What's Your Poison?

When we started clearing the woods of garlic mustard this May, it didn't take long before I began to spot small shrubs that looked like poison ivy, but may or may not have been. I have long been aware of the morphological nature of poison ivy, Toxicodendron radicans. In the blazing sunshine of New York beach dunes it shows as a glorious shining-leaf shrub thicket or in the dry woods of Long Island it appears as a vining, often shiny but not always, plant growing up trees or just as often a three-leafed low shrub colony at the edges of woods and fields. In the deep, wet woods of Maine it often took the appearance of fresh, pale greenery growing low to the ground. 

Rex always said poison ivy was not growing on the property, but I knew it grew across the road in the sunshine, in front of and under the Alders. Because my possible sightings took place in dappled sunlight or on slopes recently made sunny by fallen oaks along with what I consider a cohabitant, wild grapes, I began mentally bookmarking each specimen as a potential rash. I posted on FB and the results were nearly fifty fifty split between poison and not poison, yet no one could provide a possible alternative to poison ivy.

Leaves of three, let in be -so the saying goes.

But what of this? Sometimes PI looks just like trees.

Another clue is the short branches on side leaves, long on front leaf. 

Surely that is poison ivy. Alternate veining on the leaves.

You say, no way -not this one? But see here. 

Mitten-shaped leaves, leaves of three, alternate veining? 

Reddened stems, alternate veins, short side stems, three leaflets, perfect habitat?

If this isn't poison ivy, then what is it?

Turns out that's not poison ivy growing about our dappled clearings. This one clue deciphered it: opposite branching on our plants. Poison ivy has alternate branching. How did I figure it out?

While Betsy and I were clearing the area around the mailbox at the road, I saw a small tree, but definitely a tree, that had leaves just like our little specimens around the yard. I googled tree that looks like poison ivy (why didn't I think of that first?). It's an Ash Maple, Acer negundo, also known as Boxelder. After two weeks of surveying, each had grown enough to reveal their true identity. Then I found this definitive guide that goes beyond all the hooey about leaves of three you'll find on the Internet. Keep the pdf on your phone when your hiking and all your identification problems will be solved.

Tick Safari

As I headed to check out the Beach Farm today, I switched on WNYC for the last bit of the Leonard Lopate show. An episode on ticks inspired me to post, even though there's so much else to do on the day after returning from Minnesota (it's good to be home).

In June, during the beginning of harvest season, Betsy and I were ocean camping near Montauk. We took a day off from all the hard work and Betsy requested a hike. I shrank from the idea, blaming the only thing that can keep me from a hike in the woods. I well knew that the ticks on the southern prong of Long Island are as rampant as anywhere, although when I was a kid, we ran wild in the summer shrubbery of Hither Hills State Park and I only remember flicking one of the parasites off my clothing in all of those seasons. Now, an adult, over 40, and with Lyme (no 'S' people!) disease rolling off the tongues of so many people, I can hardly stand the idea of walking a Long Island woods. But, we went anyway.

We had no repellent, and if you are going to hike in field or forest, this is your third line of defense. Your second is the proper clothing, which most of us are unprepared for when we decide on an impromptu hike in summer (we're wearing shorts, of course). The first line of defense is constant, and I mean constant, checking. The ticks I remember from my childhood were slow moving, sometimes taking hours to reach the hairline at the back of your neck. Now, like the contemporary zombie, they appear to move much faster.

We walked down slope, checking myself at every incidence of brushing anything trail side. A little embarrassed, then, when an elderly woman racing downslope with shorty shorts and walking stick forced us to the side of the trail. Checked again. Oh hell, she's flying through here, maybe the six tick warning signs at the trailhead were merely bureaucratic overkill. Maybe. At about ten minutes into our downslope hike we approached a 'T' intersection with a wider, carriage road trail. However, I didn't like the sea of tall grasses we had to breach to enter the carriage road. I stopped, breathed, and quickly made my way through the grass gauntlet.

Immediately I made a visual inspection and there was a small, reddish brown dot moving rapidly up my leg. I looked at the other leg and spotted a larger tick, instinctively swiping, launching it who knows where. I went after the tiny tick that was high-tailing it up through my leg hairs, but I fumbled and it dropped into my boot. Untie laces. Unboot. Oh, no, how will I find that booger in there? But I must, right? I took the insole from my boot, carefully, and with nothing short of eagle eye found the pest. Can you find the tick below? Imagine (this is quite an enlargement of only part of my insole) trying to find that speedy larvae or nymph in your hair or worse (think warm regions). This is why so many people who get Lyme do not even realize they have been host to the tick.

