New York State October 4-7, 1978

This morning I awoke to a cold grey day, with no promise of better things to come. I took that as a signal that a driving day was in order. Back into Stowe and south west to Burlington for the ferry across Lake Champlain to New York.  The lake looked black and cold. The wind was whipping up white-caps on the grey-brown water.  In all quite bleak and unappealing. The small putt-putt ferry, with no 'promenade' deck to speak of, banged and crashed its way across the lake. 

 

On the ‘other side’, the landscape was much the same as in Vermont – perhaps a little less hilly, but the trees and foliage the same.  But the drive through it was nowhere near as spectacular – partly due to the lack of sunshine to brighten the otherwise drab and drear landscape, but more importantly the way the landscape has been treated, or rather mistreated. Power lines run down both sides of the roads, with trees cut well back from them to make completely and absolutely sure not a single branch will fall on them. Derelict buildings and scrapped cars are strewn in equal measure along the roadside.  Along with endless signs – not the cute and colourful hand-made ones I saw in Vermont, but more ‘industrial’ traffic and municipal directional signs – black or green and white.  And, alas, no more of the quaint New England towns. Towns here in upstate New York tend to be junky and unkempt – true ticky-tacky stuff.  And then it began to rain, and I began to wonder if I had left the best behind me. 

 

Lake Placid was an absolute disaster. Crap all around. And busy building more crap for the 1980 Olympics.  I decided to drive to Tupper Lake, Blue Mountain Lake and on down towards Ithaca.  This was a much nicer drive, more park-like, and less developed.  There were very few cars on the road, so I could enjoy the scenery at a casual pace. In the grey light, it's the black branches of the trees that stand out – a beautiful dark lattice-work amidst the reds and yellows of the leaves. One or two fantastic old dead trees, maples likely, with warm grey branches twisting and reaching up over the road.  And every once in a while a brief clearing in the sky, a glimpse of golden sunlight – highlighting now a patch of hillside, now a silver birch.

I found a deserted campsite near Inlet, a little town midway along the Fulton Chain of Lakes in the Adirondack Mountains.  There’s only one other camper here, somewhere, but I feel alone, and happily so.  I am now sitting virtually IN my fire – partly for light, and partly for warmth.  It's a huge stone and cement fireplace, shaped like an armchair, with a large iron built-in grill above what would be the 'seat'. I am sitting on the extended hearth, leaning back against one of the 'arms' of the chair, so the light from the fire is coming in just over my left shoulder.  It’s enough light to read – and write – by.  So it’s a lovely arrangement, especially as I am sitting on a piece of wood that has been warming for some time beside the fire.  And to think that just a few short hours ago I was driving in the pouring rain in Vermont.

 

The next morning I drove through rolling farmlands, as the sun was just beginning to break through a heavy morning cloud cover. The towns are becoming more picturesque, with more of the New England style white colonial houses, better kept, with nice gardens.  Tonight I am camped at the Four Mile Creek Campsite, near Niagara Falls (New York, not Canada).  It’s famous for a rocky gorge that I hope to hike tomorrow....

 

The next day was half-sunny day so I did the short hike up a rocky gorge.  It was nice hike and a great way to start the day.  After that I drove through a pleasant landscape to Leitchworth Park, which has a gorge about 200 feet deep – so four times as deep as the one at Four Mile Creek – and hiked that one as well.  Two gorgeous gorges in one day.

 

Right after that, the ‘scenery’ became less interesting and enjoyable - mixed farmland and industrial, dotted with the odd shabby town. The skies darkened, and soon the rain was pounding on my windshield.  

 

I think about how a landscape – and the weather – can evoke such strong feelings of harmony or discord, relaxation and enjoyment or disappointment and a desire to move on.  I am moving on, being driven partly by the weather – winter is coming – and partly by my lack of ‘harmony’ with this landscape.  I console myself with the knowledge that I am heading back to Sweet Grass Farm, and friends.  That I’ll be back in Canada before nightfall.

 

Fortunately the rain let up, and I found a good campsite near Niagara Falls.  I’m back in Canada!

 

Tonight I am particularly enchanted by the fire.  It’s in an elevated hibachi-like grate – on top of a pole about 2 feet high.  I loaded it with all the wood I had – still some remaining from Kouchibouguac!  The glowing embers at the bottom of the fire are lighting up 'windows' in the grate, while the flames dance wildly at the top.  The heat of the fire has chequered the logs with gold, orange and red, so they look more like slabs of molten, chiselled rock. The fire is casting flickering shadows, on the pole below, but for just the first few inches. The rest of the pole is invisible against the inky black sky.  So the fire seems to hang there, sailing in a sea of darkness.  

 

As fires tend to make us do, I sit and reflect.  I reflect on my journey to date.  Four months. Four thousand miles.  Countless images, experiences, ideas, exchanges.  And so much learning.  “Discover Canada.  Discover Yourself.”  I am still discovering both.  It is a journey that will never end.  But I think, given the reality of Canada’s winters, it may require a change of location… .