Sheila's Posts

A vacation is leisure time away from work (time longer than several hours out of one day) devoted to rest or pleasure. Typically, people perceive work as paid employment. They might not go so far as to say that being unemployed is like being on a vacation, but few would be able to realize I have not been on a vacation in over 30 years.¹ My first day of vacationing, during the past 3 decades, began on June 1st, 2010 (actually it began when I left home the night before). Now that I’m back home and into my regular routine, I can clearly recognize what a vacation is and is not!

While I was on vacation (except for the stressful parts; e.g., motorcycle madness and thunderstorms while far out on a large body of water), I felt enjoyably alive for the first time since childhood! The area I live in, and have spent most of my life growing up in, is nothing like it used to be. Generally and straightforwardly speaking, those who have grown up and live in areas further north than a latitude of 42.66 (longitude 73-74 W) in New York State, are friendlier and nicer people (especially the women). I’ve found that to be true even in the northwest region of Maine. I’m not the only person who thinks so either. My husband’s friend, who has traveled often to these areas, also has this same experience.²

As soon as I’m back in my community, I recognize a lack of a welcoming spirit. When it is seen, it looks phony. In the north, people sit on their porches and wave to everyone passing by. They will freely open up and talk about themselves, along with showing genuine interest in the lives of newcomers. So, naturally, uptight people are a depressing thing to come back to.

Besides leaving behind the more pleasant attitude of those in the north, the clean air, quieter surroundings, and laid-back relaxed pace — all of which had me sleeping properly unlike I can remember having done once upon a time many decades ago — are also left behind. What I did bring back with me was a sunburn, poison ivy, and an infected ankle (from a cut done by hitting a rock underwater). While I was up north, those things didn’t bother me… probably because the daytime temperatures ranged between 60-72 degrees Fahrenheit and it wasn’t humid there. Being hit with the horrid heat and humidity (common for being further south and at a lower elevation level) exasperates whatever is already going to irritate the nervous system.

I knew about the outdoor skin cleanser Tecnu, but was too late in getting a bottle while up north for it to do much good against urushiol. A poison ivy wash that’s way better (and much more expensive!) than Tecnu is Zanfel, but I didn’t even know about it until a week later, which was the first time I ever used it (and it does work!). I think the itch and pain from the poison ivy and sunburn kept me from realizing my ankle was in pain from being infected and was swelling. I began taking doses of Colloidal Silver and also applied it to the cut. The swelling left by the end of the next day and the cut proceeded to heal. Besides those products I’ve just mentioned, a camping first-aid kit should also include: band-aids (maybe some butterflies too), a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, antiseptic cream, sunblock, a tick removal spoon, tweezers, insect repellent (preferably Deet-free, like White Mountain‘s), and bee sting cure. You can do minor surgical procedures without a doctor!

Adding to the unpleasantries of being back, what I described enduring on the 4th of July, every bit of good that vacationing did for my health rapidly became undone! All I have left is my photographs to confirm to myself that I did at one time, not too long ago, feel alive and looked forward to another day. Now I’m back to working seven days a week at trying to keep from becoming exhausted from things like insomnia, sensory overload, and social isolation. The most depressing aspect of all this comes from learning how the horrible economy, along with an excess in human population (especially dangerous foreigners³) increasing and disrespecting nature with trash, is already showing signs of destroying what little beauty is left in the wilderness areas I (including my children and grandchildren) might have another chance to someday visit again.

¹I went on 3 trips in other years past, but they were not vacations. During those trips, I was working just like I do when I’m home. Work is to exert oneself by doing activity directed toward a purpose or out of necessity.

²Someone I once knew, who traveled around to different parts of the world throughout most of his life, told me that no matter what country it was, those who lived in rural areas were much nicer people than those living in urban ones. That was my experience also when I was in Central America in 1980. The “primitive” natives living on Volcán Barú in Panama were the civilized ones. Those who lived in the cities were nasty in comparison.

³My native “rural” community I continue to live in has it’s own fair share of malicious creeps too that have victims either speaking up years later or never reporting what they’ve gone through. I näively spoke up once about a horrible life-threatening incident I endured when I was young, to the detriment of my own life, and learned to never do that again.

