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Quality Travel and Tactical Gear

Looking for some high-quality tactical gear? Travel gear? We are always looking around for stuff like that– I have two boys who are nuts over tactical gear, and we like to enjoy camping, fishing, and other outdoors activities when we travel. We’re hoping to hike to the top of Buck Mountain and camp in the Adirondacks this fall!

I don’t think there’s any match for the fine quality of Blackhawk products at Brigade Quartermasters, Ltd., online. The Blackhawk brand was founded by Navy SEAL Mike Noell. Noell had a bad experience with defective military gear during an Iraq mission in 1993. Yikes! Noell survived the experience, and vowed he’d make sure people had dependable gear.

Blackhawk brand products are available to the civilian consumer, too. There are high-quality field packs, pocket tools, rappelling gear, and more. If you’re in need of some great gear– for work or for play– check out the Blackhawk brand at Brigade Quartermasters, Ltd.

A Drive to Hinckley Reservoir

Early last week, we had a dentist appointment north of where we live, and decided to take a little car trip further to the lovely foothills of the Adirondacks. Spring is just coming to the area, and the tree lines are a mixture of still-scraggly limbs and little green buds. The air was fresh and invigorating. I like to think that the Adirondacks are the epitome of Upstate New York life: austere and slightly acidic, but independent and noble. The Adirondacks is no place for soft living!

I really didn’t have any particular place to go. I just drove for the pleasure of driving. I enjoy the view on Route 365, so we followed it, north. We stopped at a parking area along the West Canada Creek. The view of the creek is lovely.

Further down the creek we could see two majestic loons swimming and diving for fish. Every once in a while, one of the loons would stretch open its wings and expose its enormous wingspan. They were too far away for my zoom-less camera, unfortunately.

North of us, we could see the peaks of the Adirondacks. How they beckoned us to come see them!

We had to resist them. We did putter up north >>> Read more of ‘A Drive to Hinckley Reservoir’

A Visit to Trenton Falls in Barneveld, NY

The Mohawk Indians called it “Kauy-a-hoo-ra,” or Leaping Water. Trenton Falls leaps no more, but it is still a grand site to see. We visited in October, at the height of Upstate’s brilliant autumn season. This area is the property of Brookfield Power, and the location of the hydroelectric power facilities in the Town of Trenton.

When we pulled in the lot, attendants with bright green vests greeted us to take count of our passengers and direct us to parking. The parking lot was very full, even though we’d arrived relatively early, at 10am.

>>> Read more of ‘A Visit to Trenton Falls in Barneveld, NY’

Route 28 to White Lake, Adirondacks

In autumn of 2007, after a trip to the Baron von Steuben Memorial Site in Remsen, we took a late-afternoon drive through the Adirondacks. I scooted up Route 28 to White Lake.

It is absolutely beautiful here. We couldn’t get very close to the lake. “Private Property” signs screamed at us from all directions. Aw! Well, I am not one to rip private property rights, but I’ll say it was sure hard to refrain from trespassing! What beautiful lakefront properties! And since this is Oneida County, these properties must cost a very pretty penny to own.

We meandered back down Route 28 for a while. I wanted to get off the “main drag.” Even though I begrudgingly maintained a speed of 55 miles per hour through this wooded wonderland, huge SUVs and monster pick-up trucks breathed down my tailpipe, pushing me to go faster. Hey, this is the Adirondacks, buster; how can you roar right through them without even a glance and a sigh? I don’t know what it is about SUV drivers, either. I mean, I drive a minivan– no tiny tin can– and still these SUV tanks bully me and budge me to the side. Yow. Driving is, unfortunately, not very pleasant any more.

So I looked for a “country” road to explore. We checked our map and I turned onto Round Lake Road. I am still not sure if this road is private property, or even if it is Round Lake Rd, for that matter. Street signs were glaringly absent, so I was at the mercy of my van’s dashboard compass and our interpretation of our map!

Oh, but the drive did not disappoint. It was lovely. At one place, we stopped the van to explore the area. Folks, this is Upstate New York. Quintessential. Exquisite.

The kids were quiet (as I told them to be). We looked for animal tracks and inspected the beautiful lush ferns growing by the side of the road. We were awed and dwarfed by such massively tall pines.

However, I was a little self-conscious. I wasn’t sure if our pit stop was permitted. We’d parked near a lovely stone and iron gate that led to, according to signs, Masonic Home Camp trails. There were a lot of “private property” signs. I was on the alert for other travelers.

