Hole In The Donut Cultural Travel &#187; Northeast US travel

Keeping Adirondack Park Forever Wild is a Delicate Balancing Act

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PzSuAUYzMNY

Living Close to the Land in the Adirondack Mountains

Barbara Weibel — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 13:00:15 +0000

After two weeks in the Adirondacks of upstate New York I began to learn more about the culture of the area. Though the Adirondack Mountains are ancient, the human history within them is relatively young. It is unusual to meet second generation residents and third generation families are a rarity, so it was a privilege to meet Judy Damkoehler, a descendant of the men who built the Irondequoit Inn. “My great-grandfather and great-uncle Herbert first saw the Adirondacks in 1877. To celebrate Bert’s graduation from high school in New Jersey, they decided to walk to Montreal to visit my great-great-grandmother. Bert went on to college and married, but he never forgot this area.” When Bert finally convinced his buddies to visit the area they were so smitten that they immediately began buying up land. The present-day Lodge and Annex of Irondequoit Inn – originally old farmhouses in the village of Piseco Lake – were dragged up to the site on rollers by a team of oxen. Soon, the partners were welcoming guests and selling shares in the property. One hundred and twenty years later, many shares are still owned by descendants of the original investors.

Judy Damkoehlar, a descendant of the developers of Irondequoit Inn, began coming to the Inn in 1930

Damkoehler first came to the Inn in 1930 at the age of three. Piseco was an unincorporated rough and tumble lumbering town, full of bars and raucous men. “There was no electricity in those days and we ate fried sneaker soles for dinner – probably illegal venison,” she grinned. “By the time I was 10 or 11 I was allowed take the rowboat out on the lake alone.” During the Depression years she worked at the Inn. “We called ourselves ‘slaves’ and lived in the ‘slaves quarters’ (the annex). We waited tables, washed dishes, cleaned rooms…and met boys.” Damkoehler has traveled to South America, Iceland and Europe but her favorite place in the world is still Piseco Lake. “It gets in your blood,” she insists, adding that the next generation – her cousins – are now coming to the Inn every summer.

Can’t view the above YouTube video of the paddle making workshop at Adirondack Museum in Blue Mountain Lake? Click here.

Everywhere I went in the Adirondack Mountains I met people living close to the land. At the Adirondack Museum Caleb Davis was sponsoring a paddle-making workshop. Caleb made his first paddle by hand at the age of 11 and has run a paddle-making business each summer for the past 22 years. While it’s great fun, paddle making is also hard work; participants on the day I visited had sore arms and aching shoulders from working with wood planes and files. So why do they do it? “Making something themselves – I think that’s the thing people are missing more and more nowadays. It’s about being connected; working with your hands, your eyes…feeling things,” says Caleb. Certainly, that was motivation for Brian and Leia Johnson. “We’ve just gotten into paddling and we thought it would be kind of cool to have our own paddles. It’s a sense of pride to be able to say, ‘This is the one I made and I’m going to use it.’”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOPl4BkYO5w

Can’t view the above YouTube video of the blacksmith shop at Great Camp Sagamore in the Adirondacks? Click here.

At Great Camp Sagamore, I found artisan David Woodward in the original blacksmith shop that served the Vanderbilt family back in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. In his long leather apron and protective ear muffs, he stoked the furnace to a temperature of 3,000 degrees, pulled a red-hot metal wedge out of the fire, and pounded it with a ball peen hammer to demonstrate the rustic ornamental ironwork that the rich owners of the camps coveted. Woodward, who attended the Brotman Forge Blacksmith School in Vermont, has turned his fascination with the art of blacksmithing into a successful career. When he’s not demonstrating at Sagamore, he is in his studio, Train Brook Forge, where he creates intricately detailed metal implements ranging from fireplace screens to cooking utensils.

Back at Irondequoit Inn for dinner, I was mulling over the unique ways in which Adirondackers had carved out existences in this challenging corner of the world when I turned over the Inn’s dinner menu and read the following:

“All our meals are cooked to order and made from the best ingredients we can locate as locally as possible. Many of our ingredients are organic, pesticide, hormone and antibiotic free. We are proud to feature eggs and meat from local farmers. Most of our preservative-free artisan bread is made in Herkimer County by the Heidelberg Bread Company. We even grow some of our produce here at the Inn.” Innkeepers Loren and Pamela Brown graciously allowed me to ride along the next day as Loren made his rounds of the area farms to pick up supplies for the week.

Fresh eggs at Winters Grass Farm

Our first stop was at Winters Grass Farm, located about 50 miles south of the Inn and just outside the Park boundaries. The Winters family purchased the farm in 1999 and turned over its operation to Jordan, who follows environmentally-friendly pasture-based farming practices. After picking up twenty dozen eggs Jordan offered to show me around the farm.

He led me across the street to a patch of land enclosed by an electrified fence, turned off the power and stepped over the wires into tall grass, motioning me to follow. “Here pig. Here pig, pig, pig.” he called. Nothing. Not a whisper of movement. We walked further back to the edge of a dense copse of trees, but still they hid. “They don’t know you; I’ll go get them,” he said, disappearing into the trees. Seconds later, a couple dozen huge hogs burst out of the forest and surrounded me. They leaned in, sniffing me with their enormous, wet snouts. I froze. “Will they hurt me?” I asked, alarmed. I’d heard stories about people being killed after falling into a pig pen. Jordan laughed and assured me I was perfectly safe. I reached down to stroke one and instantly pulled my hand back. “They’re bristly!” It was like petting a porcupine, without the stinging quills.