A magnification of that larval or nymphal tick on my insole.

So, after thorough checking of both Betsy and I, what were we to do? Go back through the grass gauntlet not 10 minutes after we started our hike or go on? We went on. What we decided to do, in order to manage what feels unmanageable, was make our walk a tick safari. Yes, we counted ticks, in fact -who could spot the most. Once we began training our eye on their preferred habitat, it became so easy to find them (and so much easier than photographing them!) that we gave up the contest. They were everywhere, trailside. Studying them was fascinating, and necessary, since there was no way we were going off trail to find a mushroom or look at a flower. 

We found Black-Legged Ticks and Lonestar Ticks. They climb a stem or long blade of grass and wait. If you spot one, it may have only its forelegs extended, and if you tap the stem, the vibrations will inspire the tick to spread all its legs. They don't jump, as some like to say, but simply cling mechanically with tiny barbs on their legs to your clothing or hair. Once they're on, they hustle to find a meal -this is their one chance! And it is completely a matter of chance. For the hundreds of ticks we spotted, how many will have a deer, raccoon, possum, cat, dog, or person brush their blade of grass?

Enough, apparently, and we're largely to blame (when are we not?). The deer population has exploded and deer are an important host (therefore the common moniker -deer tick). So much land was cleared in forestry and farming (take a look at this painting of Weir Farm, CT, painted near the turn of the 20th century) that deer had little to no habitat after European colonization until relatively recently. Afterward, with the rise of suburbs and exurbs, we groomed a lot of wild land and farm land into perfect deer habitat. I would have never considered seeing deer where I spent most of my childhood, on Long Island, 60 miles out of New York City.  A few years ago, on a train ride to Port Jefferson station, I spotted a deer in the woods. The north shore suburbs, all the way to Great Neck, may see deer in their gardens soon enough. Meanwhile, our attitudes about wildlife have gotten pretty soft. We fear hitting deer with our cars (the automobile is their only natural predator on LI), but shrink from other management options.

Enter into the debate a sore spot for gardeners (isn't getting Lyme Disease the sorest spot for gardeners? Or is it deer eating the Hosta?).  No, no, it's invasive garden plants. Apparently one such plant, Japanese Barberry, Berberis thunbergii, not only is an invasive species decimating the understory of our deciduous forests (along with the hungry deer), barberry is also a meal that deer cannot eat, a perfect tick breeding habitat, and an excellent home for the juvenile tick's host -the White-Footed Mouse. Read the short story here, but definitely read this full-on article.

Betsy and I stayed on carriage roads for the rest of our hike, a hike all the less adventuresome for it. Instead of returning up the trail from which we came down, we worked our way back to the road and suffered high speed traffic over tick searches. When we got back to camp, we searched each other and self-searched. So is the life with ticks. I haven't been checking myself at the farm, and I've never seen a tick on farm, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. I suppose, in part, that constant cultivation and mowing keeps the tick populations down, and the deer fence doesn't hurt, yet I should get in the habit of treating the farm as I treat the woods.

It appears to me that better trail grooming practices, although more time consuming, would help reduce tick bites. Trails can't always be the width of carriage roads, but they can have brush trimmed from the edges, grass cut at trailside by maintainers. Any trail creates openings in the canopy, allowing sunlight in, which creates opportunity for grasses and other sun loving plants to grow and lean into the trail. When I was trained for trail grooming by the NYNJ Trail Conference, we carried pruners, maybe shovels, but we didn't carry shears or scythes.

Click on the image to better see what the trail community is saying about ticks on their hikes.

Last Weekend's Camp

It was damp and breezy, but not the blowout weather reporters were forecasting. 

Our site, which I picked on a scouting trip a couple of weeks back was good in every measure, except one feature that I missed -adjacent to the Taconic Parkway. Oops. 

We were completely concealed from the other camp sites and the bathrooms, which were only across the road, thanks to some large boulders, and otherwise surrounded by the woods. The air had what I call the mineral scent, probably having more to do with decay than stones, but that's what it brings to my mind.

