Cohoes Falls

Frog Hunting in Five Rivers

Emerson-Bound

I'll write about my road trip and other nonsense later, but I just wanted to share this: I was accepted to Emerson's Print and Publishing M.A. program!!! So this fall, you'll know where I'll be...

Driving to Memphis

This Saturday, after relaxing and getting ready Thursday night and Friday in Selkirk, Josh and I will embark on a road trip to Memphis, Tennessee, with planned stops in Richfield, North Carolina and Nashville, Tennessee.

This is the kind of trip I need, especially now.

Josh is interested in the music scene there, so we're going to hit up Graceland in Nashville, Beale Street in Memphis and other various places. One of my goals is to check out the Mississippi River, which apparently smells bad, but I don't care. We only have a week for the trip, which is why Memphis is the perfect destination. If we drove straight to Memphis without any stops, it would take about 19 hours.

I'm hoping to make more stops along the way, like hideaways in the Appalachians, with time permitting. (Rob's helping us out with this area.)

And then there's always the drive back.

Camping at Denning's Point

Beautiful sunset-colored views from Denning's Point.

Since I've been camping with experienced campers and I've been wanting to get away, I decided to take charge and organize my own trip. After getting three other people—Josh, Sarah and Tyler—to come along and picking our location and game plan—Denning's Point by way of the MetroNorth and walking—and we were off.

Originally, I had planned to catch the 8:51 a.m. train out of Grand Central Saturday morning, but after Josh reminded me about the party we were attending the night before, I changed my mind. Sarah, Josh and I met at the clock at Grand Central at noon, with plans to catch the 12:51 p.m. train out to Beacon. Tyler, who was running late, just made the train. The trip was off to a perfect start.


The way to Denning's Point.

Arriving at Cold Spring at 2:15, we exited the station and looked for the best way onto the tracks without attracting too much attention to ourselves. Reaching the end of the parking lot, we slipped through the end of the fence and walked through brush until we reached the open space of the MetroNorth railroad tracks. We followed the main tracks and then continued onto what seemed to be an abandoned line that headed to our right.


Making our way to the Hudson.

All I had to direct me was the map Rob drew for me, pointing out how to get to Denning's Point via railroad tracks and where our proposed campsites and a creek lined with abandoned factories. Somehow, we made it to Denning's Point, with a sign about no winter camping greeting us. Making a left, we found ourselves off the trail and along the coast. Though the views were gorgeous, we had to duck through low branches with huge bags and step gingerly on slippery rocks. After walking this way for a while, we finally reached our camp site. Granted, it was the second of the two Rob pointed out to us, but this site was better because it avoided the wind.


The view from our campsite.

Looking across, we could see the flat factories of Newburgh against the foliage of the rising mountains behind it. In the foreground, the Hudson lapped at the sand beach beneath our feet. Rocks provided the perfect sitting place. We were surrounded by plenty of firewood. There was a little nook that led up the trail that became home to our tents, despite the ground being uneven, we made do somehow. Setting up our tents took a while, because the purple "party tent" was huge, had no stakes and weren't sure where all the sticks went through, but it was done. After unpacking and repacking the backpack, we were off to explore.


The factory.

First stop: abandoned warehouse near the beginning of the trail. To get inside, we made our way through an opening in the fence and through thorns, taking it like the brave souls we were. Inside, the factory's first floor was basically empty—with the exception of tagged walls, plants and a hanging rope in the middle which Tyler made use of by swinging around and climbing up. After exploring the rooms filled with debris, our attentions wandered to the staircase outside. The entrance to the staircase was locked, but we decided to climb into the staircase by way of broken windows. Alas, we couldn't get into the second floor because of another locked door.


Pile of logs.

Outside of the factory, there were many, many piles: bricks, logs, bigger logs, rusted metal, random machinery and packs of fertilizer. Heading east after looking through the piles, we found ourselves on the MetroNorth tracks again. Going south, we eventually found our way to what I assume was Fishkill Creek. Rob said there were more abandoned factories along its shores, but we weren't up to it. Instead, we sat atop a jutting block of metal and looked at the marsh and foliage under the sunset-soaked skies.


