Nature soothes me. Finally after months of keeping to self imposed grindstones, I got it together to get out in the mountains. My destination, The Catskills.
I drove through the hills of upstate NY, crossing the Susquehanna River in Oneonta, I drove south into the steeper hills and watched them grow into mountains.
I dined on yummy Chinese food in Hunter. I deliberated. My head spinning from days of less sleep than I would have liked, and a good dose of grounding work. I'd been helping my cousin with his tent and auction business. It gave me a mix of sorting other people's stuff, and physical labor of putting up and taking down tents.
It felt good to be on the road again, in touch with my nomadic tendencies. The ultralight pack I'd first used in Hawaii four years ago brought memories of backpacking on lava earthscapes, and my first major mountain summit experience when I climbed Mauna Loa.
My mind started to declutter. In the way, were fears and indecisiveness. Where exactly was I going to hike and camp? Indian Head Mountain, Overlook Mountain, Poet's Ledge, and/or the Escarpment Trail. My indecisive nature ran rampant in my tired state. I resorted to my pendulum to tap into my intuition. Indian Head Mountain was it's answer. My mind found fault with the rugged hike. The ease of Overlook Mountain and it's proximity to a Buddhist Temple called to parts of me that remembered such sights from India and Nepal. Yet, if I drove to that trail head, I might loose another hour of daylight. It didn't sink in that I could get there via the Indian Head side.
I'd enjoyed discovering the Catskills in my internet research and mountain guidebook. The history of Hudson Valley artists and transcendentalist writers struck deep chords in my memory. Thoreau, Whitman, Burroughs. Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The painting of Kindred Spirits. All drew faint recognition in my whirled traveler brain.
I passed a sign announcing a visitor center as I neared the trailhead. I turned around and took the excuse to find help in my deliberations. The information kiosk surprised me when I drove up the lane to find a huge old hotel of a building. As I parked, a earthy man with a trimmed beard came alongside the car with a cart of what looked to my once farmer's eyes, like freshly dug potatoes. Indeed they were. He called for the "person on duty" to come give me information. Meanwhile I inquired what the facility was, and he said it was a Christian community.
I noted the same grounded clarity in their eyes here as I noticed in the eyes of the Amish a few weeks ago at an auction. Connected to the Earth. Connected to the code they chose to live by. No muddled heads. Not so much confusion from the burgeoning world culture of information and consumerism.
He and the young man "on duty" didn't help me sort out where I was going to hike and camp. They did give me some ideas, but no breakthrough of clarity. My pendulum still suggested the Indian Head Mountain. So I went to the trailhead, parked, packed, and headed off up the trailhead.
A wooden footbridge greeted me and led me into the deep scent of hemlock and pine. It smelled good, fresh, cool. I enjoyed a few stone quarries along the trails. Visions of men working and sweating with horses and oxen in the virgin timbered woods passed through my consciousness. Sometimes I think I was born a century too late, when I consider the thrill of being around the Amish, and the excitement with which I read my Great Grand Father's diaries of the 1860s. Something appeals to me about a world devoid of the buzz of motors... where you hear the rhythyms of hand tools and hoof steps.
I easily covered the 0.9 miles of steady upgrade to the intersection with the Devil's Path, the trail that would take me up to the top of Indian Head Mountain. Devil's Path is reputed to be steep, rugged, and relatively devoid of fresh water. I carried plenty of water for my overnight. But the ruggedness intimidated my potentially out of shape legs and overall tiredness.
I begrudged trusting the pendulum, and turned up the steeper Devil's Path, thinking maybe I'd have time to hike to Overlook Moutain from this back end. My indesiveness and the steeper climb ate up daylight. I finally resolved to get up to Sherman's Overlook, and potentially skip doing the summit.
The trail was indeed rugged. In Hawaii, I had trekked at 3-4 mph, and surpassed all the 1-2 mph time estimates by the trail guides. Here, in the steep Catskills, I was on the 1-2 mph mark. Last year, in the Indian Himalaya, I had learned that speed is not everything, and had taken my shoes off to go slower, to enjoy the sights more. Yet now, in the Catskills, I felt the pressure of desire to achieve several goals in a short time... I had slotted only a day and a half here.