This post continues from where Water Sights at Taylor Pond left off with its photos. For those who are new here, this Chi-Poo kayaking buddy of mine goes by the name of “Rascal.” I wish I could have gotten at least one picture of Rascal while the wind was blowing strong, because the back of her head looked so cute and funny with her ears being held up straight! Besides having to keep paddling against hefty winds, resulting waves wouldn’t allow me to focus on taking pictures.

These photos begin at the furthest end of the pond (southwest) from the main campsites. They reflect my journey back with Rascal. She wasn’t anywhere near as interested in looking around when we were going to the other end as she was when we were coming back from it.

(All shots are enlarged by clicking on them.)

Please tell your friends and family, who like to camp and/or boat, about Taylor Pond! As they say, “Use it or lose it.” If people don’t use this campground, those who love it (and would or could fall in love with it) will lose it.

This post continues from where Lean-to Sites at Taylor Pond left off, with my marveling over how wonderful the sound of a brook goes with hearing wind blow through trees and a loon off in the distance!

(All shots are enlarged by clicking on them.)

The above is towards the southwest.

The Catamount Mountains are in view.

The bench faces southwest.

My kayak is pointing north.

While on the same spot as in the second photo above, here I’m now facing south.

These three loons were at the opposite end of the pond from the main campground.

The above photo was taken in a southern direction.

This shot was aimed towards the northeast.

This post continues from where Tent Sites at Taylor Pond left off, with the mention that this campground needs campers or else New York State will keep it closed. These first three photos are from site #2; one that’s only accessible by boat or a long hike. It’s very remote and has a fair amount of open space.

(All shots are enlarged by clicking on them.)

All these last photos are from site #5; another very remote site that’s also only accessible by boat or by hiking in. It’s the only site that has a brook close by.

I can’t imagine anything sounding better than the brook that flows past this site, except for maybe the subtle addition of hearing the wind blowing through the trees and a loon off in the distance!

This post continues from where Taylor Pond is the Best! left off, with mentioning about a bat, a loon, and beavers following me while kayaking. These first three photos are by site #19; one that’s accessible by car:

(All shots are enlarged by clicking on them.)

These next couple of photos are from site #3; that’s only accessible by boat or a long hike. It’s very remote.

Site #3 is on a hillside and is probably one of the smallest areas for putting up a tent.

All the rest below are from site #4; another very remote site that’s also only accessible by boat or by hiking in:

Site #4 has lots of open space and room for a big tent. It’s the only site on the west end of this 4 mile long pond. After getting there, the wind and waves become calmer.

The Taylor Pond Campground might not remain open if there are not enough campers to provide sufficient income for New York State to keep it open.

This post continues from where West Before South left off, and hopefully now will reflect a little more enthusiasm. I was heading to the Adirondack Mountains, but had no idea where exactly would be the best place to stay. I didn’t feel like going from one body of water to another as seen in my post Yak’n the Daks. Since I was entering into this massive park from the northeast on State Route 3 this time (rather than coming in from the south on Route 30 as I did the last time), I couldn’t resist trying for a third time to find Taylor Pond. As soon as Alder Brook Road (Route 4) came into view on my left, I recognized it as being the way to where Taylor Pond is. When traveling southeast, Alder Brook Road becomes Union Falls Road, which then becomes Silver Lake Road (Route 1). Alder Brook Park Road also leads into Union Falls Road. I specifically mention those roads because I fell in love with them the first time I drove on them during my last trip there. I dream of living on such roads! Alder Brook Park Road is a one-lane dirt/gravel road that rarely has traffic. There are some houses on those roads, but they are far and few between. Anyhow, I was still frustrated over knowing that there should have been a State Campground at Taylor Pond, but the entrance to it was not visible when I drove past it twice just a short time ago.

The reason the entrance to that campground could not be known by someone who was never there before is because it was closed when I went past it before. The sign wasn’t up. I remember thinking that dirt road had to be it, but I didn’t go on it because I thought it could be someone’s driveway. So when I saw it was open this time by and the sign was up, I was excited! I had read about this campground in the New York Camping Guide and its description fit exactly what I was searching for! The photos on the DEC’s webpage for it don’t quite reflect how it looked when I was there. During my stay, the grounds looked less traveled. There were no RVs around. Only one tent was seen up. All the other sites were vacant.