Pigs at Winters Grass Farm come out of hiding to inspect me

Pig pen area at Winters Grass Farm

I followed him into an adjacent field and stepped gingerly around cow patties until I was face to face with a herd of brown and white faced cows. They chomped on clumps of grass and swatted flies with their tails while eying me suspiciously. As I got nearer they closed ranks and backed away from me. How strange, I thought, that great big cows are afraid of me while the smaller hogs were absolutely fearless. Spotting chicken coops in the distance, I remarked that I was surprised by the lack of smell. Jordan explained that the farm is modeled after systems found in nature. In the wild, herbivores herd together for predator protection, are constantly moving to fresh ground and away from yesterdays droppings, and consume only forage as their diet. His herd is moved daily to fresh pasture and the cattle thrive on grass only. In the process, the land is allowed to rest, thus improving the landscape and increasing fertility. Chickens are kept in a portable hoop house surrounded by poultry netting to make an enclosed yard. They roam around freely in this yard and are moved every few days, along with the hoop house, to a new area.

Cow herd at Winters Grass Farm

The entire farm is run on principles that allow the animals to express themselves in ways that make them different from other animals. “Instead of raising our pigs in a building crowded together in a pen, we raise them out on pasture where they can root and graze, allowing them to express their pigness!” I giggled, remembering the “pigness” I had experienced just minutes before.

Vats at Maple Hill Creamery where cultures are added to heated milk

After a stop at Heidelberg Bakery to pick up bread for the week (and to grab a raspberry and cream cheese pastry for a mid-day snack), we continued on to Maple Hill Creamery for homemade yogurt. Partners Tim Joseph and his brother-in-law, Pete Heck, explained that their products are made the old-fashioned way – in small batches, by hand, right there on the farm. Their certified organic cows are outside all day, every day from April through October. In the winter they are housed in a spacious greenhouse-type barn, where they are free to eat, drink and lounge as they please. The cows are fed nothing but grass during the growing season, along with some salt and minerals, and only high-quality hay during the winter season. The result is delicious and healthy organic yogurt, lightly sweetened with organic evaporated cane sugar and natural fruit. Tim showed me the big vat where cultures are added to heated milk and the incubation room where the sealed cups are held overnight at 100 degrees. By morning the liquid magically thickens into European style “cream on top” whole milk yogurt.

Incubator at Maple Hill Creamery where yogurt is kept warm overnight in order to thicken

By the time the tour finished my mouth was watering. Hoping for samples of the plain, vanilla, maple, wild blueberry, lemon, and orange cream varieties, I eyed the cooler in the front office longingly. Tim grinned and pulled out a half-dozen yogurt cups. “These are our orphans,” he said. “We can’t sell them for one reason or another, usually because they’re the end of a batch and the containers are not completely full, so we let the community come in and help themselves.” Gleefully, I headed for the car, salivating at the prospect of lemon and orange flavors for dessert that evening.

"Orphan" cooler in the front office of Maple Hill Creamery

It takes a special breed of person to make it in these hills; winters are brutal, the soil is too poor to farm, and other than working for the park service or in tourism, employment opportunities are scarce. But despite the challenges, it is clear that folks who live close to the land and embrace sustainability will endure, even in this unforgiving environment.

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Keeping Adirondack Park Forever Wild is a Delicate Balancing Act

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRP30d7zkZE

Diamonds and Rubies, Oh My!

Barbara Weibel — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 14:44:57 +0000

Nearly twenty years ago, I met another rockhound who traded crystals with me. I was living in Arizona at the time, so I gave him copper-bearing specimens like azurite, malachite, and turquoise; in turn he presented me with Herkimer Diamonds from upstate New York. Tucked into hollow cavities in the dense gray rock were tiny, perfectly clear quartz crystals with points at both ends – a condition known as double-termination. It was love at first sight. I promised myself that someday I would go to Herkimer and dig some out of the ground with my own two hands.

The first to know about the crystals may have been indigenous Mohawk Indians, who collected them from stream sediments and became known as ”People of the Crystals.” Early settlers also turned the crystals up in plowed fields, but their discovery is credited to workmen who were cutting into dolomite limestone near the town of Herkimer, New York. Inside the dense dolostone they found small solution cavities called vugs and larger pockets that measured up to several feet in diameter. Floating within the cavities were quartz crystals so pure they gained the nickname Herkimer Diamonds.

Ace of Diamonds Mine in Middleville, NY

As luck would have it, my visit to Adirondack Park put me within a few miles of of the precious crystals. I Googled Herkimer Diamonds and found two commercial mines on New York State Route 28 in Middleville, New York, the Ace of Diamonds Mine and Herkimer Diamond Mine, both of which allow collectors to prospect for a nominal fee. After talking to a few other collectors in the area, I chose the Ace of Diamonds mine because they regularly cut into the dolomite with endloaders, excavators and bulldozers and deposit the rock in giant heaps of stones ripe for the picking.

Some look for specimens atop huge pilkes of jumbled rock torn from surrounding cliffs

I paid my $9.50 day fee, rented a geologists hammer, grabbed a pair of safety goggles and set off on foot to tour the site. Some rockhounds were sorting through jagged stones at the top of rock piles, while others hammered metal wedges into cracks in the stone ledge surrounding the site, hoping to expose large pockets where hundreds of crystals await discovery. I squatted down in the no-man’s land between the ledge and piles and began turning over rocks, looking for ones that had evidence of cavities. Within minutes I had collected three medium size boulders and began banging away with my geologists hammer. A few hours later I had amassed a tidy pile of rocks with pure quartz crystals sparkling from hollow pockets in the matrix. Oblivious to the sweat rolling down my forehead into my eyes and shoulders that ached from swinging the hammer, I carried the best specimens to the car and lovingly packed my booty away.