Sunset over Denning's Point.

Since it was getting dark, we headed back to our campsite and started our fire. After a shaky start, the fire burned bright and strong. Josh started cooking our dinner: cheeseburgers, and Tyler provided our beverages: beer, and we had water from before. Talking, eating and smoking, we kept the fire going until around 10 p.m. where we doused the fire with the Hudson and off to bed we went.



Now, I'm not normally a paranoid person, but the combination of being out there alone without anyone else, all the noises of nature and a little indulgence earlier makes me extremely suspicious. Among the rustling of the leaves and lapping of the water, I swear I heard something brush by. My first thought was, of course, a crazy man with a knife, maybe that man with the poodle we kept passing by the day before. Josh heard the same noise and I made him go check, with the headlamp and knife, but he couldn't find anything. On the beach the next morning, we found animal prints. Later on, Sarah saw a deer wandering up the trail.


Animal prints. See, I'm not crazy!


Pouring out the apple-coffee.

We celebrated the morning with a breakfast of slice apples on bagels and apple coffee (Tyler's invention). Packing up, we headed out to our next adventure: (possibly) Breakneck Ridge and the Cold Spring MetroNorth station.


Hudson thinkin', with Bannerman in the background.

Thus began our railroad hike. We passed by Fishkill Creek again, found a dead goose, wondered at Bannersman Island a.k.a. Poppell Island (the next site of an upcoming adventure?), explored a pipe, tried stuffing the huge sleeping bag in an abandoned suitcase with no luck, threw and kicked rocks into the Hudson and became accustomed to the hissing sound of the rails before the trains passed by.


Breakneck Ridge stop.

Finally, we reached an overhead bridge where a man told us we were at Breakneck Ridge. We sat by the makeshift platform (the stop is used primarily for hikers such as ourselves) and decided what to do next. Being too tired from our trek so far, we decided to continue onto Cold Spring.

That hike seemed to take forever. We seemed to pass by more people—hikers from Breakneck I guessed—and soon the 9D joined the railroad tracks. Because we assumed the parking lot up ahead was the Cold Spring station, we left the tracks and our feet felt the kiss of smooth pavement. To our dismay, however, it wasn't the station, but the Stony Point State Park instead. We still had awhile to go, but at least we were near Cold Spring.



Walking through Cold Spring, I could understand its appeal—small town village with cute stores and streets—but I couldn't understand why we passed by so many tourists. After walking towards the Hudson and walking through an underground passageway, we finally, finally reached the Cold Spring station, just missing a train, but it didn't matter.

Getting on the crowded train, Josh, Tyler and I made ourselves comfortable on the floor while Sarah sat in the seat across from us. We took naps and anticipated our next meal: McDonalds, which we ate as soon as we got out of Grand Central. Our stomachs filled with well-earned Angus burgers and French fries, we departed home.



Thanks to Rob for: helping me pick out the location, showing off his cartography by drawing me my extremely trusty map, lending me his backpack, stove, fuel and pots, opening Pier 40 for me at the last minute and just general helping me out. Thanks to Josh for helping me buy everything, figure out the food situation, cook and help me carry stuff. And thanks to Adam and Sam for lending us tents, sleeping bags, headlight and knives.

Check out our route here.


The trusty map Rob drew me.

Queens Night Sky

Despite the chilly weather, there is something about autumn/winter skies that differs from summer skies. Without a cloud in sight, the past two nights presented dark, clear skies and my favorite: the plentiful array of stars that New York City can offer (though it's meager compared to the stars in Ossining and Jim Thorpe). These I couldn't even count with my two hands. Searching above, I found Orion's Belt and I remembered looking for it every time I took the 4 train home from Bronx Science after yearbook at night. Soon enough, the Little Dipper will greet me before I enter my apartment building.