(All shots are enlarged by clicking on them.)

I chose site number 19. It has its own private little nook on the shore; an ideal spot for my kayak.

Here’s Rascal just before she slipped off the kayak (for the first time ever) into the water. Her leash and harness help me to fish her out of the water quickly. Since then, she lost her desire to sit out on top of the pointed curved end at the bow.

I was informed by the guy who operates a private campground at the nearby lake (Silver Lake) that waves at Taylor Pond can exceed heights of 4 feet where the depth reaches 90 feet due to the pond being at the base of Catamount Mountain (visible in the photo with Rascal).

The main camping area is at the east end of the pond. Almost always, there is a fairly constant strong wind coming from the west.

The photo above was taken around 11 P.M. I’ll never forget how beautiful it was to go kayaking in the moonlight, especially when having the entire 4 mile pond all to myself!¹ A bat happened to like following me around that night. It kept swooping down a couple of feet over my head. It’s all part of the wonderful experience of being out in nature to enjoy the wildlife.

Earlier that day, a loon (pictured above) was following me around the pond. I didn’t realize it until I looked behind me and saw it a few feet behind my kayak. On Moosehead Lake, people on shore reported seeing beavers following me as I was kayaking during the thunderstorm which was also following me.

¹All the other campsites were vacant, which was another treat!

This post continues from where Moosehead in the Other Direction left off, with my having said enough about that lake. While traveling through Maine, it was evident that there were beautiful rest areas. Here are some photos of a rest stop along Route 150 (Harmony Road):

(All shots are enlarged by clicking on them.)

Since the weather was rainy throughout New Hampshire, it only seemed worth staying for one night of rest.

What could be more welcoming than seeing a “Bear Alert” sign upon arriving into the White Mountain National Forest?

I didn’t have my camera with me when I went to sooth my poison ivy itch in the brook of cold water nearby, that emptied into the creek which was also close by. If I had it with me, I could have taken photos of the fresh bear tracks (claws included) coming up the bank towards the camp area. The rain was on and off, but mostly on while I was there.

All the way across Vermont, it mostly rained. The ideal crossing to get across Lake Champlain and into the northern Adirondack region was by taking the Grand Isle Ferry.

I had no idea that while I was riding on this ferry and taking these pictures that an earthquake was being felt on both the west and east side of this long lake. The epicentre was approximately 56 kilometres (35 mi) north of Ottawa, Ontario. The quake was of a 5.0 magnitude, which is considered to be moderate. The effects were widely felt, because of the earthquake’s depth (estimates of which vary between 16.4 kilometres (10.2 mi) and 19.0 kilometres (11.8 mi)).

It was at this same ferry crossing location on January 30th, 2009 when one crashed full speed as coming in to dock. A ferry sure is heftier than a kayak. Every time I see water like this, I want to get in my kayak and explore (except when I know a thunderstorm may be coming!).

Even though this post is probably boring, it seemed worth including. Without it, a void would exist between my telling about being in Maine and then coming back to the Adirondacks again.

This post continues from where Helloh Moosehead Lake left off, with me trying to get a full night’s sleep. In the morning, another paddler came to greet me (hoping to get some breakfast).

(All shots are enlarged by clicking on them.)

On this day, I kayaked northeastward on Moosehead Lake. The air and water temperatures couldn’t be better!

It was somewhat windy, but not too bad. I enjoyed the water becoming choppier. The fresh clean breeze and waves enhance the sensation of feeling alive!

Moosehead Lake has an average depth of 55 feet and maximum depth of 246 feet. It’s the largest lake in Maine. I find it amazing how much the water can change in appearance.

Here coming to shore, the water looks calm. Because my hands were preoccupied with holding a camera and my dog, the kayak ended up beached sideways. Since I couldn’t straighten it out quickly enough, the waves splashed into the boat. Enough water got inside for me to need to dump it upside down. Rascal doesn’t like sleeping in water, so I always bring a towel along to keep the inside nice and dry.