My pile of specimens at the Ace of Diamonds Mine

Herkimer Diamonds exposed within the limestone matrix

The next day I flexed my hands and winced in pain, but not even blisters that had raised overnight could deter me from another day of rockhounding. This time I headed for Barton Garnet Mine, located in the south central part of Adirondack Park. At the open pit mine our guide provided us with a brief history of the mine, which had provided the hardest garnet in the world until it flooded in the mid-1980′s, eventually forcing it to cease operations.

Can’t view the above YouTube video of prospecting for garnets in Adirondack Park? Click here.

In bright sunshine, the cliffs on the opposite side of the lake, the giant boulders scattered around the site, even the crushed rock beneath my feet glowed ruby red. I dipped my hand in water at the edge of the lake and scooped up a handful of soil; dozens of chunks of brilliant garnet sparkled back at me. My tour lasted only an hour but it was plenty of time to collect a bag full of garnets, some of which were large enough and clear enough to be gem quality. The $11.95 admission includes a season pass that allows guests to return for free as many times as they wish and a $3 adult discount coupon is available on the mine’s website. Any rock and gemstones collected on tour are a dollar per pound.

Blood red garnets scooped up from the lakeshore

Garnets collected in less than an hour

Resisting the temptation to do a second hour at the mine, I headed back to the Irondequoit Inn to watch yet another stunning sunset from the front porch. I settled into a rocking chair as a sinking sun painted the sky blood red and stayed until a brilliant swathe of stars popped from a tar-black sky. Diamonds and rubies, by day and night.

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Barbara Weibel — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 23:16:03 +0000

A cocoon of ethereal fog enveloped me as I walked to the end of the dock on Piseco Lake. The hush of dawn was interrupted by the gentle splish-splash of a solitary man walking languidly through calf-high water, far out into the lake. In the distance a white wolf-dog stood motionless in water up to his belly, staring intently at something on the shore. Beyond man and dog, all was swallowed up by the white curtain, beyond which echoed the lonely whoop and chuckle of an invisible loon, on the hunt for a mate.

Can’t view the above YouTube video about Piseco Lake and Irondequoit Inn? Click here.

I turned toward shore and let my gaze wander up the hillside, where even the Irondequoit Inn was obscured by the fog. Though my arrival at this rustic old inn had been unplanned, it had been no mistake. My press trip in Adirondack Park had drawn to a close the previous week but my inner voice told me I wasn’t yet done with the Adirondacks. Several years earlier I had visited Lake George during a leaf-peeping tour of the northeast and had written about the area with glowing words that rivaled the color of the fall foliage.

Relaxing on the porch at Irondequoit Inn

Irondequoit Inn in Adirondack Park near Speculator, NY

Dock on Piseco Lake at Irondequoit Inn

After reading my article, friends wrote to tell me about the Irondequoit Inn, their favorite place in upstate New York. Their coffee shop in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, Front Porch Cafe, had been named in honor of the many happy hours they had spent in rocking chairs on the porch of the Inn, gazing out over lovely Piseco Lake. I dug through my old emails and found their three-year old recommendation. Remarkably, Irondequoit Inn was smack in the middle of the only part of Adirondack Park I had not yet investigated. A phone call later, I had wrapped up the only remaining room and spent the next two days hiking to area waterfalls, attending craft fairs, digging for semi-precious gems, and rocking on the front porch.

Can’t view the above slide show of the southern Adirondack Park in upstate New York? Click here.

The sun burned white-hot, slowly dissipating the mist. As the old Inn emerged atop its grassy hill, I realized that life is a lot like fog. I can’t see where the path leads; it meanders just beyond the edge of visibility. But I know if I trust the process and listen to my inner voice, it will always take me where I am supposed to go. In this case, it led me to the Irondequoit Inn, an oasis of serenity in this complicated, over-stressed world. There are no coincidences.

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The Legend of Queen Anne’s Lace

Barbara Weibel — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 12:42:12 +0000

On my final day in the northeast corner of Adirondack Park, I walked across the street to Point au Roche State Park, bound for a narrow point that juts out into Lake Champlain. Hot, humid breezes blew thick grey thunderheads overhead and birds flitted back and forth, as if panicked by the approaching storm. I breathed in the acrid smell of marsh grass decaying in the late summer heat and started when a garter snake crawled across my foot and disappeared into the dense vegetation. The quiet country road wound past marshy backwaters framed by tall green reeds and thick cattails but it was the flowers that drew my attention. Scattered among the reeds were the most enormous Queen Anne’s Lace blossoms I have ever seen.

Queen Anne's Lace blossom with a perfect ruby red center

“Do you remember the story?” my late grandmother whispered in my head. As a young girl I had walked along a road bordered by wildflowers with my maternal grandmother. She pointed to a field of Queen Anne’s Lace and challenged me to find one with a tiny red blossom in the center. I searched a long time but finally found one. “Why doesn’t every flower have red in the center?” I asked. Grandma, who had emigrated from England to Canada and eventually ended up in the U.S., shared the legend of Queen Anne’s Lace with me. “As a young girl, Queen Anne was wandering through a meadow. When she leaned over to admire these same white flowers she lost a ruby from a necklace she was wearing. Though she searched and searched, the ruby was never found. And that’s why, every so often, you will find a red ruby in the center of the flowers.”

I looked down and directly in front of me was an enormous frilly Queen Anne’s Lace bloom with a perfect red jewel in the center. My grandma also said that no one ever died, as long they are remembered. I smiled. “Hi Grandma.”

