Blue Mountain Public Beach and Park, Rt 28

The drive on Route 28 from Utica to Blue Mountain is a cornucopia of sights, sounds and smells. We catch glimpses of azure lakes peeping between the Scotch pines and Douglas fir trees that stand at attention on each side of the road. I often have a difficult time staying in the lane, because the scenery is so spectacular and I am drawn to it like a duck to water. Much of the lakefront property is privately owned, so we cannot stop and explore the area. However, we were delighted to see a public beach in Blue Mountain Lake, NY, situated at the intersection of Routes 28 and 30. We pulled over to have our lunch and soak in the glorious scenery. I’ll allow the photos to tell their story, but realize the area is ten times more colorful and peaceful and enjoyable. Ah!

The park is small, the smallest beach I’ve ever seen. There are a smattering of picnic tables and a bench. You can also sit on a rocky bank near the boat launching area. Swimming is allowed only when a lifeguard is on duty (no one was here today), but even if there was, I doubt anyone would venture into the lake’s very chilly waters this late in the year. I was so tempted to wade into the lovely waters, though!

Several boaters paddled out from the launch toward the center of the lake, replete with long fishing poles and boxes full of bait. I have no idea the type of fish in this lake, but I could guess trout is popular in this area.

My kitty enjoyed watching the minnows darting near the water’s edge, tantalizingly out of reach.

While the park is tiny, it was rather busy for sleepy little Blue Mountain Lake, NY. Several bikers, taking a break from their motorcycle trek through the Adirondacks, stopped for a respite. Other folks, obviously locals, launched boats and another group of visitors sauntered in with picnic baskets.

Restrooms and water fountains are across the street, next to a radio tower that the boys found interesting.

We stayed, riveted to the scenery, for about half an hour. If you are passing through on Route 28, take a moment to stop here and catch your breath. The air is crisp, the view is stunning. I am desperate to return!

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.

Travel Garb, ADK Plans, and Miscellany

I haven’t written much here of late because there really hasn’t been much to write about. I haven’t been anywhere! I had plans to go to a corn maze and fall festival this weekend, but one of the kids is sick, and I’m not up to snuff myself yet. We’re aiming for next week. Here’s hoping the brutal weekend winds don’t blast the cornfields away.

I need to do more clothes shopping for the kids. All they have right now is t-shirts. Which is OK, but not suitable for winter! The kids absolutely love wearing their “travel garb” when we travel, so we do have a large quantity of them. To the kids, travel garb is: t-shirts! Ah, but not any t-shirts, mind you. Not the dull, monochrome Fruit of the Loom t-shirts. They must be t-shirts with witty sayings or meaningful messages, or custom t-shirts that we have purchased online and from the multitudes of gift shops we have perused all over the state. We have Haudenosaunee (Oneida Indian Nation) t-shirts, Fort Herkimer t-shirts, New York t-shirts, Voice of the Martyr t-shirts, Fender t-shirts, witty sayings t-shirts, and we even got a very cool Chuck Norris t-shirt from The Ember Family! They saw our love for t-shirts and sent us one.

The Embers are in the process of starting up an Adirondack cabin retreat and eatery. It’s not completed and therefore not ready for guests yet, but I CANNOT WAIT until it is. We will definitely be making a visit there, when it’s ready. Right now the family is searching for a grant to start the construction; the quest has been thus far unsuccessful, unfortunately. Starting up a business is so difficult in New York State, I know. I hope they can find something, and get going on their project. Cheer them on with me, will you? And if you happen to know of a grant or an investor who has an interest in assisting a family passionate about the Adirondacks and hospitality, give the Embers a buzz.

I’ve been on a search for historical movies lately. Not been very successful. What I am looking for specifically is stuff like the PBS “Liberty” series, or even Henry Fonda’s old “Drums Along the Mohawk.” We’ve seen the same old movies so frequently that the kids practically have them fully memorized. I care not if the movies are major motion pictures replete with glamorous movie stars and glossy movie posters, or historical documentaries like the “Liberty” series or the “John Adams” movie; all are fine. But they must be well done and at LEAST a little accurate. Nobody really seems to be making much historical stuff these days. What little is produced is sometimes embarrassingly inaccurate and outright false, not worthy to be called historical except in name only. I’m not looking for raves by Rotten Tomatoes for splendid cinematography and costumes… which brings up a pet peeve of mine. Why do movie makers spend countless dollars and hours researching and creating costumes and settings to be SO SO SO accurate to the time period, then destroy every shred of historical accuracy by having their actors say “Yeah” and “Nope” and act with such licentious, modern mannerisms?

Well, that’s all we’re doing right now. HOPING we can travel again, and assuaging our disappointments with the quest for historical entertainment.

I have faith that next spring, we will be doing much more traveling. My home renovation projects will slow to a dull lull, and we can hit the road once again. Onward.

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.

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!

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. Read about our hike up Buck Mountain in Pilot Knob, NY!

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