At one point, I thought I heard a car coming. Have you ever heard that sound? It sounds like a faint whooshing sound that grows louder– it is actually the car tires on the asphalt pavement making that sound. I listened and listened as the whooshing got a little louder, but no car ever came. Then it dawned on me! It was the sound of the wind blowing high over the pine trees. We heard the sound long before we saw the trees finally bristle with the wind. The afternoon heat of the sun was beginning to wane, so the wind had gathered up and was running its chilly fingers through the bough branches, in preparation for the cool evening. The delicious scent of pine drizzled down to us at the forest floor. It was glorious.

Baron von Steuben Memorial Site, Remsen, NY

This is another post in a continuing series about our trips to the Adirondacks.

In autumn of 2007, we drove up to the foothills of the Adirondacks, north of Utica. We wanted to visit and pay respects to Baron Frederich Wilhelm Augustus Steuben, aka Baron von Steuben, buried on Starr Hill Road in Remsen, NY. He is known as the “drillmaster of the American Revolution,” but affectionately known as “von Schtooby” to my history-buff kids. My daughter says (in a very good German accent) that any American desiring to learn the techniques of the bayonet must have asked himself “vhat vould Schtooby do.” Ha!

I thought the site would be just the huge burial marker that I have seen in brochures. I grossly underestimated the size, quality, and beauty of this historic site. Our jaws dropped open when we pulled up to the gate.

I cannot express with words the eye-popping grandeur of this site, and the spectacular view of the Mohawk Valley below. My lame photos only serve to dim the incredible landscape. Wow. That’s all I can say. What turned out to be a 10-minute visit rapidly became an hour of woodland exploration and historical reflection.

I’ll drop a few photos to aid in my inadequate descriptions. How I longed for a fancy camera to fully portray its beauty!

The site is very well kept. Although it was officially closed, trails were open and brochures were available from a waterproof box. We turned to walk down a heavily wooded trail to Steuben’s burial site. Walking into these woods is like walking into another world. Strange birds chittered to us from the treetops. Deep hoofprints of virile bucks heavily imprinted the soil. Crunchy layers of pine needles and the remnants of a gravel path urged our feet to go deeper into the forest. It was… primeval. Numerous historical markers were the only evident signs that someone had been here before us.

We paid our respects to the man so responsible for the success of our independent nation.

Steuben had requested in his will that he be buried in an unmarked grave. However, ten years after his death, a road was proposed to cut through his burial place (progress, you know). The body was interred and placed in its present-day site: a five-acre, heavily wooded area. The marker is enormous (as you can see) but very plain. A crown is carved on one side, and Steuben’s name on the other. A few stone plaques gave more details.

My daughter has written a brief history of this patriot:

Baron von Steuben (”Baron” was not his first name; Frederick was his first name, and he had several “middle names”) was a hardcore veteran from Prussia (now a part of Germany) when he came to America to aid the Continental Army in its fight for independence. He became known as the “Drillmaster of the American Revolution,” because during the harsh winter of 1777 in Valley Forge, Baron von Steuben taught the Americans how to perform bayonet drills. His services were invaluable, for until the Americans learned how to use this dreadful weapon, the British troops and Hessian mercenaries almost always won the day on the battlefield, for they knew how to use the bayonet. But when the American troops became more skillful with it, they could be more of a match against the British.

Baron von Steuben was well-liked by General Washington and his officers; however, communication with the Americans was at first difficult. Steuben did not speak English, and it became necessary for him to be accompanied by an interpreter when drilling the Continentals. There, too, was another problem– none of Washington’s officers spoke German! Thankfully, the language that Steuben and a few officers understood was French. So when Steuben drilled the Continentals, he spoke in French while his interpreters (Gen. Nathaniel Greene and Lt. Col. Alexander Hamilton) would translate itinto English for the soldiers. These two American officers, particularly Hamilton, were responsible for teaching Steuben the English language.

Not surprisingly, a close friendship developed between Hamilton and Steuben. After the war’s end, Steuben, who suffered great financial difficulties, found sanctuary in Hamilton’s home. Hamilton did everything in his ability to aid Steuben, who is reported to have once told some impatient creditors, “My Hamilton is my banker.” Hamilton was also responsible for helping Steuben secure land in Upstate New York that Congress had promised Steuben for his services. Hamilton helped Steuben secure the deed, and that piece of land became the place where Steuben spent his final days. He passed away in 1794.

In his will, Steuben requested that he be buried in an unmarked grave. But his services to his adopted country were far too significant to allow his fellow Americans to forget him. The Welsh-Americans who settled near his land, and the citizens of New York, erected monuments and memorials to him. A large monument was built over his remains.

It is easy for us Americans, especially in this present age, to forget those who forged the freedom which we enjoy, but freedom is itself a monument to those heroes. It ever reminds us of the debt of gratitude we owe to them.

“The world will little note what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.” Abraham Lincoln.

After leaving the burial site, we walked back to the open square and found means of entry to another area of the forest. It was like walking into another world.

