out before dark. Car, food, water, a soft seat! Another Great Range attempt in the books… and this old guy is quite satisfied this time around. - A
__________________Remembering Buffalo's Tim Russert 1950-2008
In ‘06, I solo hiked the Adirondacks' Great Range from Route 73 to Haystack and back out to the Garden, over a course of 3 days. Last year, I set out with a young coworker to repeat that hike, but we began with Lower Wolfjaw via Johns Brook. Turns out that his enthusiasm greatly exceeded his determination… we quit after just one peak. That was quite unsatisfying. For the past year, I’ve been looking forward to my “annual” Great Range hike, and once again chose to go solo. I again chose late June, in order to take advantage of the long days that we enjoy this time of year.
Over the winter, I bought a new, larger pack, and am now able to carry all of my lightweight weekend gear inside the pack, including an extra large foam pad, sleeping bag, and bear canister. With my “full pack” still weighing in under 30 pounds, including food and water, I felt ready to go. My Day 1 itinerary called for hiking from the Keene Valley trailhead known as "The Garden" to Mount Marcy, then down to Four Corners and into Panther Gorge.
After work Wednesday, I finished packing, grabbed 2 hours of sleep, and hit the Buffalo section of I-90 at 2 AM. At around 3AM, I hit a raccoon. At around 6AM, I nearly hit a deer, but we both escaped that trauma. Finally, at about 9AM, after driving through occasional light rain for hours, my old Honda pulled into the Garden parking lot. I paid my money to the envelope slot and readied my gear. It was 10 o’clock when I began my walk along Johns Brook (in the rain), and seemed to make good time as I broke the long day into physical, and more importantly, mental sections.
First comes the Southside Trail junction, then the first lean-to, the second lean-to, followed by a long section of forest that concludes with a downhill to the trail register near the interior outpost. I signed in and walked over to inspect the new suspension bridge over Johns Brook. It’s a nice wooden deck bridge supported by (a pair of?) cables. The approach to the bridge had not yet been completed, requiring some climbing and high-stepping to access the new structure. The grassy meadow by the ranger cabin is a nice contrast to the miles of forest that you walk through to get there. Sun-loving wildflowers grow within the tall grass, and you might see a snake or a deer enjoying the open areas as well. Getting back to business, I donned my pack and headed up the brook toward JBL and a refill of my water bottle (in the rain).
My next goal was the Bushnell Falls lean-to. Before reaching the side trail to the falls, I was passed by several young men wearing simple clothes and straw hats. I had intended to visit the falls that I hadn’t seen since my second ever High Peak hike up to Haystack in ‘02, but the voices down the hill meant that others were enjoying those falls, so I continued onward. Like Terri (Tmax), I chose to split right at Bushnell Falls and hike up the Hopkins Trail toward Mount Marcy. I’d never hiked that particular section of trail, and just wanted to see it. The trail is obviously lightly used, and was quite closed in at times. The smells of Hemlock, and Balsam permeated the air, as did the beautiful melodies of song birds. I had a great time hiking up that trail….. until it flattened out near the top. The flat section that leads to the Van Hoevenberg trail is quite wet; boggy you might say, but the pleasant trail leading up to it more than compensates. Besides, the distance to Marcy is virtually the same either way you go.
Continuing along the very familiar trail, I soon found myself on the “floating” planks that guide one through the Marcy marsh. I scrambled up the steep rocks that guard the top of New York, remembering how difficult that same section was in February one year, when I lent my crampons to a young man I was hiking with while I made my way up with just snowshoes. The open summit was refreshingly cool and windy, allowing me to once again don my rain shell. The cloud I was standing in precluded any views, but I have my memories of a brilliant April day three years ago to sustain me. The state mile-high point was all mine that day, but I didn’t linger. Working my way down the south face, I followed the cairns that guide you down to tree line and to the sometimes steep path where I fell last November and smacked my noggin on the slick rock. I remember that, too!
