Davidson Woods

Teaching Science Through Primitive Fire Making Technology: A Lab Manual and Primer by Tony Carbone
TEAM submitted on January 16, 1970
On the morning of August 30, 1996 I started my first fire by friction using a bow drill I carved myself. As a participant at one of my later workshops put it, “I felt like a cave man!” The feeling that comes from the experience is very deep, joyful and primal. The experience was compounded as I had been working for 5 days for this fire. My wife, twin daughters and I spent that last
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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTOn the morning of August 30, 1996 I started my first fire by friction using a bow drill I carved myself. As a participant at one of my later workshops put it, “I felt like a cave man! The feeling that comes from the experience is very deep, joyful and primal. The experience was compounded as I had been working for 5 days for this fire.  My wife, twin daughters and I spent that last week before school at Hawk Circle, an outdoor skills camp in Cherry Valley, New York. The week was a combination of adult skills classes, kids activities and activities that brought everyone together. The adults had been taught the bow drill technique Monday morning. In between the various other classes and activities, I spent several hours a day working for that fire and failing in so many ways. Little did I know that was part of the plan. The instructors let me try things that didn’t work so I could make as many mistakes and learn as much as possible while I had support. As with other things in life, all success teaches you is that what you did worked.  Failure requires you to think about all the possible causes, prioritize them and formulate a strategy.  By the time I left, though still a very green neophyte, I acquired enough skill to teach myself. Beyond the shear excitement of “rubbing two sticks together” and making a fire, I saw vast potential in this technique as a teaching tool on many levels.  I began to teach the technique as a “lab” at the school where I work and also at my children’s elementary schools. Everyone always wants to handle the apparatus and guess what it’s for. Breaking classes into groups provided an opportunity to explore group dynamics and teambuilding. With my 8th, 9th and 10th graders, I used the bow drill to introduce a variety of science concepts in addition to measurement and math skills. For the last 15 years I’ve worked to refine the bow drill as a teaching tool. I’ve presented my methods and results at the Science Teachers Association of New York State (STANYS) and New York State Outdoor Educators Association (NYSOEA) conferences several times. What follows is a distillation of my experience and feedback from my students and colleagues. While it took me a week to get my first fire and weeks to come up with my first “lab”, I believe the reader needs to invest much less time to add this technique to their collection of classroom activities. To begin, all you need is one bow drill set and about a half hour. In that time you can learn the mechanics well enough to use the labs. You won’t yet have the skill to make a fire, but as a teacher you don’t need it. If you choose to practice more, you can acquire whatever skill level you desire. My most important reason for adding this to my teaching repertoire is that I can fulfill some of my curricular responsibilities while increasing student awareness of, and connection to the natural environment.  No one can look at a tree the same after they’ve seen fire made from its branches or cordage from its bark.  So, look through the following pages and consider adding bow drill fire-making to your skill set.  Everything you need to get started from scratch is described here.
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680 Birds and Counting - November 27, 2011
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
Anne and I returned home last night after a 600 mile (round-trip) $215 dollar (gas, tolls, lodging, and restaurant meals) expedition to Ashtabula, Ohio on the shore of Lake Erie. Our life-list now includes the Black-tailed Gull, a handsome dark-mantled coastal bird typically found along the western edge of Asia.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTAnne and I returned home last night after a 600 mile (round-trip) $215 dollar (gas, tolls, lodging, and restaurant meals) expedition to Ashtabula, Ohio on the shore of Lake Erie.  Our life-list now includes the Black-tailed Gull, a handsome dark-mantled coastal bird typically found along the western edge of Asia. The Japanese honor this bird with the Kabushima Shrine where it is considered the messenger of the god of fisheries.  Perhaps the appearance of a solitary black-tailed gull at the mouth of the Ashtabula Harbor suggests a rebirth of this tired port.  The bird arrived more than a week ago, was spotted by a local birder, and posted on the Internet.  The pilgrimage began.  We considered going a week ago, but our schedule was full.  On Thanksgiving evening, I checked the bird listings and noticed that the bird had been seen that day.  Our car was scheduled for service on Friday morning, but we had nothing solidly scheduled after that until Monday.  So, we quickly packed and went to bed.  On Friday morning we jogged and went together to the auto shop.  With inspection made, oil changed, and two new tires, we began a five and one-half hour run across Pennsylvania to the Ohio border.  The weather was clear and the historic Pennsylvania Turnpike was smooth and clean.  Often at this time the weather has turned bad, but clear mild weather was forecast through Saturday.  Sunday was to be a different story.  We hoped to find the bird before that. We picked up a motel flyer at a rest area, but my quick Internet search the night before led to the best deal, a clean and comfortable Hampton Inn at Austinburg about ten miles from the harbor.  The attendant asked ninety dollars when we called, but quickly agreed to the seventy-five I had seen listed on-line.  We had packed leftovers and warmed them in the microwave before watching TBN and AMC on the new flat-screen TV.  We don’t have such luxury at home.  The lights were out at ten p.m. and the alarms woke us at five a.m.  The motel wonderfully had breakfast out before six.  I made a lovely waffle in the machine provided.  At six-thirty we were driving through the darkness in an unknown area to a location on a map I had downloaded, a concrete bridge near the mouth of the Ashtabula River.  This was in a harbor area dominated by railroad tracks, tower cranes, mountains of coal, stone, and salt, marinas, and various arms of the harbor.  Though dark, the area was reasonably well lit by industrial lighting.  We found the bridge and located a small parking lot.  Various birders were already loitering.  The lot was full, but when I tried to squeeze into a too narrow space, a set of headlights turned on and a waiting birder backed out and moved his car a little closer to one side.  