So fellow travelers, a week ago Friday, I woke in a jet lagged kind of fog in the spare room at my parents townhouse apartment. My WouldBe Perfect Husband snoring beside me, Favorite Youngest Daughter curled under her travel blanket on the futon by the big bay window.   It took me quite a few minutes to process the events which brought us there. Why did my feet ache so much?  How did I sleep so late (8am)? Why was I so freakin’ dehydrated and tired?

As is my habit, I rewound the events of the past 24….no, wait….. make that 36 hours in my head.  A 2.25 hour drive from my brother’s house near the Oranges in NJ which seemed much longer after an aborted attempt to find a Starbucks open on Thanksgiving Eve. (Thanks Starbucks for hiring my daughter, so we could not even consider getting coffee at the Dunkin Donuts which did seem to be open that evening.)

Recollection of being tired but unable to close my eyes for more than a moment as my insufficiently caffeinated WBP husband navigated the dark and winding back roads leading to my parents residence in Pennsylvania (obviously we made it)  Awake for the entire white knuckle drive through post Nor’Easter slush inspite of the tryptophan coursing through my system after a wonderful Thanksgiving feast complete with both traditional and gourmet side dishes (Shaved brussel sprouts with wild mushrooms and bacon? why don’t mind if I do. Butternut squash braised in coconut milk? yes please!) Oh and no sugar infusion from desserts, as we had to say our goodbyes before the pies and brownies were served. As it was, after sincerely thanking her aunt and uncle for “making it possible for us to have a real Thanksgiving,” my daughter barely made it to the car.  She was asleep within minutes.

Sleep?  yes we had both rested on the brief drive from the PATH station in Journal Square to my brother’s house.  I know she dozed off a few times between stops on the subway ride through Manhattan after hauling her suitcase five or six blocks from the designated pickup location near the USS Intrepid where the bus from their hotel dropped the kids off to meet  parents staying in the NYC area.  I suspect my WBP Husband napped while he waited for us at the parking garage in NJ where we left our car while in the city.  It had not been easy hauling our own small suitcases through the crowds made denser by the line of protestors clustered around the blocks between Penn Station and the 33rd street PATH station.

There may have been reports on the news of a small determined band Mom propelling herself like a tank muttering something the sounded like “Happy Holidays folks, get the fork out of my way.”  If parents missed the ten minute window allowed for the drop off time their kids would return to their hotel and board the main bus caravan headed for home where, at least at my house back in Upstate NY, there wasn’t a turkey basting itself in the oven. Yup, get the fork out of my way folks,  I have a cement hard  NYC vendor pretzel in my free hand and I am not afraid to use it.

The pretzel was a rash, somewhat nostalgic choice for “breakfast” in the mad dash through the course I had plotted through NYC transit.  It was in fact so stale I never ate it, although I did wield it at a few people in my way. They wisely ran for cover. We had lingered at our prime location on the corner of 62nd Street and Central Park West a tad too long, hoping to catch the float with the Pentatonix.  The marching band would be performing their Daft Punk Medley at Herald Square. We watched as long as we could after the band marched by but had to head for our hotel a few blocks away.

Yes, ok. This is why my feet ache. It took the entire three block trek back to our hotel just south of Columbus Circle to regain feeling in my toes. My feet had become solid blocks of frozen flesh while I had been standing on the concrete curb where I had arrived five hours earlier at 5:30am. I realized I had forgotten to pack foot warmers as I was layering on warm clothes at 4am to head forth and stake out a spot for our band parents.  Because the viewing area at Herald Square was VIP ticketing only, parents had organized in small groups and spread ourselves along the parade route decked out in B’ville red and waving signs to cheer our kids on.

Our kids….the Marching Bees of the Baldwinsville Marching Band….first band from Central New York to march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade…..this wasn’t a dream… it was a dream come true.

(To be continued)

So fellow travelers, with the ominous rumble of approaching storms urging me forward, the adventure continues….

The bridge crossing before the storm.

It was a short trek to the bridge which crosses between the Rim ad Gorge trails.  Lucifer Falls, the main attraction of the Gorge Trail, is less than a quarter mile up a steep, but well groomed path above the bridge.  After crossing the bridge I headed up the  trail but a few minutes into the steep climb, a loud clap of thunder had me doing a 180 and heading right back down the trail.  Within minutes the skies opened up and heavy rains had me dodging into a stand of tall pines for some shelter.  Tucked against the tallest trunk,  fully aware this was not the optimum stopping point in a thunderstorm, there was enough cover for me to grab my rain jacket out of my pack without soaking its contents. I threw the jacket on over my backpack, cinched the rip cords as tight as possible and headed back on the trail.  A brilliant flash of lightning told me I had done so none too soon.

The upper section of the Gorge trail has several sections paved with flagstones, providing stable, flat walking surfaces.  This is a definite advantage in heavy rains when water runs down onto the trail from the steep hills of the Gorge.  It was raining so hard, I could barely make out the other side of the river. The trail already had small rivers running across it, still I knew there was a rock overhang close by on the trail which would provide some shelter. As I rounded the corner and the rock cliff came into view I saw a few other hikers had the same idea.  My spirits lifted because company is always welcome in a storm.  At this point the thunder and lightning was continuous and the light to sound time ratio indicated the storm was moving closer.  Company was indeed a welcome distraction.

Rain jacket drip drying as we sheltered under the rock ledge.