[In other news, after a lingerie party (ooh la la) tomorrow night, I'm going on a camping trip with some friends and while I'm excited about it, I'm a bit worried because I'm in charge—I've figured out where we're going (Denning's Point near Cold Spring, New York), made out the lists of supplies, I'm borrowing a stove and fuel from Rob and buying water and food and all that good stuff. It's been a while since I've planned something (my newspaper craziness doesn't count) and it does feel good. We'll see how it goes...]

Briarwood, New York

85th Road in Briarwood.

[I wrote this for Inprint, Issue #15, May 1st.]

No one’s ever heard of Briarwood, my quiet, small neighborhood off of Queens Boulevard, tucked in the outskirts of Jamaica and Kew Gardens. My credit card statements are addressed to Jamaica, New York, as if Briarwood doesn’t even exist to Citibank. Though, the MTA recognizes the neighborhood enough to create a subway station there: Briarwood-Van Wyck, home to the F train.

Whenever I tell people I live in Queens, they gasp and say, “Oh my god, that’s so far away! How long does it take you to get to school?” Forty-five minutes to an hour, I answer, depending on the train. Then they gasp again, “Oh my god, that’s so long!” Compared to my hour-and-a-half trek to high school in the Bronx, going to Lang is a breeze. Even getting home during the late hours (or early morning, whichever way you choose to look at it) is easy because the F train never stops; although there might be a twenty minute wait.

I live on 85th Road, on top of a hill. One side is so steep for several blocks that it rests on Hillside Avenue. The other side slants slowly, twisting and meshing into other streets, until it comes to a stop on Queens Boulevard.

Outside my apartment, there are two other similar buildings, all part of the same apartment complex. In the center is the circular pathway where I learned to ride my bike, going round and round until dark and the pathway that became a make-shift baseball field, each entrance substituting for the bases. A stout, wide bush where I saw my first robin in spring sat in the very center of it. Children walk to the elementary school just across the street, and when they’re a bit older, they walk a bit further to the junior high school right behind that elementary school. The sky’s clearer above and I can count how many stars I see with two hands.

Despite this calm and serene atmosphere (and because of it), Briarwood is not very exciting. Besides the Little League parade every spring, not much happens in this little neighborhood. I spend most of my time in Manhattan, where it’s livelier.

Going home, though, is an indulgence I get to relive every night, because it’s a break from the constant motion of Manhattan, walking through the quiet, hilly roads of Briarwood where I used to play manhunt through the streets and buildings of the neighborhood and watched in awe as a friend threw a ball up to the roof of a six-story apartment building. Briarwood is where I grew up, and for now, it’s nice being here.


Summer Briarwood skies.

Yellow, Red and Orange Everywhere

Since it's autumn, Josh and I celebrated by spending a weekend around Albany picking apples, hiking along the Helderberg Escarpment/Indian Ladder trail and dipping our feet in the Hudson River.

The Hudson view from the MetroNorth.

Indian Ladder Farm in Altermont, New York. Fijis were currently season.

The lost apple.

Rows and rows of apples. The trees weren't that tall—just about my height.

He was really hungry.

Across the street, we went to their farmers' market where we picked up presents, apple cider and apple cider donuts. Delicious.

After getting a bit lost, we found ourselves in John Boyd Thatcher Park atop the Helderberg Escarpment. You could see all the way to Massacusetts. Seeing the bare walls of the escarpment was amazing.

Heading to the Indian Ladder Trail, which begins with, you've guessed it, steps. Back in the day, they used actual ladders.

From behind one of the several waterfalls we stumbled across.


From the stream's view.

Trees, rocks and waterfall.

Since we missed the 4:33 p.m. train back to New York City, we stopped by Waryas Park in Poughkeepsie to say hello to the Hudson.


View from the train back—the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge.
[And yeah, so I designed a spread...I couldn't help myself.]

Rowing to Alpine & Back

The lovely Quixotic rowing under the George Washington Bridge.

Under brilliant Sunday afternoon blue skies, rows and rows of white, pristine clouds, and the sun shining at just the right angles and intensity, three Whitehall Gigs sailed and rowed their way back to Pier 40 after a journey up north and a night’s rest at Alpine, New Jersey.


