Mohonksville

Living on a nature preserve is certainly different than residing within a municipality such as Chelsea in Manhattan, but it's not without it's own society. At first I wasn't really conscious of the connection that the preserve created between myself and the many others who come to this land, whether for only a portion of one day out of their entire life, or as a regular user here on a frequent or even near daily basis.

Sure, I noticed others about me, and interacted with them on a variety of levels, but I didn't really understand that each and every one of us is part of this environment on a level not unlike those of a small town.

More than a hundred years ago, part of the Mohonk Preserve land holdings constituted at least one organized community, the Trapps Hamlet. Before that, it is known that natives to this area traveled across the Shawangunk Mountain ridges while on hunting expeditions and camped upon it's escarpments, at the very least. Of course, time continued and progress was was unstoppable. The Shawangunk berry pickers of the late 19th and first half of the 20th centuries, though a transient group, were the last to use this land as a way to subsist and survive, enjoying community amongst themselves as an integral part of that experience.

Nowadays, the Shawangunk ridge offers an extraordinary opportunity for nature lovers and those who enjoy outdoors adventurism. Climbers come from all over the world to challenge themselves on the steep cliff faces. Hikers, cyclists, photographers and naturalists mix with families here for a day of picnicking on the scenic grounds. And as the mission of the preserve unfolds, animals and plants native to this area once again have a habitat in which to thrive.

Look around! Chipmunks, squirrels, snakes, wild birds and even bears(if you are lucky enough to see one) on the preserve are glowing with vitality. The waterways are refreshingly clear, teeming with growth and healthy life. Plants, for the most part, survive their entire life without being trammeled into oblivion before having the chance to play their part in nature's cycle. The Mohonk Preserve is abundant with joie de vivre, and humans, understanding their place within this strata, intuitively take a submissive role to nature. For a fraction of our time on this planet we accept that we are not the dominate force.

Plants, animals, land, water, and the ever-changing weather cycles are the construct of this microcosm of our universe. Each element depends upon the others for survival, and the part humans play, though subordinate, is that of the steward. Without those people who populate Mohonksville to protect it, the land would be no different than any other scenic area available to the public at large; trashed forever by unfettered development, and polluted to a level where life is unsustainable due to a faulty system of checks and balances.

So – just who are the people of Mohonksville and what roles do they have within it's culture?

Most obvious would likely be those whom we see on a regular basis; the rangers, trail head assistants and volunteers with a public presence, such as those who lead hikes or assist guests at the Visitor Center. We might view them as representatives of the township of Mohonksville. Less known to the general public would be the administrators who must, by duty, spend much of their day sequestered within the offices of the preserve, and other places that often go unnoticed by most people. Without the efforts of those who serve on the Board of Directors, handle office responsibilities and provide maintenance services, Mohonksville would not be able to survive. These people constitute, to some degree, what would be referred to as civil servants within municipalities in the world at large.

Next we have those who use the land - Members, who amount to being taxpayers of a sort.. Some have more of a physical presence than others, but whether one takes up residence in Mohonksville by daily or near-so visits, comes only on the weekend or even a few times per year, these common citizens are the people in our neighborhood.

(Rock climber following "Inverted Layback" in the Near Trapps)

There are those who seem to be here always; the climber roping up in the Uberfall whenever we pass through, the hiker perpetually heading towards us on the trail each time we are out for a stroll, the nature lover who considers the Split Rock area part of their back yard, and lovingly tends to it's care on an almost daily basis by picking up cigarette butts and other bits of trash discarded by less meticulous individuals. We know these people by sight, if not always by name, and come to accept their presence at the preserve in the same way we expect to see the various rock formations, seasonal berries and wild flowers, and magnificent, colorful vistas of autumn foliage. They are, in perhaps an undefinable way, an integral part of the Mohonk Preserve, and when they are gone, their presence is missed

Other users constitute the majority of the human element within Mohonksville. These are the everyday people, those we see on occasion but perhaps never develop more than a passing acquaintance to, others who seem vaguely familiar if only due to the distinguishing characteristic that they walk with a rack of jingling climbing gear, roll by on a mountain bike, jog along the carriage road at the end of their canine companion's leash, or hike with a few children in tow. They inhabit the place, a constant system of rotation with similar folks. More of them abound on stellar weather days, but they do tend to blend together as a general crowd, much the way of sidewalk passersby.

And what would Mohonksville be without it's ebb and flow of tourists? In ways as much a destination spot as 42nd Street, the Mohonk Preserve is the crossroads of the universe to segments of the outdoors recreation world, particularly that of rock climbers.

These are people who visit irregularly, perhaps on a traditional yearly basis, but more often as a once or twice in a lifetime experience. They aren't familiar with the plethora of features everyone else seems to know: the Hairpin Turn, Steel Bridge, High E, Millbrook Ridge Trail, Duck Pond, the Stairmaster and downstream on the Coxing Kill at Split Rock, along with so many other landmarks. They get lost easily, even along roadways as uncomplicated for the locals as the Undercliff/Overcliff Carriage Road, and are often unable to distinguish the difference between the West Trapps and Warwasing parking areas.

(They may be on the rocks, but these tourists are not rock climbers!)


Luckily for these travelers, the people of Mohonksville are almost always more than happy to point them in the right direction, provide beta on the classic climb they are desperate to get onto, or direct them to the area they left just minutes ago, to go to the bathroom or take a photo, and where the rest of their group awaits their return.

Tourists in Mohonksville are usually very pleasantly surprised at the subtle hospitality afforded them. Because of the governing policy of the preserve, they are often oblivious that there is, in fact, a social web that weaves throughout the place. In their mind, they've simply purchased a day pass to a nature preserve and are out on their own adventure. Like a visitor to any metropolis, they may go about their day seeing sights and experiencing sounds, all but unaware that other humans exist. This is, of course, by design, and befitting of the preserve's mission: to protect the Shawangunk Mountains by inspiring people to care for, enjoy and explore the natural world. For the one who comes here to commune with nature, there is no Mohonksville, since animals other than humans(so far as we know) do not follow our custom of naming their social collectives.

Of course, there is a social element devoid of humanity within this space. Else, how to explain the animal paths one occasionally comes across, or the gatherings of Canada Geese as they stop to rest and feed at Duck Pond? What about the papery wasp nests, cavernous abodes of aggressively swarming Ground Bees and columns of ants methodically transferring eggs from one locale to another - hundreds, perhaps thousands in number, all traveling back and forth along the exact same stretch of single-track trail? Certainly these shared spaces are indicative of a communal society.

