9/14/11 - 9/19/11 From the Piedmont region, across the southern tobacco and cotton plantations, through the Tidewater area, Virginia oozes with history, while dazzling you with it’s beauty and depth. Having called this state my home for over twenty years, it was high time to climb on my trusty Cannondale touring bicycle, and explore America’s tenth state.
Off with the sunrise, I began this adventure heading west from my home in Leesburg, VA, on the W&OD trail. This 100 foot wide rails-to-trails bicycle path is one of the narrowest parks in Virginia and one of the longest, stretching from Purcellville to Alexandria. With the small familiar towns of Hamilton and Round Hill behind me, I hit my first real climb crossing the Appalachian Trail at Snicker’s Gap, near Bear’s Den. This 1150 foot climb, straight up, later produced my highest speed of 42 MPH, as I descended into the Shenandoah River valley, just south of the West Virginia border.
With the Shenandoah National Park in my sights, I took a well needed break at a McDonalds in Front Royal. In my thirty years and 11,000 miles of bicycle touring, McDonalds has become an oasis, offering filtered water, clean bathrooms, and a comfortable place to take a break, not to mention a variety of low cost high energy foods.
Skyline Drive, the 105 mile thoroughfare, running the entire length of Shenandoah National Park, soon became the highlight of my trip. After the establishment of the park in the 1930’s, the Civil Conservation Corps (CCC) enhanced it by bordering the road with beautiful stone walls and building scenic overlooks, as well as tasteful campgrounds and visitor centers. It has aged wonderfully and seems to have very little impact on the surrounding wilderness. My excitement was evident as I entered the park at it’s northern gate, full of energy, not realizing that the next six miles would be straight up.
After four miles of crawling up Dickey Hill, I took a break at the visitor’s center to replenish my water and to fuel my body. The cool morning soon gave way to temperatures in the mid 80’s, adding to the difficulty of the climbing. This day would bring a series of climbs, mostly up, passing Stony Man Peak (4011’) and the highest peak in the park Hawksbill (4051’), bringing my average speed to only 9.9 mph. The mountain views were magnificent, but when the clouds rolled in you could sense the impending rain. After feeling a few drops, I found a nice clearing in a flat wooded area just opposite Crescent Rock overlook (3550’), where I set up my tent and collapsed after 94 miles of tough going. The torrential wind and horizontal rain, as well as the cracking thunder, woke me. Unfortunately, an area of my tent floor leaked, and I spent the rest of the night avoiding puddles that had formed.
I awoke to a spectacular view of the mountain peaks nestled in the clouds. Breaking down camp took longer than usual, trying to place wet items to air out as I rode. The rain had subsided, but as I descended into the clouds my visibility was seriously restricted, and with the steep wet winding roads and speeds of up to 40mph this was a thrilling but treacherous ride. With the highest peaks behind me, the next fifty miles of the park rewarded me with more downs than ups, but the intense fog denied me the mountain scenery I had enjoyed the previous day. Practically out of food as I exited the park, I decided to descend out of the Blue Ridge Mountains into slightly more populated roadways.
Route 151 took me back to civilization, and after passing the Wintergreen Resort, I was rewarded with an IGA grocery store, where I stocked up on supplies, as well as a submarine sandwich for lunch. The rain returned, and when I spotted an old abandoned house outside of Piney River in the middle of nowhere, I stopped to investigate. It was a little two bedroom house, still furnished, but in a state of disrepair, and telltale signs of some critters having lived in it. It was dry so I set up my tent and spent the night. I found evidence that no one had lived there since 1986 and I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. The house gave off good karma, and I slept great.
The morning brought with it a cold front that dropped the temperature to the low 40’s, and with the damp air, it chilled me to the bone. Passing Amherst on the Patrick Henry Highway, right by the gravesite of the patriot’s mother, really gave me the sense of the historical value of this area. Then, continuing south I came upon the town of Appomattox, the site of General Lee’s surrender and the end of the Civil War.
Now that I was out of the mountains and passing through small towns, every so often, I felt more at home with the ride. Finally reaching route 40 and heading east gave me a real taste of southern Virginia. The low lying farm land is perfect for the acres of tobacco and cotton farms as well as corn. When a trailer loaded with hanging tobacco leaves passed me, I knew I was in the south. The artillery being fired from Fort Pickett made me a little nervous, as route 40 crossed right through it.
Once again mother nature decided to pay me a visit, dropping cold rain, so after passing literally dozens of abandoned homes on this trip, I kept going until I spotted one just south of the James River. When I entered the building it became clear that it was an old church, with several home made pews scattered about. The place was a mess, with a big hole in the roof and the windows broken out, but one corner was dry with an old piano up against the wall. I put two pews together and made a bed and then laid out all my gear to air out. The next day was a Sunday, and I had stange dreams that I would be discovered the next morning by the church group.