Backwaters of Lake Champlain at Point au Roche Park

Cattails and marsh grasses at Point au Roche Park near Plattsburgh, NY

Backwaters of Lake Champlain at Point au Roche Park

Adirondack Park kindly hosted the author’s visit to the Adirondacks in upstate New York. However, the receipt and acceptance of complimentary items/services received will never influence the content, topics, or posts in this blog. I write the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

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An Adirondack Water Wonderland

Barbara Weibel — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 06:25:25 +0000

The weather-rounded mountains of upstate New York undulate between hundreds of lakes that dot Adirondack Park like an enormous sea serpent. Anchoring its dusky blue-black tail on the horizon, the creature dips its shimmering green coils into one cobalt pool of water after another as it slithers down the mountains. I followed its serpentine route to the village of Tupper Lake where I dipped my toes into the lake of the same name and stopped to visit The Wild Center, a natural history museum that focuses on one of the world’s critical issues: the coexistence of people and nature.

Fascinated by trouts in the Living River at The Wild Center, Tupper Lake, Adirondack Park

Clear-cut by loggers in the mid-19th century, the Adirondack Mountains may be the nation’s prime example of the negative impact that man can have on the natural world, as well as a rare example of human actions that have helped nature stage a comeback over the past 100 years. The Wild Center encourages that relationship with interactive exhibits like its Living River Trail, a trout stream that culminates in a waterfall where river otters cavort. One young boy knelt on the floor and pressed his nose to the glass, laughing with delight each time a trout darted by. A giant mound of ice at the Glacial Wall demonstrated how glaciers carved out the Adirondacks at the end of the last ice age. The icy stalagmite was pitted where visitors had pressed their fingers into it; I touched an unblemished area, assuming I could easily leave an impression of my fingertips. Sixty seconds later I withdrew my numb fingers without having made the slightest dent, giving me new perspective on those two-mile thick sheets of ice that disappeared from the face of the earth.

Lake Flower in the village of Saranac Lake

Later that afternoon I drove down the serpent’s spine, past Lower Saranac Lake, Lake Flower, and Lake Placid, emerging at the city of Plattsburgh and the crown jewel of the Adirondacks, Lake Champlain. I dipped down into the Champlain Valley and pulled into Point au Roche Lodge as the setting sun was igniting clouds in shades of pink and mauve. Because I’d arrived at the B&B after normal business hours, owners Karen and Creston Billings had left a note with directions to my suite and a reminder about their gourmet breakfasts. Tired from a long day of traveling, I dragged my luggage to the end of the hall and stopped dead in my tracks. The door to my room stood wide open, revealing a four-poster king-size bed, fainting sofa, and the largest whirlpool tub I’ve ever seen. A tingle of excitement ran down my spine. A private tub! After six months on the road using shared bathrooms equipped with showers, this was an unexpected luxury. I looked longingly at the tub but decided against firing up the jets that evening; I wanted this bath to be a special event and I was just too tired to enjoy it after my long day. “Tomorrow,” I promised myself.

Grand suite at Point au Roche Lodge, a fabulous B&B in Plattsburgh, NY

The next morning, faced with an activity crammed itinerary, I hastily showered and joined the other guests in the lodge kitchen, where Karen offered me a choice between fruit-filled pancakes or an avocado omelet. Minutes later I took my first bite and swooned as the buttery egg, avocado and melted cheese omelet melted in my mouth. “This is the best omelet I have ever tasted!” I exclaimed. Karen grinned. “Creston is a professionally trained chef.” We chatted through breakfast, Karen telling me how they came to own a B&B and me explaining how I became a perpetual world traveler. I could have stayed for hours but had to be on my way, as I was due at AuSable Chasm, a rocky gorge carved by the AuSable River on its descent to Lake Champlain.

Can’t view the above slide show about Adirondack Water Wonderland? Click here.

Twenty minutes later I stood on the chasm rim, peering down at a trio of waterfalls that plunged off jagged cliffs to whitewater rapids far below. With the merciless sun beating down a blistering 95 degrees, which trail to hike was an easy decision; I headed for the Inner Sanctum trail, where rushing waters and shade from the canyon walls meant cooler temps. For more than an hour I followed natural stone walkways and a network of man-made bridges and and staircases, stopping at observation points for views of the unique rock formations that have been carved from towering sandstone walls over the eons.

Deep in the bowels of AuSable Chasm

At the end of the trail I crossed over the chasm on a narrow walking bridge and clambered into a rubber raft for the last half of the journey. We shot through the Grand Flume, bounced through choppy rapids and floated into the whirlpool basin, which rotated our raft once and spit us out the other side. As we approached the landing dock our guide told us a about an eighty-something couple who recently floated down the river in tubes. They missed the line of buoys that mark the take-out point, went through class three rapids, carried their tubes down the final mile of river and emerged into Lake Champlain, where they were rescued by the Coast Guard. Grinning from ear to ear, they asked if they could do it again. I could relate; I wanted to do it all over again myself. Rather than take the trolley back to the entrance, I opted to return via the Rim Walk, which allowed me to view screaming rafters and tubers shoot the rapids from above. I would have continued on to the more challenging cave and falls hike, which leads into the mist of Rainbow Falls, but an appointment with a kayak on Lake Champlain was calling.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00YSO7GqD74

Can’t view the above YouTube video of rafting and tubing down AuSable Chasm in the Adirondacks of New York? Click here.

I changed into board shorts and headed back north to the Kayak Shack in the tiny burg of Valcour, where I met up with four other kayakers for a sunset paddle. Our guide checked the weather one last time, explaining that storms often roll in quickly over the immense lake, turning the placid waters treacherous. With the all clear, I cinched up my life vest, secured my camera in a dry bag, and dragged my bright orange kayak into the water. We headed across open water to a large island where an old lighthouse perched atop a rocky escarpment and turned toward the northern tip. My paddle sliced silently through the rippling water, carrying me past yachts anchored in the lee of the island and into silent bays where tall marsh grass protruded from the water in a perfect chartreuse arc. As dusk fell we returned through pink-dappled water that reflected the final rays of the setting sun.