I am new to camping, although not completely, as I once lived out of my truck in NM for two months, and have overnighted on various cross-country trips. Once I back-packed in Hell's Canyon, but that's a story for another day. Packing the van took way too long, it seemed that I was bringing the whole house, one of everything, a Noah's Ark for domestic objects. I was a little frustrated by needing too much, but at the campground I could see that everyone else had too much, just like we did, and somehow this quelled my frustration. 

My favorite part of  the trip was waking up in the chilled morning, the coolness already enveloping me, jumping up and out to take some pictures.

 How rare it is that I am up at 6 am! The sun just coming above the ridge. 

It wasn't nearly as cold as we expected, the air was fresh, from the north, and the wind was brisk, but high in the canopy. 

And the geese hawnking overhead.

We started the fire for breakfast and coffee. Potatoes were boiled the day before, onion and garlic chopped, all in the pan with some oil. 

I began that morning by making Marie's camp bread (self-rising flour and milk, pinch of salt -recipe here). In fact, if it weren't for reading about her camping endeavors, I probably would have never reached beyond eggs and potatoes. She made bread seem possible, and to some degree, effortless. To ensure my over-reach, I had also brought with me a' no-knead' bread dough begun on Thursday night. That bread suffered from the chilly air, not rising to expectations, but still good enough to eat. It appears that bread can be made on an open fire.

The camp bread came out well, if a bit burnt on the bottom (I used an enameled steel oven, not heavy enough) and everyone thought it was awesome with jam and butter. Friends were impressed, although I'm not sure the crust should look like cooling lava.

Afterwards -eggs to order, with potatoes.

This plant was all around the campsite and I thought it was a kind of wintergreen, actually confusing it with Spotted Wintergreen until I stumbled upon that later. Still no understanding of what it is. *Update* Thanks to Ellen Zachos (and an anonymous), I can now safely say this is Mitchella repens, or Partridgeberry.

The funky crumpled ribbons of autumn blooming witchhazel, Hamamelis virginiana, near our campsite.

Of course, Solidago -the kind I often see in the woods, I believe is S. caesia, Bluestem Goldenrod, near camp.

On Saturday we went out for a hike around Pelton Pond, and then connected to a small section of the Appalachian Trail around Canopus Lake. I've never actually hiked any of the AT, although I've driven passed its many trail heads throughout New England. It's always held an allure, the three month hike, Maine to Georgia, August to November. I can say with confidence, that won't happen, but 5K on a Saturday, yes sir.

 A sleepy, and maybe sick, raccoon on the trail. I went around it, while the others went above. It never moved from its spot, but was irritated with us.

This waterfall drains a swamp over the ledge, tumbling down an impressive swath of  rocky slope toward Canopus Lake, which was possibly named after a nearby Wappinger community of a similar name. Dig a little into the Native American/Colonial history in these parts and there's blood on every stone, knowledge of which often obfuscated by the later wars of the plains.

Beauty tempers those thoughts.

Canopus Lake

Camp Hero, Part 3

This is the final installment in the Camp Hero trilogy -The Beachhead.

Part 1-The Cliffs

Part 2 -The Woods.

On our way down to the beach, we passed these hillsides. I noticed that the soil was eroding rapidly around the base of the trees -they look the way kids drawings do, cylinders meet soil.

Turns out, these hills are the batteries. This is Battery 113. This entry is large enough for a truck to drive into. Check out the writing on the wall.

Its says "Closed To Public." Ha! No kidding. Do not enter? It's solid concrete. Would be cool if you could go inside though. On the opposite side, holes and filled holes.

This is where the gun would have been.

The lighthouse from the bluff. We are headed for the light patch just below the light.

The thicket. I have memories of playing in these as a kid. It is hot in there. Despite the 60 degree temps, it felt more like 90 on the thicket trail -no cool breezes make it in. The trail is a hardpack mixture of clay and white sand and follows the Paumanok Path.

The rocky shore.

A gradation of stones, sized by the action of the waves.

Pebbles.

Lichen on granite.

Mollusk.

Crab. Dead.

Approaching the bluff, it is covered in salt and barren of plants. The beach runs up to its base.

Up close I see these varying soil horizons. Sand and rock, clay, clay mixtures.

I smeared the clay to reveal its distinctive character.

In another area, sandy loam with aggregate underneath, above a reddish hard crust.

The sandy loam swirls around the clay, showing the forces that deposited these layers.