Taking the Scotland Ferry across the James River towards Williamsburg, gave me a birds eye view of Jamestown, the site of the first English colony in the new world. Then, riding through Williamsburg, the largest living colonial museum, reinforced Virginia’s place in the founding of this country. Unfortunately for me, it was early on a Sunday morning, so almost everything was closed, but I was able to ride through most of it.
My sights were now set on Fredericksburg, where I had been invited by my son’s girlfriend to crash on the couch of her dorm apartment at Mary Washington. The 115 miles was my longest daily mileage for the trip, and as I arrived just after sunset, the atmosphere in town was lively, even for a Sunday. Cristina greeted me warmly and her three roommates were so nice and treated me as though I was another student. After eating and showing off a tobacco leaf and a cotton plant I had found on my trip, as well as the map of my journey, we hung out for a while before I finally crashed out.
Off by sunrise, with only about 75 miles left on my trip, I had time to reflect. At 575 miles, this had been one of my shorter cycling tours, but it was filled with some of the most memorable towns and the best road conditions ever. The weather wasn’t very cooperative, but I didn’t have a single mechanical issue, not even a flat tire the whole trip. As I passed Oatlands Plantation, a national historic site just outside of Leesburg, I knew I was home.
Check out the pictures on face book "Adventures with Albert" page.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Cycling Across America from Florida to California
10/25/85 - 11/19/85 This adventure was the beginning of a two year hiatus from my career as an aircraft mechanic that culminated in some of my most memorable trips and sealed my fate as an adventurer. After selling my Newport 27 sailboat and moving ashore, my dreams of sailing around the world were put on hold. My employer, Petroleum Helicopters, denied me a one year leave of absence, so for the next six months, I worked all the overtime I could, paying down my outstanding debts, as well as saving about $8000, before resigning. Just coming off a cycling trip up the east coast of the US in the Spring of 1985, I knew what to expect and was ready to go.
Riding through the “hole in the wall tunnel” crossing into Mobile, Alabama finally gave me the sense that I was on my way. After moving all my belongings to my parents’ barn in Cambridge, NY, I flew back to Pensacola, FL, where my bicycle awaited, loaded and ready. My old friend, Mark, bade me farewell, as I climbed on my saddle to make my way west.
Crossing into Mississippi, old rout 98 wound it’s way up the DeSoto National Forest, with logging trucks flying around the curves, just short of grazing me, as I steered the white line on the shoulder-less road. This was hairy stuff, and when a couple joined me for lunch in Hattiesburg, MS, they couldn’t believe that I was cycling “bloody 98”, where many had lost their lives.
After that, Hurricane Juan arrived, bringing with it five straight days of torrential wind and rain. This unusual hurricane bounced on shore two times before heading north. Everything I had was soaked, and with the flooded roads, my progress was abysmal. Taking refuge in a hotel room, in McComb, Ms with all my gear airing out, I felt like I was swimming to the west coast, not cycling.
Just outside of Texarkana, a city half in Texas and half in Arkansas, the rain finally abated. Entering Texas was like a rebirth; the weather was cooperating, and I was able to average close to 100 miles-a-day. I even stopped at a laundromat in Paris (Texas, that is) to dry out all of my wet things. At Wichita Falls, a reporter wanted to do a story on me, but I was losing my sun, so I continued on, finally ducking into an old abandoned house for the night.
With about half of the Panhandle of Texas to go, Mother Nature decided to make her move again by blowing in a strong, steady wind from the west. Luckily, the flat terrain, with thousands of acres of cattle grazing lands, made peddling tolerable, yet it was like going uphill the whole way. One evening, I jumped the barbed wire to camp in an open field among the cattle, wondering if I’d be awakened by them licking my feet.
A herd of antelope, running right beside me for several miles, welcomed me to New Mexico, where the terrain turned to desert, and the towns were few and far between. While the November temperatures were cool, the intense desert sun forced me to carry extra water, adding to my burden. The famous “UFO’s” of Roswell, NM, were on my radar, as I road into the city to re-supply and to do some maintenance on my bicycle at a local bike shop, which graciously offered the use of their equipment.
Replenished and fitted with a new rear tire, I headed out on Rt. 48. An old timer had suggested this rout; unfortunately the paved section turned to dirt and the grade was very steep climbing the 10,000 foot Capitan Mountains, not to mention the strong mountain head winds. It was brutal and, after only about seventy miles, I called it a day, camping out right on the side of this remote road. A ranger stopped by my camp site and informed me that it was the opening of deer hunting season, which put my mind at ease, as there had been continuous gun fire that evening.