Gorgeous sunsets and strange cloud formations are commonplace over Lake Champlain

By the time the boats were loaded back onto the truck it was nearly 9 p.m. and I hadn’t eaten a bite since breakfast. If I hurried, I could make it to the Himalayan Restaurant in town before it closed, but if I stopped to eat I wouldn’t be able to use the whirlpool, since a sign sitting on its edge asked that it not be used after 10 p.m. What to do – go hungry or forego a soak in the tub? My stomach grumbled, making the decision for me. I returned to Point au Roche Lodge on the stroke of ten, pleasantly full from my traditional Nepali meal, and yearningly contemplated the tub. If only I had been an hour earlier. I picked up the sign and read it again: “In consideration of other guests, please do not use the whirlpool tub after the hour of 11 p.m.” 11 p.m. – NOT 10 p.m. “Yessss!!!” I hissed, punching my fist in the air. I filled that baby up, cranked on the jets and sank into hot water up to my neck. It was the perfect ending to two perfect days in an Adirondack water wonderland.

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Keeping Adirondack Park Forever Wild is a Delicate Balancing Act

Barbara Weibel — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 13:26:09 +0000

From the view deck at Adirondack Museum, Blue Mountain Lake sparkled like a dazzling sapphire surrounded by emerald forests. I contemplated the distant dusky blue mountains and tried grasp that every bit of the vista spread before me had at one time been covered by a shallow inland sea.

View deck at Adirondaack Museum overlooks Blue Mountain Lake

The Adirondack Mountains began to take their current shape about 10,000 years ago during the last ice age, when lake waters froze into glaciers and exposed the seafloor. Erosion gradually removed the soft sediments, uncovering slightly tilted crustal rock that had been contorted and folded by eons of plate tectonics. Glaciers transformed this exposed Adirondack dome, wearing away bedrock and gouging river valleys as they melted, leaving behind more than 30,000 miles of streams and brooks, 1,500 miles of rivers, and 2,759 lakes and ponds. In a final act of whimsy, the receding glaciers deposited isolated boulders that today dot the mountains like giant marbles cast aside by a long-lost race of giants.

These mountains may be some of the oldest in the world but the human history within them is remarkably young. Though Indians hunted in the Adirondacks they developed no settlements. Even homesteaders heading for the American west skipped over the forbidding, rugged terrain with its brutal winters. Just getting there required a monumental effort; it took a minimum of 15 days to travel by sloop, keelboat and horse from New York City to the Old Forge area. By 1800, there were only 11,000 permanent residents in the area, most of whom worked at 17 sawmills and three iron mines.

Can’t view the above slide show about the Adirondack Museum and The Wild Center? Click here.

I wandered through the Adirondack Museum, learning about the life of the loggers, miners, and naturalists who finally brought the area to the attention to the general public in the mid 1850’s. As stagecoaches, trains, and cars made the Adirondacks more accessible, it became fashionable to spend time in the wilderness. Hotels sprung up, tourists flocked to the area, and wealthy east coast families built elaborate lakefront summer camps. Before long there was strong sentiment to restrict activities of the logging companies that had clear-cut old growth forests, leaving the mountains denuded. The New York State Legislature finally created Adirondack Park in 1892 and environmentalists successfully amended the State constitution to require lands owned by the State be “forever kept as wild forest.”

Map of Adirondack Park, at 6 million acres the largest park in the United States

For more than a century, Adirondack Park has been one of the oldest conservation experiments in the world. The 3.5 million acres of private land contained within the six-million acre Park require a delicate balancing act between saving a wilderness and meeting the needs of the 130,000 permanent residents and eight million tourists that visit each year. Though reforestation of the Park has been successful, environmentalists point to the 500 Adirondack lakes and ponds that no longer support native plants and aquatic wildlife due to acid rain as proof that limited human activity should be allowed. But as traditional industries have declined (only 40 sawmills, three pulp/paper mills, one operating mine remain in the Park), unemployment has risen and wages have decreased, leaving residents feeling that their needs are ignored in favor of environmental concerns.

Night satellite image of the US, showing the dark area of Adirondack Park circled in red. Image courtesy of NASA/GSFC/Craig Mayhew and Robert Simmon

That evening I sat down at my computer and pulled up a night satellite photo of New York on the NASA website. Bright lights blazed up and down the Eastern Seaboard, marking the centers of population, but one spot in upstate New York was devoid of lights – Adirondack Park. I stepped outside and contemplated an onyx sky brimming with stars. On that moonless night, blissfully free from light pollution, the Milky Way painted a swath so brilliant I needed no flashlight to navigate. There may never be concurrence on what constitutes “forever wild” in New York State, but for my money, they’re doing a pretty good job.

Visiting Adirondack Museum:

Adirondack Museum brings to life the history of man’s relationship to the land and environment within Adirondack Park. Exhibits include the various modes of transportation that shaped the development of the Adirondacks, the logging industry, farming, settlement and community life, outdoor recreation, travel and tourism, and fine arts, among others. An authentic early school house, inn, blacksmith shop and Adirondack cottage have also been moved to the grounds and restored, and hands-on workshops in paddle carving and boat building are available. The museum’s 22 indoor and outdoor exhibit spaces are located on a 32-acre campus, and seeing everything can easily take the better part of a day. The Lake View Cafe offers fresh soups, salads, sandwiches and hot entrees for those who wish to spend the day. Admission is $18 for adults ($16 for seniors), $12 for teens ages 13-17, and $6 for children ages 6-12. Children 5 and under are free, as are active members of the military. Adirondack Museum, located in the community of Blue Mountain Lake, is one of the finest regional museums in the country and is an excellent outing for anyone planning a visit to the Adirondacks.