As mentioned previously, humans take a subordinate role within this environment, proof that the preserve is successful in the perpetuation of it's mission. And so, since we know not what the animals(or plants, rocks and trees, should one consider they may have consciousness) might call this place, should they not be included within the construct of our Mohonksville? I certainly think so. After all, is not the small town park or downtown square an integral part of urbanized society?

So, along with our human neighbors, we include the Peregrine Falcons who make home high upon the cliffs as part of this social environment; perhaps even allowing them the prestige of celebrity status, as we watch in awe from afar, aware of their untouchability.

Each year pairs of the falcons mate, and within days of their nesting and egg-laying, announcements of the event are made. Word spreads throughout Mohonksville quickly, and soon enough even those not physically present are holding vigil, waiting for news on the number of hatchlings, and anticipating their first public appearance as if hooked on the weekly publishing of a favorite news tabloid.

Just recently a pair fledged, perhaps a bit too early. As sometimes happens, they did not complete their initial flight safely. Climbers came upon the pair amongst the talus above the Undercliff Carriage Road. One had already perished, and been preyed upon by an animal higher in the food chain. The other was alive, but injured. Preserve rangers were notified, and came to the aid of the injured bird, protecting them from further harm until qualified professionals could tend to it.

Like news in any small town, each person who found out about the incident excitedly conveyed what they knew to those they came upon, and within short order, seemingly everyone on the preserve was aware of the tragic event. By noontime, if one mentioned the accident to another, they already knew and possibly even had an update. On internet boards, people discussed the progression of events, anxious for positive news on the baby's welfare.

Birds are numerous, colorful and often providing cheerful song throughout the day. Owls alight at dusk and after, when the human element of Mohonksville has completed their daily migration away from the place.

Another set of creatures in our "town" bearing - forgive the pun - celebrity status, allowed plenty of personal space yet always excitedly spotted, would be those from our local bear population. 2010 has shown itself to be a big year for bears, and several sightings have been reported. As yearlings roam in search of territory to claim as their own, the rest of Mohonksville maintains a higher state of alertness, aware they are on the move and hoping to catch a glimpse of one.

Copperhead, Black, Rat and Water Snakes are frequently seen sunning themselves on talus slopes, slithering up steep rock faces with an ease that seems almost mockery to any climber who is watching their ascent, or gracefully swimming in ponds. Copperheads, though poisonous, are quite beautiful with their gold and brown patterned skin which helps camouflage them against the woodland floor of dried leaves and fallen branches. They're often viewed with both trepidation and disdain, not unlike the swarthy, handsome yet aloof, man about town the women warn each other after. Attractive – yes, but get close at risk of peril!

Mohonksville has quite a contingent of amphibians, insects, arachnids and other beings. Late spring brings out butterflies and moths. Dragonflies hover and cruise the grounds. Fireflies light up the woods each summer evening. Near waterways and amidst the forest floors frogs of several types spring into action whenever the tread of humans bumbling near enough seems threatening to their safety. Orange Efts dot pathways after a rainy day and Blue-tailed Skinks scamper and rock hop at the bases of cliffs. And Millipedes! Perhaps the most widely represented of Mohonksville's constituents, they are often held in contempt by subordinate humans, who have no idea whatsoever what their purpose is or why there are just....so many of them!

(Orange Eft)

(Blue-Tailied Skink)

Life in our community is not limited to the animal kingdom. Trees, shrubs, ferns, flowers, berries, grasses, mosses and fungus are all an integral part of Mohonksville that only the unthinking would not include. The autumn season portends the coming of the human masses, in search of an easy sensory fix. Brilliant, densely saturated displays of colorful foliage create an aura of high festival season, and the land swells with an increase in tourist activity.

This may be peak time period for visitors to the area, but for those who know and love Mohonksville, it is but a short span within the cycle of seasons. After winter's hibernation period, dainty wildflowers begin to pop up in sunny patches throughout the preserve. In mid-May the regal Pink LadySlipper Orchid makes her appearance, stunning us with her stately majesty. Soon Mountain Laurel and Rhododendron are blossoming cliffsides, hills and vales, and blossoming bushes give way to wild blueberries, strawberries, black raspberries and grapes.

(Mountain Laurel)

Then there are the trees! Once culled nearly to decimation for timber, charcoal, barrel hoops, tannic acids and the clearing of pasturelands, the ridge is now in renaissance as Hemlocks, Pitch Pines, Birch, Oaks and others regenerate. Though likely the connection remains unmade by most autumn leaf-peeping visitors to Mohonksville, without the preserve, this land would be devoid of such splendor.

As well, the massive rock formations which the Shawangunks Ridge is famous for were at one time seen as a resource to be harvested. Millstones were quarried from the area, and sold down the river. One can find evidence of this old industry along the Trapps Hamlet Path and in other areas of the preserve.

Today, the rocks are still a highly valued asset, but most importantly their use is one with sustainability in mind. The ethical debate of bolting rock climbs was decided upon early, while war waged in other climbing destinations throughout the US. Here, bolts are use only for rappel anchors, and those are in favor of upholding the health and integrity of the cliff top trees. While a few bolts were placed on rock faces before the decision to ban their use was made, they are an anomaly to the tradition of using removable protection.

The Shawangunk cliffs are truly the foundation of Mohonksville society. From afar they are a beacon on the horizon, guiding human visitors the the area. In closer proximity, the escarpments provide an experience of a more visceral sort, whether it be the challenge to ascent a climbing route, a pleasant walk along their bases, or as a sublime vantage point to consider the scenic vistas throughout the acreage. More humbly, they are home to many – the plant and animal life of Mohonksville.

Surely I have neglected the mention of many others who make up the Mohonksville demographic. Feel free to leave a comment yourself, and include them in this description of our little town.





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Hit the Road!

I came across an interesting short article called "A History of the Gunks Carriageways," from a blog called sectionhiker.com.

It's a nice little read but what it really does is tell me just HOW much information is actually available in the Mohonk Archives. Both at the Preserve and the Mountain House.

It gives me an idea.....Since I am not(yet, anyway) a skier, nor an ice climber(which I will likely never be, with my aversion to cold and discomfort)... What a nice idea it might be to make a winter pilgrimage or two to the archives myself! I could try doing some cross-country skiing on the Mountain House grounds(being a preserve member does entitle us to access) and then, after a nice warming cup of hot cocoa(strike that - caffeine!) take a meandering visual hike back in time through the archives.

From what I understand Daniel Smiley had an obsession with data collecting, and for this we can all be grateful. The history of the area has been, indeed, preserved!


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Gunks Fall Season Has Arrived!