Even with color removed, Moosehead Lake is still stunning! Pictures say more than any words I can, so enough has been said already about Moosehead Lake.

This post continues from where Maine by Midnight left off, with me driving slowly on a logging road deeper into quiet woods around 3 o’clock in the morning.

It seemed to be getting lighter out, so I parked the car for an hour or two of rest. Upon daylight, there were the most beautiful sounding birds singing that I’ve ever heard!

Here’s a photo facing east from where I parked. ↓

Now this is my kind of parking lot! ↓

Facing west, the direction this logging road began. ↓

The above three shots where taken within the same minute of that early dawn.

Just outside of the car hungry bugs could be seen. Never before did I ever smell such a strong scent of pine woods as I did that morning! It was marvelous to have air pollution so far, far away and nature so abundant!

Instead of heading back towards Mountain Road at daybreak, curiosity demanded driving deeper into the woods. The road progressively got rougher. The bugs swarmed around the car along the entire way. It was no longer possible to drive faster than five miles per hour. The deeper into the woods, the less opportunities existed to turn the car around. It was moose heaven, but no moose in sight. The woods were thick and bogs abounded. I regret not having taken photos of how rough that ‘road’ (more like an all-terrain vehicle trail) got! It was a gamble to pursue its path, since there was no way of knowing if there would be enough space ahead to turn around (driving backwards became impossible). There came a point where it was no long possible to continue on forward, so back to Willimantic and into Guilford I drove for my first cup of hot coffee since leaving home.

Instead of continuing on Route 150, I headed north-west onto Route 6/15 towards Moosehead Lake. Baxter State Park was no longer my goal. I was craving water for kayaking by this point and Lily Bay State Park looked like the ideal place to go. Never could I have imagined that there would still be so many people in that part of Maine, but maybe it’s because there are so few State Parks that people flock to whatever ones are existing? Needless to say, I was tired and in dire need to rest and relax. Campsite number 245 was the ideal niche to settle into. It’s off to the side, on Dunn Point, so no one would be driving by.

The local welcoming committee came out to quackfully greet me when I brought my kayak to the water.

A coyote happened to trot on past the campsite that afternoon, but no bear or moose were seen. It was early enough in the day when I arrived for me to kayak.

Moosehead Lake is 40 miles long and has over 300 islands. According to Moosehead Lake Region Chamber of Commerce, “Moosehead can also rear up and bite you. Due to its size, wave heights can exceed 5′ in windy weather, and the lack of traffic means that you may find yourself all alone if you get into trouble. We strongly recommend that you use caution when wind speeds are forecast to be high or when the skies darken, signifying an approaching front.”

I smoothly paddled along in a south-westerly dipped direction, towards the blue Big Moose mountain (3,196 feet). How could anyone not be captivated by such beauty and not crave to see more when it looks like this?

Off in the distance, the cry of a pair of loons rippled across the quiet lake… calming my nerves before I realized what was coming my way draped in a darkening blue clouded ominous sky.

To me, it looked like heaven was shining down onto this island. It was still early enough in the evening for me to have time to get to it, but that wasn’t the problem.

As far as I could see, there was no one else out on the lake. After having paddled for almost 3 miles, it was soon time for me to turn around and start paddling as fast as my arms could take me!

There was no wind nor were there any waves, but instead something far more frightening. The peaceful evening came to an abrupt end with a loud crack of thunder!

Taking pictures was no longer an option. I wasn’t quite attracted to spending the night on Sugar Island (as seen in the above silhouette), especially without a sleeping bag. That island is 4 miles long and 2 miles wide, with a population of zero).

I’m guessing it took me about 35 minutes of serious, hard-core paddling before I made it back to my campsite. Rascal (my Chi-Poo dog) had been in the bow of my kayak until becoming frightened by the thunder. I had to keep shoving her back inside to be able to continue paddling by adrenal power. The thunder boomed overhead and encroached closer the further I went. Right when I jumped out of the kayak onto shore, the downpour of rain hit! My legs were like rubber and my face had to be beet red from how fast my blood was circulating.

