Traveling in Place

Different Perspectives

“Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” – Isaiah 40:31

I just returned from my annual spiritual retreat. Most of the weekend was foggy, misty, or rainy, the sort of conditions that encourage a lot of reading, writing, reflecting, and praying. But before hunkering down on Saturday morning, I spent all of Friday, a gorgeous, cool fall day, hiking in the high peaks.

I walked the entire length of the Lake Road in St. Huberts to Lower Ausable Lake and then trekked toward Gothics Peak by way of Pyramid Peak. This is a wickedly steep trail (as are most that branch off the Lake Road), but I’ve been itching to take it for some time.

Pyramid Peak stands at 4,550 feet of elevation. Were it listed among the 46 high peaks, it would rank 17^th. But, alas, it is not officially considered a separate peak because it stands so close to Gothics, which ranks 10^th , at 4,736 feet. And yet, Pyramid affords a view that is unmatched in the Adirondack wilderness. The top is bald, so hikers can see in all directions. To the north, you are looking directly into the impressive slides of the entire Great Range. Last year, I enjoyed a partial view of these slides from Sawteeth Mountain. But on Pyramid, the view of the full rise of those massive peaks is totally unobstructed. It’s a bonus that Marcy and Algonquin, the two tallest peaks, are also visible. And of course, the panorama to the south, stretching from the Green Mountains of Vermont to the lower peaks west, is also impressive.

Utter Delight

The activity in our backyard picked up considerably this summer. Last spring, I hung a bird feeder from a tree branch outside our sunroom. It took a few weeks, but the feeder began attracting a variety of birds. I was refilling it every day.

So I decided to buy a larger feeder. Before long, both of them needed refilling daily as the number of birds visiting them increased. For Father’s Day, Martha got me a peanut feeder to attract woodpeckers, and I purchased another feeder so I could experiment with different blends of birdseed.

The result is a mesmerizing and sometimes comic display. Wrens, sparrows, cardinals, goldfinches, purple finches, grosbeaks, chickadees, nuthatches, titmice and woodpeckers flock to this part of our yard, flittering between the feeders, the birdbath, the birdhouse, and a thick bush just over the fence in our neighbors’ yard. It is not unusual to see a dozen birds at the feeders, another dozen or so perched on the chain-link fence awaiting their turns, and morning doves, squirrels, chipmunks, and rabbits all foraging on the ground below the feeders where seeds and shells have fallen. At one point this summer, we decided that multiple sparrow families had declared “learn how to feed yourself” week. Dozens of tiny sparrows would fly from the birdhouse or the bush at the same time, some perching at the feeder, some landing on the ground, others not ready to go any further than the fence. In addition to all of this, monarch butterflies and hummingbirds have frequented the butterfly bush and the flowers planted in the garden box on the ground. Martha calls this area the “open table” with “enough for everyone.” I call it our “peaceable kingdom.” It is a constant source of total delight.

A Day with the Loons

On the first truly free day of my summer – just this last Wednesday – I decided to go looking for loons in the Adirondacks. I’m happy to say my search was successful. I hiked around Black Pond near Paul Smith’s, and spent as much time crouched or sitting on the shore as walking. I believe I spotted six different loons. I tracked one of them for better than an hour, and was rewarded when he swam within 15 feet of the edge of the lake, practically posing for my camera.

The next day, I told a group of pastors that I had spent the previous day “with the loons,” and one of them quipped, “What – you went to Washington?” Another asked, “What do they do besides swim and fly?”

The Commoditization of Everything

From time to time, someone who knows how much I love the Adirondack Mountains will ask me if I’ve been hiking lately. The regrettable answer has been “no,” though I hope to return to the wilderness before the summer gets completely away.

One reason I haven’t been to the mountains as often is because it’s been hard to find the time. But there’s another reason as well. In the last few years, the number of people traveling there from all over the country has rocketed to a level that is causing unprecedented stress to the landscape, and I don’t want to be part of the problem. The Adirondacks, and particularly the High Peaks Region, have fallen victim to social media. As hikers instantly post to the Internet pictures of themselves on the various peaks, people who’ve never heard of the Adirondacks suddenly become interested in replicating the experience for themselves.

Trail workers are finding it impossible to keep up with the increased erosion caused by overuse. The fragile vegetation in the alpine region that has been painstakingly brought back to health is now threatened on a daily basis by the carelessness of people who know nothing of the trail etiquette that has been instilled in more experienced hikers. In addition, rescue workers are spending more time and risking greater danger extracting people who have fallen, lost their way, dressed inappropriately, or failed to bring enough food and water. The Adirondacks are being loved to death. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that they are being overrun by people who don’t love them, but regard them as just another consumable product providing adventure and entertainment.

Couldn't Look Away

I cannot count the number of times I’ve heard this confession, or something very similar, in the last few months.