Rowing in The Quixotic.

Led by Rob Buchanan, on Saturday, October 13, we rowed up the Hudson to Alpine, New Jersey where we spent the night at the Alpine Picnic Area/Boat Basin (with permission, of course). For some, this trip echoed an earlier mission this past summer when we helped bring three boats from Croton Point to Pier 40 for the FISA Row Around Manhattan event. The Magnus resides in the boathouse as a result of that trip and it was one of the boats we took on our adventure, along with the Quixotic and the Alex Murphy.

Although we were set to go with fourteen people, only twelve showed up. Since we planned on taking three boats, we divvied up the crew into groups of four. Ideally, you want five people in the boat—four rowers and one coxswain, a.k.a. the leader. We lacked full power, but we went ahead anyway. Luckily, the Magnus was already equipped with a self-steering device that Rob himself put together, so that crew had it a bit easier.


Setting up the sails at Fort Washington Park.

Heading out at around 10 a.m., we stopped just before the George Washington Bridge at Fort Washington Park for bathroom beaks and rigging up the sails. Ever since I fell in love with rowing, I’ve wanted to sail in the Whitehall gigs, especially because I’ve never been sailing before. Sam, Rob and Frank put up the sails—placing the mast, setting up the halyard, affixing the sails and away we went.


First time sailing in The Quixotic under the George Washington Bridge.

This trip marked The Quixotic’s many firsts—first overnight adventure, first endeavor past New York City, first over-10-mile trip (rows around Manhattan don’t count) and its first time sailing. Anne and I, along with Rob as our teacher, built The Quixotic in the first Lang on the Hudson class and we were so proud and happy to officially break The Quixotic’s sailing cherry. Granted, it took us forever to actually get to Alpine because the tides were against us, the skies were overcast and it was difficult picking up the winds. In the end, after we reached Alpine, it didn’t bother us too much.


Around the campfire.

At the Alpine Pavilion, there was a wedding reception and our boats added that romantic touch. Sam and I spoke to the bride and groom, who, along with their wedding party, posed with the boats, and other various guests. After thoroughly enjoying ourselves with food and many, many drinks, we wandered around the area, taking pictures and talking. Eventually, the campfire/grill was set up and dinner was served. With full bellies, we sat around the fire and talked about life and all that stuff.


Climbing the Palisades.

After a cold night’s sleep (which will never happen to me again), we awoke to another golden morning. With a quick breakfast and a reminder to return by noon for shove-off, we explored Alpine.

First stop was the Kearny House, which, to our dismay, was closed. When we weren’t able to find any way into the building, we went hiking. After staying on the trail, we strayed off. Suresh and I parted with the group but eventually caught up. We met up at the ruins of what must have been a manor overlooking the Hudson and decided that our goal way to climb up the Palisades and find either a WaWa (I’ve never been to one) or store so Derek could buy cigarettes. The non-path was rocky and steep but the eight of us managed. When we reached the highway, we walked south until we saw a Citgo to our right. Derek bought his pack while we bought drinks and snacks. Since we had about thirty minutes to head back and we were having no luck with trying to hitch a ride back, we followed the actual trail down to the Hudson.


Sailing and rowing the Magnus.

Back at the beach at Alpine, we prepared and we were off. I switched to the Magnus and sailed. Because I couldn’t steer and hold the sail, Rob steered from the stroke position. Sailing was wonderful, especially when the wind picked up and I felt the powerful push. We made a stop at Englewood Basin for paninis. Then we rowed and sailed the last leg back to Pier 40 as we talked about poetry, camping, and mountaineering and enjoyed watching The Quixotic.


The gorgeous boat we built.

With the pink-and-orange-tinted skies above, we cleaned the three boats and all headed our separate ways home. Well-spent weekend. Very. Check out Rob's write-up for more.

Cleaning the boat.

Valley of Jim Thorpe

Walking the train tracks along the Lehigh River.