Like I said, I wish I had a better camera to detail the glorious beauty of this land. It is stunning. Slivers of sunlight barely punctured the gnarly network of bottlenecked pine trees. Our presence startled a pair of eagles who had been nesting high in the trees. At first, we didn’t know what the earth-shattering rustling was. We looked up to see a couple of tremendously large birds stretch out their wings and flap through the dense pine boughs. The sound was terrifying and the birds were so large I feared they would swoop down upon my youngest (but not likely). I’d estimate the wingspan of the eagle I saw was about 6 or 7 feet.

Walking through the forest was a bit laborious for me (unprepared for hiking as I was), but nothing deterred the children from dispersing and disappearing behind enormous clumps of pines. I think they could have explored all day and into the night. I finally had to gather them up and pull them out of this place, as it was getting late.

Yet there were even more places to explore after this! Quickly, we picked apples from an apple tree (so tart but delicious), discovered a tiny toad and chased him down for a while, and attempted to begin another trail down a beckoning road.

I begrudgingly called to the kids to forsake this plan, and led them to Steuben’s cabin for a peek on our way out of the park.

The cabin is a replica (a very good replica) of the little house Steuben built for himself. It was locked up (the memorial site is only open from Memorial Day to Labor Day) but we could peer inside the glass windows. The interior looked incomplete. We saw a stone hearth and a lovely plank floor, but plywood and wood scraps were on the floor. A barrel filled with toy wooden muskets stood by a wall. The interior looked under construction still.

We longingly looked back into the woods, but we had to leave. The sun was going to set soon, and I had dinner to make.

What a lovely property for a great man. Rest in peace, Baron von Steuben.

On our way home, we stopped for a brief second to snap a photo of another historical marker. This one was dedicated to the Welsh immigrants who cleared the land and settled this area in 1795.

Buck Mountain at Pilot Knob, Adirondacks

This is a continuation of our autumn 2007 trip to the Lake George area of the Adirondacks. After our failed excursion to Fort Ticonderoga, we hankered for a real adventure. We drove around the small town of Ticonderoga (nicknamed “Ti” by the businessfolk and evidenced by their proprietor’s signs: Ti Barbershop, Ti Pizza). We were looking for a means to go up Mount Defiance (is that what it is still called today?). We found nothing. The signs– what few we found of historical nature– were very worn and almost unreadable and none related to the Mount. I did, however, see many interesting road names: Father Jogues Place, Cannonball Road, Champlain Ave, Algonkin St, Hawkeye Triangle, and even Burgoyne Road! My kids hissed at that!

Finding no Mount Defiance entry, we left the solemn little town. My husband had done his homework and knew of a terrific mountain trail to walk: Buck Mountain. Down Route 9 we went again. The scenery is out-of-this-world. Almost all the kids ooo-ed and ahhh-ed the entire time. Well, my youngest oo-ed and ahh-ed, too, but not because of the scenery but because the twisting curves made him carsick. We stopped on occasion for a breath of fresh air.

There are numerous public trails and parks dotted up and down Lake George for the public to enjoy. Some are very strenuous, some mild. We chose the milder sort, Buck Mountain. So, back down we went from Ticonderoga. We made a quick pit stop at Bolton Landing. Across from the gas station on the main drag was a huge– and I mean huge– rock– the side of part of a mountain. It stood like a 50 foot wall right next to the road. Stores and houses had been built next to it all down the street. The townsfolk probably thought nothing of it, but I was flabbergasted at such a huge cleft of a mountain in the middle of town looming over all the stores. It looked so out of place right there. Such is mountain life, I suppose.

We passed through the city of Lake George again (so beautiful, sigh) and drove up the eastern side of the lake. Buck Mountain is situated east of the lake, near Pilot Knob, NY. As I type this, I make our travels sound so easy. It was actually riddled with “Where’s Route 9L? What on earth is Route 9N?” and “You missed the turn again!!” and “You have got to be kidding me! This detour will take us 10 miles out of our way?!” It was a long time spent in that van.

We made it to Buck Mountain at 3:30. The skies were very overcast, so darkness would come earlier than the usual 5pm. Surprisingly, there were cars and trucks in the small parking lot– others were here hiking, too! We felt bolder, and decided to give the hike a try. Even though we wouldn’t make it to the summit in time, the journey is half the fun, et al.

Before we entered the trail, a wooden box urged us with its white painted letters to register– for “your safety and ours.” Such a good idea! We signed in, picked up one of the complimentary walking sticks left by considerate hikers, and started up.