We parked. The morning was chilly, about forty degrees and with a light but steady breeze.  We dressed well, but expected it to be a bit warmer.  We added clothing as the dawn approached.  More than forty people stood on both sides of the road at the west end of the bridge.  Gulls were already moving, but it was too dark to see them well enough to find the single outlier among the hundreds of herring, ring-billed, and Bonapartes gulls that coursed, flying and swimming, where the river flowed into the lake a kilometer to the north.  Closer, a large flock of red-breasted mergansers provided entertainment by swimming and diving in the harbor close to the bridge.  The group was cheerful, chuckled, chatted, and sipped coffee.   Mostly they raised their binoculars whenever a flock of gulls flew up the river and past our vantage point.  These  folks were serious in their purpose.  The license plates ranged from Texas to Connecticut.  Each knew that this might be their only chance ever to see this, most likely natural, occurrence of a “class 4” bird within the “American Birding Association Area” of the continental United States and Canada.  The dawn came up pale.  The chilly wind continued.  Perhaps a few thousand gulls passed.  High powered scopes scanned birds roosting on industrial buildings and posts in the marina.  Voices mentioned a night heron, a kingfisher, a great blue heron, and horned grebes.  By seven-thirty disappointment had begun.  People were retreating to cars to warm up.  A number of people drove to other points along the waterfront where the bird had been seen in previous days.  Anne sat in the car to recover and returned to the lookout.  She asked if we should move.  I commented that this was the likeliest spot and that others were scanning at other points.  Somebody’s cell phone would ring if the bird was seen.  The phone rang at about eight o’clock.  The bird was reported about a blue roof to the east.  Most of the group fled immediately to their vehicles to move to Lake Front Park.  We tarried a few minutes.  The report was vague, and the building was not quite a mile a way.  We could (with the help of our scope) see the building from where we were.  I scanned with the scope but could see no dark-backed gulls.  We folded up the tripod and headed for the car. Arriving at the lookout, we found the parking spaces full.  Anne got out while I found a place for the car.  Walking back with the scope in arms, I found the group restless.  Anne said the bird had disappeared.  She had stepped up to the lookout as the bird dove off the far side of the roof and disappeared.   After a half hour without the bird showing up again, we became sorely disappointed.  Most of the group had seen the bird, but many for only a few minutes.  Knowing that the bird often vanished to points unknown for much of the day, we began to wonder if we had blown it.  After an hour we returned to the car to warm and begin cruising the waterfront.  We wandered to the ends of narrow streets and alleys to glimpse slips and spaces where a bird might hide.  Many gulls were coursing about the river mouth and around the sewage plant.  Almost always there was a bird or two somewhere in the sky and a birder or two within hailing distance. We visited the local coffee shop, recaffinated, warmed our hands, and checked the Internet reports.  The morning’s appearance of the bird was noted, but nothing more.  We encountered birders at many of the stops and shared what little information we had.  We also shared phone numbers.  We finished the morning back at the lookout above Lake Front Park.  At 12:30, we left the scene to go to a diner in the harbor area.  We had packed a lunch, and had hoped to be on the road toward home by then.  Instead, we decided to take our dinner in the diner and save the sandwich for supper.  We would stay until 3:30.  The gull was likely to return to roost by then.  If not, we would give up. The diner was warm and busy.  Folks in the town were familiar with the popularity of their famous bird and asked about it.  An hour after our arrival, the check came.  I debated with myself where we would go first.  Then, the phone rang.  It was a new acquaintance, Barry, who reported the bird back on the same roof it had been on in the morning.  I threw the payment and tip on the check in cash, and we hustled out the door.  Another couple of birders who had just arrived in town were hampered by their meals still in progress.  I pushed the limits and parked ten minutes later.  Anne ran up the hill while I gathered the scope from the trunk.  The bird was perched on the roof and preening, probably only 1,000 feet away.  It remained for a half hour.  We enjoyed watching the details of plumage as it turned its head and raised its wings to spruce up the feathers after a morning of hunting.  Then we waited, hoping to see it fly before we began our six-hour drive home.  After a time something disturbed the small flock of roosting gulls and they began to take to wing.  Our gull finally lifted and floated across the harbor to show off the black band on the tail that gives the species its name.  Anne and I kissed, and we returned to the car.  The ride home was long with no time for long stops.  We took a more direct route and avoided the tolls, but by the time we left the Allegheny Plateau and began crossing the steep Appalachian ridges, it was dark.  With no tunnels on these routes, the two-lanes wound up and charged down the ridges.  The manual transmission made it easier to minimize abusing the brakes as we crossed the “Wilds” district of Pennsylvania.  Our Loop Road was a welcome sight.  We returned home feeling tired but rewarded.  Another tic on the life list.  Number 683 for me, 680 for Anne, more or less.  Few others have seen this many.  We are within striking distance of 700.  Will we make it before we are too old to move or too blind to see?  How much will it cost to add additional birds to the life-list?  I will try to post answers to these questions as opportunities for more life birds come forward. This year we have added nine species.  We found four species during two pelagic birding tours off the California coast.  The birds were Laysan Albatross, Ashy Storm-Petrel, Buller’s Shearwater, and Great-winged Petrel.  These cost about $800 counting the tour fees, lodging and eating out.  At $200 per bird, that was about the same as this weekend’s gull.  I didn’t include the cost of the trip to California, because we went there to visit our son. Two of the birds, the storm-petrel and the shearwater are not uncommon in the coastal Pacific.  We now have seen most such birds.  The Laysan albatross is rare but regular; it was a good catch.  The great-winged petrel was a great and lucky find!  It has now been seen in the A.B.A. Area only five times.        We found two life-birds on our visit to Nova Scotia this fall.  Touring and birding one day  I commented, while driving, on gulls feeding in a field.  