My knees balked a bit at the pressure. It took me quite a bit of mental wandering from fearing injury and being laid up until I got to setting the intention that they'd be fine. I steadily slurped on the tube of water from my hydration pack, thankful for the ease of sipping water. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of an overlook. I stepped out onto a rock, and beheld the grandueur of the Hudson Valley. Platte's Clove below me. AHHHH... this felt good and made it all worth it! An amazing fall day showed off a great visibility of the surrounding mountains and hills. I rested a bit, enjoying the view. No wonder the Hudson Valley School of painters had spent so much time here.
After a brief recovery, I moved on, spurred by the cool breeze. In a few minutes I came upon a western overlook, where the sun was warm. I lingered here, enjoying the heat. I thought I could see the Tibetan Monastery off on a hill by Woodstock.
Now the summit plagued my mind. It seemed, by the guidebook's words, to be relatively close at hand. I knew I'd hate to pass it up, being so close. So I urged myself onwards. At the base of a rock crag, I left my pack. A ten foot scramble had me significantly closer to my summit goal. After a couple small scrambles, I enjoyed level trails. Rugged and small, the trees showed the hardships of living atop a windswept pile of rocks that makes a mountain. I passed a sign prohibiting camping over 3500 feet. I figured I was close. I ran at times along the level trail. After an eternal 30 minutes I came to the edge of the level trail and saw it drop deep down into clove. No way was I going to go down any rugged trail, only to have to come up again. I decided if the summit was over there, I'd skip it. I turned around and headed back from whence I came, anxious to get down the mountain and seeing about heading towards Overlook Mountain, or at least to Echo Lake, where there was a lean-to.
I felt pretty wiped out by the time I got back down off Indian Head Mountain, and returned upon the Devil's Path to where it met the Overlook Trail, the old quarry road from the 1840s. I turned towards Overlook Mountain and Echo Lake. There was a lean-to, called Devil's kitchen, nearby. There I could decide whether to bed down, or head to Echo Lake.
I appreciated the relatively level Overlook trail. I appreciated the gentle scenery and wondered why my infatuation with mountains? A stroll through the woods can be as fulfilling as the challenge of a summit. I suppose I like both.
I soon approached the lean-to at Devil's Kitchen from a blind side. The open side faced off towards a stream and ravine on the left. I got about 12 feet from the lean-to, when all of the sudden, a black bear scrambled out looking over his shoulder in a panic! I shouted "Hey you!" before I'd even thought about speaking. I laughed. My mind began to worry. I hadn't anticipated bears. The guidebooks for the Adirondacks mentioned bear and preparations for such profusely. I had been relieved not to run across any mention of bears in my Catskill guidebooks. I wondered about my stash of nuts, apples, and dried appricots. I knew that one way to avoid trouble with bears was to avoid the usual camping spots where bears learn to search and find food. I had kind of wanted the shelter of a lean to, though.
As I walked by the lean-to, I was grateful that the bear had run before I got to the open side and cornered him in there. The lean-to was dark, and blackened from it's history of camp fires in the fire pit right in front of it. The lean-to appealed little to me now... it seemed a bit claustrophobic, especially if the bear considered it a good hangout.
Now, I felt that my option was only Echo Lake. I proceeded round the clove, over a wooden foot bridge spanning a rushing creek that tumbled quickly down the mountain. Soon I came to a "Y" in the trail where I couldn't tell which way to go. I choose the low way, knowing I'd soon see a trail marker in either case. I got about 30 feet down the trail, when I saw the bear staring at me straight ahead about 50 feet. I now realized that the trail curved around the cove and we were pretty much opposite from the lean-to.
