Project Black: Where Rivers Are Born

Another shot from the Adirondacks, a high mountain stream that flows to the head of the Hudson.

Note: Flickr.com is going to make me set up a Yahoo Wallet if I order a paid account, and I don't want one. So I guess I'll be uploading to Blogger for a while. Bummer.


See more participants at Anna's.

Project Black: Sunset House

This is a detail from a one-room, historical cottage on the grounds of The Adirondack Museum in Blue Mountain Lake, New York. It belonged to the village doctor at one time, and was moved here from Forked Lake for all to enjoy.

See more Project Black Participants at Anna's blog.

And with this one, I have used up all my space for the month at Flickr.com. It's either stow the camera for a while or pay up for more space. Decisions, decisions...

Project Black: Traces

This is my first, humble entry in Project Black, a photo meme from Anna at Anna Carson Photography, which I found via JC's blog, Castleruins. There are some stunning photos in the group. Check it out, why don'tcha?

P.S. July 13: This is a view of Indian Lake in New York, taken from the shore. The speck in the upper left is a rather large spider. I tried several times to photograph the web, but couldn't find a vantage point where I could get the camera to focus on it. (Suggestions welcome on shooting spider webs.)

Photo Hunt: Support

I had never seen a mama loon ferrying her babies before, and I'm afraid I got a little too excited ... ran back inside to grab my camera, ran back out, and pretty much charged the poor thing to get the picture.


She didn't hang around to see what the crazy lady was up to, just loaded up the kids and made for the other shore. All I got was a grainy shot or two from too far away, from which these are cropped. Still, this was one of the highlights of my summer.

See what the other Photo Hunters have found at tnchick.com.

In search of the Adirondack ruby

Letters From the Lake, Day Three: The Old Hooper Mine

The guys went on a fairly arduous hike yesterday, which did not sound like a joy to me and my newly arthritic knees. On the trail, they said, they met a nice couple from Massachusetts, Connie and Ken. Connie and Ken told them about a trail up to an abandoned garnet mine, a short and easy climb that they thought maybe I could manage. And anything you found in there you could keep.

Garnets, eh? They had me at hello.

The trailhead to the mine is off the ski lodge parking lot at Garnet Hill Lodge. We pulled in to park, and who should be there but Connie and Ken, just shouldering their backpacks. What are the odds, with thousands of miles of trail, that we'd meet them again? So off we went, with pleasant company to share the day.

Knowing nothing about garnet mining, I was expecting a cave and tunnels. Instead, the path opens at the top of the mountain into the flat bottom of a vast stone bowl, a meadow filled with birch trees and long, whispering grasses. Towering over the meadow are the rockfaces of the mine, enormous slabs of stone in the process of crumbling down. The best hunting grounds are at the bases of the walls, where new stone is constantly falling.

The garnet is everywhere, but it is of poor quality, better for making abrasives than jewelry. Most of what you can pick up is very small. Even larger pieces are made up of clusters of crystals, and they break apart easily. Still, they say there is some gem-quality stuff among the rubble, if you can find it.

We spent hours picking up pretty rocks, competing for the best chunks, and climbing up to the rim of the mine walls. The view from there is spectacular, but hubby is more interested in garnets:



Ken knew a trail that led up to the other side of the mine, and shouted out a Hello from the tallest peak. Not to be outdone, the guys went up right behind him. Look closely under the birches at the peak to see hubby and son playing king-of-the-world:



This was such an amazing day, one I think we'll all remember as long as we live. Ken and Connie, wherever you are, Thanks!

Mist and Mystery

Letters From the Lake, Day Two: The Greenman Door

Beautiful as it is, the light here is strange, mysterious and given to fading unexpectedly into shadow. As darkness wraps itself like a sleepy cat around our cabin, the wind whispers of secrets and legends. Earlier, I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of something that looked like a little door in the side of a hill. Could that be? Tomorrow, I will climb up there and see what there is to see...

The woods around Indian Lake are thick and deep, and many are the tales of the secrets they hold. Some say there was once a black ops government installation here, where children were test subjects in psychic warfare experiments. Some say that on moonless nights you can hear the ghost of an Indian guide calling for his wife who was lost in the lake. Some swear that Bigfoot walks these hills. Once you're here, the stories don't seem so far fetched. In fact, a mere doorway into the hill seems downright plausible.

Setting out in dappled morning light, I retrace our route into camp armed with my camera and ready for adventure. Not far up the steep hill I spot my quarry, a low, dark entryway overgrown by trees and green with moss. Decades of fallen leaves form a springy cushion underfoot, and make the climb slippery. The saplings make great handholds, though, so the way up is fairly easy.

The opening seems to swallow light. Even this close, it is hard to see within. For a moment, I feel a frisson of apprehension, and I hesitate to get closer.

Smiling at my own silliness, but moving as quietly as possible, I take the final steps. Whatever this is, it was built to last. The structure is cinder brick, and the way in is flanked by high stone walls.

I peer into the inky black -- and am shocked to find a pale, old face peering back from the darkness.


The face belongs to a beautifully carved Greenman, guardian of the passageway within. I think to myself that this must be how Alice felt when she stumbled into Wonderland.




Now, here's where I face a dilemma. I could tell you what lies beyond the door. On the other hand, it might be a greater gift to leave it to your imagination.

Which do you choose?

Conversations for the Campfire

*The Indian Lake Project. A long-buried box holds clues to a government conspiracy, lost children, and mind control. (Home)
*Adirondack Paranormal. Ghost stories of the north woods.
*Bigfoot. Fact or fantasy?

Letters from the lake: Day one

Letters from summer camp being a tradition and all, I kept a small journal, the old fashioned paper kind, of our adventures on Indian Lake in the Adirondacks. It felt good to really write again; so much so that I just may do more of that and less of this for a while, at least until the afterglow wears off.

We packed quite a bit into just a few days, including a visit to the Adirondack Museum, Stone Bridge Caves, and a hike to an abandoned garnet mine. I'll be sharing photos as I get them organized and uploaded. Bear with me, though, as there are literally hundreds to sort out. You know how that is. And by the way, hubby took the lake view photo above. Kinda cool, huh?

Anyway. Here's page one.

Day One: Peaceful, Easy Feeling

Twelve hours on the road, and here we are, at last, ensconced in a rustic cabin in the North Country. Already the mind stills and heart beats slow and strong. The only sounds are the lapping of the water, wind riffling the leaves, and the occasional low call of a loon.

The place is all knotty pine, the furnishings a merry mix of Adirondack craftsman and Saturday yard sale. I feel a little guilty for having bedrooms and indoor plumbing. Tent campers from way back, we've always harbored a certain smug disdain for folks who call this camping. The guilt passes quickly as I note the little cloud of black flies buzzing around the outside of the screened porch.



The boat is in the water, the gear is stowed, the fridge is stocked, and the beds are made up. The only decision to be made now is whether to play Pictionary or Texas Hold'em before turning in.



Beautiful as it is, the light here is strange, mysterious and given to fading unexpectedly into shadow. As darkness wraps itself like a sleepy cat around our little cabin, the wind whispers of secrets and legends. Earlier, I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of something that looked like a little door in the side of a hill. Could that be? Tomorrow, I will climb up there and see what there is to see.