'Tis The Season

The tree adorns our living room, much the same as last year, and many years before.  Its incandescence illuminates us, not yet having been led down the fully electronic path.  Aging ornaments cover the exterior, reminding us of other trees long ago.  The lower limbs await being pushed upward by the brightly colored packages we are fortunate to give and receive.

'Tis the season...for cynics to hush and for us to take stock of all that is good and right.  'Tis the season for us to be thankful for what we have, for who we are, who we know, and who we have known.  

Regardless of what one holds dear, 'tis the season to gather together, share and celebrate.  May your celebration be happy, harmonious and heartfelt.  And may it linger long into the coming year.

A Fabulous Foray into the Forest

Earlier, I sent out a few pictures to whet your appetite, and encourage you to drop everything and run for the hills.  Since you didn't follow directions, I thought you'd enjoy a more comprehensive account of what you missed.

The lower dam on the Bog River provides a fine place to put in.

This half-tree or one like it tried to kill Doug and me on a previous journey.

This time, the weather was much improved from that earlier trip.

End of September and the natives are in shorts and t-shirts.
Pretty good shot for holding the camera upside-down behind my head.

The paddle in provided plenty of scenery,
and did nothing to discourage our plan to camp for a few days.

Lows ridge behind the waters-edge foliage.

I've always enjoyed paddling under the sky pads.

Another canoeist built these two marvels of woodworking.
He said each one took him about 70 hours to build.
He was lying.

Heading in to find a campsite.
Jim's We-no-nah canoe did not take him 70 hours to build,
but I think it is at least 70 years old.

The canoe is only a little older than Jim.

What a gorgeous campsite.
Huge pines provided a bed of needles on which to lie.
And the privy is just up the hill at the rear,
appreciated even though it faced away from the water.

Red, orange, yellow, green.

Looking around the bend from our campsite.

The old man of the forest.

A fine vista as the sun goes down.
The far shore lit up
 as the sun's direct rays were complemented by the reflected.

We arose to a second beautiful day.  Our plan was to head back the way we came.  We were going to paddle to Lows Ridge and walk up the trail to the lookout on the ridge.

We expected to see more people on this Friday, but not from the direction they came.  A small flotilla went by, heading out, and then the Ranger paddled up to see how we were doing.

Jim handled the negotiations as I continued with my dishwashing.  Even though he may not be a truly debonaire front man, he hears really well.  The kayaking Ranger remarked how this was the third day without wind.  "Very unusual," came her words across the water.  "Can't remember when it's been still on Lows for that long."

Our plans changed immediately.  Rather than rely on chance to provide yet another still day, we decided to head toward the usually windy westward end of the lake as soon as the dishes were done.  Lows ridge could wait.  And Jim had also learned of a trail up Grass Pond Mountain.

It doesn't get much prettier.

We paddled to the right of the floating bog,
mistaking the opening of a cul-de-sac as the channel.

Paddling on a mirror is a special treat.
Add to that eagles flying close overhead,
and loons surfacing just beyond our paddles...
It was a magical day.

There is always a nonconformist.

Grass Pond Mountain towers over the shoreline.

We took a break on the sandy spit of a small island.

I propped Jim up with his paddle for this "Conquering Hero" shot.

The Ranger's directions allowed us to access the trail up Grass Pond Mountain.  We never ever would have found the unmarked path without her guidance.

This vista, partway up, rewarded us for the climb
and encouraged us to continue.

You call this a trail?

We ate at Jim's Deli and Sandwich shop.
I think it's fabulous that Jim maintains franchises in such remote locations.
Our campsite on the previously mentioned previous sojourn was on one of the points
beyond the boggy center of the lake.
There was a Jim's franchise there, also.

The alpine lichens flourish here
on the rocky crest of this rarely visited mountain.

Grass Pond lay in the distance below this western face.

From the peak of Grass Pond Mountain,
Looking back the way we came.

Spectacular!

We bushwhacked diagonally down the mountain.
This time, Jim had to admit that the impromptu route was superior to the trail.

We continued paddling westward.
The wind had come up, and we decided that Grass Pond exploration could wait for another trip.
So we turned around to head back,
But not before capturing this view of the western rocky cliffs of Grass Pond Mountain.

Half an island is better than none.

The day's activities took us 13 miles on the water and about 3 up and down the mountain.  We slept well.

The next morning provided a fabulous sunrise.

And also dancing mist.

Our smokey fire did a nice job of capturing the morning rays
but it did nothing to discourage the mouse from taking up residence
in Jim's pack.

We made the postponed trek to Lows Ridge.

After beaching the canoe, we headed up the gradually rising trail,
delightfully decorated with flaming maple leaves.

Onward and Upward.

Beauty underfoot.

The trail cuts diagonally up the front of the ridge and then through a saddle to the back side.  You follow the rocky backbone from there and through the woods to the top.  It's one of those hikes where one comes through the woods and then suddenly emerges at the top, with the world revealing itself below the rocky cliffs.   

Presentation is important.

To the east...

...or to the west...

...or straight down to the glistening water from whence we came,
no gaze went unrewarded.

Unfortunate that some feel the need to lend their name to the vista.
(Moniker slightly altered to better memorialize the individual)

We descended and paddled back to the campsite.
Before becoming waterlogged, some leaves motored past us on the surface,
propelled by the wind.

We explored a nearly dry creek while we acquired firewood
on the way back.

You may see pine cones.
I see fire starter.

I only took this picture 15 more times.

Maybe 16.

It was hard not to snap pictures again and again
as the light changed with the setting sun.

Really hard.

But it all ends with sunset.
We paddled out away from our campsite to get this look.

The final misty morning was no less photogenic.
Even so, we packed up and headed out.

Below the upper dam,
the canoe rides nicely to Hitchens Pond
on the flow.

The last of the eagles we'd see on this trip
bid us adieu.  Fond, no doubt.

Before long, we were back to the lower dam and soon on the road home.

But the trip had taken its toll.
Jim shrunk noticeably.