As I arrived at the rock ledge, everyone began introducing themselves. Among my fellow refuge seekers were a married couple from India with their 10 year old daughter, a woman in her 60’s hiking with her teenage niece and a young couple out on their first hiking trip. As we chatted the rains would lighten then begin with renewed force, although the thunder was more sporadic. Several of us tried to access the weather radar on our phones, but found we had no signal, a common occurrence at many spots along these trails. After about a half hour, the rains finally let up to a light sprinkle.  The young couple in matching LLBean rain gear headed down the trail and the Indian family said they would head up trail to cross back over the bridge. From there they planned to walk to the top of the  Rim Trail where their car was parked.  I gave their daughter one of my chocolate bars,  since she seemed nervous about going back.  “See,” I said, ” its tucked safely in a plastic bag so it will stay nice and dry all the way back. You and the chocolate will be fine.”  She gave me a give smile and her dad mouthed a silent “thank you” as they headed out.

The older hiker and her niece asked if I would take some pictures of them with their phones before we hiked down. It turns out  inspite of growing up in the area, this was her niece’s first time hiking the Treman park trails and she was taking the storm in stride, even enjoying the excitement.  The rock cliff is a frequently photographed backdrop and the tier of slate shelves and flat rocks below the trail wall is a popular picnic spot, in drier conditions of course.

My daughter Emma at one of the photo spots along the rock cliff, on a previous ( and much drier hike ) in 2012.

Mindful of the rapidly moving clouds overhead my fellow hiker and I urged her niece to wrap up the photo session quickly.  It is interesting how like minds can communicate with a simple look and nod of comprehension. We tucked our phones safely into our packs and threw on our rain jackets quickly, but not quick enough.  A flash of lightning so close we could hear the electric crackle of impact with an ear splitting crash of thunder held us in our tracks. My new friend and I exchanged glances, set our packs back on the rock ledge and leaned against the wall as the next torrential assault poured down from the skies.

For the next quarter hour as the new storm raged, we watched the river swell while we talked about things other than the weather. I discovered my friend was a native of the Ithaca area who moved to Florida. This was, she said, the first time in seventeen years she had been able to visit. She spoke about coastal kayaking trips and wetland trails, which she said were beautiful in their own way but she had missed the trails of Ithaca tremendously so hiking her favorite trail had been high on priority list.  “If it weren’t for the brutal winters up here, I’d consider moving back.”

Rising river along the trail rock wall.  Usually there are several wide flat tiers of slate and rock visible below the wall where people can sit.

We fell into a few moments of silence then almost simultaneously commented on the rising water levels. The flat section of trail we were on would flood quickly if the river breached the rock wall along the trail. Looking at the volume of water now surging through the gorge it was clear we would be in danger of being swept off the path and into the river once the water ran over the wall.  But the lighting and thunder had not abated any more than the deluge of rain. Talk about being between caught between a rock and a hard place.  We agreed if the water level came within two feet of the top of the wall we would head down trail.  The odds of being struck by lightning were a better shot than the certainty of being pummeled against rocks by the raging current.  I thought about the Buddha rock and wondered where it’s new resting spot would be.

That’s when we saw a large tree, with roots still gripping a good sized chunk of river bank come tumbling end over end, tossed like a wad of paper by the sheer force of water pouring past us.  We needed no further signals.  “It’s time,” I said and my fellow refugees nodded in silent consent. We stepped out from under the rock ledge urged onward by a fresh cannon boom of thunder.

Looking up at the rocky overhang which gave us shelter along the rock ledge.

To be continued……

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

So fellow travelers, I sign off my entries with ” may adventure find you ready.”  It’s time to walk the talk and prove actions speak louder than words.

Living in Upstate New York, I am not a stranger to hiking in changeable weather.  Summer storms tend to move through quickly but often bring heavy rains, so I made some preparations, packing a rain jacket, extra socks and securing  my cellphone in double ziplock bag in my day pack.

I also chose to leave behind some treasures too valuable to risk getting drenched; my dslr camera and Sammy would remain at camp. Confident in the timing of my trek and the forecast, I set out on the Rim Trail, stopping by the swimming area at the lower gorge to grab a few snap shots with my phone camera.

The Rim Trail tests hikers early with several steep sections and only one good view of the lower gorge before it winds away from the river and into the deep, buggy woods.

Still there are always points of interest, like the Jesus Tree, so named for a poem it inspired.

Several hikers passed me along the trail, traveling in both directions and well spaced distance markers kept me informed of steady progress. So when I heard a distant rumble of thunder at the 1.5 mile marker I only hesitated briefly. I was just past halfway up the rim trail.  If  I turned back now I would end up hiking almost two thirds the entire trail distance without seeing any of the Gorge Trail highlights.  The Rim Trail was just beginning to wind closer to the river and just ahead I knew there were several spots where side trails provided easy access to the river.  I decided it to keep going as long as I didn’t hear more thunder and within a few minutes I spotted the first river trail to my right. So far, the thunder remained a lone wolf call and as I dodged through the small trees I spied an enticing photo op, a spot which also inspired a Haiku I called Buddha Rock.

It proved challenging to get the shot I wanted, prompting a few moments of regret as I thought of my dslr sitting on the table in the camper. It did occur to me that the shallow gravel beds I crouched on to find the right light to snap a few shots with my phone camera would easily flood with a few minutes of heavy rain and the clouds overhead were considerably heavier than when I started out.  I moved further up the river, where the flat rocks provided a good resting spot.  I had planned to eat lunch at a favorite spot along the Gorge Trail a little later, but I decided to eat before crossing the bridge.  Although I still had not heard anymore thunder, the wind was picking up a little and anyways I was getting hungry.

I was rewarded for my choice of dining location with several nice bird sightings, including an inquisitive merlin who watched me from a dead tree stump just across the river. He took off seconds before a loud rumble of thunder rolled through the gorge.  Time to get moving and no second thoughts about turning around.  The crossing bridge to the Gorge Trail was less than a quarter mile ahead and that was the trail I would rather navigate in heavy rain.

Ah, one should be careful what one wishes for.

To be continued….

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.