The walking was easy for a while. We even saw one man with his two small children walking up (they later turned around). After about 10 minutes of leisurely walking, the trail got a little more… vertical. And stony. You can see in the pictures how steep the trails became. The entire forest floor was covered with inches of thick oak leaves. These leaves concealed the multitude of rocks. The trail was filled with rocks– big ones! The trails got rockier and rockier. We had to pick our way through carefully. A spill on the trail would not be a pleasant one. But as the trail became steeper and steeper, the rocks became the only things our feet would grab in order to get to the next level. It was quite strenuous, but it was great fun!

There was much to see: trees completely shed of their leaves; enormous rocks (house-sized and bigger) that poked out from the leaf-covered sod and stretched yearningly for the sky above. We spied large cracks and crevices in these rocks– caves! I had to practically barricade the area to keep the kids from exploring the caves (the rules were to never leave the trail). They nagged me constantly, begging me if they could see the caves. It was kinda cute, kinda, that they wanted to explore. Secretly, I was restraining myself as much as them.

An old stone wall piqued our interest. Who built this and what was its purpose? It stretched on for quite a ways up the mountain. An old property border? (sorry for the blurry photo)

On ocassion we would come to a small creekbed, also riddled with stones. Being a country girl, I daintily picked my way through, but the kids hadn’t had the opportunity for such rugged experiences. A few of them slipped and plunged their shoes into the cold waters. Consider them baptized.

We continued to walk as most people were coming down. Everyone was friendly. Two guys in hiking gear stopped to chat with us, and asked us if we were going to the summit. They seemed relieved when we said no, (since we’d never make it back before dark). I asked if there was a good view of the lake from anywhere else but the summit; to my disappointment, he said no.

Oh well, there’s always next time! We got up to the one mile mark and checked our clocks: 4:15. we had to turn around and get down before dark. Everyone else had left the trail. We headed down.

Darkness was coming much quicker than our pace. We started trotting. The sun dropped and darkness fell; we started running. Finally, we reached the end of the trail. Groping in the dusk, I sloppily signed us out of the registry, to assure others that we made it out and didn’t need rescuing. What a trip! It was exhilarating! Hopefully, next year we’ll make it to the top, and I’ll have a new camera for crispy clear photos. All in all, a great trip. And the kids slept like babies that night.

In an interesting afterthought, we traveled though Saratoga Springs. It was dark, but the city was lit up like Las Vegas. I don’t think I have ever seen such an extravagant and squeaky-clean city in New York State. It was fascinating– small cafes with tables and chairs and wandering people enjoying the nightlife; hundreds of glistening white Christmas lights strung across tree-lined parks; manicured shrubs adorning cobblestoned sidewalks. What an interesting city.

It was a long drive home, and rain pelted our windshield for most of the drive. We comforted ourselves with plans for next year: plans to go camping and hiking in these lovely mountains that had so readily endeared us to them.

Lake George and Fort Ticonderoga, NY

In the late autumn of 2007, we drove out to the eastern edge of the state, to Lake George and Lake Champlain. I’d never been to Lake George before. I never knew how exquisitely beautiful the area is. The property taxes must be outta this world!

The drive to Lake George was lengthy. We traveled through the familiar and little towns of Herkimer, German Flatts, and Little Falls before taking the Thruway. Tolls have certainly increased. We got off at Amsterdam and drove through the heart of the city. I’ve never been through Amsterdam before; it has a rusty, rickety aura of a gilded era long gone –like many Upstate cities– but it has a seediness similar to Utica. The hilly roads added interest (and traffic congestion) to the ride. It was an interesting city and I would have liked to see more of it, but Lake George beckoned.

Up we traveled, through Ballston Spa, Saratoga, and Glens Falls. Lake George, NY, (the city) is at the southernmost tip of this very long lake. The lake itself is about 32 miles long and 2 miles wide. Huge mounds of solid stone stand up in a stiff regiment all around the lake. Clouds of russet-colored oak and feathery green fir trees cover big chunks of the mountains in a futile attempt to soften its appearance. It was probably no easy thing for these trees to grow roots and grasp onto such massive mounds of stone. Even with the lush tree coverage, huge boulders the size of school buses loomed. I’ve never seen anything like it. At one point we could drive no further and had to stop to take it all in. No wonder Lake George is nicknamed “Queen of the American Lakes.” And it has a bit of mystery and adventure, too, being the location of America’s Oldest Intact Warship. But because the sky was so overcast, my little point-and-shoot Kodak couldn’t capture the striking beauty of the landscape.

I feel ashamed, treating you so unjustly to such poor photos when the sight of the scene was so spectacular. Oh well, I have a hunch we will return next autumn, so stay tuned. I am glad we came in autumn. The mountains were simply ablaze with color and were almost aggressive in showing it off. This is turbulently rugged countryside and nothing like the sweetly singing hills of the Mohawk Valley.