The next morning I didn’t feel well at all; sleep deprived and depressed, I finally hit “the wall.” The steep dirt road, along with a head wind that only allowed me to go 3-mph, riding as hard as I could, convinced me that I didn’t have the stamina to go on. I got a room at the Capitan Lodge and started making arrangements to fly home. My brother, Hector, answered the phone, as I called to break the news to my family. His shock and disappointment were enough to convince me to go on. That night, I went through all my gear and mailed half of it home. With my bicycle lighter, and with a renewed determination, I went out the next day with a vigor.
Crossing the great Rio Grande at San Antonio NM, was exciting, but meeting up with Kevin, a fellow rider, was just what I needed. He had started out in New York and was headed to his sister’s place in Phoenix, AR. We road well together, and when it started to snow it was a comfort to have someone else there. As it turned out, I had sent most of my warm clothing home to lighten my load. I was literally wearing all the clothes I had to stay warm.
At Pie Town, NM we found an abandoned gas station and went in for shelter. That evening, the owner came by and invited us to his home just down the road. What luck! We were worried he was going to throw us out; instead, he fixed us dinner and a spot right next to a pot belly stove to sleep for the night. The food was all made from scratch, even the bread. There were hams hanging from the ceiling and dozens of mason jars filled with all varieties of fruits and vegetables on the shelves. There was electricity but no running water, with a hand pump a the well in the kitchen and a two-seater outhouse in the back. The next morning the whole family, five kids in all, were up at sunrise with cinnamon rolls rising in the oven and fresh hot coffee on the stove. Wow, I can’t begin to explain how hospitable the Sloan family was, and after my trip, I sent them $100 to show my appreciation.
With Arizona in our sights, we crossed the Continental Divide, where rivers and streams change direction. Just our luck, a rare weather pattern had the temperature in the 20’s, with up to ten inches of snow. It was hard going, but the roads were plowed, and we continued on. As we dropped down off the mountains into Phoenix, the temperature rose, bringing with it giant desert cacti and other plants that I had never seen in person. Kevin’s sister made me feel right at home, as she welcomed us and offered me a place to crash for the night.
With only 400 miles left, I was up with the sun the next morning, refreshed and ready, although a little sad that I was on my own again. After studying the map, I realized that the back roads going to LA were almost devoid of towns, so I opted for Interstate 10. While considerably shorter, the right shoulder was full of speed bumps that drove me crazy, as well as hurt my sore bottom. The left shoulder, while considerably narrower, was nice and smooth, and with very few cars, it was plenty safe. The Arizona as well as the California police stopped me several times warning me to stay on the right side..
As I crossed the Colorado River into California It seemed surreal. I kissed the ground and jumped for joy. Little did I know that I was entering one of the most traffic-congested areas of the world. By the time I got to Riverside I was completely lost, and with nowhere to camp I got a room at the Dragon Motel, a seedy spot in a small town just outside of San Bernadino. There were strange people knocking on the door all night, and when I looked up from my bed and saw a full size mirror on the ceiling I realized how seedy it really was.
When I rounded the corner and spotted my uncle’s house in Van Nuys, that’s when the gravity of this adventure really hit me. It had taken me almost a month to travel thousands of miles, through some really difficult adversity, and yet here I was. I felt like I could accomplish anything, but first I needed a well deserved break.
Riding through the “hole in the wall tunnel” crossing into Mobile, Alabama finally gave me the sense that I was on my way. After moving all my belongings to my parents’ barn in Cambridge, NY, I flew back to Pensacola, FL, where my bicycle awaited, loaded and ready. My old friend, Mark, bade me farewell, as I climbed on my saddle to make my way west.
Crossing into Mississippi, old rout 98 wound it’s way up the DeSoto National Forest, with logging trucks flying around the curves, just short of grazing me, as I steered the white line on the shoulder-less road. This was hairy stuff, and when a couple joined me for lunch in Hattiesburg, MS, they couldn’t believe that I was cycling “bloody 98”, where many had lost their lives.
After that, Hurricane Juan arrived, bringing with it five straight days of torrential wind and rain. This unusual hurricane bounced on shore two times before heading north. Everything I had was soaked, and with the flooded roads, my progress was abysmal. Taking refuge in a hotel room, in McComb, Ms with all my gear airing out, I felt like I was swimming to the west coast, not cycling.
Just outside of Texarkana, a city half in Texas and half in Arkansas, the rain finally abated. Entering Texas was like a rebirth; the weather was cooperating, and I was able to average close to 100 miles-a-day. I even stopped at a laundromat in Paris (Texas, that is) to dry out all of my wet things. At Wichita Falls, a reporter wanted to do a story on me, but I was losing my sun, so I continued on, finally ducking into an old abandoned house for the night.