Soon enough, I reached the trail junction at the small clearing known as Four Corners, where a lean-to once stood (years ago, there was also a stone shelter on Marcy’s summit). That junction is where I again ventured onto new (for me) ground. Panther Gorge has been calling me for the past year or so, and this would be my day to see it. The descent into the “gorge” was much easier than I’d imagined, although I must admit that I didn’t review the guide book’s descriptions for this part of the hike. I found the trail to be easy to moderate through a pleasant open woods with occasional views of Haystack and Marcy. By the time I reached the lower junction, it was dark enough that I needed to wear my headlamp. Since my ADK/National Geo. map indicated the lean-to was 3/10 of a mile farther, I kept walking. I continued walking in the dark even after the sound of the brook faded (lean-tos are always near a good water source).
After more than 30 minutes, I turned back. This time, I scanned the dark ground looking for side trails. When I was nearly back at the same lower junction, I found the path to the lean-to. It was just 100 feet from the junction, and I had walked over an hour in the dark for nothing!
Never… trust… maps… The shelter was mine alone that night. I refilled my water bottles, drank, ate a couple of the lentil burritos that Jane had made at my request, and hit the sack (I’d forgone a stove and pot in favor of all cold food). I had hiked all day on just 2 hours of sleep the night before, so that sleeping bag was more welcome than usual.
photos http://tinyurl.com/marcyhaystack
Though the sun lit the morning sky at 5 A.M., I slept until 8. After stuffing 2 more lentil burritos down my throat, I began my climb up “the steepest trail in the Adirondacks”. This is what I’d been looking forward to - “the steepest trail in the Adirondacks”, complete with guide book warnings of dangerous ledges that you should never attempt with a full pack! The trail started out quite moderate, then steepened considerably as it gained altitude on the south side of the Haystack massif. The path was not covered by large boulders, like some of the other Adirondack High Peaks. This trail had several pitches of smooth, steep slabs to walk or climb up, like part of Algonquin Peak or the Ore Bed Brook trail, but it was “business as usual” for the Adirondacks. After not too long or too much effort, and after just one fall resulting in a scraped elbow, the bare rock, green lichen-covered summit cone of Haystack Mountain was in view. That trail was not any steeper or tougher than many other mountain trails…. I was so disappointed!
As I emerged from tree line onto the open summit cone, the black flies converged. A light rain fell, moistening the little beasts that clung to my arms. That gave me a good reason to don my rain shell, which had the added benefit of keeping some of the little black devils at bay. I soon stepped up onto the small summit rock and absorbed the incredible views of Mount Marcy’s steep slopes as they plunged deeply into Panther Gorge. With a few photos snapped, including the usual “Hero Shot” (self portrait on the summit), I continued down the other side of the mountain toward the Little Haystack col. Just as I began my descent, I heard the low rumble of thunder. Great, and me with my pair of adjustable length lightning rods in hand!
Just seconds after the rumble, both of my feet slipped out from under me and I came crashing down onto my backpack and left elbow. Ow. I took an anatomical inventory, climbed back to my feet, and continued. A minute or so after that, I stumbled, took a few quick uncontrolled steps, and once again came crashing down onto my back… and left elbow. Censored!
I remained on the ground a little longer that time, but other than a very bruised elbow, I was still all right. I had lost confidence in my footing, and very carefully climbed down the remaining distance into the saddle between Haystack and it’s little namesake. As I began the short walk across the col, a lone female hiker approached and asked what I was hiking that day. When I told her, she said, “are you Bob?”. It was Terri (“TMax“). She was doing a similar hike, but via a different route. I asked her if she had heard my cry as I took that second fall moments before, but luckily she’d missed it. After falling 3 times and hearing thunder while on a high summit (and feeling my age), I had decided not to continue over the remaining peaks of the Great Range - I would hike out to my car. We continued in opposite directions as I passed through the col and climbed steeply up the rocky cone of Little Haystack. I looked around, taking photos and mental notes, because I need to climb this peak again next winter if I want to complete my quest for “Winter 46er” status.
After walking over the rocky puddle-covered summit of Little Haystack, I descended to the main Range Trail, climbed up over a big hump, and began my final 9-mile descent to the “Garden” parking lot. Slant Rock, Bushnell Falls, Johns Brook Lodge, a lean-to, another lean-to, fading light, more thunder, and finally the parking lot. I’d made it out before dark. Car, food, water, a soft seat! Another Great Range attempt in the books… and this old guy is quite satisfied this time around. - A
__________________Remembering Buffalo's Tim Russert 1950-2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Paddling Georgian Bay
Last weekend, I drove up to a little town called Tobermory. It's about a 5-hour drive from Buffalo, and is NW of Hamilton, Ontario, on the tip of the Bruce Peninsula that separates Lake Huron from Georgian Bay. Over the past 20 years or so, I've been up there atleast 6 times, mostly on photography trips to capture the unique assortment of orchids and other beautiful flowers that are found there, as well as to enjoy the beauty of the landscape.