We continued on to Fort Ticonderoga. We knew we were taking a chance, driving so far with the possibility of not seeing much of the beloved fort. Most tourist places in Upstate close by October 31st–a stinky policy, if you ask me. Autumn is the perfect time for travel! Anyway, it was Veteran’s Day, and I’d read that even though the inside of the museums might be closed, the visitor’s centers remain open. We discovered we were wrong on all counts. Nuts. But didn’t someone once say that half the fun is getting there? So we made do with what we had and enjoyed the journey.

Fort Ticonderoga was a very important outpost during the American Revolution (which we lost to Burgoyne, by the way). However, the history of the fort and of the area goes back much, much farther.

Because this area is between Lake Champlain and Lake George, and thus the fastest route to Albany (NY’s capital city) and New York City (NY’s biggest harbor), the group who controlled Ticonderoga usually wound up controlling New York. This fort initially controlled the trade route before the French and Indian War. It later became a strategic outpost for the wars. My daughter promised me that she would (quickly) write a short and humorous synopsis of the historical aspects of this place. I’ll post it in an update as soon as I get it.

The road to the fort (which we walked, because the road was closed with a gate) was interspersed with monuments to the many, many men who died here. Talk about a world war– there were people from so many countries who fought here!

First the area was owned by the Indians, then the French. Then, the British took it over in the French and Indian War. Fighting with the British were regiments from Scotland. Then, the American Revolution came ’round, and it was French and British at it again, this time with American, Scottish, and German troops, plus more Indians. Monuments in English, French, and Latin recorded the hundreds of men who died here. Trenches were redug for posterity to see exactly where shots were fired, blood was spilled, and men were fallen.

The walk was mighty long. Because the fort was officially closed, I hurried everyone along. I wanted to get a quick view of the fort before we were kicked out!

The fort sits elevated on a cliff. It overshadows the strategic sliver of Lake Champlain where Lake George ends, and oversees all water traffic there. Across the lake is Vermont. In the summer a ferry takes passengers across to Vermont and Mount Defiance.

As we approached the fort, sounds of construction vehicles alarmed us that we were not alone. Apparently, laborers were working this day. It looked like they were clearing brush. Whether they saw us, I do not know, but they left us undisturbed. We veered off to the other side, and I rapidly made my way to the open fort entrance. Ah, so easy! Did the French and then the British enter so easily? Ha!

We came up to a “CLOSED. NO TRESPASSING BEYOND THIS POINT” sign. My husband, law-abiding citizen that he is, hesitated. I, on the other hand, had a camera in my hand that was literally pulling me toward the entrance. I walked boldly into the entrance and peered over the top. Before my eyes about 10 feet down was a red pickup truck, its engine gurgling, and two men hauling tools into the back. They were joking and laughing, so they had missed my son’s sneeze and my loud footsteps. I shrank back from the wall and motioned for the kids to be absolutely s i l e n t. I wanted to get in at least one picture before we were tossed out, or, God forbid, arrested! This is all I got.

Sorry! How I longed to enter the fort! I almost–ohh so close it was– did. But cooler heads prevailed. We turned our way back. I snapped a quick photo of Mount Defiance– that last, unexpected bastion of British ingenuity (story to come), and we left.

I was sad. Of course, I didn’t think we’d get in the fort– being past season as it is. But a girl can hope, can’t she? The kids were disappointed, too, but they recouped soon enough. Kids will be kids and they found something to do: play American Revolution in the forest:

On our way back to the van, I snapped a photo of this beautiful little stone house by the gate. The sign said it was a private residence, but it was on the fort grounds. A caretaker’s home, perhaps?

So all in all, we didn’t get to revel in the luxuriant history of the fort, but we can at least say that we have been there. All it does is gives us a thirst to return! Fort Ticonderoga, I shall return!

We continued on after Fort Ticonderoga, to hike up Buck Mountain in Pilot Knob, NY! Stay tuned for the next post!

Oriskany Battlefield: Bloodiest Battle of the American Revolution

Oriskany, NY, has the sad distinction of the location of the bloodiest battle of the American Revolution.

The Oriskany Battlefield State Historic Site is located on Route 69, north of the small village of Oriskany, NY. The site used to hold reenactments of the battle, although in the past we have always missed them, and I am not sure they are held anymore. I’ve seen photos and they were incredible events, with hundreds of actors posing as British, Mohawk and Oneida Indians, Loyalists, and American Patriots.

There is an Oriskany Museum approximately 4 miles south of this battlefield, also on Route 69. The Battlefield is a memorial to those who fought in the War, and the Museum is more about the U.S.S. Oriskany aircraft carrier, with some information about the American Revolution. The Museum is worth seeing. We spent a delightful hour there, and I found out some really neat things about the U.S.S. Oriskany. You can read about it here.