The e-connection of my computer's still funked, but at least now I have exhauseted all hope of doing a self-fix..... Resignedly, I'm packing the thing up and taking it to the shop this afternoon, where I'm expecting to receive a diagnosis of "fried modem" or something similar.

In the interim..... Despite a slow start on Saturday(morning climbing called on account of rain), the day did an about-face around 10am and a splendid "feels like autumn" day stepped forth. Though it had been raining steadily since late night Friday, the cliffs hadn't even gotten wet. Must have been the direction and angle the precip dripped. Nature had thrown a curve ball in the team's favor and the backside of the Trapps got a nice watering, while the front side stayed cool and dry to the touch. Climb on!

Plenty of people out there, too. Teddy couldn't move ten paces without someone from his fan club stopping to say hello and shake his paw.

I flailed lightly before slipping into the void of "the move" on Shockley's Ceiling. Luckily, I brannish a pair of prussiks like a cowboy does his pistols. Embarrassing - but true.

Still, it was a good day, and later we headed into town for the John Bragg slideshow - first entertainment event of the season. Beautiful pictures, incredible scenery, fun stories - If you missed it, you missed a good one.

The event was in support of the Gunks Climber's Coalition Rescue Fund, and $800 was raised.

Perhpas even more valuable.... was the announcement updating us on the status at the Rosendale Water Works.

If you don't know, this is an area that came into the spotlight a short while back; bouldering has been going on there, to climb what is allegedly(I've never been, nor spoeken to anyone with firsthand knowledge) world class third class..... Word was spreading and whispers of access issues arose in the mix.

Something had to be done....

The GCC has been working with the Mohonk Preserve and Open Space Institute on acquiring this land, and a Letter of Understanding was signed last week. So far as I have seen, the Open Space Institute gets things done, and if all goes as hoped....the Gunks 2008 season will be seeing an incredible new venue for serious bouldering.

I like to boulder, and even though I climb less than V0, can't wait to see how this pans out. Hopefully, many of the area boulderers will be interested in stewardship for this new locale, and will avail themselves of the considerable amount of work that will go into developing and maintaining the space. The Rosendale Water Works will be part of the Mohonk Preserve, which excels in educating preservation ethics, so the place should become a crowning gem in the US bouldering scene.

In other news - when I recently spoke with guidebook author Dick Williams about his progress on the lates edition(updated guidebook to the Near Trapps), he said the writing had been completed!

This was no small task, as the man personally (re)climbed most of the existing routes in order to insure as accurate a book as can be made, while putting in many new routes at the same time. (We joke, a while back, that when he'd written in the earlier guide not to bother with sections of the cliffs duew to loose and dangerous conditions, that he was actually trying to deflect interest because he hadn't been able to snag all the FA's he'd been eyeing!)

Of course, parts of the Nears ARe known to have loose, chossy sections and Williams, in his climbing research, safely trundled rocks that were ready to roll as he came across them. This made for slower progress with his book work, but it's of incredible benefit to our climbing community, and something most of us will never even be aware of. Thanks Dick!

The book has been(or is soon to be) handed to an associate who will put it into Quark for editing, and Dick is going through his picture collections to decide which photographs wil be included in the new guide. He expects the book to be available in stores early next year, in time for the spring season of 2008.

Though many will lament the sure to be expected production that might aptly be called "Gumbys at the Gunks" to quickly run through the Nears, the publication will certainly be a most welcome one by the majority. Not only will many existing routes that have not been included in previous editions come to light, but also variations and linkups, along with new lines put up since the last edition. As happened with the release of the Trapps guide a few years ago, the Gunks will suddenly seem bigger, as people explore lines they'd previously been walking past unawares.

I also heard that the Adopt-A-Crag Skytop CleanUp, which I mentioned a few posts back, went very well despite a rainy day start. Volunteers filled five large bags of trash, the majority of which consisted of plastic water bottles left in situ by hotel guests and day-hikers visiting the property. One need only think about this in juxtaposition to an average Peterskill CleanUp day to comprehend the difference in mindset between those committed to the area(such as climbers and dedictaed hikers) and the person for whom a daytrip to the outdoors is their adventure of the year.

Keep in mind that the next Adopt-A-Crag event will be on October 20th. This is a great way to meet others from the area, give a little back, and get involved.

As well, the New Paltz Film Festival takes place on Saturday, October 6th. There are plenty of events the whole weekend too. Kick off the weekend on Friday night with a slideshow at the Mohonk Preserve Visitor Center. There's a bagel breakfast and climbing clinics on Saturday at the Trapps, the Film Festival that evening, and another slideshow (or film?) at Rock and Snow on Sunday night.


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Wanna Go To SkyTop(and Not Pay the Ginormous Fees)?

Everyone knows that climbing at Skytop has been unsanctioned (or off-limits, if you don't know what that means....) since the mid-nineties. Well, maybe not everyone, but at least most locals and people who've visited the place. Or have considered coming. Or might in the future, or have talked to someone who thought about coming.... Might as well be everyone!

And most of THOSE people people are aware that the start of the 2007 climbing season saw a hallamrk in history, where Skytop became officially available to the...masses....again.

Well, at least the masses who could afford a two-night's stay at the Mohonk Mountain House and a guide fee "adjusted slightly upward," to defray the costs of coordinating guests with the activity, I suppose.

Jealous? Wishing YOU had the guts to just sneak in and reach for the Skytops routes? I THOUGHT so!

Well - here's your chance.... Read the bulletin below, and sign up now!*
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On Sept 15th and Oct 20th, 2007 Two Adopt-A-Crag Days Scheduled

Note: This text was directly lifted from the Gunks Climbers Coalition site.

The Gunks Climbers' Coalition, in cooperation with the Mohonk Mountain House, is pleased to announce that our first Adopt-a-Crag event this year will take place at Skytop on Saturday, September 15, from 9 AM to 1 PM. We are seeking twelve volunteers on a first-register, first-served basis (the number is limited by insurance restrictions) to collect litter in the talus apron around the crag. Send an email to: GCC@gunksclimbers.org to register for this event. More details will be provided once your registration is completed.

In cooperation with Minnewaska State Park Preserve, we will also be holding a second Adopt-a-Crag day of trail maintenance and micro-trash removal at Peter's Kill on Saturday, October 20. Click here for more information.

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* I didn't specifically say, in this post's title, that you could climb. Just asked if you wanted to go!

I know, I know....You may be mad at me for "making" you read this post, all just to announce an opportunity to volunteer with your fellow climbers. I'm sneaky that way.