Next up on my "Exploring Northeastern America" series (as I have newly dubbed it) was Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, the hometown of my friend Kayley, accompanied by Josh and Ilana in mid-September.

Named after Jim Thorpe, an all-round American sporter, this little town resides in the valley of the Poconos Mountains. The bus ride from Grand Central was uneventful (except for a witty ticketseller who told Kayley she bought the last ticket out of New York; we weren't impressed) and not too long—approximately two hours. Once we arrived at our destination, Allentown, Kayley's mother drove us to Jim Thorpe, where we past some deer, oh the wonders of non-urban areas.


Entering the cave.

We drove down to Lehigh Valley State Park, home to the Lehigh River. We explored an open-ended cave, complete with abandoned rail tracks that once ran over the Lehigh, the foundations of which are still embedded in the river. Then, we headed down to the river banks and embarked on our climb up to the near-beginning of the Glen Onoko Falls. The skies were overcast yet the air wasn't cold. Walking up the obtuse incline, we chatted while focusing on our footing as Josh pointed out the unnatural in this natural setting with the usual suspects: beer cans, plastic bags, cigarette butts. For a good portion of the trail, we followed a rusty pipe that ended abruptly. We crossed back and forth over the creek, taking in the clearness of the water (and it tasted good too, though I checked to see if there were any dead deer around, just in case). Once we made it to the near-top, we rested and then climbed down. Following a man and his daughter, we ended up at the railtracks and walked along until we reached the parking lot.


From the river's view.


Glen Onoko Falls.

After showering and eating breakfast at Kayley's, we headed to Jim Thorpe's downtown area, also known as Little Switzerland because of its narrow streets and sidewalks line with houses and stores alike, reminiscent of the vias di Roma. Kayley pointed out various landmarks, both personal and general to Jim Thorpe. We wandered through an antique store, complete with ridicioulous items, such as a homoerotic lamp of Grecian figures.


One of the stars of downtown Jim Thorpe--the pirate house a.k.a. tattoo parlor.

Since I needed to immerse myself in the entire middle-of-nowhere environs, we went to Walmart, my first time. Before that, we went to Rita's and got Italian ices—delicious mango Italian ices with custard. In Walmart, I did find a second copy of American Psycho for only $5, which made it worth it. Stopping by her sister Shannon's house, we played Guitar Hero and picked up season 3 of The Office, which we indulged in for the rest of the night.

The next day, after waking up late, we headed to Shannon's local church where Shannon's daughter/Kayley's niece, Emeline, was celebrating her 8th birthday. Before the other kids arrived, we took it upon ourselves to decorate both the church and ourselves with streamers, tissue paper flowers, and metallic stem foils. With the kids, we played Dance Dance Revolution, musical chairs and other assorted children's games.


Playing DDR.

The highlight of the day, though, was going back to Shannon's and her husband Jarrod's home again and riding in the back of Jarrod's motorcycle. I have an on-going list of things I need to do, just general life goals, and for the longest time, I had the urge to ride in the back of a motorcycle. Well, in Jim Thorpe, I got to do just that. After suiting up in Shannon's bright pink motorcycle jacket, gloves and helmet, I hopped behind Jarrod and off we went. Pennsylvania is known for their hills and mountains and this made for a wonderful ride. Jarrod sped up whenever we could and we quickly raced through the curvy roads of Pennsylvania. Going over 100 mph, you realize how easy it is to just let go and fly off into the wind--there was nothing holding me down except for my arms around Jarrod's waist. It was wonderful. Coming back, my hair was a mess, my glasses were practically knocked off, but it didn't matter—I need to do it again.


On the motorcycle.

And with that, we rushed back to the bus stop, making a quick stop at Sheetz, the mega-gas-station-slash-convience-store where we stocked up on food for the trip back. Then it was off to our brightly-lit city of New York.


Amazing view of Jim Thorpe.

A Jaunt Through Upstate New York

Walking through Selkirk.

