Drop Everything And Go !

At some time in the future, there may be an accompanying story, but you need to see these images right now.  Then you can go to your boss, tell him or her that you have something really important to do, and hop into the vehicle that gets you to the Adirondacks as quickly as possible.

By land or by sea,
get here quickly.

You will not be sorry
you allowed the allure of fleeting beauty
to release you from your daily chores.

Climb a peak...

...and take a peek.

Marvel at the tableau below,
and the mountains beyond.

Tromp through the castoffs.

Enjoy the opposite shore,
aflame with the filtered light of the setting sun.

And perhaps even stay the night in a tent,
so you can wake to the sunrise,
and drink it in all over again.

 

(click on on the pictures for improved appreciation)

A Beautiful September Day

Dave gets bigger and smaller

Are you dizzy yet?

The Turkey Runs

Visiting Friends at the Camp

After a number of cold and rainy days, one is doubly thankful to be at the Camp in the Adirondacks.  It's always great to be there, and even better when it is a calm and sunny day.

A fabulous day to follow Mary...

...across the calm waters of Lily Lake.

We visited, but the beavers were not home.

In fact, it looked like humans had breached their dam.

This guy posed.
I was surprised at how close he let me come.

"Did you get my profile?"
His feathers look a bit shaggy.

"That's enough.  Good bye!"

It could be that I was able to get close because he didn't hear me.
I wonder if he is old and has heron loss.

Mama and baby were in the big lake.
Loon-like markings are beginning to show on baby's back.

"Let's go that way, Mom."

Mama knows better.

And she looks every bit as lovely as before junior came along.

We paddled back through the weeds.

The occasional puffy clouds were quite welcome.
It got quite hot in the unbroken sun.

I sat and watched this tiny spider weave a web.
Amazing energy and technique.

Stretching one line to properly position the next.

Both engineering and artistry.

On her way to a meal on my arm,
the mosquito became entangled.
I did not shed a tear.

As the day wound down, other kayakers paddled toward the setting sun.

Evan, Randy, and other loons

Evan came to visit us at the camp.  As soon as he arrived, it started raining.  I finished the evening's sausages in the microwave because the grill was drowned.

The next morning we awoke to a dark and gloomy day.  The weather report was less promising than the view over the lake.

"You'd better go paddle now if you're going to do it," said sage Mary.  Smart people take Mary's advice to heart.  We also took her advice.

朝食前 (Chōshoku mae) is what a coworker once told me is the Japanese phrase loosely meaning "very easy."  Literally, it means "before breakfast."  I don't think he was talking about kayaking, but that was our timing.

Evan in the mist.

We paddled through the quiet cloud.  Upon rounding the bend in the channel that opens into Lily Lake, we spied a dark head close to the water.  

Evan on Lily lake.

On days like this, the common saying is "It's great weather for ducks."  I believe it is even better weather for loons.  

Upon closer inspection, it was not one dark head, but two!

Mama and baby.

As we floated downwind, our boats came closer and closer to the loons.  Baby can dive now, so Mom was not terribly concerned.  Or perhaps like the hummingbirds, they've seen me enough to identify me as the innocuous old fool that I am.  Mom saw me, but paid little attention.  The two of them casually swam within a few feet of my boat and on toward deeper water.

"Hey, Mom, look at these two staying on the surface.
Can't they dive?"

Just before we pulled ashore and out of the increasing drizzle, Evan noted Papa in the shallow bay across the channel from neighbor Pete's dock.  Unusual.  I rarely see them in shallow water where they can't disappear into the depths in a flash.  The gloomy conditions must foster confidence in the loons.  

Clearly, it was a great day for loons.  At least Evan and I thought so.

Paddling the Lower Genesee

One fine June morning, Jim and I put the Hornbeck canoe in near the mouth of the Genesee.  The river was running pretty fast, so we actually wore our PFDs.  Yes, I know, one should always wear his Personal Flotation Device.

The Colonel Patrick O'Rourke Lift Bridge.
Paddy was killed at Gettysburg while urging his counterattacking men
down the west slope of Little Round Top.

Jim was attacked by a jumping fish as we took the shore-side route under the bridge.  Have Asian Carp come this far north?  Luckily, the denizen did not manage to clear the gunwale.  But is certainly gave him a scare, and provided me with a good laugh.

Captain Zeke, ready for action.

We passed a multitude of docked boats with creative names.  My favorite?  "Miss Demeanor."

What's that ahead, listing to its side?
No, I don't mean Jim's head.

Why it's the Spirit of Rochester!
This is just sad.  The cruise boat has seen much better days.
A metaphor for the city?

This is the Turning Point.
But we kept on paddling upstream.

The walkway you see at the right extends across the water in the distance.  It connects to the path than now occupies the right-of-way once carrying the tracks for coal trains from Pennsylvania.   Rochester was once one of the leading coal export ports in the country.

By the way, the walkway is the only thing that Mayor Bill Johnson's administration did right.

Here's where the cement ships unload.
They are the ones using the turning point these days.

Ship bumpers in need of repair.

There is a small waterfall behind the angled bench.
Creeks fell into the gorge here and there.
I suppose this should not have surprised me.

The heron watched our progress.

Kings Landing is the site of the first European settlement west of the Genesee.
We have memorialized it with an industrial sewage treatment plant.
Note the appropriately faded Kodak logo on the white tank.

More commonly appreciated as a footbridge, here the storm sewers cross the river.
A fine multi-use solution, don't you think?

The outlets for storm overflow.
I wouldn't want to be paddling here when they are active.
And from the smell, it's not just pure rainwater running out of these sluiceways.

I didn't take this shot until we were too far under
to see the graffiti way up there on the side of bridge, beyond the railing.
Risking one's life for graffiti almost no one sees...
Now that's dedication to your art.

People call this the Veterans Memorial Bridge,
but I've renamed it the "Circle Bridge."

I wonder if those openings at the peak of the arc are to let rainwater escape.
It must be a nice show in a storm.

One impressive structure.
More reasonable graffiti, too.

The bridge also offers a good spot for stretching legs.

Aside from the farm-runoff tainted water,
There are many places on the river where you'd never know
you were surrounded by the city.

This is as far upstream as we got.
I wanted to paddle up the little rapids in the distance, but Jim said, "No."
Actually, here below the falls, the river is shallow and runs fast.
Plus it is full of canoe-eating rocks.

Interesting stratified rock from the Pre-Drivingparkbridge period.

The Genesee conveys an impressive amount of water after a rain.

Heading back, we noted lines of bubbles created by unseen creatures below,
heading upstream.  What could they be?
Jim provided a more pedestrian and reasonable explanation...
something rotting on the bottom produced methane,
and the current dragged the bubbles downstream.

The ugly duckling bid us adieu.

Click on the video below for a better appreciation of the power of the Genesee.

(And why we wimped out at this point.)

I think I'm up for another paddle up the Genesee, come fall.  When the leaves are turning, I'm sure the gorge is gorgeous.  Who wants to go?