With about half of the Panhandle of Texas to go, Mother Nature decided to make her move again by blowing in a strong, steady wind from the west. Luckily, the flat terrain, with thousands of acres of cattle grazing lands, made peddling tolerable, yet it was like going uphill the whole way. One evening, I jumped the barbed wire to camp in an open field among the cattle, wondering if I’d be awakened by them licking my feet.
A herd of antelope, running right beside me for several miles, welcomed me to New Mexico, where the terrain turned to desert, and the towns were few and far between. While the November temperatures were cool, the intense desert sun forced me to carry extra water, adding to my burden. The famous “UFO’s” of Roswell, NM, were on my radar, as I road into the city to re-supply and to do some maintenance on my bicycle at a local bike shop, which graciously offered the use of their equipment.
Replenished and fitted with a new rear tire, I headed out on Rt. 48. An old timer had suggested this rout; unfortunately the paved section turned to dirt and the grade was very steep climbing the 10,000 foot Capitan Mountains, not to mention the strong mountain head winds. It was brutal and, after only about seventy miles, I called it a day, camping out right on the side of this remote road. A ranger stopped by my camp site and informed me that it was the opening of deer hunting season, which put my mind at ease, as there had been continuous gun fire that evening.
The next morning I didn’t feel well at all; sleep deprived and depressed, I finally hit “the wall.” The steep dirt road, along with a head wind that only allowed me to go 3-mph, riding as hard as I could, convinced me that I didn’t have the stamina to go on. I got a room at the Capitan Lodge and started making arrangements to fly home. My brother, Hector, answered the phone, as I called to break the news to my family. His shock and disappointment were enough to convince me to go on. That night, I went through all my gear and mailed half of it home. With my bicycle lighter, and with a renewed determination, I went out the next day with a vigor.
Crossing the great Rio Grande at San Antonio NM, was exciting, but meeting up with Kevin, a fellow rider, was just what I needed. He had started out in New York and was headed to his sister’s place in Phoenix, AR. We road well together, and when it started to snow it was a comfort to have someone else there. As it turned out, I had sent most of my warm clothing home to lighten my load. I was literally wearing all the clothes I had to stay warm.
At Pie Town, NM we found an abandoned gas station and went in for shelter. That evening, the owner came by and invited us to his home just down the road. What luck! We were worried he was going to throw us out; instead, he fixed us dinner and a spot right next to a pot belly stove to sleep for the night. The food was all made from scratch, even the bread. There were hams hanging from the ceiling and dozens of mason jars filled with all varieties of fruits and vegetables on the shelves. There was electricity but no running water, with a hand pump a the well in the kitchen and a two-seater outhouse in the back. The next morning the whole family, five kids in all, were up at sunrise with cinnamon rolls rising in the oven and fresh hot coffee on the stove. Wow, I can’t begin to explain how hospitable the Sloan family was, and after my trip, I sent them $100 to show my appreciation.
With Arizona in our sights, we crossed the Continental Divide, where rivers and streams change direction. Just our luck, a rare weather pattern had the temperature in the 20’s, with up to ten inches of snow. It was hard going, but the roads were plowed, and we continued on. As we dropped down off the mountains into Phoenix, the temperature rose, bringing with it giant desert cacti and other plants that I had never seen in person. Kevin’s sister made me feel right at home, as she welcomed us and offered me a place to crash for the night.
With only 400 miles left, I was up with the sun the next morning, refreshed and ready, although a little sad that I was on my own again. After studying the map, I realized that the back roads going to LA were almost devoid of towns, so I opted for Interstate 10. While considerably shorter, the right shoulder was full of speed bumps that drove me crazy, as well as hurt my sore bottom. The left shoulder, while considerably narrower, was nice and smooth, and with very few cars, it was plenty safe. The Arizona as well as the California police stopped me several times warning me to stay on the right side..
As I crossed the Colorado River into California It seemed surreal. I kissed the ground and jumped for joy. Little did I know that I was entering one of the most traffic-congested areas of the world. By the time I got to Riverside I was completely lost, and with nowhere to camp I got a room at the Dragon Motel, a seedy spot in a small town just outside of San Bernadino. There were strange people knocking on the door all night, and when I looked up from my bed and saw a full size mirror on the ceiling I realized how seedy it really was.
When I rounded the corner and spotted my uncle’s house in Van Nuys, that’s when the gravity of this adventure really hit me. It had taken me almost a month to travel thousands of miles, through some really difficult adversity, and yet here I was. I felt like I could accomplish anything, but first I needed a well deserved break.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
* Bicycle trip Virginia to Wisconsin:
5-28-10 thru 6-4-10 A tough 780 mile, 8 day, ride. My plan was to ride the old “Lincoln Highway”, one of the first east - west routs in the US.