When you drive in to the Battlefield Memorial Site, these signs greet you.

The Battlefield site is plain and somber. The state has tried to keep it looking a lot like what it must have appeared as in 1777. When we last went in 2004, the fields were mown; today, swaths of wild grasses and weeds surround the trails that take you to key points of the battle. I don’t know if this au natural look is intentional, or due to neglect. I think it looked better when the place was trimmed. It looks too unkempt now. There’s another good site about the Battlefield here.

The site has “play-by-play” markers posted along the trail.

The now-infamous ravine is where Mohawk Indian Joseph Brant (his birth name was Thayendanegea) led the raid of British soldiers and Tories against the Patriots. Brant and his crew were a vicious bunch, leading all sorts of horrendous massacres against settlers (especially the Cherry Valley Massacre). British General John Burgoyne (hiss hiss) found great use for the Iroquois Indians. He wrote a lovely poem for us Patriots, letting us know his intentions in his “Burgoyne’s Orderly Book”:

“I will let loose the dogs of hell,
Ten thousand Indians, who shall yell
And foam and tear, and grin and roar,
And drench their moccasins in gore:
To these I’ll give full scope and play
From Ticonderog to Florida…”

…. Nice.

Anyway, the ravine is very overgrown now. We had to jump over the weeds that wanted the trail back.

The events of the battlefield unfolded the first few days of August 1777. Those summer days were typical Upstate New York days– so hot and humid that the forest literally steamed with heavy gasps of respiration. The American Patriots–led by General Nicolas Herkimer– and their noble allies, the Oneida Indians, were hurrying from Tryon County (Little Falls, NY, area) to Fort Stanwix (in what is now Rome, NY). They were coming to the aid of the fort, which was under siege by the British armies. Their march was a three-day, 40-mile slog through dense woods and swamps. By the time they reached this point in Oriskany, they were only six miles from Fort Stanwix. We could only imagine how laborious this trudge through the depths of the Mohawk Valley had been.

The tiny trail we followed led us about 50 feet down and across a small footbridge. This was the site where the Patriots stooped down to sip the cool water and wash their sweaty heads. It was at this moment, while the Americans’ backs were turned, that Brant’s crew attacked them. The Indians and Loyalists had been waiting in the woods for them.

Loyalists (also known as Tories) were Americans– they sympathized with the British and refused to join the fight for independence. Families were split apart over these political tensions. My own husband’s ancestors fought here at this battlefield, these Loyalists and Patriots. Many of the battles of Upstate New York were brothers fighting against brothers, and sons against fathers. This made the bloodshed more tragic. The Indians were not immune, either– the Iroquois Six Nations had been wrent when the tribes joined the British except for the faithful and pious Oneida tribe and the Tuscaroras. The Oneidas suffered horribly during the Revolution for their faithful alliance with the Patriots.

Patriot General Herkimer’s militia men fiercely fought the Brant crew. Herkimer was shot –mortally wounded– but continued to direct the battle from under a tree. War is truly hell. It must have been horrible. Losses were very bad– 450 of 800 Patriots and Oneidas died. 150 Loyalists and Mohawks perished. At Fort Stanwix in Rome (where these American Patriots and Oneida Indians were headed), there’s a reenactment video of this historic moment. It’s stunning, and really gives the viewer an idea of how chaotic and vicious this attack was.

A vivid painting of Herkimer at this moment, The Battle of Oriskany, by E. N. Clark, hangs upstairs in the Utica Public Library (a GREAT library; boy, I wish they got more support and funding).

The obelisk at the Battlefield honors the dead. Listed on the monument is a relative of an ancestor of my husband’s, who was the only Patriot in my husband’s old family of Tories. Brother fought against brother. (My husband’s ancestors fled to Canada after the War.) My grandmother would be rolling in her grave if she knew I married a man whose ancestors were Tories! But my husband, a Patriot now, has been redeemed ;).

It is a sober memorial.

No one actually won this battle. The Americans suffered a horrific loss, but they did prevent Brant’s men from reaching Fort Stanwix. It is a surety that if the Patriots had not staved off Brant, Fort Stanwix would have fallen to the British.

There was a large monument erected by the Daughters of the American Revolution, in honor of the Unknown Soldiers who fought and died.

General Herkimer died several days later. He died from a botched amputation of his wounded leg. At the Herkimer House Museum, his old Bible is displayed, open to Psalm 38 which he wanted to read just before his death.

Psalm 38:1 O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger,
nor discipline me in your wrath!
2 For your arrows have sunk into me,
and your hand has come down on me.