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Nature Photos from the Gunks

Here's a photo essay on a hike/walk I took last Saturday, instead of climbing....


Looking toward the Overcliff Trail


Colorful Boulder - Gateway to the Gunks!


Vines suctioned to a boulder


Interesting little colorful bug


Pretty yellow wildflowers dotted the carriage road


Snakes Alive!


Head Shot


Another yellow wildflower, and a big old bee getting some pollen


Yet another yellow wildflower


Funghi

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Work In Progress

Nearly anyone who's been a visitor to the Gunks in the last several years recognizes the location in the picture above. It's the "Bunny Slope!" Located in the Trapps, this steep section abuts the rock wall as you come into the Uberfall area.

It's not actually part of the cliff, as it consists of a mixture of loose rocks and dirt. Corralled by a low fence of Gunks conglomerate laid down by volunteers on a National Trails Day in the 1990's, the slope is anchored in place by a few small trees and partially buried boulders. It's not really talus, nor is it woodland. The Bunny Slope inhabits a sort of netherworld between rock and (carriage) road.

I've only been a preserve member for the last four seasons, but I've passed this spot hundreds of times. As for the natural beauty that dominates the preserve, this spot seems a bit of an apparition. Because the slope is very fragile, even the smallest amount of interaction with humans(a child allowed to scramble on it, a dog left to dig for buried treasure, or a belayer with a less than average level of common sense), the majority of the section is roped off with accessory cord, and hung with a sign that advises "Slope Restoration in Progress," reminding us to stay off.

I assumed that the timeline for this particular restoration process was to be measured in generations, if not centuries. Being that the ethic of the Mohonk Preserve is to allow the land to regenerate to a pre-industrial era state, I just thought that over time - lots of time - the idea was that silt would wash down from the enormous off-width fissure behind the Herdie Gerdie block, eventually creating..... well, something more attractive than what we see above, at least.

Not to be so! In fact, the revolution has already begun. Volunteers who work on trail maintenance in the climbing areas of the preserve have spent the last few Sundays preparing for major restoration of the Bunny Slope.

A little over a month ago, we began harvesting rocks form the talus slope to the west of the area. Most of these have already been used though, in the creation of a "patio-type" surface at the base of the Herdie Gerdie Block, which was phase I in this project - to preserve, protect and highlight an area what is tantamount to the "Gateway to the Gunks."

Some might think that this is all simply an unneeded "beautification project;" even unethical, since the preserve looks to recreate an environment reminiscent of the early 19th century. But they would be incorrect in that supposition. The layer of rock actually serves to protect the fastly-eroding slope that fronts that highly-trafficked spot.

As you can see in the photo someone is just starting up "Nurdy Gerdie"(a/k/a "Dogs in Heat," a 5.10+(crack around the corner is off-route) face climb. That, and the two more popular routes on that short bit of rock easily see more than a dozen ascents on an average weekend day in season, frequently groups of three or more, including posses of families and other bystanders. People scamper over that short slope, set out picnics, kick at the dirt out of bored habit as they lock off their hang-dogging partner.....

In short, the area sees a tremendous amount of abuse, which is only increasing as gym climbers not yet (or never to be) experienced with placing gear on lead flock to the easily accessible top-roping climbs of the Gunks.

It wouldn't be so much of a problem had a few poor old trees not had the foresight to realize how much the neighborhood would change when they set down roots before most of us were saplings.....

Root damage.

It's an aspect of conservation that even the most conscientious of us may be unaware of. You see - when we tread over a tree's root system, we wear off miniscule bits of the protective layer that is utterly necessary to insure the health and natural life-span of that tree. Over time, any tree with exposed roots (which is a prevalent feature in the Shawangunks area) will suffer due to this loss of "skin." With extreme abuse, the tree simply cannot survive.

The Herdie Gerdie block is partially popular because it offers shade from a hot summer's sun. That shade comes from the few trees growing in the vicinity. Trees that see such a tremendous amount of irritation to their roots that they surely can't stay healthy if the trauma were to continue.

To counteract this problem, volunteers placed rocks within the spaces of the labyrinth of roots. Building up a sub-floor that allows for proper drainage(for built-up moisture would rot the roots and kill them even more readily than being trammeled), the "patio" protects the tree roots while at the same time also provides climbers a safer platform to work from. No more tripping over intertwining roots as belayers shift stances. Climbers coming off from a low level won't risk an ankle-breaking impact by hitting an uneven surface.

After completing that work, we went out in search of more rocks to use in our reclamation project of the Bunny Slope. Last Sunday, we spent an entire morning trundling from the lower talus slope in the vicinity of the "Stairmaster," or East Trapps Connector Trail, as it is officially know as.

As most people know, trundling rock is a BIG no-no at the Gunks. It's dangerous too, as impact from even an incredibly small rock coming from above can be fatal.

And that's just for innocent bystanders! Imagine standing in the talus field, amidst a herd of heavy smallish boulders(Gunks Conglomerate, the local breed of rock) weight 155 pounds per cubic foot). Each rock rests upon the one below it, sometimes solidly. Sometimes very precariously. Sometimes the top rock anchors the ones below.... Move one - and you have potentially upset the masses. Move the WRONG one, and the herd stampedes!

I was well aware of this aspect of talus-picking, as I got my on-the-job. I didn't want my tombstone epitaph to read "Trampled While Trundling." Even one of those bulls on the run would have snapped my leg like a tiny twig if it had cut loose. The fact that the rocks crash against each other, emitting a smell very much like that of explosives, also helps put everything in perspective.

In fact, I DID have a close call at the day's start, when a rock reoriented itself and landed on my pinky. I hadn't even touched it; simple vibration from....somewhere... seemingly launched the motion, and it made a minor adjustment. The pain was severe, and I really was worried about what I'd find when I removed my workglove. The rock had been only about the size of a Honeydew melon(which meant it weighed somewhere around 20 pounds), but I half-expected to see a mangled and bloody fingertip. I was very relieved to see just a red bruise.

In case you wonder why I mention all this - it's to apprise anyone not aware of the inherent danger. Do NOT try this at home(if your home away from home is an area where rocks hang out).

One unintended benefit of the trundling is that one intentional avalanche opened up a beautiful vista in the lower talus field we were working in. Al, a longtime trail crew volunteer, had nudged two small rocks(by trail crew standards, though the rocks weighed about 70 pounds each), and the shift set in motion a rock slide that brought down a great cache of sizable rock. We'll gather and use them for the retaining walls we create on Bunny Slope.