It rained heavily for about 10-15 minutes and then the sky started to clear. By the time it was dark, I was well beyond being ready for some sleep. After a couple of hours of deep sleep, I awoke suddenly from a nightmare with still some residual adrenaline racing through my system.

On Saturday, June 19th, traveling the thruway north towards Albany wasn’t too bad for driving, but going east towards Boston on The Massachusetts Turnpike grated on my nerves continuously! The traffic was dense and the road was not smooth. I thought any route other than I-95 north for Maine would be better, but was I ever mistaken! I-93 in New Hampshire was a little bit of an improvement for going north. I would have thought the secondary road, Route 3, would have been even better yet. I had no clue what I was in for by being curious to see Lake Winnipesaukee!

Before arriving into Laconia, the real torture began when getting out of the car in the town of Winnisquam, NH to take some photos of Lake Winnisquam (the southern Sqam Lake). It was hot outdoors and the sun shined strong. That was when it started to become evident that some event had to be going on to attract so many motorcycles.

(All shots are enlarged by clicking on them.)

(Facing north on Route 3′s bridge over Winnisquam ↑ )

(Facing south on the same motorcycle infested bridge ↑ )

I asked a guy walking along Old Route 3 (Paquette Drive) if there was some special event going on. He told me it was “Bike Week” and everyone was having fun. I got back into my car to find a nearby road with less motorcycle traffic to take more pictures of what I mistakenly thought was Lake Winnipesaukee. I found a clearing upon a railroad bed along Dutile Shore Road north off of Route 3 (Laconia Road). Up the bank I went, facing west, to get shots like these:

Unbeknown to me, while I reached into my camera bag to get out the lens shade cover to protect the camera from the bright sun, my (when new, $60) spare camera battery and lens cap cover fell out when the bag flipped upside down.

It didn’t take too long to find the lens cap cover, but the extra battery cost me in more ways than one. Being that I was in sensory-overload, I was oblivious to what torture I was about to put myself through. While wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals, I felt the poison ivy covered ground with my bare hands to search for the camera battery (the growth was too thick for seeing such a small black object). After about 15-20 minutes of being in the hot sun, I had to give up the search and hope that maybe I forgot the battery at home (which I did not). The first chance I got to try and wash off the poison ivy oil was when finding a Dunkin Donuts store. I had a bar of soap, but it’s nothing like Technu, which I didn’t get until a few days later.¹

After that incident, the only thing on my mind was to escape the motorcycles. I didn’t know they were centered in Laconia, which was right where I was headed.

If only I had known that it was the 87th Anniversary of Laconia Motorcycle Week and I was headed straight into the middle of it! Read all about it at Laconia Motorcycle Week or see a 39 second sample video of what it was like.

I managed to snap one shot of the reality of mucking my way into the thick of that hellish noise, while sitting behind the wheel stuck at a red light. ↓

I thought I would be going away from them on Route 106 north. I don’t remember how I made my way back onto I-93 north, but eventually I did find my way back there. Once back on Route 3, I headed east towards Maine. The motorcycles were still everywhere! It seemed as if all of New Hampshire was filled with them! There were hundreds of thousands of bikers. My ears hurt for the next two days from their noise. Route 2 was the closest road for me then to get out of New Hampshire and into Maine. It wasn’t until near midnight before crossing the state line out of the motorcycle infested noise, but then the road became very rough from being under construction that driving had to be restricted below 20 miles per hour.

Sometime between 1 and 2 a.m. (after having driven for about 16 hours already), I made it to Route 150 just past Skowhegan. My 2001 Jimapco map of the Northeast USA, that I was relying on, didn’t tell me Route 150 comes to a dead end at Sebac Lake! There was no “Dead End” sign until the very end of the road! It said, “Road Ends” and that it did… abruptly! I turned around and went back to Willimantic and headed north on Mountain Road. It was now around 2 or 3 a.m. On the right, was a logging road. Onto it I slowly drove, deeper into the quiet woods.

¹After being back home, I read somewhere online that washing with warm water and soap can actually spread a poison ivy infection.