3 There is no soundness in my flesh
because of your indignation;
there is no health in my bones
because of my sin.
4 For my iniquities have gone over my head;
like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me.

5 My wounds stink and fester
because of my foolishness,
6 I am utterly bowed down and prostrate;
all the day I go about mourning.
7 For my sides are filled with burning,
and there is no soundness in my flesh.
8 I am feeble and crushed;
I groan because of the tumult of my heart.

9 O Lord, all my longing is before you;
my sighing is not hidden from you.
10 My heart throbs; my strength fails me,
and the light of my eyes—it also has gone from me.
11 My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague,
and my nearest kin stand far off.

12 Those who seek my life lay their snares;
those who seek my hurt speak of ruin
and meditate treachery all day long.

13 But I am like a deaf man; I do not hear,
like a mute man who does not open his mouth.
14 I have become like a man who does not hear,
and in whose mouth are no rebukes.

15 But for you, O Lord, do I wait;
it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer.
16 For I said, “Only let them not rejoice over me,
who boast against me when my foot slips!”

17 For I am ready to fall,
and my pain is ever before me.
18 I confess my iniquity;
I am sorry for my sin.
19 But my foes are vigorous, they are mighty,
and many are those who hate me wrongfully.
20 Those who render me evil for good
accuse me because I follow after good.

21 Do not forsake me, O Lord!
O my God, be not far from me!
22 Make haste to help me,
O Lord, my salvation!

Herkimer’s efforts were not in vain. So although the Americans suffered tremendous loss, they did detain Brant’s group from getting to Fort Stanwix in Rome, where British General St. Leger was laying seige. Because of the failure of the British to gain ground in Fort Stanwix and in Oriskany, as well as some other typical British blunders, Burgoyne’s Three-Pronged-Attack on Albany collapsed. Burgoyne was captured in Saratoga. When the French heard of this American victory, they decided to aid our cause, and sent money, ships, and troops our way (most notably, to Yorktown). We can see the importance of this small battle today, but back then in the heat of things, it must have been hard to endure the loss. We are ever grateful that they hung on.

At the Battlefield site, we visited a small visitor’s center. The last time we visited, in 2004, the center was closed, so this was a real treat to finally go in.

This flag perked us up!

Outside the center was the coolest car I’d ever seen. A hybrid!! We quietly snuck in it for a quick photo.

It was fun to explore the area, fun to run down the trails and imagine life back then. But all the while the cloud of sobriety hangs above, reminding us that this little battle was more than just a little battle. These valiant men were fighting not for land or wealth, but for an idea: the right to live free and the right to our inalienable rights endowed by our Creator. These men weren’t blindly struggling, as so many pawns do in war (”the sport of kings”). These guys knew what they were fighting for, and they did it for posterity– for us!

Adirondack Trail to Barneveld and Hinckley Lake

On August 19th, 2006, we ventured on a serene road trip to the cusp of the Adirondack State Trail around Hinckley Lake.

We drove up Route 12 to see the village of Barneveld, NY. The village was originally called Oldenbarneveldt, founded by Gerrit Boon (I assume they named Boonville, NY, after him). My kids took great fancy to the name Oldenbarneveldt, and chattered in the Swedish Chef accent for most of the trip. [For a quick diversion, check out this Quicktime movie of the Swedish Chef after trying my Chicken Riggies recipe. ]

We traversed down Boon Street (named for guess who) and came across the sweetest little library we have ever seen. Too bad it was closed.

There was a nice walking trail behind it, which followed a small stream. Parts of the trail were filled with debris and some of the landscaping weed barrier beneath the pebbles had washed up. The trail was an obvious victim of the severe flooding that struck this area in June.

There was not much happening in the bustling downtown of Barneveld (actually, we didn’t see a soul, anywhere) so we pegged up Route 365 and then to Route 28 to see what adventure (or trouble) we could find. We went through so many areas and small roads that I had trouble keeping track of where we were. It also didn’t help that the 1980 map I was using had torn at the crease that depicted this particular area. Grr.

I turned back to Barneveld (southward, now) and tried to locate Trenton Falls, which I hear has “no rival in sublimity on this side of the Rocky Mountains.” Unfortunately, this sign met us at the Trenton Chasm, near Dover Road.

Nuts.

We did get out of the car and walked across the bridge here. The bridge afforded nice views of West Canada Creek. Looking north:

and looking south:

The creek really swelled during the June floods. The damage was unprecedented for this area. You can see how high the creek must have risen to gouge out this area:

That must be a 20 foot drop!

The rock strata looking north was really interesting. Here’s a close-up:

So, not finding much else to see near Trenton Falls, we decided to make our way to Hinckley Lake, the source for all our tap water in the Mohawk Valley.