Anne looked and reported seeing smaller birds among them.  I stopped.  We scanned the field with binoculars.  I saw numerous killdeer, but Anne said she saw yet smaller birds moving among them.  I turned around and parked at the end of a farm driveway.  Nobody was home and no dogs bothered us.  I too spotted the tiny sandpipers, but they were too far away to identify.  I set up the scope in the driveway and brought into focus a Buff-breasted Sandpiper.  Five of them were feeding on the pasture.  We enjoyed fine, if distant views.  There was no extra cost for this bird. It is a species that migrates between the high arctic and South America along the Mississippi flyway.  There it is rare and irregular in short grass fields for a few weeks in spring and fall.  In the East, it shows up very irregularly on sod fields, pastures, and airports.  We have missed finding it many times, and were delighted to finally see it.  Later, we took a whale watching cruise to add the Atlantic Puffin to my life-list.  Anne had seen one on a pelagic trip off of New Jersey, but I had missed this bird.  Cost, for me, $60, the cost of the boat ride.  The bird was priceless. We easily found Black Guillemots along the Nova Scotia and Maine coasts, a region we had never before birded.  Not considering the coast of our tour, we paid nothing to add the species to our lists.  We knew we would find this bird on this trip.  It was pretty much a sure thing.  There won’t be many more such birds! In January, we made a three-day, two-night excursion from Ft. Myers to the Everglades and Miami area in search of birds.  Total cost about $200 for gas, lodging, and eating out.  On our last morning, a Sunday, we were up and drove to exclusive Key Biscayne before dawn.  We entered Bill Baggs State Park when the gate opened, parked at a trail head and began searching for a La Sagra’s Flycatcher, a species normally found in the Bahamas, but not in Florida.  This particular specimen seemed happy spending the winter there.  We found and observed it hawking insects from a power line along the trail.  The “added cost” for the bird was probably only a few dollars for gasoline and the bridge toll.  A bargain, certainly! From here on out most life-birds will require special trips or good luck.  Each will be a small or large adventure.  We will keep you posted. 
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Dedication Day, 2011 - 148 Years of Honor
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
Anne and I attended the annual Dedication Day ceremony this morning at Soldiers’s National Cemetery. It was a beautiful clear and frosty morning and, because this year November 19 falls on a Saturday, there were no seats. Still, it was wonderful.

The program is straight forward. After the presentation of colors, the national anthem, a welcome, introductions, and invocation, the keynote speaker is introduced. This year it was an actor, Stephen Lang, whose remarks focused on what those who died there have given us.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTAnne and I attended the annual Dedication Day ceremony this morning at Soldiers’s National Cemetery.  It was a beautiful clear and frosty morning and, because this year November 19 falls on a Saturday, there were no seats.  Still, it was wonderful.  The program is straight forward.  After the presentation of colors, the national anthem, a welcome, introductions, and invocation, the keynote speaker is introduced.  This year it was an actor, Stephen Lang, whose remarks focused on what those who died there have given us.  After his somewhat lengthy comments, one James Getty, portraying well the 16th President of the United States, made the few appropriate comments that were first spoken in that place on November 19, 1863.  I have written previously on these remarkable words.  A naturalization ceremony followed.  I listened closely to the oath this year.  I have thought that we birth citizens are perhaps deprived never to have been made to speak these words to acquire the rights and priviliges that these people, some with strong accents of distant lands, must speak to gain them.  I present them the Naturalization Oath for your consideration.  I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen; that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform noncombatant service in the armed forces of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; so help me God. Mr. Lang, this day’s speaker, commented on the Roman Empire, its collapse, and the persistence of our Union.  My opinion, valid or not, is that the Roman nation failed because its citizens forgot what it was worth.  I somethings think that many Americans have forgotten what their nation is worth.  Worse, they take it for granted, and forget that it is only as good as we make it.  This morning we were party to a large group that despite widely differing views and opinions were there to celebrate what we have and honor those who truly gave the last true measure of devotion defending that hill which at that moment was the heart of our nation.  The Army of Northern Virginia had come to destroy the Army of the Potomic which was charged with defending the national capital.  At Gettysburg Mr. Lee’s expeditionary force formed a loop about this hill where elements of the United States Army stood desperately to defend not only the hill, but themselves and Washington D.C. which was now being attacked from the north.   This hill bled long and furiously on the 3rd of July, 1863, but the lines held and the tide of the Confederacy began a wearisome ebb.  After the disengagement the war moved elsewhere;  the local community attempted, with limited outside support, to recover and to manage the wounded and the carnage.  There was no question that a cemetery was needed.  The effort started locally, but within weeks Pennsylvania appropriated funds.  Ultimately, the federal government took title and provided more support.  By November of 1863, remains were being removed from shallow graves or mere piles into places of honor upon the hill.  The dedication ceremony was not a reflection upon the glories of a romantic war in the distant past, but upon the horrors of a recent hurt.  The war was not over.  Pennsylvania would be invaded again in 1864. Lincoln’s words said all of this.  They are too full to hear well when spoken, but read and re-read, they express the worth of the nation and sacrifice necessary to keep it.  Our nation cannot be kept if we ignore it.  And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country. This statement was made in 1961 as a warning.  Today, we risk loosing it all because of an increasingly pervasive view that the government can or should somehow support us.  Whereas government should provide the means for welfare, it cannot provide it directly.  I fear that we are loosing an understanding of this.  If we all expect others to support us, our empire (an extensive operation or sphere of activity controlled by one person or group) surely will collapse.  