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Adirondack Park – Land of No Locks

Barbara Weibel — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 14:09:30 +0000

I swung the door wide and surveyed the rustic room that would be my home for the next three days. Rich leaf green walls topped pine wainscoting and a red and black checked quilt was deftly tucked into the sides of the heavy wooden cradle bed. Anxious to dive in for a late afternoon nap, I held my hand out for the key.

“There’s no locks on any of our doors,” the caretaker explained. Paranoia took over. How would I secure my laptop and other electronic equipment when I was out of the room? Seeing my alarmed expression, he assured me that they had never had a problem and promptly left.

Bedroom in the main lodge of Great Camp Sagamore

The lack of locks at Great Camp Sagamore is a holdover from the days when the facility had been the private summer home of the Vanderbilt family. Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt purchased Sagamore in 1901 from railroad tycoon William West Durant, who had completed the “camp” just four years earlier in the tradition of grand family compounds built in the latter half of the nineteenth century in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. Alfred’s wife preferred the comfort of their glitzy Newport, Rhode Island mansion to Sagamore. Alfred, however, spent a great deal of time at Sagamore, which was soon expanded to include a casino and the “Wigwam,” a separate lodge constructed a discreet distance from the main lodge, where male guests could enjoy the company of ladies of ill repute. The latter was likely a factor in the couples’ scandalous divorce in 1908.

In 1911 Alfred married Margaret Emerson McKim who, unlike his previous wife, shared his enthusiasm for the outdoor life. Though Alfred died in 1915 when he sailed on the ill-fated Lusitania cruise ship, Margaret continued to entertain at the camp for many more years, earning it the nickname “playground of millionaires.” After World War II Margaret’s use became infrequent and she donated it to Syracuse University. Eventually, it was purchased by the State of New York, which transferred the property to a not-for-profit institution that now operates the historic property as a lodge.

Ground floor common room in main lodge, Great Camp Sagamore

Today Great Camp Sagamore looks much as it did back in the Vanderbilt days. In the main lodge a regal fireplace constructed from local stone soars to the ceiling, where it meets enormous burnished pine vigas that glow in the soft yellow lamplight. Bedrooms line the second and third floor halls, punctuated by a series of bathrooms shared by guests, just as they would have been when the house was full of Vanderbilt summer guests. Scattered around the grounds are smaller cottages that were built for specific family members, a communal dining room, conference centers, and even a private bowling alley, which was all the rage in the early 20th century.

My stay at Great Camp Sagamore coincided with their “Grands Camp.” Grandparents, with their grandchildren in tow, participated in a week long program of music, canoeing, swimming, hiking, crafts, singing, campfires, talent shows and workshops with Dan Duggan, one of the country’s finest hammer dulcimer musicians. The kids were in their glory, jumping into canoes each morning for a paddle on Sagamore Lake, while the grandparents cheerfully struggled to keep up. But when the kids were forced to sit through a performance of Romeo and Juliet on the front lawn one afternoon one little girl grouched, “I didn’t understand a word they were saying.” The adults smiled secretly; revenge was sweet.

Romeo and Juliet performed on the lawn at Great Camp Sagamore

For a better view of some of the most famous “camps” in the Adirondacks, one evening I hopped aboard the WW Durant for a dinner cruise on Raquette Lake. We sailed past great camps built for Governor Phinneas Lounsbury of Connecticut, the Robert Collier publishing family and the Carnegie family, as Captain Dean Pohl narrated the history of this golden age of the Adirondacks. Many of the camps fell into disrepair when their wealthy owners passed away or lost their fortunes in the Great Depression but thankfully most have been purchased by institutions that restored them to their former glory.

WW Durant dinner cruise on Raquette Lake

When my three days at Great Camp Sagamore drew to a close, I gathered up my possessions, which had sat unmolested in my unlocked room the entire time, and headed for White Pine Camp, another of the great Adirondacks camps. The camp manager showed me to my cabin, one of six that sat atop a high ridge overlooking two-mile long Osgood Lake. I scanned the delightful living room, with its Franklin stove, antique tables, and polished wood floors and quickly stashed my bags, hoping to get a walk in before the sun went down.

Sunset on Osgood Lake at White Pine Camp

I held my hand out for the key and smiled when Anne shook her head. “Let me guess; you don’t have keys here?” Without a second thought I drew the door closed and strolled down the grassy hill to the lake. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through tall pines, dappling the thick grass that crushed beneath my feet. I paused inside the boathouse to read about the history of this camp, which served as the summer White House for President Calvin Coolidge in the 1920’s, then collapsed into an Adirondack chair on the dock as a flaming sun sank toward the horizon. Trees sparkled like emeralds strewn along the cobalt shore and reflected in the mirrored surface of the lake. Movement near the shore caught my eye and I glanced up just in time to see a curious ferret poke his head above the edge of the dock to examine the intruder before scampering into the underbrush.

Back on my screened porch, I wrapped up in a thick quilt as the sun disappeared and temperatures dropped, watching a banner of shining stars unfurl across the pitch-black sky. When the chill permeated to my bones I padded off to bed and snuggled under layers of blankets. My last thought before I drifted off to sleep was how incredibly quiet the woods were. White Pines Camp was so peaceful and restful that I hated to leave, but the rest of Adirondack Park was calling. Once again I gathered my bags and drove away, leaving the door wide open and marveling that there are still places like this in the United States where no one locks their doors.

Author’s note: If you have an iPhone you may wish to download the free Adirondacks iPhone app offered by the Park.

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Coach and Other Knockoffs in New York City

Barbara Weibel — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 10:47:23 +0000

My sister, Linda, and her daughter, Tori, had heard rumors. They were in New York City for a week to see some Broadway shows and do all the normal touristy things. But most of all, they were there to shop.Â According to rumor, diminutive Chinese women stand on the sidewalk in front of their shops in Chinatown, whispering furtively to passers by, offering to sell high-quality knockoffs of brand-name purses.