The groundwater springs from the cliff side, eroding the sandy layers above and beneath the layers of clay.

Recent fall.

Contemplation.

Camp Hero, Part 2

As a kid and into adulthood, my family or I would often make the pilgrimage to Montauk, way past the hoity absurdity of the *hamptons. We would land at Hither Hills State Park, get there early for the spot on the top of the bluff. My grandfather used to cook pasta on the grill, and make perk coffee in the evening. We'd stay till dark, sometimes after, then make the long drive home.

Sometimes we'd hit the lighthouse. In between was a few miles of beach front condos, a small town serving the tourist, and then woodlands, dense woodlands all the way to the light. This was drive through area, my family not being much for hiking, on the way to and from Montauk Point. As it happens, then, I never knew much about it other than it was shaped by the sea around it and the glaciers before it. Not until Camp Hero, did I begin to see how it is different from the Long Island I know, or even Hither Hills just a couple of miles west.

On our way to the central parking lot, where we were to begin our hike, I noticed these peculiar wooden planks apparently shoring up the stream sides. After the first one, I saw them all over the place. My first thought was, how long will this work? My second thought was, I can't believe there are so many streams here.

After all, I grew up on dry, sandy Long Island. Now there are pockets of wet areas, kettles and swamps or streams as around Nissequogue or Peconic. But this seemed wholly different, it was elevated quite a bit above sea level and the streams seemed to cris-cross the landscape. We had just had record rains, so maybe we're seeing water where typically it may have only been sporadic. But then, these old planks told a different story, and so did all the areas with skunk cabbage. It was only later on the beach when I would fully understand the hydrology of this area.

It was unusual to see plane trees, city trees, until I reminded myself that this is an utterly human landscape, a military post. Along the streets, and some trails, plantings.

I was rather enthralled with the silver coloration of many of the trees. Was it the effect of the salty sea, was it the species, or lichen?

Small tree in silver.

This, of course, is tick country. I found this old sign amusing -its pre-deer tick, click on it to read. My brother is hyper tick worried, so going at winter's end was his idea of tick free. Of course, that's only partly true. When we were kids we bushwacked through the thicket only picking up a tick or two in ten years. Now it's as if there's an army.

There are many patches of greenbrier, dense and impassable.

From the central parking location, near the radar, we headed out. First on a paved road, Col. John Dunn Rd., then making a right on Old Montauk Highway, and finally turning onto the trail portion of the Paumanok Path. We wanted to make a loop, landing back near the radar at trail's end.

We were on the white marked trail, which I remember well from the mushroom maze. It's also known as the Paumanok Path, which terminates at the sea in front of the Montauk lighthouse.

I saw three forest communities on the woodland hike and I was amazed by the diversity on such a small parcel of land. All of these forest communities are somewhat rare, given their dependence on a very specific set of conditions. The higher elevation of this area protects these communities from the salt spray, which can limit species and canopy heights.

The first was Coastal Oak-Holly, dominated by oaks, but also including tall, mature holly trees.

Without the canopy of leaves, its easy to see the full holly. It's a beautiful tree that I think is rarely used well in home landscapes. Always planted like a shrub, too close to the house.

The bark is smooth, pleasantly colored, with nice eyes.

Of course, its leaves are sharp, which discourage deer browsing when mature, although the word is that the abundant deer are taking these out while still young.

We moved into an area with a stream, crossing over a couple of foot bridges.

Skunk cabbage was making an appearance.

This one with a moss belt.

Streams with mini waterfalls are just a bit uphill. I would have loved to play around this as a kid and spent the most time here, now.

The water was brown with tannin and its bed was like beach sand.

We soon found ourselves in a Coastal Oak-Laurel forest, magnificently illustrated by this laurel-oak bond.

The laurel bark is quite attractive, reminding me of cedar or yew trees.

This laurel understory reminded me of the Oak Laurel forest at Weir Farm, but also of the laurel woods on the north shore of Long Island.

Moss and laurel.

You will notice a few glacial erratics lying around, this being a morainic landscape.

But this area, after a little investigation, turned out to be an erratic dump -brought in by trucks from the military post, not the glacier.

The changeover from Coastal Oak Laurel to Coastal Oak-Beech was dramatic as we headed north on the Paumanok Path. The darkness of the evergreen laurels on one side of an imaginary line contrasted strongly with the brilliant silvery bark of the beech trees on the other. The beech trees grow on the north facing slopes, possibly the reason for the dramatic changeover.