Getting past the mountains of WV & MD, proved to be serious, with winding roads exceeding 3000’ at Backbone Mountain and road grades of up to 13%. Damaging the sidewall of my rear tire early on in the trip set me up for a frustrating set of flat tires, culminating in trying to hitch a ride until I stumbled onto “Cool Springs,” an old town in WV, that was all of one large general store that sold everything, even tire repair kits. After getting what I needed, I sat down to a grilled cheese sandwich and potato soup at an old counter set up right in the store. “Trail Magic” at it’s best.
Crossing the Ohio River, was like going back in time, with horse drawn buggies and old fashioned clothing; this was Amish country. The scenery was beautiful, with rolling hills and lakes, but the roads lacked a good shoulder, which made for a rough ride. Finally, I got onto the Lincoln Highway (RT 30) at Wooster, OH. Unfortunately, this section had been converted into a freeway, forcing me to take detours when possible, and having to evade the police when on RT30. I’ve been doing long distance cycling trips for 30 years, and this trip I noticed that McDonalds and Wal-Mart were the only stores in many of the small towns. It’s great for a cyclist because they can provide most of what you need, not so good for society, though.
Riding through Fort Wayne, IN, during rush hour was unavoidable, but as I left the city, a closed-down, old rest area was a welcoming sight for the night. After hanging all my gear to air out, a police officer snuck up on me, and to my surprise let me stay the night. Indiana proved to be very cyclist friendly.
Timing was critical getting through Chicago, so when I spotted an abandoned house in Merrillville, just outside of Gary, IN, I jumped on it. What a cool old house, I couldn’t help but wonder who had lived there and what had happened. While camping out is fun, it’s so nice to not worry about bugs and sleep without a rock sticking in your ribs. I was also able to tune up my bike and get it ready for what would prove to be the longest ride of the trip.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Summer 2010 Chesapeake Bay cruise with sons on “Serenity”.
7-27-10 thru 8-2-10 Martin (18) & Ben (16) grew up sailing the Bay, at least a week every year. This year, following the wind, we headed North to Worton Creek and Elks Neck, where the swimming was great, with no jelly fish. Exploring Beach Island, on the Susquehanna Flats was fun, and we made plans to camp there some day. Havre de Grace, MD, was our first shore leave, where we cooled off with ice cream cones, and I let the kids go off exploring this interesting town. In the meantime, I relaxed aboard Serenity, watching the Acela trains cross the old RR bridge.
Continuing South, the variable winds forced us a little too close to the Aberdeen Proving Grounds, prompting the military police to flagged us down, giving the boys a little thrill.
A nor’easter moved in sending us on a wild ride, where the boys and I alternated steering, making it to Annapolis in record pace. The Capital of MD has always been one of our favorite spots. Anchoring in Back Creek, gives you the best of both worlds, a protected refuge, but close enough to walk to the hustle and bustle of the inner harbor.
We invited my brother Hector and his family out for a day of sailing. We picked them up at Sandy Pt., on what seemed like a really calm day, but the wind picked up and Serenity was able to show what she could do. Later we went swimming at the Sandy Pt. beach, before the boy’s and I bid goodbye and sailed off into the sunset.
Baltimore was our final destination, mooring at our favorite spot on pier 5, with a birds eye view of a Heart concert, right next to us at the Pier 6 Pavilion. Spending a week 24/7 with your kids is tough, but a great way to get to know them. Thanks Boys.
Continuing South, the variable winds forced us a little too close to the Aberdeen Proving Grounds, prompting the military police to flagged us down, giving the boys a little thrill.
A nor’easter moved in sending us on a wild ride, where the boys and I alternated steering, making it to Annapolis in record pace. The Capital of MD has always been one of our favorite spots. Anchoring in Back Creek, gives you the best of both worlds, a protected refuge, but close enough to walk to the hustle and bustle of the inner harbor.
We invited my brother Hector and his family out for a day of sailing. We picked them up at Sandy Pt., on what seemed like a really calm day, but the wind picked up and Serenity was able to show what she could do. Later we went swimming at the Sandy Pt. beach, before the boy’s and I bid goodbye and sailed off into the sunset.
Baltimore was our final destination, mooring at our favorite spot on pier 5, with a birds eye view of a Heart concert, right next to us at the Pier 6 Pavilion. Spending a week 24/7 with your kids is tough, but a great way to get to know them. Thanks Boys.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Solo sailing trip to Nantucket Island MA on “Serenity”
10-6-10 thru 10-14-10 This was one of the most challenging trips I’ve ever taken. After a smooth launch from Sandy Pt., MD, I made it all the way thru the C&D canal, to Reedy Pt. on the Delaware River. This turned out to be the only stop in the entire trip. From then on, it became an eight day odyssey of cat naps, reefing and unfurling sails, as well as dealing with mother nature’s wrath.