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Tough Month So Far - November 10, 2011
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
Anne and I are home and happy. We are to be on South Mountain mostly until January when we will travel to Florida. We expected December to be hectic with both visitors here and travel for the holidays. November was supposed to be quiet for chores and catch up.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTAnne and I are home and happy.  We are to be on South Mountain mostly until January when we will travel to Florida.  We expected December to be hectic with both visitors here and travel for the holidays.  November was supposed to be quiet for chores and catch up.  Then Elley fell and broke her arm and Anne spent ten days whit her in NYC.  While she was away I went to the doctor to check out a probable hernia in my groin.  He said yes.  My surgery is scheduled for November 29.  That was OK, I knew this had to be taken care of.  I aced a dental exam; the next day a crown broke.  Anne, being in NYC, missed her dental exam and cleaning.  Now we are both scheduled for another dental appointment. Elley had surgery for her arm last Thursday.  Anne called that evening to give a good report on that.  The next morning she called with another report.  Elley was recovering, but my Mom called to report Dad had bloody urine.  I quickly packed a bag and drove to York.  I took him first to his primary care doc and then to the urologist.  The latter felt the need to insert a catheter, an uncomfortable matter.  We scheduled an ultrasound for Saturday and a return to him for a cystoscopy on Monday.  I knew then I would spend the weekend in York.  I was already working hard.  The dates first proposed for the procedures were Monday and Friday.  I said that would not do.  Managing the catheter at home was a challenge and uncomfortable for Dad, but we made do.  The ultrasound went well, but the bladder was empty and “could not be evaluated.”  We had been told to clamp the drain an hour ahead of the procedure.  We should have done so earlier.  Dad was probably somewhat dehydrated.  Next time I will know. Back at my parents home I worked through the “To Do” list before my sister, Laurie, arrived for a planned visit.  She helped and gave me a chance to unwind.  We both stayed overnight.  I had considered going home, but would have had to come back early on Monday.  It was better to visit and assist.  Laurie left on Sunday afternoon.  Sunday night was long.  I severely missed Anne by this time.  On Monday morning we went to the urologist where the technician removed the catheter.  Dad’s mood improved remarkably.  The bleeding had stopped, probably because we had stopped administering blood thinner on Friday.  The camera probe through the urethra caused no pain;  it was smaller than the catheter tube. The urologist spotted a small tumor, growth, or cancer.  “It needs to be removed,” he said.  When I asked about the prognosis, he reported that Dad would probably have to come in about every three months for another cystoscopy to monitor for regrowth.  With that, my Dad was ready to leave, but I suggested he have the tumor removed and then take it from there.  He would not have to come back after his recovery if he didn’t want to.  We all agreed and I took Dad home. The phone rang.  It was Anne.   She had arrived at the Harrisburg train station at 3:40 p.m. I was supposed to be there to pick her up.  Instead, I was still briefing Mom about the results.  I soon left and raced to Harrisburg where I met Anne and gave her a hug.  Dad’s surgery is scheduled for December 1, two days after mine.  I told Anne she would be busy that week. Meanwhile, our roof needs to be replaced.  We will meet with the contractor on Saturday.  This work should be complete before the holidays.  The car and the motorhome need inspections.  Anne is working over Thanksgiving week.  We will have company then.  We are making plans for visits to Schenectady.  Alex will fly into NYC and train with Elley to that town to visit with the Woods.  We will meet them there and drive them back here for Christmas.  Elley will train back to NYC and Alex will fly back to San Francisco from Harrisburg.  We are going to be busy from now until January. This evening I am making pizza.  The dough is rising.  We have neighbors joining us for cards after dinner.  We are at home and enjoying the woods of South Mountain.  A cold front has passed, the rain has ended, and a chill is settling in.Tomorrow will be a lovely if blustery day.  Golden eagles will be coursing along the ridges.  Another lovely day.
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MEDICARE - The Arrival - November 11, 2011
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
Anne didn’t enjoy it one bit. I helped, but she did the research and chatted with the salesmen. It has been a three month process, but today she finished contracting for health insurance under Medicare.