Beech trees are wonderful trees. Great bark, excellent summer canopy, ghostly leaves through winter clinging to its branches. Just don't plant one near your sidewalk.

You can always tell a beech tree by its network of surface roots.

In the beech forest I discovered the convergence of two streams -not something I've seen much of on Long Island. At the convergence, the stream flows northerly.

Just south, I see the terminal point of one of the erosion control contraptions.

One hundred feet to the east is the roadway. We exit, walking toward the radar. At the gate, we get onto the bridal trail, a horse path, every now and then leaping over mucky zones.

Camp Hero Part 3: The Beach Head...

Camp Hero, Part 1

During the heat streak of three weekends ago, my brother, wife, and I went out to Montauk Point to hike Camp Hero, a relatively new parkland comprised of woodlands, ocean front, and a derelict military station. I have so many photos from my experience, that it is hard to edit it down to something readable -so I chose to break this urban hiker report up into three parts.

The weather was around 70 degrees even though it was only the first day of spring. The week prior it had rained record levels. This would affect our experience, because there was so much water in what I have always experienced as a generally dry locale. Of course, I have always visited Montauk in the dry summer months and this was, practically speaking, still winter.

There were some mighty oaks in the woods.

The defunct radar station. The only one of its kind remaining.

The cliffs and the ocean.

The maps: click on them for true size.

Map of the larger area; Camp Hero towards the lower right.

Camp Hero map.

Part 1: The Cliffs

We began from one of the several parking lots -this one at the cliffs, straight shot from the maine entrance. Later on, we drove deeper in to another parking lot for our hike.

One of the first things you notice are these signs. I think they are a bit old, and should be moved further from the cliff's edge. Surprisingly, there are no snow fences or other easy delineations along the edge.

My brother has a look, although at any moment the earth could give away.

The wind, waves, and ground water are having their way with the earth.

Looking southwest, along the shore.

Looking Northeast -in the distance is Block Island, with a bit of brown haze.

The hoodoos of Camp Hero.

The eroded soil can be seen here, coloring the water.

The Montauk Point Lighthouse, seen from Camp Hero.

Camp Hero Part 2: The Woods...

Fort Tilden

One half of the restroom/concession pavillion.

The old handball courts.

Derelict building.

The long concrete walkway.


The ocean viewed from the concrete walkway.

The biggest patches of poison ivy I've ever seen.

A closeup. Notice the berries -birds love them.

There were small, gray leaved trees behind the first row of dunes. Their leaves had a plastic-like film on them that must protect the leaves from salt spray and dehydration.

Yucca.

If you click on the image, you can read the sign -"Do Not Enter Bunkers."

Blooming greenish-white, Tall Wormwood, Artemisia campestris, is native to sandy soils and sunny sites across a large swath of the U.S. Apparently the pollen is a severe allergen.

The rugosa or as we used to call them, beach rose.

These yellow, ray-type flowers were all over.


The specimen.

A closeup of the yellow flower.

Pink and white flower with glaucus, lanceolate leaves and purplish stems. Marie (66squarefeet) IDed this as Soapwort.

Milkweed seed pods.

These 6-legged, red and brown bugs on a milkweed seed pod.


Oyster shell on a algae covered boulder.

Of course, the ocean.

Meet Me in Muttontown

I came to the Muttontown Preserve in the fourth grade. Now that I think of the many nature-oriented trips we took that year, I am aware of the way a teacher can influence a young mind. I thought I might remember these trails, but it was hard to say whether I really did or not. It was familiar, but most of Long Island is to me by now.

Muttontown Preserve is a collection of three Nassau County old Gold Coast estates at the junction of two of Long Island's terminal moraines -let's say it's where geology meets extraordinary wealth. Much of Long Island's northern tier was comprised of these estates from the turn of the 19th century through the Great Depression. The wealth and giant estates of this period helped preserve some of Long Island's most beautiful woodlands from the development of the postwar period. Yet, many have fallen into disrepair and were demolished, many were incorporated into parks, some are still privately held. Of those open to the public, a few examples: the Nassau County Museum of Art on the old Frick property, The Vanderbilt Museum on the old Vanderbilt estate, Old Westbury Gardens at the old Phipps estate, or Caumsett State Park at the old Marshall Field III estate, or Sands Point Preserve at the old Guggenheim estate.