Hoping for the best, they walked around Chinatown, slowing their pace and listening very closely whenever they passed a shopkeeper lingering on the pavement. Once, twice, three times their hopes were dashed. Just another rumor with no substance, they decided. They were headed back to the hotel when Tori stopped in her tracks.

“Did you hear that?”she asked her mother? “I’m sure that woman whispered the word purse.”

“Purse?” the woman whispered again. They turned and made eye contact. “Coach purse?” a little louder this time. Linda nodded. With a slight head tilt of her head, the woman motioned for them to follow her. Without another word, she led them through two interconnected stores. In the rear of the second store she stopped at a blank wall and pressed a cleverly hidden button. A hidden door flew open to reveal an enormous room filled with knockoffs of Coach, Louis Vuitton, and other brand name handbags.

Half an hour later they retraced their steps to the street, laden down with four purses and a tote bag that looked like the real thing, yet had cost only $100 total. ” I think I died and went to heaven,” said Linda. Chinese purse heaven. Only in New York City.

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Gettting Around On Public Transportation in New York Is About To Get A Little More Complicated

Barbara Weibel — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 12:28:58 +0000

In recent decades, major sports teams have been selling naming rights to their stadiums. San Francisco’s historic Candlestick Park was renamed 3-Com Stadium, the Arizona Diamondbacks play in Bank One Ballpark, and Heinz Stadium is home to the Pittsburgh Steelers. Bowl games sell corporate sponsorships (i.e.: the 96th Rose Bowl Game Presented by Citi or the Valero Energy Alamo Bowl) and although they often turn event names into lengthy, tongue-twisting titles, the sponsorships also provide much needed revenue. It is precisely this revenue source that prompted officials in New York City to consider selling naming rights to some very unconventional facilities.

Faced with a massive $2 billion deficit, New York City’s Metropolitan Transit Authority began searching for corporate sponsors for – of all things – the city’s subway stops. For five years the MTA offered corporate naming rights to the underground but there were no takers – until now. If the $4 million deal is approved, Barclays Bank will be added to the already lengthy named Atlantic Avenue, Pacific Street and Flatbush Avenue subway stop in downtown Brooklyn. Although in this case the sponsorship may make sense (the subway stop will serve Barclays Center, a new sports arena scheduled to open in 2012), it certainly begs the question of whether traveling around NYC will still have that authentic New York flavor when conductors find themselves announcing “McDonald’s Big Mac Lincoln Center,” or “Yahoo! Rockefeller Center.”

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Frozen Niagara Falls Connect New York and Canada

Barbara Weibel — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 13:30:46 +0000

Recently I wrote a travel article on the top ten waterfalls in the U.S. for the Uptake.com attractions blog. A few days later I received an email from Jesse Baier, who is employed by Delaware North Companies, the company that provides food, concessions and guest services for Niagara Falls State Park. Jesse had read my waterfall article and wanted to pass on some interesting historical information about Niagara Falls:

“When winters are cold enough for Lake Erie waters to freeze, ice flows down the Niagara River and over the falls, jamming and growing constantly until an ice bridge, spreading from the Canadian to American sides of the falls, is created. At 30 to 100 feet thick, the size and duration of the ice bridge vary from year to year. It has been illegal for almost a century for anyone to set foot on the ice bridge. Tragically, in 1912, the ice abruptly broke apart and fell down river, taking the lives of three people. Before this accident, in the winters of the late 1800s and early 1900s, thousands of people from across the world visited Niagara Falls State Park daily to skate and play on the naturally formed wonder of the Ice Bridge. Brave concessionaires even pulled huts and shanties made of wood onto the bridge to sell tea, coffee, food, souvenirs and liquor.”

I was really amazed. I’d never heard that Niagara froze over and had to go hunt down proof. I found two pretty amazing images, one a historical photo of people walking on the iced over falls in 1911 and a second taken in 2007:

Historical 1911 photo of people hiking on a frozen over Niagara Falls

Taken in 2007, this photo shows the falls partially frozen. Photo courtesy of http://flickr.com/photos/jcpiercy/382145202

Since we’ve had an extremely cold winter all across the country, it makes me wonder if the falls have frozen completely over this year. Something I would definitely love to see someday!

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Magnificent Fall Foliage Following Me Everywhere

Barbara Weibel — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 03:09:46 +0000

Despite patchy fog and spitting rain this morning, the views from the Interstates of eastern New York were spectacular. From the Hudson Valley, past the Catskills, and up to Albany, the fall foliage was at its peak. North of Albany, many of the trees had already been stripped of their leaves, and I began to worry that the fall colors at my intended destination for the evening – Lake George in the Adirondack Mountains – would be past their peak. I will simply say – not so! I think the following photos speak for themselves:

Lake George Adirondacks New York fall foliage

Although the leaves were beautiful at Lake George, the town was deserted; it seems they roll up the sidewalks after Columbus Day. Rather than stay overnight as originally planned, I chose to press on a few more hours. At dusk I rolled into the tiny hamlet of Whitehall, just west of the New York/Vermont State line. The sign at the town line declared Whitehall to be the “Birthplace of the United States Navy.” I simply could not pass by without investigating this claim.

Apparently, this small settlement at the very southern end of Lake Champlain was the site of one of the most important battles of the American Revolution. Benedict Arnold led our country’s rag-tag fleet into battle against the British Navy on Lake Champlain in the summer of 1776. Although most of his tiny fleet was defeated, Arnold held the British navy off long enough for winter to settle in and the enemy fleet was forced to go back to Canada and wait for warmer weather. This provided the American forces with valuable time to gather, arm, and prepare for the British campaign of 1777 that ended with the American victory at Saratoga, the “turning point” of the war. This was the first naval battle of strategic importance during the Revolution, making Whitehall, the place where America’s fleet was assembled, the “Birthplace of the American Navy.”