If you happen by the Connector Trail in the next few days, you may notice the pile. They sit at the talus base about 20 feet west of the wooden trail marker sign. You would recognize them because they seem to have been attacked my a Tick Marking Maniac! White chalk-like scars, about three to four inches long, seemingly point to many of the corners on these rocks. The pile has the appearance of a natural rockslide, which it was, even though started with a helping hand.

Bring your eyes upward to the large multiple-trunked tree that grows about 40 feet up from the carriage road, and notice the wonderful rock ledge the tree is growing from. It almost has the appearance of a sculpted oriental garden...on a grand scale, of course.

Another benefit that came of Al's slide was the displacement of "a few good men;" boulders that are going to be the cornerstones of our project. By moving two melon-sized rocks, the cascade let loose about 50 others, which in turn allowed the downward march of some hefty hunks of the Gunks. These rocks a BIG - probably weighing close to a thousand pounds and the size of dorm refrigerators. Earlier this week, Dick Williams, who leads the trail crew, worked with another preserve volunteer, on the removal and transportation of these boulders. They are to be brought down to our work-site in the jaws of a bull-dozer type machine.

You'll see the smaller rocks we have gathered already at the work area; we've plied them on the edge of the carriage road, near but not impeding, at the starts of Bunny, Retribution, Bo Solution and Nosedive. This rock pile consists of an estimated eight tons of rock! Thanks to ranger Bob Elsinger, who assisted in loading his Preserve tuck and hauling them to the destination. Eight times. The pickup had a load limit of one ton before the bed began to bottom out, and so back and forth we went. This constituted about 3 1/2 to 4 hours of steady work.

So - If weather permits, and enough volunteers arrive, we will begin placing these rocks on Sunday. This is going to be hard labor, and strong people are needed to do the job. If you've been wondering about how you can give back in a place that has given you so much, this might be your opportunity! We meet atop the Steel Bridge at 9am.

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HitchHiking and the Mohonk Mountain House

Getting from New Paltz to the cliffs with no car is very easy. I have heard others - men, big and apparently able to fend for themselves men - say they just take a taxi from the bus station. I tried that. Once. It's a long story. Let's just say that I won't be doing that again.

Instead, I hitchhike. Getting off the bus, I hightail it down Main Street to the stretch of curb in front of The Gilded Otter. This is a good spot for thumbing it, because it allows oncoming drivers a distance of space in order to process the information they are receiving, which would be: Hitch-Hiker, female, backpack, climber. Minimal brain activity required to surmise that I am probably not dangerous; just looking to get out to the Gunks and go climbing.

If they have quick reflexes, and decide to stop where I stand, it is a section of the road that allows them to do so without being rear-ended by an unobservant driver in a following car. If they are smart, and decide to pass me and turn the corner a few feet ahead, they can stop and not concern themselves with unsafe driving practices at all. I'll simply run down to the corner, throw my gear in the back and hop in. Then we'll turn around and be on our way.

The reason I rush to this spot is because sometimes there is another person on the bus heading to the cliffs who has gotten their partner to pick them up at the bus station. They might have room for me, and I want to be in place when they drive by.

You might think "Why not look around at the bus station and ask for that ride?" I will tell you why not. Because more often than not, they won't have room for another rider and their gear. or they will be wanting to stop at Rock and Snow, and then at the grocery store for power bars and water. And then at the Mountain Deli for breakfast. Like the time with the taxi; I did that once. Another long story, which gained me the revelation that it is often a big waste of time and energy to tackle the project with that plan.

Anyway..... This past Sunday was like any other hitch-hike day and I got a ride directly to the cliffs within a few cars passing. New Paltz is one of the few cities in New York state, I am assuming, where it is still relatively safe for a woman to put herself in the hands of a stranger on the road. The place is special that way.

On Sundays, I volunteer on the trail crew. We have a small group that works steadily, during season, to reinforce eroding sections of the cliff side trails, improve areas that are difficult to manage when evacuating an injured person laid out in a litter, and maintain the thing in general. It's my pleasure to do so, and I look forward to the day each week. There are long stretches of the trail that I helped fix up, and the work will endure for years. That's a very satisfying thing, to me, and one of the few ways I have to give back to the climbing community that has given me so much.

But this Sunday, we didn't have much help. Just myself and the crew leader. Our current project involves rock collecting and though the old saying goes "Three's a crowd," that's certainly not true in this case. The rocks we are looking for are more aptly called boulders, at least by the layman. A
boulderer would call them "bad landings" if they happened to be under what THEY consider a boulder.... The rocks we want weigh between 100 and 1000 pounds and range in size comparison to basketballs, microwave ovens and dorm-room style refrigerators. They aren't moved by one person hoisting them, but with rock bars and grip hoists

So - with just the two of us, no work could be done. Disappointed, I headed to the Uberfall, which is to the Shawangunks climbing community what the barbershop was to Mayberry, R.F.D., in the hopes of picking up an impromptu climbing partner.

Now, I have never been successful in doing this, and unlike the taxi game, I still haven't learned it's a waste of my time. Maybe it's because so many other people have success in finding partners that way; I know that it works. At least for some people....

It's just a paradox that I can stick my thumb out on a state highway and ask a ride of someone I can't even really see, but am unable to do the same on a more personal level. I get uncomfortable, sulky and introverted. I pull out a book and burry my nose in it, hoping "the perfect partner" will stop, and ask me to climb with him. (Yes, it's a him. Tall, smart, long, curly hai....Ummm... Well at least someone with plenty of experience.).

The truth is that I am not good at saying no, and when it comes to life/death situations, which climbing entails, one had better be prepared to do so. I have heard way too many stories of people roping up and finding themselves in serious trouble because they didn't vet heir partner beforehand, and found themselves climbing with someone who had misrepresented their abilities, whether intentionally or through naivety.

Combine that with some of the assinine scenes I have witnessed being enacted by FWDKTDKS (Folks Who Don't Know They Don't Know S***)...and I get a little...scared.... just roping up on the spot with just anyone. While I have climbed blind with well over a hundred people over the last few years, and had great days of it, I DO vet heavily beforehand. Someday I'll write a post about that experience.

I pride myself in an ability to stay safe. That's another story in itself; this one's supposed to about the Mohonk Mountain House and hitching a ride. So - let's get on to the Mountain House....

After a weak attempt at searching for a partner, I decided I'd hike over to the Mountain House. Because I usually have my dog, Teddy, with me, and dogs aren't allowed on MH property this was a good day to do it. By the way, if you are not familiar with the Shawangunk ridge and the Mohonk Mountain House, it's an interesting story.