I provide this report because I know many of you are also approaching the magic age of 65 and will have to endure the ordeal of signing up for Medicare. Good luck.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTAnne didn’t enjoy it one bit.  I helped, but she did the research and chatted with the salesmen.  It has been a three month process, but today she finished contracting for health insurance under Medicare.  I provide this report because I know many of you are also approaching the magic age of 65 and will have to endure the ordeal of signing up for Medicare.  Good luck. Until today we were both insured through an agent/insurer, Highmark Blue Shield.  One bill a month was paid.  Now we will continue to pay Highmark for me and three other companies for Anne.  Four bills will be paid each month.  How exciting. Anne’s previous cost for insurance was:    $3728. Now it is: Medicare Part  A (Hospitalization)                      0.    U.S. Government Insurance Medicare Part B (Medical)                            1380.    U.S. Government Insurance Medigap (Part G) (Deductibles)*                   1320.    Mutual of Omaha    Medicare Part D  (Drugs)                               180.**   Humana TOTAL                                                        $2880. Savings                    My previous cost for insurance was            $3728.    Highmark Blue Shield But, since I am now solo it will be               $3999. Anne’s out of pocket expenses have averaged:                                           $1420. Under the new plans they should maximize at                                               $  150.*** My out of pocket expenses are unchanged. We have generated a couple of thousand dollars of tax savings each year through deductions for medical expenses (including insurance) and contributing to a Medical Savings Account. We may loose some of this, but I can’t determine that change yet so don’t include it here. In total our savings through Medicare:     $1846. Thanks kids, though I don’t know why you should be contributing to our health care costs? It would be much, much, simpler and cheaper if the federal government simply wrote Anne a check each year for $1846.  Then we could stay with the same joint insurance policy and deal with one agent/insurer.  But, the government makes Medicare an offer you can’t refuse, so Anne takes it.  I suspect that if there were no Medicare and federal health insurance requirements, we would save half of our medical costs and receive much more practical health care.  We might survive a few years less, but we would better enjoy spending all the health care savings on living. Ironically, I suspect many people believe that the government will provide for your health care when you are 65.  Well, above are the facts.  In a few years the government sponsored plan may cost more than insuring without it.  No reason to sign up for Medicare.  But wait, didn’t Congress just pass a law saying everybody has to go with the government plan?  I guess there is no way out except maybe going to Mexico or Costa Rica for health care.  It might become worth the trip. How did the government get into the health insurance business? *  The Medicare deductible is 20%, so one is almost obliged to purchase additional insurance to cover it.  We currently have a "high deductible" policy, but the deductible is capped.  Not so Medicare. ** Anne currently takes no prescription drugs and so is purchasing the lowest cost plan.  If she begins regularly taking expensive medications, she may switch at year end to another plan.  She purchases a plan now only because there is a severe penalty if you do not take such a plan at age 65.  She has done without one for 65 years. *** I won’t guarantee this.
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Home Alone - November 1, 2011
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
Good News. Electricity has returned to our home on South Mountain.

Bad News. Telephone and Internet Service have left.

I write from the library after spending weekend with Mom and Dad Strehl in York. We made a quiet celebration of my Dad's 91st birthday. Nobody else could come because of nearly a foot of snow in these parts on Saturday.
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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTGood News.  Electricity has returned to our home on South Mountain.  Bad News.  Telephone and Internet Service have left.  I write from the library after spending weekend with Mom and Dad Strehl in York.  We made a quiet celebration of my Dad's 91st birthday.  Nobody else could come because of nearly a foot of snow in these parts on Saturday. Anne was in NYC nursing Elley who, in case you haven't heard, broke her wrist last week.  She was stopped on the bicycle when knocked over by another cyclist.  All you bicycle commuters, be careful out there.  Send her best wishes. I dropped Anne off at the Harrisburg train station on Friday and don't expect to see her again until after Elley's planned surgery on Thursday.  How I miss her! The house survived, but some of the meat may be tainted.  The snow is melting rapidly today and it will seem like autumn again tomorrow.  I am brewing beer.  The process stopped for a day or two but has resumed, bubble, bubble.  Our only back-up heat is a propane fireplace on the first floor.  The basement and the beer were very happy when the pellet stove started up again.  
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September 8, 2011 - Schenectady
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
We arrived on Thursday afternoon, setting up camp in Rexford - thanks Norb and Susan, and began finding and greeting members of the Woods clan starting with James who arrived to mow when we were unpacking. The weather is now great and gave us a wonderful drive out of the White Mountains, down along the Connecticut River, across southern Vermont, and finally over the Hudson River and into the Schenectady area.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTWe arrived on Thursday afternoon, setting up camp in Rexford - thanks Norb and Susan, and began finding and greeting members of the Woods clan starting with James who arrived to mow when we were unpacking.  The weather is now great and gave us a wonderful drive out of the White Mountains, down along the Connecticut River, across southern Vermont, and finally over the Hudson River and into the Schenectady area. While leaf color was approaching peak and putting on a great show on the slopes of the Franconia Range as we passed through the wonderland of Crawford Notch, we found the forests still mostly green in the southern Whites.  This fall is trending a bit late after the soaking rains of the past month.  In Vermont we saw signs of flood damage and much evidence of recent road repairs.  Cones were down in several places where stripes had been put down despite the cool weather.  The recent warmth blessedly allowed the road crews to apply asphalt before the end of the season.  