Amazing and memorable events

[scratchypants]

Claude Arbour was a Quebecois author. He lived, with his wife and 2 children, on a fly-in only lake (Villiers) half-way between Montreal and Parent. He supplemented his income with grants (I believe from Molson, but I could be wrong) for the study of osprey. He maintained and in some cases completely rebuilt their nests - some as high as 100' up in the white pines. We had a fishing/moose hunting camp not too far away and as such there were plenty of these birds around.

I was fishing on a small lake and noticed one circling overhead. Rather than a full speed, wing-tucked dive, the osprey makes a zig-zagging, parabolic descent to the water to catch fish. I watched as it made its way down and then splashed onto the surface with its talons out. It caught something but it was taking everything it had to lift back off again. It managed to get off the water but much like an overweight plane, it was maintaining level flight in an effort to gain some speed. It flew about 3' above the water until about 100 yards from shore when it started to give it the beans to try and get above the tree line. I was enthralled by the spectacle. That's when out of seemingly nowhere, a black flash descended from above and collided with the osprey causing it to drop its quarry. The bald eagle swung back around, grabbed the fish from the water's surface while the osprey watched from a nearby spruce where it had alit to recover from the ordeal. I sat there with my mouth open for like 5 minutes.

 

[Mason]

Ppine's story brought back a bad memory. My daughter, her boyfriend (now husband) and I were hiking in Colorado, and had to go over a 12,000 ft pass. As we were headed up, some clouds and thunder came in, so we hustled back downslope into the aspen, set up tents and weathered the storm for a couple of hours. The skies cleared, with typical Colorado blue skies. So, we head back up. Probably 20 minutes from the top, clouds move back in; it was 50/50 whether to head back down, exposed, or top out and head back down Figuring we could lose altitude quickly once we topped out, and not have to worry about the pass again, I led them up. Well, although fit (and 30 years younger), the altitude really slowed them down (I lived at 8000 at the time). We made the pass with thunder in the not-enough-distance, and we headed down. Unfortunately, it was a scree/boulder descent, and the boyfriend, this being his first backpacking trip, was moving very slow, as the thunder got closer and closer. I kept screaming at them to move faster, but they were doing all they could. I stood there helpless, and said to myself "please hit me and not one of them". There was nowhere to hide for any of us, and down was the only safety (apart from stopping and sitting on our packs, totally exposed and each of us being the highest point--well above treeline. We got down eventually, slogging through sloughs in the rain.

I hate lightning.

 

[PaddlingPitt]

I have a similar story, Mason. It was back in about 1978, when Kathleen and I were still backpackers. We had hiked up into the alpine in Cathedral Park, about three hours east of Vancouver, BC. We had already been hiking about five hours. We were a bit tired, and it was a beautiful spot. We set up camp, enjoyed supper, and crawled into the tent around nine pm. A couple hours later we heard thunder in the distance.

”Maybe it will miss us.”

It kept coming closer, with lightning strikes every few minutes. Suddenly we were surrounded by lightning. This wasn’t good. Our tent, with its aluminum poles, was the highest feature in our exposed position.

So we crawled out of the tent, crept away about 20 feet, and lay down as close to the ground as possible. Now the lightning refused to move on. For about the next 30 minutes lightning struck continuously all around us. With each bolt, the ground literally shook, and our alpine position lit up like we were surrounded by floodlights. It was a very anxious half hour. I wasn’t as worried, though, as I perhaps should have been. Besides, what else could we do, other than cower in awe at the magnificent display. It was truly memorable.

 

[Glenn MacGrady]

It was the end of October 2011 . . . . It started snowing heavy. . . . I watched as some trees close by started falling. The trees hadn't dropped their leaves yet and they were holding a lot of weight. . . . I made my way to a field and stood there listening the forest falling before walking back to my truck.
That storm was given several names "Snowtober", "Octoberblast" are a couple I remember. The destruction around the area was pretty heavy.

I was caught in that Halloween (my birthday) Nor'easter blizzard while on and returning from a canoe trip.

I was paddling the New Jersey Pine Barrens on a three day trip with Harold Deal, the designer of the SRT and other Curtis/Hemlock canoes, whitewater champion, and freestyle originator; Conk, a member here, inventor of the Conk seat, woodworker for Hemlock, and remote Adirondack pond explorer; and Peter Georg, a member here and canoe collector.

The first day, Harold, Conk and I paddled the Batsto River, all of us in white Hemlock SRT's. Beautiful sunny day. We pulled up on a sandy shore for a rest and to readjust my seat.



At the end of the run we loaded our triplets onto Conk's truck.



The second day, another sunny beaut, Pete Georg joined us in a Bell Morningstar on the Oswego, my favorite river in the Pine Barrens. I'm in the foreground and Pete's in the back.



The third day we were supposed to join the Hackensack and Mohawk Canoe Clubs on the Mullica River, but both clubs cancelled their traditional Halloween trips because of weather reports of a savage Nor'easter, which was supposed to dump tons of rain on south New Jersey. Harold and Conk paddled anyway. I hightailed it for home in my 97 Dodge van conversion (my Magic Bus), because the reports suggested the storm would be snow in New England.