The first gale hit on the second night, as I rounded Cape May, NJ and entered the Atlantic Ocean. With fully reefed sails, I waited until I lost sight of land before handing the helm over to the Hasler auto-helm to catch a few zee’s. Serenity had no problem riding the 6-8 foot seas as we set a NE course to Nantucket IS. With the storm subsided a small yellow breasted bird landed aboard and took a long break.
The only course I could hold was Muskeget Channel, a tricky entrance to Nantucket Sound, used mostly by local waterman. Just outside the channel the second gale hit, with winds exceeding 30 mph from the NE forcing me to veer south and run with the nor’easter. With Atlantic tropical cyclone Shary and Hurricane Paula both threatening, I decided not to push my luck, and bag the trip and head home.
The wind changed direction once again from the SW, forcing me, what turned out to be about 200 miles offshore. A little concerned, I hand sailed Serenity, as close to the wind as possible to reach Cape May. That evening the third gale hit, with winds spinning in circles at 30+ MPH. Fatigued, and not able to hold any course, all I could do was drop the sails and take refuge in the cabin until the storm finally subsided.
With the Delaware Bay in sight and my sails full of wind, I kicked back and had a well deserved drink as I rounded Cape May Pt., just as the sun was setting. The sky cleared revealing a full moon, and stars that looked close enough to touch. I decided to continue on, plotting a course just outside the channel to avoid any large ships. Riding the tide all the way back to the Chesapeake Bay, gave me a really good feeling of accomplishment as I pondered this whirlwind of a voyage.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Adirondack’s climb: Nipple Top (4620’) & Dial Mt. (4020’)
11-19-10 Saint Hubert’s lake road trail parking lot right at sunrise. Temps were in the mid 20’s and snow was falling adding to the already 3-5 inches on the ground. Reamer (Stan McCue) and I decided to do the loop, Nipple Top first via Elk Pass, then return, climbing Dial to Bear Den Mt. Other than getting turned around a bit at Indian Head, the 15 mile round trip climb was strait forward albeit quite steep in spots. Dropping our packs for the final accent of Nipple Top felt great, and reaching the top we were treated to a wonderful view from an intimate defined summit. With our sun on it’s way down, we started for Dial, where we ran into a climber doing the loop in the opposite direction. With only a large rock distinguishing Dial’s summit we almost missed it. Only 3 hours of daylight left, I had to start pushing Reamer, to avoid getting caught in the woods at night. Feelings from the year before when we lost Seth on Blackhead Mt. (Catskills), sent a chill through my spine. The descent was slow, down a steep rocky trail. The terrain changed considerably as the trail joggled over Noonmark Mt’s. shoulder, revealing a large blow down of trees. Reaching the Lake Road right at sunset was a relief as we reveled in our accomplishment. This would be our 19th and 20th peaks on our way to climbing the 46 high peaks in the Adirondacks.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Anniversary of Seth’s passing.
3-14-11 thru 3-15-11 At the last moment, a window of good weather opened up, allowing a winter climb in the Catskill’s, NY. With the demons of the year before still haunting me, it seemed surreal, as I retraced the fateful climb on Blackhead Mt. (3940’). Parking at the same spot on Big Hollow, passing Batavia Kill lean-to, finally reaching the summit. A chill went up my spine as I realized where we had gone wrong. I could feel Seth’s presence as I searched for the spot we had bivouacked. The large distinctive cedar tree led me right up a cliff to the hallowed spot about 200’ below the summit. It was calm and quite cold, but the snow conditions were similar, 5-7 feet deep, but very little in this wind-blown spot. My emotions got the better of me as I set up my tent for the night. I woke at sunrise to a cold, crisp morning, with just a hint of clouds floating between the peaks. Absolutely stunning! Rest in Peace Seth.
Spring 2011 Sailing Chesapeake Bay on “SERENITY”, (22’ sailboat).
5/24 thru 6/3 My good friend and brother Mark Moen and I set out for a real vacation leaving the “rat race behind”. The launch went flawlessly out of Sandy Pt., MD. As usual the weather dictated much of our trip. Taking advantage of the one day of predicted north winds we headed south with the tide, nonstop throughout the night. With light winds, we decided to try out the new 230% jib, which is almost as long as the boat. Nervously, Mark took the first watch after sunset. Getting past the Patuxent River and just outside of the shipping channel gave me a secure enough feeling to get some rest. At 2 AM the shout “fish trap” had me in the cockpit within seconds. Mark’s keen night vision had spotted the obstruction just in time for us to jibe and clear it within a few feet. Through out the Bay, Maryland and Virginia have placed unlit and mostly unmarked nets giving fish and oysters a chance to regenerate, but never in this deep of water. By noon the wind had died completely, so we motored into the Little Wicomico River, a secluded little anchorage just south of Smith Pt. off the Potomac River.