I knew the Undercliff Road eventually led there, and was fairly certain it would be easy to figure out. The carriage roads, paved with shale and well-maintained, are hiked every weekend by families. I have only once seen someone in duress while doing so, and that was a man who called a gentle incline of less than 5 degrees "a hill." And, I've never heard an horror stories of anyone being lost overnight out in the wilderness of the Mohonk Preserve. The walk would be cake for me, and though I was a little concerned I'd be bored(it IS a flat road-like trail, after all....), I cheered myself up with thought of being able to take photos along the way.

That lasted about two seconds, before I realized I'd passed up the opportunity to restock in double A batteries for my camera. It's an energy hog, and I knew I would be lucky if I had enough power for a day's shoot. Berating myself for neglecting the item(for it had occurred to me to restock at home and then again when I got off the bus that morning), I had to stop myself from stepping into the quicksand of self-pity.

Soon enough I came along a bit of greenery that was photo-worthy and unpacked my camera with intrepidation. I knew what I would find, and was not surprised when the thing would barely power up. The half-press to fix the focus shut the thing down. "No photos for you" I heard, in the chiding voice of Soup Nazi from the Seinfeld series.

Again, I knew it would be a bad thing to allow myself to wallow. Oh - I had ammunition all right. I had no man, nor a climbing partner, nor even my dog for company. I wasn't going to be getting the heavy duty workout that a day on the trail crew brings; an exhaustion that is surprisingly satisfying, in a sort of masochistic way. I didn't even have use of my (sniff, sniff, dab away the tears) crappy little, barely beyond a point and shoot, FujiFilm camera..... I would have to be - oh no! - comfortable in my own skin, staying in the present. Laugh if you will -but when was the last time YOU really did that? I don't even OWN an Ipod, and use my cel phone only for the most basic communication; can you say the same? Hmmmm?

Well - it was what it was, and what it was, was a walk along the carriage road at the Trapps, listening to people yell climbing signals, as I trudged my day's destiny....

Of course, one can't really have a bad day out at there, or at least I can't. Before long I was happy in my thoughts, looking at pretty plants and noticing other small details of nature. Just before I hit the trail I usually take for Sleepy Hollow, I noticed a big boulder(climbing-sized) that looked pret-ty sweet. With an impromptu access trail barely discernable. Definitely not an *approved* trail, but one that was a hella lot easier to walk on than the one that had been put in officially. With just a tinge of guilt, I took it.

In my defense, I made absolute certain of my footwork, stepping on rocks wherever possible. I went out of my way to tread open ground when no rock was available, and avoided delicate mosses at all cost. well - except to gaze at their beauty. Sleepy Hollow is quite wonderful, in it's heavy mantle of furry moss. If you are reading this, and are wont to go "off-road," please try to at least do the same. The difference between traveled areas and the places one doesn't go, when it comes to nature, are actually pretty astounding. It takes surprisingly little traffic to maim fragile growth, and the half-life for destruction is a long one. Recovery, when possible, takes a timeline measured in generations.

The boulder, by the way, was a good one. Local boulderers know which one I'm speaking of, of course. Already chalked up extensively, I still noted several virgin paths of least existence. Lines I would never follow, simply because I didn't have the skill, but also because I was traveling alone and couldn't risk making one of those "bad landings."

That was good for a bit of time and soon I was back on the road, headed for the Mountain House. I figured I would do a rock scramble I had heard of along the way, called the Giant's Workshop. The walk was pleasant and, with just a few people passing by on bicycles, I was pretty much in solitude the whole while. At one point, I came to an intersection of paths (at Rhododendron Bridge) and decided to follow the Laurel Ledge Road.

Rounding a corner, I came to a very small cliffband right along the way, which reminded me of a mini Uberfall area, and shortly thereafter, a deer in the woods caught my eye.

Upset with myself about the situation with my low-energy camera, I slowly and quietly unpacked, hoping to try for a picture or two. She was happily grazing, but became aware of my presence immediately. I was able to get a few shots off, but wished for a better vantage point. She was further away that I'd liked and there were downed branches and trees hindering the sight line, being the woods and all.... However, I knew stepping so much as one foot off the road and into the wooded area would scare the deer off. She looked so content, laying down and munching greenery that I knew it would be incredibly rude to invade the territory in even the smallest way.



Not much further along, I came to a side road, The Old Minnewaska Road. To the west, this comes out to a bridge running over the Coxing Kill, and Split Rock swimming hole, a nice little summer laze-about spot that can be quite the local scene on a hot summer weekend day. It was interesting to put another disjointed piece of my Mohonk Preserve topographical puzzle in place.

This part of Laurel Ledge Road was fairly picturesque, carriage road-wise, and is a trip that would be incredibly beautiful in autumn with the foliage color change.

To the right, soon came a marker for the Giant's Path, which I assumed led through the Giant's Workshop. I took it, and soon enough found myself in that scramble.

For some reason, I had assumed this area was going to be a much larger maze to meander, but was not disappointed. The 'trail' through the thing is, in my opinion, not as clearly marked as it might be. I am a chicken, frankly, but considering that people who may not be aware of just how deadly a fall onto rock can be, the level of 'think for yourself' that folks are left to surprised me.

At one point, I misread the marking and headed in a way I thought would be a natural route. "Holy crap!" I thought, removing my pack to get through a tight spot. "This is a pretty big move for a novice to make, and a fall would definitely have potential for a broken ankle." Not the brightest start in the galaxy at times, I continued....

An easy step or two and the route I was on led through a slim vertical shaft toward daylight. I moved ahead...and looked down. "Holy crap!" I thought. "Sure, you can sort of shimmy/chimney through here, but the foothold is friggin' thin! Miss it and you are going down for a while, until you wedge into a constriction!" Knowing that families bring young children out to scamper in this thing, I was....beginning to think I may be off-route.

Still....I proceeded. The route WAS there, after all. I saw it clearly. I moved through that fissure and out towards the corner. The point of no return was one step ahead, and at least I had the sense not to blindly go forward. Stretching as far as I could, I saw that - yes - one could work their way to the outside. It was 4th class climbing though, and that was just the next few moves. Once past the corner, I'd be on a rock wall, and at least twenty feet above the ground, into 5th class range.

"This ....must not be right." I told myself, and headed back. Reversing the "big" move mentioned earlier wasn't difficult (again, for someone who has climbing skills) but still....

Looking at the trail blazes again, I realized that the person who had marked it used a symbol that hikers know as "turn this way" more as if it were an arrow, with the center pointing the way. I guess that was the crux.... At any rate, the "correct" way was.....just a little easier than how I had almost gone.