My photos: http://tinyurl.com/bobTobermory08Album1
Georgian Bay's rocky coast, and Lake Huron's sandy shores provide a stunning setting for vacationers, as well as those of us with cameras, boats, or scuba gear. It's an incredibly beautiful place where I have taken rides on the glass-bottom tour boats to see the old shipwrecks, and I've trailered my own power boat up there to cruise the big water.
http://tinyurl.com/Tobermory-BrucePeninsula1http://www.tobermory.org/index.html
I sold my "stink boat" a several years ago, now have a sea kayak, and am considering offering an ADK paddle outing to Tobermory next summer. I wanted to check it out from a paddler's perspective and "see" how the big water paddling is on those great lakes. It's amazing. I'll let anyone who is interested peruse the links, and gander at my photos from last weekend. If you would like more information about the Bruce, you need only to contact me and I'll be glad to elaborate.
If you wish to paddle there, I recommend you have at least a 14-foot kayak, spare paddle, proper cold-water paddling attire (neoprene), navigation light for night travel (just in case -don't ask…), be able to paddle at a brisk pace into, or with, wind and waves for 2 hours at a time, be comfortable and experienced on big water (great lakes or ocean) up to 2 miles from shore, own the proper gear and be able to self-rescue in waves and assist others (no roll necessary), be able to land and launch in waves (mild surf) on rocky shores, have navigation skills needed to be able to find your way back to your starting point from miles away (map & compass skills, and GPS savvy).
These are just a few things to think about if you want to paddle on big water anywhere. It seems like a lot of stuff to think about, but paddling up on Georgian Bay is worth the bother. Tobermory is one place that is so beautiful, and so close, that all kayakers should visit it at least once! Paddle on.
http://www.blueheronco.com/Boats/bhv/home.htm
http://www.blueheronco.com/Boats/bhv/blue_heron_v_cruise.htm
http://www.blueheronco.com/Boats/bhv/Imagehome.htm
My photos: http://tinyurl.com/bobTobermory08Album1
Georgian Bay's rocky coast, and Lake Huron's sandy shores provide a stunning setting for vacationers, as well as those of us with cameras, boats, or scuba gear. It's an incredibly beautiful place where I have taken rides on the glass-bottom tour boats to see the old shipwrecks, and I've trailered my own power boat up there to cruise the big water.
http://tinyurl.com/Tobermory-BrucePeninsula1http://www.tobermory.org/index.html
I sold my "stink boat" a several years ago, now have a sea kayak, and am considering offering an ADK paddle outing to Tobermory next summer. I wanted to check it out from a paddler's perspective and "see" how the big water paddling is on those great lakes. It's amazing. I'll let anyone who is interested peruse the links, and gander at my photos from last weekend. If you would like more information about the Bruce, you need only to contact me and I'll be glad to elaborate.
If you wish to paddle there, I recommend you have at least a 14-foot kayak, spare paddle, proper cold-water paddling attire (neoprene), navigation light for night travel (just in case -don't ask…), be able to paddle at a brisk pace into, or with, wind and waves for 2 hours at a time, be comfortable and experienced on big water (great lakes or ocean) up to 2 miles from shore, own the proper gear and be able to self-rescue in waves and assist others (no roll necessary), be able to land and launch in waves (mild surf) on rocky shores, have navigation skills needed to be able to find your way back to your starting point from miles away (map & compass skills, and GPS savvy).
These are just a few things to think about if you want to paddle on big water anywhere. It seems like a lot of stuff to think about, but paddling up on Georgian Bay is worth the bother. Tobermory is one place that is so beautiful, and so close, that all kayakers should visit it at least once! Paddle on.
http://www.blueheronco.com/Boats/bhv/home.htm
http://www.blueheronco.com/Boats/bhv/blue_heron_v_cruise.htm
http://www.blueheronco.com/Boats/bhv/Imagehome.htm
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