We had made it far enough South to be able to zig zag our way back home, exploring new as well as favorite spots along the way. Heading ESE, with sails close hauled, we were just able to clear the southern tip of Tangiers Island turning North into Tangiers Sound. Sailing along the western shores of Tangiers and Smith Islands we got a birds eye view of the two remaining inhabited islands of the Bay. As we sailed into anchorage in Deal Island Harbor, you really got the sense of the eastern bay’s remoteness and charm. The dilapidated, abandoned marina on the north end, contrasted by the small, still viable waterman’s town to the south. All sailors need shore leave, so after navigating through Kedges Straits we set a course NW to Solomons Island. We Secured an overnight slip at the Tiki Hut where the party overflowed from the outdoor bar into the adjoining dock.
With Mark still sound asleep, I pushed us off into a light, but cooling breeze, rounding Drum Point, heading NE. As evening loomed the wind shifted, sending us into Castle Haven, off the Choptank River, a tropical-like setting with bluish-green water, and sandy beach, almost paradise.
Running aground is never fun, but at High Island, off the Rhodes River, on a Sunday, with hundreds of boaters watching, it is embarrassing at best. Of course we got off easily, and then anchored close to the invisible sand bar watching other unsuspecting boaters meet the same fate.
The summer like heat tipping over 90 degrees convinced us to jump in the water, dragging behind the boat as the auto helm kept us on course. Acquiring a slip at the Waterman’s Crab House in Rock Hall MD, wasn’t hard since there was no electric hook up or any other amenities for that matter. No worries for us though, as we snuck into the pool across the street to cool off. Having cooked many a good meal on board, Mark gave me a night off, inviting me to a steak dinner at a local Pub.
Fort McHenry always gives you a welcoming feeling as you head up the Patapsco River, toward Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Pier 5, next to the light house museum is a great spot to tie up especially if there is a concert at the Pier 6 Pavilion. With our trip winding down, the big city hustle and bustle brought us a little closer to reality.
A relaxing morning sail out of Baltimore quickly turned into a white-knuckle affair, as the winds increased from the SE, pushing us uncomfortably close to the rock jetty at North Point. Falling off to a course for Hart-Miller Island, with a lee shore, kept us on our toes. Anchoring in 3 feet of water was fun as we used our toes to dig up delicious bay clams. A heavy storm kicked up in the evening, bringing with it heavy rain and winds, prompting me to put out a second anchor.
A stiff NW wind brought us to Fairlee Creek with it’s very tricky and shallow entrance. The gap entering the small harbor was only about 20-feet wide with a really strong current. We spotted a large yacht run aground, but finally, after what seemed forever, it freed itself with the rising tide.
Coming out of Fairlee in the morning against the tide was tough; we barely got out, and then ran uncomfortably close to shore.
The whole challenge of sailing is what makes these trips so much fun and rewarding. After arriving to Sandy Point we had mixed feelings of accomplishment, vs. the reality of getting back to our normal lives. Can’t wait to get back on the water!
We had made it far enough South to be able to zig zag our way back home, exploring new as well as favorite spots along the way. Heading ESE, with sails close hauled, we were just able to clear the southern tip of Tangiers Island turning North into Tangiers Sound. Sailing along the western shores of Tangiers and Smith Islands we got a birds eye view of the two remaining inhabited islands of the Bay. As we sailed into anchorage in Deal Island Harbor, you really got the sense of the eastern bay’s remoteness and charm. The dilapidated, abandoned marina on the north end, contrasted by the small, still viable waterman’s town to the south. All sailors need shore leave, so after navigating through Kedges Straits we set a course NW to Solomons Island. We Secured an overnight slip at the Tiki Hut where the party overflowed from the outdoor bar into the adjoining dock.
With Mark still sound asleep, I pushed us off into a light, but cooling breeze, rounding Drum Point, heading NE. As evening loomed the wind shifted, sending us into Castle Haven, off the Choptank River, a tropical-like setting with bluish-green water, and sandy beach, almost paradise.
Running aground is never fun, but at High Island, off the Rhodes River, on a Sunday, with hundreds of boaters watching, it is embarrassing at best. Of course we got off easily, and then anchored close to the invisible sand bar watching other unsuspecting boaters meet the same fate.
The summer like heat tipping over 90 degrees convinced us to jump in the water, dragging behind the boat as the auto helm kept us on course. Acquiring a slip at the Waterman’s Crab House in Rock Hall MD, wasn’t hard since there was no electric hook up or any other amenities for that matter. No worries for us though, as we snuck into the pool across the street to cool off. Having cooked many a good meal on board, Mark gave me a night off, inviting me to a steak dinner at a local Pub.