If you go for a hike at Muttontown Preserve and want to make a day of the trip, stop by Teddy Roosevelt's old place at Sagamore Hill and/or the Planting Fields Arboretum, both just down the road a bit. Both old estates and both worth a visit.

The map for the Muttontown Preserve. Click on it for full size. From my experience, the trail map is generally accurate depiction of all the trails and foot paths, with some exceptions near the ruins. The paths in the preserve are well-worn or maintained, but poorly marked. As of this post date, the numbered trails mean nothing when you are out on the trail. I traveled the 2 to the 6 to the 7 to the ruins, then the 5 to the 6 back to the 2. I really wanted to cross to the 4 from the 5 on my return, but I couldn't figure out how to do it.

An example of the old, meaningless trail marking system, and the new, but unfinished one.

From the preserve "house," I took this trail. It was cool and pleasing here, even though it was quite a warm morning.

This has been a wet summer, so the preserve is wetter than usual. Some trails were puddled like this one. Wear sneakers or boots, not open shoes like I did, and you'll be much happier.

Some trails had a lot of poison ivy to the side, but some had it growing underfoot -where the path was mowed. I was careful, despite my open shoes, and I didn't get any rash.

The trails were often wide and inviting, with a romantic glow cast onto its verdure.


In the woods, this berry. The last time I saw it, I didn't forage.


Wineberry, Rubus Phoenicolasius. This time I ate a lot -tart but good.

Here with a late blooming Rhododendron.


Eventually I came upon this concrete wall. There was no way in.

Near the corner of the wall I sustained multiple mosquito bites trying to get a photo of this butterfly.

Although not reminded by the big wall, I was somehow reminded by the old asphalt driveway that I was now traveling through a built landscape.

The woods began to change, things became a bit eerie.


There, what's that in the distance?


The makings of a 20th century ruin, complete with fallen timber.


It's the estate ruins of King Zog of Albania. What a title.

This is the the staircase in the lower right of the B&W photo.


Haunted?

The crypt begins to set the stage for the ritual teenage drama that I easily imagine played itself out here over the years -especially in the 70s and early 80s.

And the proof.

The plants (jewelweed?) growing on the lintel is a nice, ruinous touch.


Have you noticed all the English ivy?


Let's get out of here...

Ahh, sunshine, a field. Whew, glad to be out of the woods. This is a typical old field on Long Island. Lot's of goldenrod, not quite in bloom, but also mugwort, poison ivy, asters, some thistle, some milkweed, and some sumac. In season, lots of chirping crickets.

One goldenrod ready to go.

Sumac berries.

I had a ton of photos from this trip and had to restrain myself from adding them all -especially of the King Zog ruins. There was one spot in the woods that smelled so good, I can't quite describe it, but it caught me off guard. I stood there and inhaled, inhaled, inhaled.

A Railroad Runs Through It

Or My Forest Park Hike

I've been planning on exploring Forest Park for some time and finally I had the chance to do it. It was a warm day, yesterday, so the idea of walking through a shady forest enticed. I drove to Park Lane South, where there was ample street-side parking, then stepped out and felt a cooling breeze emanating from the woods. Ahhh.

click on it for full size

After crossing the boundary, the first thing I like to get is a map -where am I going? Fortunately, there was a park map on the park drive. I took a photo of it, as I am prone to do when I do not have a printed map, and used my camera screen to view it. On this day, it really helped.

The beginning of the trail. At this point, I had no idea how confusing the trail system would be. All was well, the trail was soft underfoot. I wore open-toed shoes (beware, missed roots had me tripping over myself on some trail parts).

As the title suggests, the LIRR actively runs through Forest Park. To boot, so does Jackie Robinson Parkway, Myrtle Ave, and Metropolitan Ave. I was never able to get fully away from the woosh of vehicles.

Not long into what I believed to be the blue trail, the fencing to isolate the train tracks is completely blown out. On the left -looking north, on the right -looking south. I found myself at this location on the blue and yellow trails.

I also found this fresh campfire site. Makes you think about those who may live in or near the park.

So I am walking along on what I think is the blue trail and suddenly I've merged with the bridle trail. I wanted to avoid this, but I could see no way to stay off as the blue trail is gone as far as I could tell. The bridle trail is good for walking, but beware - I ran into many riders galloping their horses.