Coming out the top, one gets a very nice panorama of the valley below and the Trapps, Near Trapps and Millbrook ridges off to the southwest. And, a choice of several routes going forward. Being that I wanted to get to the Mountain House, I chose the one that said...."To Mountain House"....and had a nice little walk though, again, the trail was not well marked. It's just obviously been a while since someone's been through to touch up the blazes and though I suppose it's difficult to get lost out there, I wondered why the maintenance hadn't been done. (Probably for the same reason I was out there that day, instead of doing the trail work I'd intended; a lack of volunteer help!).

At any rate, in not to long a period, I came to more choices in my path, by way of carriage road. I couldn't help but be impressed, knowing as I do, that all these carriage roads were created in the late-nineteenth/early-twentieth centuries, and the work was done with manual labor using hand tools.

Headed in a northwest direction along the outer edge of a highpoint in the topography, I came across a pretty wooden pagoda, one of many that I knew had been put in place by the Smiley family, owners of the Mountain House, for the pleasure their hotel guests out enjoying their nature walk. Thinking back to what it must have been like, to be a young woman in corset and long dress along on this road, I can imagine it must have felt like quite the workout. Thinking back even further, hundreds of years before the slate roads and wooden scenic lookouts, to what it might have been like to be one of the area's original human inhabitants.... I couldn't help wondering how romantic it all must have been.



Eventually, I came to a clearing and saw that I was coming to the Mountain House grounds proper. A baseball/soccer field led way to tennis courts and soon enough I was...in a different world, and feeling a bit like a dirtbag, with my casual clothes, disheveled hair and huge, seen-a-bit-of-backcountry backpack, and my climbing shoes and camera bag dangling from daisy loops. Casual attire by way of being a Mohonk Mountain House guest is just a wee bit different than the casual attire I had on.

But! I knew there was a gift shop. And that meant I could replace my camera batteries and try for some photos of the place. Boy....did I feel weird, walking past the valet parking, moving off the road for fancy cars. I knew that, as a preserve member, I was allowed access to the grounds, but it sure didn't feel right. I kept expecting a butler in tuxedo to appear at my side, nose tilted to the sky as if I had BO, affecting that tone and asking "May we help you?"

No butler that I could see, though there were plenty of young, attractive guys in green polo shirts, the uniform of the hotel. Plenty! Almost an equal ratio to the guests, it seemed....

I can steel myself as well as anyone, and though I definitely felt out of place, I emboldened myself and stopped one of these guys to ask about getting batteries for my camera. I didn't think I would be "allowed" in the hotel, but thought maybe there'd be "some way" I could get those batteries. I'm not sure if I was supposed to be given carte blanche, and maybe I caught him guard but he directed me to the main entrance and gave directions as to where I'd find the gift shop.

The entryway was a zoo. Busy with arriving and departing guests, I felt like the obvious interloper at the wedding, or a salmon swimming upstream, instinctively needing to do so in order to carry on. Walking through the maelstrom as if I belonged there - as if I were, in fact, a paying guest and gawd help me but I was just that cool, not deigning to wear fashionable designer dungarees....

The hotel is...beautiful, and after I got my batteries, I headed out the back, where I understood Lake Mohonk resided. Just before exiting, I found a wonderful old Stickley settee. I touched it. How could I not!? I really love Stickley and though the pieces I have in my apartment are recently produced reproductions, there ARE Stickley, and have been made to the same standards as this antique; of radiant quarter-sawn oak. And I felt the energy, from the hands that crafted the piece in the first place to the years and years that piece has been standing, like an old tree in the forest, having seen it all and stood by, quietly.

Mohonk Lake is indeed very pretty, but I have to say - I did not really like the feeling I got, standing on the back porch of that hotel. I hadn't gone unnoticed, and though I generally don't really look at people, I DO glean sensation. It's a trait I've had all my life. It's not very helpful when running into people throughout my travels, since I rarely recognize faces or remember names. Such a problem it is, since I am apparently known by an awful lot of people, that I have no option but to be honest and let people know this is something that's "wrong with me;" I simply do not recognize people I have met before, nine times out of ten.

But I get their drift all right. And the drift I got at that time was one of riff-raff, myself being the cause of the rift. There were all these....lazy...I'm sorry but that's how it felt....wealthy men sitting in rocking chairs, impatiently waiting for...something. Looking at me as I walked by, and wondering to themselves - in a Thurston Howell the Third voice - on earth I was doing there. I got away from there as soon as I could!

I had decided to go walk along the lake, figuring that, though I definitely was no supposed to be in the hotel itself, there would probably be plenty of other preserve members and day use visitors on the grounds. Well....I can't say whether that was the case or not, but it wasn't so bad.

Well...it sort of was, actually. I came to a path that led to the famed "rock scramble." Deciding to take it I started down the path only to be quickly overtaken by families and young couples, moving like cars on the expressway upset that the little old lady(me) was driving too slow and in their lane. I had to "pull over" and let them pass, or feel their irritation as they impatiently tail-gated.

Almost immediately, a mom, dad and two young boys zoomed past. The youngest boy became frightened when he had to step over a crevasse. Not knowing how bad it was, I could see he was definitely scared and felt sorry for him. He cried and balked all the while she pulled and finally launched him over the thing and finished him off with a belittling remark. wow....

Now, I got lucky, because while I had pulled back to let this family get past and gain some space, I had taken time to look around. And you know what I saw? I mean besides several plastic drink cups, soda bottles, and food wrappers stuffed in the crannies between the rocks....

I saw - a porcupine!

Yes, I did. He was, believe it or not, coming out of what was probably his den, right there at the start of that rock scramble.



The little buy ahead was still crying, now with shame as much as the residual affects of being scared silly and I thought. "Hey! I them about the porcupine, and that will break the negative feeling! Nobody expects to see a porcupine, certainly not...here... and the kid will be amazed!"

Well....not quite.

No response/reaction whatsoever from the two boys, but the mother crisply said "Unfortunately we can't make our way back there to see it." Only what she meant was "And why is it, may I ask, that you are speaking to us?"

Oh.....

Well, I decided to let them have a LOT of space. And so I stood waiting for the porc to come out and let me see him, and sit for a portrait. He did rollover onto his haunches and give his belly a good scratching - long claws, I'll say! - but he realized that I was probably going to be stupid and tell everyone I saw that he was down there and point him out, and then he'd probably get poked at with sticks and have his day messed with. So...he stuck it out, and waited until I admitted defeat and moved on....