On the east slope of the Green Mountains we saw trees stripped of foliage by tropical storm Irene.  There will be no autumn color there. The passage of the cold front finally cleared out the rain and fog that had plagued us since returning to the U.S.A. from Canada.  The weather was largely unsettled while we explored the eastern tip of Maine and Campobello Island of New Brunswick.  We arrived at Acadia National Park in the sunshine but the forecast was for three days of rain.  Since we were planning to stay for three days, we made camp and immediately drove to the top of Cadillac Mountain and enjoyed. its splendid views.  The granitic Mt. Desert Island and the park there gave us a great show despite the awful weather during the remainder of our stay. We had only one day in the Whites and I had hoped to stroll up the Ammonoosic Ravine Trail to the top of the hill there, but the weather forecast was negative.  The storm was finally moving out and yielding to “a backdoor cold front” that would drop temperatures at the summit of Mt. Washington from a high of 20 degrees at dawn to the single digits in the afternoon.  Meanwhile the summit winds would build to hurricane force.  So, we decided to walk up the trail for only a couple of miles.  It was good.  The sky was clearing but still much unsettled.  The air was not still but not yet exciting.  We stopped to see the cog railroad station and asked if, since it was off-season, we could park there.  The lad in the ticket booth said, “Yes, but we have to talk to the old man down in the lot.”  We couldn’t find him so instead drove the half mile down to the U.S. Forest Service parking lot.  There we dressed for the hike and started toward the trail head when a young and well dressed couple emerged.  I greeted them and she said that the trail was flooded and impassable about ten minutes up the trail.  They were planning to climb Mt. Washington that day and were driving up to the station to resume the hike above the stream crossing.  I wished them well and said to use care.  We continued what I assumed would be a very short hike.  Ten minutes latter we could hear the roar of Franklin Brook that was in flood from the ending storm.  We studied the ford.  The trail crossing was indeed awash.  In summer the simple solution would have been to unshoe and wade across.  Not wishing to chill our toes,  I looked about and saw a crossing about ten meters upstream.  We left the trail and then walked up a bit and then down to the water.  I gave the two rocks a quick study, stepped smartly across, and put my hand out for Anne.  She followed and we resumed our trek.  The trail turned up along the Ammonoosic Creek with its many rapids and falls that were in a boil with the storm water.  We came upon a crew of forest workers who were making trail repairs to Irene damage.  We chatted and thanked them for their efforts.  The leader asked about our plans.  I told him we were making a short hike and then asked if a young couple had passed by.  He said, yes.  I commented on their plans to summit and their inability to make the ford.  He suggested that they might change their mind when they reached tree line.  I chuckled and said I hoped so. We turned around after a time when we reached the fog line.  Already the wind was gusting and the air turning chilly.  We encountered two other pairs of climbers, young men well dressed for the summit.  We both wished them well and suggested caution.  I wonder how many dared go all the way to the summit that day.  Few I think. We returned to our car and drove out the south end of the valley, turned east, and then turned north to climb into Pinkham Notch on the east side of Mt. Washington.  We stopped at the Appalachian Mountain Club center there and walked up the Crawford Notch Trail in hopes of reaching the flat at the bottom of that canyon and obtaining a view of its interior.  I had forgotten that the walk was almost three miles and all a steep climb.  We enjoyed following a stream there and stopping to view the elegant waterfall.  Encountering a serious young hiker coming down we asked about the trail.  He said there was a blanket of fog concealing the upper half of the notch and that it was snowing when he left.  We considered that and turned around before reaching our objective.  A dark cloud dimmed our hopes.  The good news was that the cloud brought sleet and not rain.  Our little hikes were good ones.  We safely experienced the drama of “the most dangerous small mountain in the world” and enjoyed its various roarings.  The ranger said that the weather looked to be great in two days, but we had to be here in two days and so didn’t climb Mt. Washington this year.  It is no dishonor to be bested by the weather there.  Returning to camp we prepared for a cold night.  I disconnected our water hose from the spigot, certain it would freeze overnight.  We would draw what water we needed from the reservoir in the rig.  At dawn the temperature was 20 degrees F.  The furnace quickly warmed the interior.  Breaking camp, Anne found the TV antenna frozen.  We hadn’t thought to take it down.  No problem, I said.  I’ll go upon the roof.  That exercise was good because the white pines in the campground had dropped a bunch of needles overnight.  So I took a broom and swept it after giving the antenna a shake.  If the roof had been icy our departure might have been delayed, but instead the incident only made us wiser.  The clear morning was welcome after so much unsettled weather.  It was a beacon for our departure.  We were on the road again. 
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October 3, 2011 - Bar Harbor ME
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
The campground is dark and quiet this Monday evening. We are exhausted but warm and happy after our last day of exploring Mt. Desert Island and Acadia National Park. Our northern expedition is drawing to a close, but we will make a two-night stop at Twin Mountain in the New Hampshire White Mountains region and then stay for the weekend at Schenectady before returning to our home and winterizing our motorhome, “Harley,” for the season.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTThe campground is dark and quiet this Monday evening.  We are exhausted but warm and happy after our last day of exploring Mt. Desert Island and Acadia National Park.  Our northern expedition is drawing to a close, but we will make a two-night stop at Twin Mountain in the New Hampshire White Mountains region and then stay for the weekend at Schenectady before returning to our home and winterizing our motorhome, “Harley,” for the season.  Our stop here provided a first visit to Acadia National Park for both of us.  I knew this park would be different in character from many national parks.  Most of the land was privately donated, so the park is interspersed with private lands.  The park is a patchwork of lands upon the island.  There is an entry fee, so one is constantly passing through checkpoints and displaying the pay stub.  