Its at this point that I am beginning to learn something about Forest Park. It has obvious, distinct spur trails that the map doesn't show. The trails are well worn and I guarantee will confuse. This intersection above was easy to navigate, but many were not. I passed tens of intersections that were not mapped on the orange, blue, or yellow trail. But by far, the blue trail had the most. So, I would say that Forest Park is an excellent place to come and discover your trail map reading skills, learn how to use your compass, or hone your woods navigation skills. No chance of really getting lost since you are bounded by the city, but ample opportunity for confusion and decision making.

The park was not in good shape. Lots of downed trees, bare areas, weedy zones. In fact, it reminded me so much of where I grew up, I felt psychologically transported 40 miles east to the hummocky oak landscape of my youth. I grew up on the eastern side of the Harbor Hill terminal moraine which extends all the way through Jersey. Forest Park sits squarely on one of its high points.

Part of the dilapidated walking path, which may be the orange trail in between Park Lane South and one of the park drives. Something about these lamps, duct-taped up and leaning into the trees, that says uncared for.

The blue and yellow trail were mostly clear of poison ivy, but the Orange trail had it in many spots, like this large patch.

All in all, I was underwhelmed by my Forest Park experience. I hiked all the trails, barring the orange along the Jackie Robinson Parkway, in about two hours.

I do wish that people you pass on the trail would show the courtesy of acknowledgement. Out on wilderness trails, if you pass someone, general etiquette is to say hello. Here in the city I know we have different attitudes about acknowledging those in close proximity. With that in mind, I argue that it is more valuable to acknowledge when hiking in highly populated areas. Its just creepy to pass someone on a trail that only warily eyeballs you or worse, doesn't even look. Passing lone men out in the woods, especially in a place with so many desire paths, can put a person at dis ease that could be well assuaged by a hello, a smile, or even a simple nod. I will manage one of those three if I pass you on a woods trail in the NYC area. Hope you do the same.

Despite my complaints, I did make some discoveries...

I've been seeing this everywhere I go recently and Forest Park had a lot. Obviously a berry, like rasp or black. But neither of those...

It's notable for its bright orange berry (before it goes red I think) and its hairy/thorny sepals.

I spotted a couple of these, but cannot ID them. Five petaled, St. Johnswort-like yellow flowers; trifoliate leaves, astilbe-like; maybe 2 feet tall in the woods. Anybody?

I did find a few patches of fern on the yellow and blue trail.

On the blue trail, just passed 'The Gully,' this dangerous looking plant was trailside. It had spines on its stem and spines at the axil of each set of leaves. They were sharp. The leaves are pinnately compound. The stems were green, the whole plant green. It looked like a weed to me, but hard to say. It grew in a patch that looked as if it may become large shrubs or small trees some time in the future. My only guess is Aralia spp., but I didn't see any flowers or berries. I'm not sure Aralia has those axil spines. Anyone???

In two locations I spotted garden iris.

Tulip trees were present, especially on the yellow trail.

This fungus I found on the orange path, near the park drive. Anybody know this one?

On the yellow trail, not far from the train tracks, this big black beetle crossed my path. I couldn't take a good photo, she was moving fast. I take it for a she, because it seemed to be depositing eggs in the soil every few inches.

This was the prize, made the whole trip worth it. Indian Pipe. I've never seen it on Long Island before, although it most certainly grows here.

Map It.

Day and a Half Hike

Last weekend my wife and I went to the New Paltz area for a couple of days of hiking. The weather couldn't have been more perfect. The Shawangunk (pronounced Shon-gum) mountain chain, located between the Catskills and the Highlands, may be the most interesting and diverse ecological niche in the northeast and only 2 hours from NYC.

Many hikes travel along or have views of rockface.

Moss, lichens, ferns, shrubs, and trees grow on the ledges.

Rivers of brilliant red blueberry bushes lined the top of the mountains and the distant valley appears like the sea. All this near Sam's Point.

Along the path, red blueberry bushes mingled with this white-seeded plant which I think is Pearly Everlasting, or Anaphalis margaritacea.

Dwarf Pitch Pine Plains around Lake Maratanza, near Sam's Point. Trees are around 5 feet tall.