Being the girl who considers Westchester upstate New York, I've never really ventured north past Croton Point (Niagara Falls doesn't count). So when Josh offered to take me to his hometown of Selkirk, New York, I literally jumped at the chance.


Bear Mountain Bridge by way of the Metro North.

Taking the MetroNorth to its last stop in Poughkeepsie (where Westchesterites believe true upstate New York starts) was enthralling because while I've read about the Hudson up there from Boyle's book, I've never really seen it. Going past Bear Mountain Bridge was nice because it brought back memories of my first camping trip.

In Poughkeepsie, Josh and my friend Kayley were waiting for me. From Poughkeepsie, we drove approximately 70 miles back to Selkirk because it was cheaper than taking the Amtrack all the way there.


Hudson River and unknown bridges in Selkirk.

Selkirk is in the middle of nowhere, which isn't necessarily a bad thing—it's just something I'm not used to. You need a car to get to and from places, and once in a while, this can be nice. After we stayed up all night watching random TV shows, Josh and I trekked through chained fences and overgrown with his adorably playful dog Kiara. Our destination? The Hudson River (of course) next to an unknown freight bridge and yacht club. Watching the sunrise here was gorgeously calm and perfect.

I wasn't tired at all.


Downtown Albany.

Then it was back to the house to wake Kayley up, take quick showers and then we were off to explore some part of upstate New York. Our original plan was to find the Lake Tear of Clouds, the official source of the Hudson River but being in the depths of the Appalachians and only a weekend to do so, we decided to save it for next time. Instead, Josh took us on a tour of upstate, driving us past downtown Albany where I judged it solely based on its architecture and the signs prohibiting bike-riding and horseriding in the streets and driving along that wonderful river. Driving through Troy, we found ourselves near Peebles Island, which became our next destination.


Peebles Island, the Hudson and the Mohawk (I believe).

Peebles Island is at the junction of the Mohawk River, the Hudson River and the Erie Canal, situated at Waterford, New York. Parking the car next to what appeared to be an empty-factory-or-warehouse-now-converted-to-offices, we crossed over the clean-cut North Bridge to see what's there. We didn't find much--just people maintaining their boats, older gentleman wandering around with his camera and a much older man tanning on his boat. To indulge our wilder-sides, we crossed the bridge back and wandered down to the river. We walked as close to the shore as we could, but sometimes, the bushes blocked our ways. No matter, we sauntered our way, climbing over fallen trees and examining abandoned garbage. We found upstate creatures—daddy long-legs, toads and lots of spiders, Kayley's favorite, haha. We reached the end of the river (I'm not sure which, I'm thinking it was the Mohawk) and weren't able to continue on because of the dead end. After sitting around and throwing rocks and logs into the water, we climbed to the top of the cliff above us and walked back to the car.


The end of our path.

Later, that night, we watched Superbad at an Albany supermall with Josh's high school friends. Already hyped for the movie because of the magnificently amazing Michael Cera (who I already declared as my pretend awkward boyfriend—watch him in Arrested Development and Superbad and you will understand why), I wasn't disappoint. Though the film was more geared towards high school humor, Apatow's humor still translated. Best scene? Cera attempting to have sex with his high school crush and everything he drunkenly mumbled ("Samsies!").


Saratoga Lake.

After Kayley left, Josh and I spent Sunday at Saratoga Lake, where we rented a boat. Rowing on the lake was a big change for me since I'm more used to the currents of the rivers (especially that crazy Hudson River), but it was a nice change. The leisurely row was perfect since the skies were cloudy yet the air was humid. Sometimes, the sun would break through, making for a nice picture.


First-time driver, baby.

Then, in the parking lot in between Josh's middle and high school, I drove a car. Finally. After 22 years of never being behind the steering wheel, my unlicensed and un-driver's-permitted self learned how steer a car (kinda like steering a boat) and drove around in circles, speeding up when I dared to. There were two little girls riding around on their pink bikes, so I was sort of scared about killing them, but I didn't.

And then, after stopping at Josh's home, it was back to Poughkeepsie and the Amtrack back south to New York City.


Selkirk skies.