Fort McHenry always gives you a welcoming feeling as you head up the Patapsco River, toward Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Pier 5, next to the light house museum is a great spot to tie up especially if there is a concert at the Pier 6 Pavilion. With our trip winding down, the big city hustle and bustle brought us a little closer to reality.
A relaxing morning sail out of Baltimore quickly turned into a white-knuckle affair, as the winds increased from the SE, pushing us uncomfortably close to the rock jetty at North Point. Falling off to a course for Hart-Miller Island, with a lee shore, kept us on our toes. Anchoring in 3 feet of water was fun as we used our toes to dig up delicious bay clams. A heavy storm kicked up in the evening, bringing with it heavy rain and winds, prompting me to put out a second anchor.
A stiff NW wind brought us to Fairlee Creek with it’s very tricky and shallow entrance. The gap entering the small harbor was only about 20-feet wide with a really strong current. We spotted a large yacht run aground, but finally, after what seemed forever, it freed itself with the rising tide.
Coming out of Fairlee in the morning against the tide was tough; we barely got out, and then ran uncomfortably close to shore.
The whole challenge of sailing is what makes these trips so much fun and rewarding. After arriving to Sandy Point we had mixed feelings of accomplishment, vs. the reality of getting back to our normal lives. Can’t wait to get back on the water!
Monday, July 18, 2011
Father's Day Weekend Climb in the Catskill Mountains, NY with my Sons
Friday 6-17-11 drove up from VA to Spruceton, NY. By noon we were on the trail headed for Rusk Mt. (3680’). We dropped our packs when we arrived at the dry stream bed that goes more than half way up. The climb was quite steep and the recent rains made the going on mostly rock very slippery. Being an unmarked trail we kept track of the heading especially when thick vegetation had us really bushwhacking. After a quick summit snack the thunder and then torrential rain got us underway. It was very hard to backtrack, so we went on compass heading alone, which got us back, but about 100 feet away from our gear. We continued on the Spruceton trail toward Hunter Mt. (4040’), which became quite steep as we reached 3000’. Arriving to the lean-to by late afternoon, we were surprised at the location near a ridge, with an incredible view. With a long day behind us we enjoyed a good meal, good company, then we passed out by sunset.
By 9 AM we were on top of the Hunter Mt. fire tower, with fog obscuring most of our view. The sun finally came out as we arrived to Devils Tombstone lean-to where we laid out our damp clothes on the roof to dry, while we climbed South West Hunter Mt. (3740’). We were pleasantly surprised to find a nice path following a ridge right to the summit. After eating salami and crackers for lunch we gathered our things and headed for West Kill. Martin and Ben (my sons) have come a long way as hikers, finally able to carry their own gear and then some, while keeping a stiff pace. Arriving at Buttermilk Falls we were really tempted to jump into the large pool under the falls. With the cool air temp. and frigid water temp. we opted for a cool drink and our final climb up West Kill Mt. (3880’) instead. The 5 mile round trip was tough and quite steep. The summit is considered one of the best views of the Catskills, and it did not disappoint us. We could even see the Hunter tower that we had come from that morning, and it looked so far away. By late afternoon exhausted and hungry we reached Diamond Notch lean-to where we collapsed after having hiked and climbed about 15 miles.
What a great weekend. Fathers day morning we got up early and hiked out, then on the way home stopped for our usual celebratory meal out, at an old hole it the wall that had excellent food. Thanks Boys
By 9 AM we were on top of the Hunter Mt. fire tower, with fog obscuring most of our view. The sun finally came out as we arrived to Devils Tombstone lean-to where we laid out our damp clothes on the roof to dry, while we climbed South West Hunter Mt. (3740’). We were pleasantly surprised to find a nice path following a ridge right to the summit. After eating salami and crackers for lunch we gathered our things and headed for West Kill. Martin and Ben (my sons) have come a long way as hikers, finally able to carry their own gear and then some, while keeping a stiff pace. Arriving at Buttermilk Falls we were really tempted to jump into the large pool under the falls. With the cool air temp. and frigid water temp. we opted for a cool drink and our final climb up West Kill Mt. (3880’) instead. The 5 mile round trip was tough and quite steep. The summit is considered one of the best views of the Catskills, and it did not disappoint us. We could even see the Hunter tower that we had come from that morning, and it looked so far away. By late afternoon exhausted and hungry we reached Diamond Notch lean-to where we collapsed after having hiked and climbed about 15 miles.
What a great weekend. Fathers day morning we got up early and hiked out, then on the way home stopped for our usual celebratory meal out, at an old hole it the wall that had excellent food. Thanks Boys
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