I have to check in with (insert favorite cable news channel here) every day, because so much is happening that I’m afraid I’m going to miss something. When I start watching, I can’t stop. Even though I know I’m just listening to the same things over and over again, I keep hoping I’m going to hear something that will help me feel better about what’s going on. But it never gets better, and I keep watching.

I completely understand. “Advocacy journalism,” which has both helped to create and benefited from a highly polarized political environment, has become a powerfully addictive consumer product. Millions of Americans spend hours in front of the television getting their fix. The “news” typically amounts to one or two significant stories that you can digest in a few minutes. But advocacy journalism has managed to create the false impression that news is breaking all the time, and if you turn away, you’ll miss it. In reality, what is treated as news is what somebody said aboutthe news. The news is the news, dissected, re-packaged, and repeated by different talking heads. This phenomenon used to be limited to the right side of the political spectrum, first mastered by the Fox News Network. Now, it’s an industry that covers every partisan and ideological perspective.

I’m hearing confessions like the one above more frequently now, because more and more people are realizing that, in their effort to better understand what’s happening, they have fallen into an addiction. They are beginning to look critically at their own TV viewing habits, trying to discern the difference between staying informed and drowning in partisan claptrap.

I was reminded of this media addiction – this inability to “look away” – when I was outside yesterday. Our stubborn, lingering winter has finally given way to a gorgeous Spring, and on sunny warm days, lots of us have been getting outside – working in our yards, walking, biking, or just sitting on the deck with a good book.

Already but Not Yet

If spring is the time when Mother Nature wakes up from winter, she’s hit the snooze button several times this year. Actually, she got a bit restless back in February and acted like she was getting up early, then went back to sleep.

The Vernal Equinox represented the official arrival of spring back in March. But we’ve been waiting ever since to see the evidence – sometimes while we are driving through white-outs from sudden snow showers. I wonder if we are feeling at all how the disciples of Jesus felt in those days between Jesus’ departure into heaven and the Pentecost when the Holy Spirit descended upon them. Just before his ascension, the disciples asked Jesus, “Is thisthe time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” They had been waiting since Jesus’ resurrection for some sign of the consummation of the kingdom, but as yet, nothing had changed. Jesus, in fact, had said that the kingdom was already among them. But clearly, it was not yet fulfilled.

Then, the Holy Spirit came upon those waiting disciples and lots of things started happening. The disciples were channeling the very power of the risen Christ with their preaching, teaching, and healing. Thousands were responding to their message of God’s forgiveness, and the church was born.

But even all the heady excitement of those early years of the church movement did not bring about the fulfillment of God’s reign. In fact, we are still waiting.

Living Water

When I drove up into the mountains last week for my annual spiritual retreat, I was disappointed to see muted autumn colors robbed of their usual brilliance. An unseasonably warm September devoid of any significant rainfall stifled what is typically a splendorous display of color. In the Western part of the Adirondacks, many trees were already bare, while others looked rather sickly with their pale yellow and orange leaves, and in the place of bright red was a flat pink. I enjoyed the short climb up Coney Mountain and the 360-degree view from its open summit, but it was clear from that vantage point that this was not a banner year for fall foliage.

I arrived at Silver Bay on Lake George just after sunset Thursday. The next morning, the sky was overcast. Clouds hung low around the mountains on the other side of the lake, and the wet air became misty. The fall transformation had just begun there, but as I walked the grounds around the retreat house, I noticed that some trees were showing off bright, bold hues. On Sunday, after rain had passed through giving way to sun and clouds, I made my way into the High Peaks, just about an hour from Silver Bay, and was thrilled to see vibrant
colors on the lee side of the mountains stretching down into the Champlain Valley. I hiked up Hurricane Mountain just outside of Keene. In all directions from its windy summit (the inspiration for its name) stretched out carpets of deep red, bright yellow, and orange foliage amid the evergreens as far as the eye could see.

The previous day and a half of rain cannot explain the rich color, which had been begun to turn in late September. I’m going out on a limb here, but I suspect that at least part of the reason the colors were so different in the High Peaks region than in the lower elevations of the Adirondacks was because those higher mountains make their own weather. The phenomenon is called “orographic lift.” A surface air mass is forced upward by the rising elevation, causing it to cool rapidly. Humidity rises to 100%, creating clouds and precipitation. So even when lower terrain suffers from a dearth of rainfall, the higher elevations stay hydrated. That’s why, on a perfectly sunny day, clouds sometimes encircle the tops of mountains. It’s also why hikers ascending past the tree line sometimes experience dramatic, unexpected changes in the weather.

God Cares

One day last week, I spotted what seemed to me a large and intimidating spider suspended just below eye level on our back deck. Its huge web was spun from the eave down to the back of a wicker sofa then to the facing of the door into our sunroom, completing a sticky triangle that effectively blocked passage. Without much thought, I went to the closet to get a broom so I could sweep it all away.