Today, Whitehall is undergoing a renaissance of sorts, beginning with its historic waterfront. A small park and museum both sit along the banks of the Champlain Canal and Lock 12, which leads out onto Lake Champlain.

Champlain Canal and Lock at Whitehall, New York

The remains of the hull of the USS Ticonderoga, built in 1812, are housed here, and the Skene Manor, originally the home of Whitehall founder Philip Skene, is open for tours spring through fall (it is the white castle on the hill in the background of the top photo, below). The town’s historic houses and riotous autumn colors were reflected in the placid waters of the Champlain Canal:

I finally stopped for the evening in Rutland, Vermont. Tomorrow my plan is to visit a working cheese and maple syrup farm; photograph a half-dozen covered bridges; and to hike Quechee Gorge, better known as “Vermont’s Little Grand Canyon.” If all goes well, I will reach Franconia Notch State Park in New Hampshire before dark. But, as with all my travel plans, this is subject to change, so stay tuned.

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Luray Caverns and Heshey Chocolate World; A Grand Slam And A Strike-Out

Barbara Weibel — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 15:05:48 +0000

Yesterday I was 1 for 2. Originally I had planned to return to I-95 North and and take the I-495 loop around Washington, D.C., but my friends in Fredericksburg, who travel this route every day, told me that traffic begins backing up 30 miles outside of D.C., which is only 50 miles away. Since my ultimate goal was to head north into Pennsylvania and New York, I instead chose to travel the smaller westbound country roads that would take me to I-81. I left at 6:15 a.m. in the pre-dawn darkness. By the time the sun came up I was passing through rolling Virginia farm country with well-kept barns and immense green pastures shimmering with dewdrops. I crossed over the Shenandoah Mountains, enjoying the occasional brilliant red or pumpkin orange tree that popped out at me as I rounded the curves in the road through the National Forest.

Adorable little town of Luray, Virginia

On the downhill side, signs began to appear for Luray Caverns. Having been a rock hound all my life, I have long been fascinated with caves. Some years ago I camped in Shenandoah National Park and drove a portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway. I had spotted Luray caverns during that trip but was unable to visit due to time constraints. Thankfully, I have no time constraints on this trip. As it was too early for the caves to be open, I diverted into Luray Village in search of a wake-up cup of coffee. Not only was this an adorable little mountain town, I also discovered a gem of a bakery where I stuffed my face with fresh-baked raisin scones and the most delicious whole-grain blueberry muffin I have ever tasted. I lounged for a couple of hours, listening to the locals gossip and lament about the election and caught up on my blogging while waiting.

The Great Stalacpipe Organ, deep in the bowels of Luray Caverns

Through the years, I have visited a number of spectacular caverns, each of which has a particular charm. Mammoth Cave in Kentucky has its snowball room, a giant domed room with rock formations on the ceiling that look like snowballs. The caves at Halong Bay in Vietnam are interesting for their sheer immensity and the caves at Ajanta, India, are known the world over for their Buddhist sculptures. Luray’s claim to fame is its “Great Stalacpipe Organ.” Deep in the bowels of the cave, the keys of a pipe organ have been wired to various stalactites that hang from the ceiling. When the organ keys are pressed, a small metal hammer gently touches the stalactites, each of which resonates in a different tone. As I listened to the music reverberating around the cavern, I moved to avoid the cold water dripping on me from stalactites that are still being formed, but when our guide explained that each of these “cave kisses” means one year of good luck, I moved back under the dripping stalactite. I can use all the good luck I can get.

Other parts of the cave were equally impressive. The formations here are unlike any I have ever seen:

Saracen's Tent from below

Saracen's Tent up close

The Fish Market

Dream Lake

Luray was definitely a Grand Slam!

Hershey's Chocolate World

From Luray I drove west just a bit further and picked up I-81, which carried me north into Pennsylvania. In the late afternoon I needed gas and was getting hungry. The map showed that I was just a few miles from Hershey, Pennsylvania, home of the famous Hershey candy factory. Wow! I’ve always wanted to tour a chocolate factory, I thought. To my disappointment, I discovered that the factory stopped doing tours 37 years ago. Instead, I was directed to Hershey Chocolate World, a large theme park on the outskirts of town. The amusement park, with its intimidating roller coasters, was definitely not for me. I opted for the The Great American Chocolate Tour, a theme park-like ride through an exhibition that featured animated cows and a simulated Hershey’s chocolate factory. I assume the intent was to create a Disney-esque ride ala “It’s a Small World,” but it just came off as shameless self-promotion, not the least of which was the chocolate aroma-suffused room through which I rode right before the ride dumped me out at a store that sells every candy bar made by Hershey’s. The whole experience was definitely a strike out. Well, except for the chocolate store. And I don’t think I have to tell you whether or not I bought any chocolate.

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Improv At Its Best

Barbara Weibel — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 20:25:39 +0000

This is one of the wildest things I’ve ever seen. Last month, more than 200 “agents” of New York City based Improv Everywhere converged on Grand Central Station. On the dot of 2:30 PM, the “agents” froze in place for five minutes. One man dropped a briefcase full of papers on the floor just before the appointed time. Another couple held a five-minute long kiss. Still others froze in the midst of kneeling, removing clothing, or eating. The normally crazy-busy Grand Central Station slowed down a bit as onlookers tried to figure out what was going on. Check out the video below. Click HERE to learn more about Improv Everywhere – who they are and what they do. It’s good once in a while to stop taking ourselves so seriously and just have a little fun.

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