Somewhere in the area, we came across a beautiful stone bridge nestled in an area of nice homes. We first thought it led to a park, but as we wended our way up, we realized it was a private home. They keep their properties looking so beautiful up here!

We went Route 28 west and joined Route 8 north, to Poland and Cold Brook, beautifully rural areas. We continued on Route 8 north, seeing no towns. Road signs said we were on the Adirondack Trail. If there were no signs, I think we might have known that we’d entered the mighty Adirondacks: the smell of pines and cedars filled our van as we wended up the foothills. Oh, the joy!

We came across a parking area, and stopped to read a historical sign. We love these things! We are really “into” early American history. Click the photo below to go to the Flickr page, then click “all sizes” to see a very large size.

We continued up Route 8 until meeting again with Route 365, where we now reached the tip of Hinckley Lake. We followed Route 365 (which runs along the west side of the lake) to take us back to Barneveld. The lake is pretty enough. The shore line is very sandy. I could also see large mounds of silt and sand below the water. It seemed unusually silty. Perhaps this is due to all the flooding this summer.

We saw four abandoned concrete pillars at one resting stop along the lake. Seagulls (one seagull per pillar) perched on them.

On our way, we saw a road sign that tickled our fancy. Someone had scrubbed out the “G” in the middle of the word. Funny! Incidentally, that floating yellow ball is not an alien– it’s my van’s antennae topper.

So, for a road trip, this was nice. It was free (except for gas) and now we can say that we have actually been to the Adirondacks!

Chittenango Falls State Park

July 24, 2006

This Chittenango Falls State Park is one of the crown jewels of Madison County. Chittenango Falls is exquisite.

Chittenango Falls is about 170 feet high. The gorge, as you can see in the photo above, is enormous. There is no doubt that a whole lot of water once flowed down this creek.

The park is very woodsy. Admission for us (a minivan with four kids) was $6, rather steep, in my opinion. There are no amusements at this park, and the trails are short (some were closed; I suspect it was because of the severe flooding we’ve had all summer). But the “atmosphere” was right up our alley– wooded, roaring water, lots of green space, benches, and beautiful stonework. The kids were enthralled with watching tufted titmouse birds dive and spin with vicious acrobatic moves over the water (we figured they were catching bugs). Chipmunks scurried everywhere, walnuts were dropping from trees just begging to be opened, and there were amazing fossils to be found in the large stone slab steps.

There were terrific views of the falls at all levels: above, looking straight down, halfway down, below, and down the Chittenango Creek a bit. I liked the trails best of all. Walking down the trail to the gorge below was no easy feat. The trail was rocky and steep, and narrow at times. I guess that is part of what made it fun– it was adventurous!

The trail begins at the top of the falls. There are a lot of areas convenient to the view.

There were logs and other mangled debris snagged to the rocks. It can be safe to surmise that all this junk was a result from the Big Floods of June 2006 here in Upstate New York.

You can see the wooden footpath in the photo above. A steep trail takes you directly to it. Click the picture if you want a larger view, and then click “All Sizes” for a very large photo.

We made our way down to the gorge toward the creek.

The mulch trails were sometimes a little slippery. This is not a place to wear high heels, ladies. Believe it or not, we’ve been hiking at other places, and some of the women actually had high heels.

Here we are on the footbridge over the creek.

The footbridge leads to more paths, and we wanted to take them, but it was blocked off. A barrier with a sign said that due to the flooding, the trails on this part of the falls was closed. Rats.

We didn’t stay as long in the gorge as we liked. The heat and humidity was unbearable– it was 85 degrees (F) even at 6:30pm. I’d read that down here in the gorge the humidity is about 100%. It definitely felt that way for us. The forest literally sweated around us. The creek looked so terribly inviting, but wading was not allowed. The creek is Chittenango Creek.

This is our idea of a vacation day: quiet, outdoors, near water. You’ll NEVER find me at DisneyLand or Enchanted Forest, ugh. The only thing I wished we could have done was hopped in the water on such a scorcher of a day.

The view of the falls is best in this area.

We continued on our journey, and the trails opened up to a nice picnic area.

There are restrooms and shady places to sit here. It would have been nice to have brought a picnic lunch. Too bad we didn’t, because it was lunchtime and we were hungry now.

Time to make the arduous hike back up to the parking area.

There were fossils in the stone stairs. The kids loved discovering them. According to Wikipedia, the Chittenango Falls park is home to the “endangered Chittenango Ovate Amber Snail (Novisuccinea chittenangoensis).”

Live specimens of the Chittenango snail cannot be found anywhere else on Earth.

I love that Latin word for Chittenango: chittenangoensis. We did not spot any snails.

There’s some very good information and lovely photos at NYFalls.com, too. It is a truly lovely park.