Looking west from Sam's Point at sunset

Plan B: Greenbelt Nature Center

Because the Native Plant Demonstration Garden was closed, I decided to head for the fairly new Greenbelt Nature Center. To get there from the S44 Travis Avenue stop, I walked up East on Travis about 300 yards or so and picked up the S61 toward St. George.

I take this about a mile (I could've walked) to Rockland Ave. I got off the bus and realized that where I needed to go is without sidewalks and the traffic heavy, constant, and not at all used to pedestrians. Plus, there's no shoulders on the road. Way to welcome your park visitors, S.I. To boot, there were no signs for the Nature Center from the direction I was coming. I knew I needed to walk east, but didn't like that feeling of uneasiness as I travel in traffic to an unknown place. Staten Island is largely a car owner's borough. It is designed around this. After the brief, but hairy, walk I arrived at the well-groomed Nature Center.

I ate lunch, used the rather clean, un-NYC Parks-like bathroom, and looked around the center. The place is definitely built around children and I might add there were virtually no adults without children (there was a child's birthday party going on). There was information about the local fauna and flora, including an Asian Longhorn Beetle display.

The Asian Longhorn Beetle Display

The park trails were empty, almost eerily so. It was a rather nice summer weekend and no one was taking a hike. Maybe everyone wanted the beach or something?

Patches of fern are found trail-side.

The woods reminded me somewhat of the woods I grew up with, but with stands of hardwoods that didn't grow in Suffolk County. There was the smooth, gray bark of the Beech tree, the similarly smooth gray of young Tulip Poplars, mighty large Maples, stands of Oaks, and Sassafras too. Sassafras grew in the woods around my childhood home and some leaves emit a strong lemon scent when you tear them. No worries Parks, this Sassafras I left alone.

Bark of the Beech tree and Sassafras leaves

There were patches of ferns amongst the trees, glacial erratic boulders with moss, and grass along the trail.

Glacial erratics in the trail bed and a mystery grass

The trails were familiar in the way that they never seem to give in to the plants, hard and easily traveled with sneakers. Less mosquitoes than I would have expected as well, really very little bugging me. There was, however, a good dose of poison ivy along the trail -so beware.

Poison Ivy growing up a trail-side tree.

The trails I walked seemed great for mountain biking, but this is either not allowed or contentious in the Greenbelt system (or all NYC parks?) for the obvious reasons of slow moving hikers/fast moving bikers, trail erosion, and forest degradation. Some mountain bikers are working to change this, but until then, keep the bikes at home.

Erosion along the blue trail

After a round on parts of the blue, white, and red trails (how patriotic), I decided to head for the bus, rain was on its way. By the time I traversed the shoulder-less road back to the bus stop, it was raining lightly. In 5 minutes I picked up the S61 -a straight shot to St. George and its ferry terminal where I just made the 3pm ferry.

On the way back I got a good look at those Olafur Eliasson waterfalls.

URBAN HIKER

When I was a kid we would get a large, fold-out Brookhaven township map in our area phonebook. One summer I highlighted all the roads I traveled on already. Then, I proceeded to plan bike rides to points of interest I found on the map. Once I made those trips, I'd highlight the route. Acknowledging to no one other than myself how well-traveled I had become!

In some sense, I am still doing this, albeit much slower and over a bigger area. I'm no excellent hiker and certainly not in the best shape. But I like discovery, seeing new places, and hiking as exercise. I recently logged on to the NYNJ Trail Conference. They sell many NYC area maps (on waterproof tyvek!) and I've gotten some of those too. The Long Island Greenbelt Trail Conference sells maps (paper, unfortunately) to many of Long Island's major trails.

Below is a list of the hikes I have walked recently. If you click, you'll find descriptions of my experiences of the trails, the park, or whatever it is that captures my interest. 

Weir Farm (Metro North to Branchville, CT or by car) MAP

Avalon (Long Island RR to Stony Brook or by car) MAP

Sam's Point (Bus to New Paltz or Ellenville, then taxi, or by car) MAP

Greenbelt Nature Center (Subway to SI Ferry, then Bus or by car) MAP

Forest Park (walk, F, E, J, Z subway, bus, or car) MAP

Muttontown Preserve (LIRR to Syosset, NY or by car)MAP
Nissequogue River (LIRR to Smithtown, NY or by car)MAP

Fort Tilden (A train, Bus, Walk, Bike, Ferry or by car)MAP

Camp Hero (Long Island RR to Montauk or by car)MAP