This is a small nuisance, but with a little care one may enjoy most of the park without passing any checkpoints. The autumn bird migration has now largely passed us by and we did not expect to find new birds here.  Instead we planned to enjoy the scenic vistas, the rocky coastline, and the fascinating geology.   We were not disappointed - except by the weather.  The sun shined on our arrival day and we quickly set up camp and drove to the summit of Cadillac Mountain, the high point of the park to walk about on the bare granite and gaze for tens of miles in all directions.  We knew the forecast for the next three days was bad and made the best of what would likely be our last clear weather while we were here.  That was good because the next day was rainy and foggy.  We went to the shore early but could see almost nothing.  To make the best of it we went to downtown Bar Harbor and tried to explore it.  The rain put a stop to that.  So, we spent a couple of hours in the library reading magazines and checking the Internet.  We also scheduled our joining a bird walk the following morning and a geology hike this morning.  After that we returned to our motorhome, turned on the heat and read.  We also turned on the generator for an hour and watched an episode of a tv show.  Yesterday morning started out drizzly.  We arrived at the rendezvous point and found the ranger and three other intrepid naturalists.  The walk started well but then the drizzle turned into a hard rain.  We returned after a time to the parking lot.  The ranger said she would make two other stops if we liked in spite of the weather.  Only Anne and I liked.  We enjoyed the company of our “private” guide for the rest of the morning.  Then we returned again to the camper to warm up and dry out.  We decided to make a motor trip to the far side of the island to visit the “Wonderland” coastline that the ranger had reported as a good spot for birds.  The ride went well, but when we arrived at the southwest shoreline we faced a strong and wet wind that made birding a challenge.  Still, we made the walk and watched waves crash against the spruce covered shoreline. This morning we awoke early - we have enjoyed too much sleep in this awful weather - and found the morning somewhat brighter.  So, we went early to the Sieur de Monts Spring and “Wild Gardens of Acadia” to see the many labeled plants, the lovely spring run, and look for birds.  The garden was lovely and perhaps the best collection of cultivated wild plants we have ever seen.  The trail through the wetlands was also lovely and included about one thousand feet of floating boardwalk.  The birds were few but a flock of blackpoll warblers, a species we seldom see, entertained us along the way.  Unfortunately, a drizzle began. We departed and drove to Sand Beach, the only such beach in the park.  It is situate at the end of a narrow bay between two rocky points.  A rocky island between the points calms the waters of the bay enough that the waves deposit a lovely shell beach there.  A handsome young ranger, Sonya, (where is our son when he should be with us) greeted about ten of us who came to find out the geology of this rocky island.  She started with basics - igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic - and then briefed us on the remarkable history of the rock here.  In short, marine deposits  formed sandstones that were pushed up to form a small continent called Avolonia which had the misfortune to be shoved into North America by an advancing southern continent (which included parts of Africa).  The collision was devastating and triggered an upflow of magma here that broke up through the sandstones before hardening into granite and finally being pushed up.  Today, a couple of hundred million years later after Africa has removed itself from the region, erosion has washed away most of the surrounding weaker rock and left this amazing mass of granite rising from the North Atlantic Ocean.  Recent glaciers have all but scraped the rock clean and then departed too.  So, we are left with much bare rock providing clear evidence of its formation.  On one section of coast is rock incorporating jagged bits of volcanic “ejecta.”  On another is granite with pieces of sandstone that fell into the magma.  The region of granite is roughly circular and surrounded by a “shatter zone” where bits of the older sandstones are incorporated into the intruding granite.  Outside of this zone in places are remnants of these sandstones free of the granite.  The surface also shows much evidence of recent (ten thousand years ago) glaciation.  One fascinating feature is a layer of marine mud some one hundred feet up a mountain slope.  This is clearly a recent feature.  How did it get there?  The sea level has been increasing since the last ice age.  So, the only explanation is that the land has risen by more than one hundred feet!  Why did the land rise?  Because it had been pushed down by more than a thousand feet of ice.  When the ice melted the land rose, some from below the surface of the sea.  We fools who think of the terra as firma! The walk was a three hour exercise in field geology.  It concluded at a spot where the ranger pointed out three very different looking boulders of rock types that we had not seen exposed during our rock.  She told us where there is bedrock that matched each of them, tens and hundreds of miles away.  Why are these “erratic” boulders here?  She reported that glaciers are a bit like conveyor belts and push a great deal of material ahead of it and underneath it.  Such erratics are typical of glaciated areas.  The presentation was excellent.  One need not be told that glaciers roamed this land when one can see what glaciers did to this land.  Science is making sense of the evidence, and here the evidence for the volcanic formation of this island and its shaping by glaciers is easy to see.  After the walk and our lunch, Anne and I made another hike along the coastal trail and then over a small granite hill, Gorham Mountain.  The surf was up from the recent weather and crashing waves sent spray fifty feet into the air.  Visitors oohed and ahead as swells turned into breakers and thundered into the cliffs.  On one beach the waves shuffled ten-pound pebbles up and down a section of shore.  They crackled loudly.  As we turned to climb the mountain the sky cleared for the first time in three days to give us grand views of the raging ocean.  But, upon reaching the peak, we heard the fog horn sound and looked to see a wall of fog advancing from the north.  In minutes it obscured the coastline and threatened us with rain.  We returned to the car and drove to town to buy Maine lobster and mussels.  We also stopped at the library to check the Internet, but it is closed on Mondays so we will miss our e-mails for a couple of mored days.  We’ll make do. Will arrive Schenectady on Thursady afternoon. Postscript - October 4 - Twin Mountain NH Have arrived at Ammonoosic Campground.  It is raining but forecast is for clearing tomorrow.  We will hike tomorrow if not too windy.  Leaf color is fabulous and approaching peak on the Presidential Range.