I called out to Martha, who was sitting in the living room reading a book. “Do you want to see a big spider and its impressive web before I get rid of it?” She came to the kitchen window and peered out. “Wow,” she said. And then, after a pause, “She worked hard all day.”

Those words turned the broom in my hand into a weapon of mass destruction. “So you think I should leave her alone?” I asked. (Notice she was now personalized.) “Your choice,” Martha said, walking away from the window and back to the living room. When she sat down again, she called out, “Why don’t you find out what kind of spider it is?”

Such a reprieve seemed only fair. So I leaned the broom against the sunroom door and found my laptop. I searched “types of spiders” and scrolled through the images. I found a picture that seemed to match the creature I was eyeing with some trepidation, and then clicked the link to the website where it was identified. The fearful arachnid blocking passage from the sunroom to the deck turned out to be a “garden spider” whose bite was “unpleasant but harmless to humans.”

I closed the laptop, picked up the broom and went to the living room. I reported my finding to Martha and said, “I can’t very well destroy Charlotte. I guess I’ll leave her there as part of the protected wildlife in our backyard.” She looked up from her book, her face beaming with a triumphant grin.

A Late Summer Hike

Rain and responsibilities conspired to keep me off the hiking trails this summer – until Friday. On the first day of September I grabbed a late season chance to challenge myself with a good, long, strenuous trek up one of the Adirondack High Peaks.

I choose Sawteeth, which stands 4,100 feet in elevation, making it the 35^th highest among the 46 over 4,000 feet. The peak is aptly named because of its multiple summits that, from a distance, give the appearance of teeth in a saw blade. It rises sharply above Lower Ausable Lake and stands just south of the Great Range.

There are two approaches up Sawteeth. The shorter route begins on the Weld Trail toward Gothics and takes a left turn up the north slope. The longer route is called the Scenic Trail. Following the advice of others who have experience with this peak, I ascended by way of the 3.1-mile scenic trail and descended by the shorter 2.6-mile route, making a circle of 5.7 miles. But that’s not the entire hike. Before getting to the actual trailhead at the east end of the lake, it is necessary to walk the entire length of the privately-owned Lake Road. The distance from designated parking for hikers to the lake is 3.9 miles, so the trek covered a total of 13.5 miles. From end to end, the Lake Road gains 700 feet in elevation. The ascent up Sawteeth nets another 2,275 feet.

Sawteeth’s summit doesn’t feature a broad expansive view in all directions, but it is spectacular in its own way, and the Scenic Trail includes a little of everything – a challenging scramble along the lake shore over big boulders, several severely steep climbs that require use of all four limbs, and occasional ladders leaning against massive rocks that can’t be scaled without them. But this arduous climb is made much more bearable by five outlooks that afford gorgeous views of Lower Ausable Lake and the peaks to the south, east and west. The sheer drop at the edge of the outcrops is enough to make your fingers tingle, but they allow the hiker to see the lake from higher and higher perches, and eventually to also see Upper Ausable Lake and distant peaks stretching out behind it.

Birding around the Lake

I never thought this would happen to me. I’ve become – wait for it – a “birder.” Spotting birds, identifying them by their plumage, and learning their calls has never held much interest for me until this year. Back in March, I posted about all the birds we were attracting with feeders hung on the tree just outside the church office windows. It didn’t take long for me to get hooked. I started bringing my camera and long lens with me to work. Once I removed the screen from that window, my office became the perfect blind for taking close shots of cardinals, chickadees, woodpeckers, nuthatches, sparrows, titmice, and others who became regular visitors. (A sampling of those pictures are included in that post.)

Well, once I had experienced the joy of watching birds come to a feeder, I couldn’t stop there. Our recovering Onondaga Lake is surrounded by trees, wetlands, and forests that attract all sorts of fowl. In addition to the gulls, doves, ducks, and geese that park visitors can’t miss, Onondaga Lake is also home to mute swans, ospreys, herons, red-tail hawks, and (in season) bald eagles. The patch of forest near the upper end of the lake between the West End trail and the Lakeland trail is teeming with swallows, yellow warblers, goldfinches, redstarts, and orioles (and I’m sure others I haven’t seen yet). Of course, red-winged blackbirds, robins, catbirds, and swallows are everywhere, but the tree swallows with the shimmering blue feathers are especially numerous along the newest portion of the trail between the amphitheater and the fairgrounds. Along the most remote parts of the trail, out of earshot of highway traffic, you can hear dozens of birdsongs echoing in the canopy of tall trees all around you. You won’t see most of those birds, but if you are patient, you’ll catch a glimpse of vivid color streaking across the trail or hopping from limb to limb. It’s an easy way to lose all sense of time.