We stared at each other, the bear and I. I yelled and waved my arms. He stared. I considered retracing my steps, but remembered something about bears being attracted to fear. I didn't want to give him the wrong idea. We continued to stare at each other until he decided to run. I was thankful. I walked down the trail towards where he had been, only to find the trail ended in the brush. I felt bad, having bothered him needlessly. I felt worse as I realized, that he had scurried up the hill and was bound to be in the vicinity of the proper trail.
I nearly stepped in fresh bear dung, obviously left by the bear after he'd scurried out of the lean-to. And I laughed at the thought of scaring the shit out of the bear. I hoped that he wouldn't return the favor as I returned to the "Y" in the trail and now took the high road. I proceeded cautiously for several hundred yards, and gladly discovered no sign of the bear. Another half hour, and I felt clear of his territory.
I strolled along the contour of the hill on the Overlook Trail, imagining wagons and men working here in times past. Another quarry showed up on the left, with a bit of an overlook onto the Hudson Valley. The trail was on the edge of the mountains.
Dusk approached as I turned down the side trail to Echo Lake. Steady down hill, the trail led to a valley. I heard the most amazing singing, like a choir. I wondered that I could hear sounds from the village of Woodstock. Wearily trudging down the trail, I was thankful to be close to my bed-spot for the night. Soon I realized the singing must be coming from the Lake itself. I would not be camping alone. I felt a bit sad at that, but at the same time was greatful, for I felt safer in bear country knowing others were nearby.
The sun just setting, I wandered past the lean-to and saw a group sitting by Echo Lake. About 15 or so. Two man/woman couples, and a gaggle of small children. Their angelic singing came to a halt just as a approached. They heard my footsteps and looked over. A man greeted me. He said they'd be camping on the other side of the Lake, leaving me the lean-to. Simple, clear, joyful, he told how they'd hiked in from the Woodstock side, and would be traveling on toward's Platte's Cove, where they lived, the next day. The women's simple dresses gave me every reason to assume they lived in the community where I'd stopped for information. He said they wanted to see if there was indeed an Echo at Echo Lake. Someone started a song with a syllable and the rest joined in in perfect harmony, like a professional choir. The children gazed back, smiles gleaming at me, when the mountains told the truth that there was indeed a beautiful echo here. These peoples joy was inspiring. They soon left me alone as they retreated around the lake.
I strung up my hammock between two trees about 15 feet from the Lake. I ate my cheese sandwich and some almonds and apricots. The air cooled quickly and I nestled into my sleeping bag. Fish jumping in the lake startled me a few times... still wary of the bears. Then a group of wild dogs or coyotes howled from the top of the trail into the valley. I worked through my fears, remembering it was rare that animals attacked humans. I prayed the critters leave me alone and stay at bay tonight.
The wind picked up and cooled my back in the hammock. I tried to find a nearby level spot to sprawl out, but couldn't. I returned to the hammock. The wind picked up, and finally, I just decided to sprawl out on the ground beneath me. I remembered how I had learned to sleep on a sheet of plastic on cement on my barefoot pilgrimage for Shiva in Bihar, India. And so I knew I could easily sleep here. I threw my piece of plastic down, my thin pad, and nestled into my sleeping bag into the arms of the solid Mother Earth. It was amazing how well this quieted my busy mind. I drifted to sleep.
In the morn, I awoke before dawn and started hiking out by sunrise. The air was brisk, though I don't believe it frosted in the woods. I got to the car, and ate some nuts. I then drove over to the Escarpment Trail in Haines Valley.
Escarpment Trail, gives the most views for the effort... so said the men at the visitor center yesterday. And they were right. Sunset Rock, and Inspiration Point gave amazing views over the Hudson Valley. Inspiration Point served and probably still serves painters with plenty of inspiration. There were names carved into the flat rock outcropping from the late 1800's and early 1900's when the area was in it's prime as a tourist location.
After looping round the end of the Escarpment Trail, I drove to the Kaaterskill Falls trailhead and virtually sprinted up the rocky ravine to see New York's highest waterfall.
An hour later I was enroute through New Jersey to the burbs of Philadelphia, reeling in the joy of my footage through the Catskills. I can't wait to return and spend days and weeks exploring more of the Catskills.