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September 19, 2011 - Clyde River, Nova Scotia, Canada
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
Today we left the famous Bay of Fundy with its large tides to arrive here near the southernmost point of this province of Canada. We were last camped near the south end of the Digby Spit, a rocky spine of Basalt that extends southwest from the town of Digby parallel to the main body of Nova Scotia and separated from it by the narrow St. Mary’s Bay. The Whale Cove Campground is situate on the ridge above a break in the rocky shoreline that is Whale Cove.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTToday we left the famous Bay of Fundy with its large tides to arrive here near the southernmost point of this province of Canada.  We were last camped near the south end of the Digby Spit, a rocky spine of Basalt that extends southwest from the town of Digby parallel to the main body of Nova Scotia and separated from it by the narrow St. Mary’s Bay. The Whale Cove Campground is situate on the ridge above a break in the rocky shoreline that is Whale Cove.  We arrived with scallops and a three pound lobster, purchased at Digby.  We planned to visit tiny Brier (pronounced “Briar”) Island on one day, and take a whale watch boat ride there.  We ended up spending most of three days on that island.  To get there we drove to the end of the spit and took a ferry across to Long Island which was an extension of the same formation that formed the spit.  From there one drives another ten miles to a second ferry that crosses the Grand Passage to Brier Island.  We ended up buying a book of ferry tickets.  The ferry landing is at the town of Westport within the Grand Passage and perhaps the most sheltered part of this windswept island with four lighthouses.  We drove about the few miles of roads between the lighthouses to gaze at grand seascapes and look for birds.  Westport is the kind of community where if you are there for a few days you become part of it, sharing good humor with the ferry boatman and general store owner.  While we were there a double trailer truck hauling firewood logs from the mainland failed to make a turn and dropped its rear tires in a ditch.  The whole town was out to assist in the rescue or watch.   We watched too as the rear trailer was unloaded and then a trackhoe lifted the trailer up and over onto the cartway.  There were cheers and everybody went back to work or home.  We were finally able to go up the road to visit the last lighthouse for the day. We arrived at Digby Neck the evening that a hurricane was passing to the east and our motorhome shook all night.  The next morning we stopped at the whale watch office on Brier Island and asked about trips.  “None today,” we were told.  “How about tomorrow and Sunday?” “Yep.” “Sunday will probably be calmer.” “Might be.” We went on Sunday and the sea was almost flat.  The humpbacks were feeding, but not at the surface.  Still, they put on a good show of surfacing, floating, shampooing with seaweed, and diving.  Hundreds of birds, mostly three species of shearwaters, carpeted the water and flew aside for the boat.  An Atlantic Puffin appeared in the mix to give me (Chuck) a North American life bird.  I have seen this species in England.  Anne saw one from a boat off of New Jersey.  I couldn’t find that one.  She had that species over me.  No more! The tides were impressive, but not as exciting as I thought.  We saw tidal bore waves pass up two creeks and filmed small islands that become suspended when the tide goes out.  In Minas Basin miles of mud flats arise when the tide goes out and vanish into a large bay when it comes in.  One does not want to walk out too far if the tide is coming in. We walked the rough trail to Cape Split where the tidal current roars when it arrives at the point and forms a series of rapids between the “splits” of the Cape.  None of this seems to bother the birds which find the still water and calm eddies between the tidal rapids. Except for the cost of all things in this country, and especially gasoline, we are enjoying it all.  We are halfway through our loop around the south end of Nova Scotia.  After our stay here at the south end we will camp near the famously scenic Peggy’s Cove near Halifax.  From there my sister Laurie will fly home on the weekend.  We will start westward for a final stop near Amherst and then return to the U.S.A.
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September 10, 2011 - Hilden, Nova Scotia, Canada
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
Beautiful afternoon in the Scotia Pines Campground. Anne and I walked over smooth limestone, the beds vertical, at the point of land north of Halifax Harbor this morning watching flocks of migrating sandpipers. We picked up my sister, Laurie, at the airport at lunch time and brought her home here. The hurricane is passing by to the east and is providing a stiff breeze, lots of clouds, and very clear air. We're glad its going because Anne and I are planning to boat with a group into the North Atlantic in search of seabirds tomorrow. We hope to see Atlantic Puffi
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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTBeautiful afternoon in the Scotia Pines Campground.  Anne and I walked over smooth limestone, the beds vertical, at the point of land north of Halifax Harbor this morning watching flocks of migrating sandpipers.  We picked up my sister, Laurie, at the airport at lunch time and brought her home here.  The hurricane is passing by to the east and is providing a stiff breeze, lots of clouds, and very clear air.  We're glad its going because Anne and I are planning to boat with a group into the North Atlantic in search of seabirds tomorrow.  We hope to see Atlantic Puffin and Black Guillemot which would be North American life birds for us (actually Anne has seen the puffin but I haven't off of New Jersey).  We both saw both birds in England a few years ago. Our drive from Cape Cod went well.  On the first day we had ugly weather and crossed a police chase near Boston, but encountered no traffic jams and reached Bangor Maine in the early evening.  We stayed there because Anne wanted to speak with children and others by telephone before entering the "dead zone" between Bangor and Canada.  We parked at zero cost at the Wallmart parking lot after filling the motorhome with cheap USA gasoline. On Day 2, Thursday, we crossed the border easily.  Anne had found out that for ten dollars she could for one month add Canada to our cell phone.  So, she can keep on using the phone.  I would have been as happy if we turned off the phone for two weeks.  The storm was easing.  We stopped at St. John to see the tidal flow at the famous Reversing Falls to watch the flow of receding tidal water over the rapids in the heart of that town.  Then, realizing we could reach this campground that day continued hard to arrive in the evening.  We were pleased to find a handsome campground with rows of trees between the campsites.  Yesterday morning we looked for birds and arrived at the creek at 11:02 a.m. to watch the wave of the tidal bore run up the channel followed by a torrent of tidal flow.  In one hour the tide goes from low to high over about four meters.  After that we bought Canadian currency and groceries and came home.  A great first day in Nova Scotia.
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