Within short order, another set of people came up from behind and overtook me. Now - this rock is polished. I'd much rather have been scrambling over talus at the base of the cliffs than this stuff; it's got a strange smoothness in places and though it's easy stuff, the mix of smoothness, trash litter and impatient scramblers was a little disheartening. I didn't like it at all. At one point two people went ahead of me and stood in an opening. I could hear they were talking to others in their group, who had taken a different path, and were waiting for them to catch up. Since I could see them coming, I waited, and decided to let them go as a group rather than try to get ahead or go in between.

This, apparently, upset someone who came up behind me, who nearly pushed me out of the way while asking "Are you going?" wow.....

The rest of the scramble was pretty much the same, unfortunately, though it's probably much less icky on a weekday or in a less busy time of year.

Once out of the scramble, its a shale-graded path rising up a hill to the top, where the Alfred Smiley Memorial stands. People seemed much nicer up there.

There are some very nice views from Skytop, like the rockface of Lake Mohonk.



And the memorial is a nice piece of craftsmanship too. Here is the iron gate at the front entrance.



On the way down(Nooo...I didn't take the scenic way down. I walked the road, thank you.) there are pretty vistas, with stopping spots and those nice wood pagodas. Some give way to views of the majestic old hotel.


As pretty as it is, I can't believe they have this ugly dock running through the lake. But I guess they have to be able to accommodate the leisure traffic, and a rustic smaller dock wouldn't be able to handle the load.


Getting back to ground level, I realized that my day had been burning along fairly well, and it was probably past the time I should have started to make my way back to New Paltz. I had....wrongly...figured I'd simply get a ride back to town in much the way I do from the cliffs. That is - to go to the parking area, and ask people heading to their cars if they had room for me and my gear. I had dawned on me - sometime between walking in the back door of this resort and that moment - that my plan was flawed.... Little did I know just how badly.

I had wanted to walk the cliffbase of Skytop, and get a look at the fantastic climbing routes. But I was tired; I have no idea how far I'd walked, but had been pretty much going nonstop since 10am, and by my guess it was at least 3:00 at the time. As well, the sky was darkening as rain clouds began brewing.

Uh oh....

I decided to save Skytop(the real Skytop - the rock climbing!) for another day, when I was fresher, and make my way toward the parking area. I was worried about the ride situation; I could simply not imagine the reactions I was going to be getting from these people when I asked if I could hop in....

And so, I headed in the direction I knew was the exit. Along the way, I passed a section of formal garden, filled with pretty flowers. I took but one photo, probably because, as I said earlier, I was becoming tired.



On the road to the exit, there is a truly magnificent old tree. It's not a Weeping Willow, but it has a similar sweeping mass of tendril branches. Up close, he tree is fantastic - an ancient, windy limbed beauty. Just spectacular. The hotel has placed a rather large and obvious sign asking to respect the tree's age and beauty, and to please not climb on it or carve it. Nonetheless, the limbs are scarred with cutwork initials.

So...I headed out, and off what I thought was the hotel grounds. I believed I was heading down a drive that would shortly lead to the road leading back to New Paltz.


Wrong.

Oh, and when I am wrong, I am wrong.....

I had not known that the hotel had a two-miles plus long driveway. I had been to the gatehouse entrance a few times in the past, only to find out the parking lot was full, or they wouldn't allow me in because I had a dog. I had simply assumed at the time that the hotel was just down the road, well camouflaged behind a heavy bank of trees. Suddenly I understood why I had seen several short-busses with "Mohonk Mountain House" emblazoned on the side......

Uh oh.

I knew, I just knew, that it would be bad to put my thumb out on the resort driveway. Disrespectful, and.... just bad. And so, I committed to the walk, thinking perhaps someone might see my pack and recognize me as a hiker, take pity and offer me a lift.

Then I came to a sign that said walkers MUST use a side path to get to the gatehouse, 2.3 miles down the road. The good news, the sign promised, was that the path was a half mile shorter than the road.....

Even if I had wanted to disobey the rule, the road really was too thin to walk along. There was absolutely no shoulder, and it was not a lazy country road. It was one way and winding, with cars winging around the curves every few seconds.

Oh, crap.

I had no choice.

Eventually I came to what I thought was the road..... I put my thumb out and each car stopped, only to say that no - they weren't headed to New Paltz, and unfortunately could not give me a ride. I had been wondering why the road seemed....thinner...than I had remembered it, since I'd driven it a few times last year when I had a car. But, as I said earlier ...sometimes I'm not so bright.

This road didn't have much of a shoulder either, and it was sort of scary. I had to go quite off into the woods edge in order to be safe and not frighten the drivers; I didn't want to upset them - it really was a thin pathway.... and I didn't thumb it if the road wasn't clear enough that I felt the car could stop without being in danger of traffic coming up behind.

Finally, another car stopped and strangely, they didn't roll down the window for me to query about a lift. Well - I was about out of steam. It was obviously going to rain at some point, I was worried about getting back to own, and had realized - some of these people...were not nice. At all. This was NOT the same as hitching a ride to the cliffs. These were not climbers and hikers and locals of the area, used to quirky climbing bums. At all.

So, I shouted through the window. And at the same time, I noticed the lady passenger was speed-dialing something on her cell phone. "Oh christ" I thought..."Do I REALLY look like an axe murderer?"

The man let the window down a crack, and I repeated my request. As if I were a moron (well...if the show fits, now that I think about it), he said "This road goes to the hotel."

Oh. Crap.

When I came off the walking path, I had mistakenly thought I'd hit the road, when it was actually the entry drive into the hotel. Now wonder it seemed like a one-laner..... It WAS!

The driver cheerfully told me that the road wasn't far back, really.....

I DID remember to thank them, by the way.


And so....I walked. It wasn't that far. Not really. Probably 10 or 15 more minutes. But then the fun really started.

If you know that road, you are aware that it is a very winding one, with lots of blinds sections and curves around steep embankments with guardrails set very close to the roadway.

Not a good place to be walking, much less hitching a ride. Especially from wealthy patrons to an exclusive resort hotel.

I walked for half an hour, listening very carefully for oncoming traffic. It wasn't their fault I had been stupid, and I intended to be considerate. If the road was not a clear enough stretch fro them to safely slow and stop, I would step well off to the side and not signal for a lift. In the instances where I could thumb, not a one of those expensive cars so much as slowed down even the slightest.

Thinking I was screwed, and wondering how many hours walk it would be back to New Paltz, I tried to make the best of it, while hoping I was forecasting wrongly in thinking rain was less than an hour away.

FINALLY a car stopped. Oh my god, was I relieved. It was a man who worked at the Mountain House, on his way to New Paltz for another shift at a second job.

And thus ends my little Sunday trip report.....

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