A trip to the Adirondacks with Talbot
Guest Spot Post by Henry Fox Talbot (not that one). Talbot is a three year old Terrier mix who enjoys long walks, peanut butter treats, and is passionate about the conservation of our natural resources. This is his account of his recent trip to the Adirondacks, New York.
Guest Spot Post by Henry Fox Talbot (not that one). Talbot is a three year old Terrier mix who enjoys long walks, peanut butter treats, and is passionate about the conservation of our natural resources. This is his account of his recent trip to the Adirondacks, New York.
They took me with them! It was looking dicey this morning while they packed up half of the house into the back of the truck: duffel bags, coolers, food, blankets, tools, cameras
What about me!?!
I thought for sure they were going to leave me behind, so I made certain to stay constantly underfoot and give extra kisses to make it as difficult as possible. It was only at the last second and a particularly pathetic look on my part that I got the go-ahead. I think I broke a new record running from the front door to the truck before they could change their minds.
Eight hours in the car feels like 5 days in the car. True, I slept through most of it, but would a treat have killed them? Everything they packed and I couldn’t have any of the peanut butter bone things? Anyway, it was worth it. We’re here!
At the cabin!
In the woods!
I spit on my leash!
And everything smells great! Everything– wait. This doesn’t smell like me. And this definitely doesn’t smell like me and– okay, I got this. I got this– where’s my water?
People! Where’s my water!? I can’t do this by myself!
The guys have been working on the cabin all morning. It’s been nothing but whirling and banging! Yelling, and buzzing! You try sleeping in a construction zone– even my dreams featured dancing tool belts and talking table saws. I like to think I rose above it though, and gave moral support.
The lake is just like I remember. We had to walk about 10 minutes down the railroad bed and hang a right through the wild raspberry bushes, milkweed, and ferns and there it is– Rainbow Lake all to myself. I jumped in and waded in up to my chest which is about two feet from shore. Sometimes I wish I was taller.
To tell you the truth, I am not wild about canoes. They’re hot, there’s no shade, and every time I move around, everyone freaks out! Furthermore, ducks are a big tease. I do get to drink a lot from over the side of the canoe which is convenient, but still. It seems to make them happy though and bonus! All of the other boaters we pass are super excited to see me. I feel like a celebrity out here!
It’s a big one, Whiteface. 4,865 feet up to the top and the fifth highest mountain in New York.
Oh yeah!
We drove up 95% of it which I felt was cheating, but beggars can’t be choosers. I am told the view was spectacular, you can see into Canada on clear days. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see most of it for reasons that should be readily apparent. Note: Schedule a haircut next week.
Now we we’re talking. We hiked up Mount Saint Regis today (which is small but respectable) and I led the way. I always like to be first for the following reasons:
- I am much friendlier than my owners and first impressions are important.
- I like to think I am an effective guide. I set a reasonable pace, point out interesting or unusual vegetation, and allow for regular bathroom breaks.
- They are unbearably slow!!! I know they only walk on two legs, but come on!
Today, I met my match. We stopped by for dinner with some friends and I was making my preliminary inspections of their yard when she came charging out of the house. Her name is Bunni, but not like the good kind. She is tiny, loud, and bossy! I can’t sniff without her having an opinion on it. I think I am just going to hide out here until she forgets about me.
We left and are heading back home! We just crossed into Pennsylvania and already I'm thinking about the next time I can get back to the Dack. Until next time!
A Day at Cape Lookout Lighthouse
We were going to climb to the very top. 207 steps in total. 207 steps of which, I can only imagine, were going to be hot, airless, and claustrophobic. We were in the middle of a heatwave after all and I felt like someone had wrapped a wet towel around my face just standing on shore and looking at Cape Lookout Lighthouse from across the water: a small black and white checkered beacon, mirage-like, shimmering in the heat. Read more...
We were going to climb to the very top. 207 steps in total. 207 steps of which, I can only imagine, were going to be hot, airless, and claustrophobic. We were in the middle of a heatwave after all and I felt like someone had wrapped a wet towel around my face just standing on shore and looking at Cape Lookout Lighthouse from across the water: a small black and white checkered beacon, mirage-like, shimmering in the heat.
The Cape Lookout Lighthouse and national seashore can only be accessed by ferry or a private boat. Oh, to live a life that includes a private boat! Alas, we were taking the ferry from Harkers Island at 9am, in the hopes that it would be less crowded and it wouldn’t be quite as hot. We were correct only about the former.
We climbed aboard the Island Express Ferry Service, a 16 passenger flat bottom skiff, and along with a handful of other passengers, piled our beach supplies in the middle of the boat, forming an island of coolers, towels, umbrellas, and tote bags. The ferry driver, in a thick Southern accent, told us that we would be cruising past the tip of Shackleford Banks and might see some wild horses that made the island their home.
With that we were off. Whisking across the shallow water, I was instantly relieved by the wind and the occasional hard splashes of water that would come up over the sides of the ferry. My camera was still cool to the touch from being in the air conditioning in the house, and as I looked through the viewfinder, my world became hazy and indistinct as the lens fogged in the sudden humidity and sunlight.
Nearing Shackleford Banks, we could see a small group of wild horses gathered on shore. Stopping briefly for photos, we pressed on reaching the lighthouse in under twenty minutes. Climbing onto a small, but well maintained wooden pier on the Sound side of the island, we take a moment to redistribute and hoist our beach supplies onto our backs. Aside from the other passengers on the ferry, the beach is empty and quiet.
First thing’s first: Climb the lighthouse, set up on the beach, enjoy a picnic lunch around noon, and catch the ferry back mid-afternoon; otherwise known as a perfect day. We plod down the pier that connects to a boardwalk that leads to the lighthouse and the ocean side of the island.
The Cicadas are loud and insistent in the pine trees and fat pine cones litter the sand next the boardwalk. Though there is a breeze, I can’t wait to get to the top of the lighthouse and feel how strong the wind will be, how it will tear at my hair and clothes, how freeing it will feel after climbing up the dark, close, hot interior.
I stop and take a picture with my phone on the pier, letting my friends go on ahead. Probably the same picture that every tourist takes, but what the hell. It’s Sunday, I have tomorrow off, and I’m spending the day on an island beach. I smile a little, tuck my phone back in my bag, and hurry to catch up. We got a lighthouse to climb!
Which is when I see them, my friends, clustered around a sign and an empty ticket window, shaking their heads:
Ticket Window Hours
May 12 to September 19
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.
Oh, you got to be kidding!