Sure enough, as I was driving north on the Garden State Parkway, the heavy rain turned into gigantically heavy snow flakes in a whipping wind. Trees started cracking and falling across the highway. For the first time in my life, I saw a huge tree fall directly onto and crush a moving car (in the opposite lane). The snow got deeper and deeper in north Jersey and as I crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge into New York, and kept getting worse as I progressed north into Connecticut. My tall van with no snow tires was slipping on hills. In places, the interstate highway was blocked by fallen trees and traffic had to slowly snake around them on the median.

When I finally got home, after a drive of 8 hours that should have taken 3.5, the heavy snow had already snapped some expensive trees I had planted in my yard and was bending the branches of others to the ground. I frantically tried to knock snow off the branches with a broom in the midnight darkness, cursing fate.

The next day saw tree devastation all over my 11 acres and a power outage that lasted for several days. Thank goodness I was still strong and healthy enough then to chainsaw for hours and cart away tons of wood with my tractor.

The Halloween canoe trip from heck!

 

[scratchypants]

My voyageur canoe team and I decided to spend the passing of a New Years at my dad's remote hunting camp on the Tug Hill Plateau of NY. The "Tug" is a relatively broad flat elevation just east of Lake Ontiario. It is famous for what is arguably the highest snowfall anywhere east of the Rockies with lake effect snow. I've seen 400 inch winters up there.

So though the bulk of my team lives some distance away, I live about half way between them and the cabin. We all met at my place for a big dinner before leaving for a night at the camp. Lake effect began falling as we left my house after dinner and came in its usual narrow bands as we travelled in and out of heavy snowfall and then nothing. There is a tavern where I have to park my car for the 2 mile ski/hike into the camp on an unmaintained unplowed road. At the parking lot we gad had skis, and carried snowshoes. A couple of small plastic sleds dragged behind carried our food and gear. Most days that road is popular and crowded with snowmobilers, but the usual crowded parking lot had none on that New Year's Eve. The road is usually groomed smooth for the machines, but it was evident it had not been done recently. So we began our trek on the road at around 10:00 PM. It usually takes me about 45 minutes to ski in when I go to shovel deep snow off the roof every couple of weeks or so in the dead of winter.

At first the soft fluffy snow piling up was ankle deep, then it came up to over our calves soon after. When it got to our waists we started to get worried. I have before experienced snowfall rates of as much as 5 inches/hour, and this was certainly all of that. At that rate if you inhale deeply you will take in those fat heavy flakes enough to make you choke. That is what was coming straight down, with no wind as is typical at heavy lake effect rate. One person would trudge ahead 50 feet or so and return to make a path. We took turns doing that for each other. About half way we passed an abandoned broken down house belonging to an old man (a bit od a hermit) who I knew from years before. Becky wanted to break in to spend the rest of the night. But we were doing ok so far and I did not want to break into Adam's house without having an emergency.

I had no idea what time it was because my wrist cuff was iced over and I could not see my watch. But The nearly full moonlight was able to shine through enough for us to make out shapes. Lake effect snow may be intense, but the clouds tend to be low and not terribly thick. When we got to within about the final hundred yards of the camp i noticed that the ambient light was getting much brighter. I scraped away the ice from my wrist and saw that it was 7:30 in the morning and the sun was rising! It had taken over 9 hours to travel what normally takes me 45 minutes any other time. We flopped into the cabin and I lit the fire. The next morning I had help shoveling snow off the roof and the caterpillar track groomer came by and opened up the road for the snowmobilers. We made our way out on skis easily in about an hour of travel back to our cars. To this day, when ever I see some of my old team mates, we say the word "Epic" to remember that New Year trek.

This is a more typical shot of the cabin with a more normal snowload at a different time, not from the truly epic night of travel.
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Not really outdoors related, although I was on my way to a deer hunt in Western PA (Wilcox)... I think it was '93 and I was making the 9 hour drive alone in my single cab, 2-wheel drive, manual trans Ford Ranger. PA's doe season used to be early December - 2nd week I believe. They used to call it Mother's Day. Anyway, somewhere around Pulaski I encountered a weather event that has yet to be matched by anything I have encountered since. It was snowing so hard that I am not exaggerating when I say that I could not see the front of my own hood. I was in 1st gear and on the friction point with the clutch - letting it grab, then pulling it back. I had a tractor trailer glued to my rear bumper - if I was going off the road, so was he. White knuckles for the better part of an hour and a half to travel the 20 miles to Parish - then, bright, blue sky. I made the big right hander onto 90 and thought I was home free but that didn't last. Troopers blocked the road and were having everyone exit somewhere around Canandaigua. I90 closed all the way to Buffalo. I had to pick my way through the backroads (before GPS was a thing). I was ready for a drink when I finally arrived.

 

[lowangle al]

When I first got to Ak. I took a picture of a moose with an erection. Supposedly that was pretty rare, but crazier than that, about ten years later I was looking through a box of old picture frames to find one that fit it and the one I came up with had "Work Hard, Play Hard" Painted on it. Can't beat that. (no pun intended)

 

[Mike McCrea]

Two events on trips that kept me up into the wee hours of the morning are among the most memorable.

1980, or maybe ’82, first display of the northern lights I had ever seen, from the SW shore of Lake Superior. Freaky enthralling, you never forget your first. My tripping partner, who like me had never seen a northern lights display, watched briefly and then went to bed. I was yelling “Get up, you gotta see this”, he never budged. His loss, it just got better, and trippy weirder.

The 1998 Leonid Meteor shower storm was something even more special.

https://science.nasa.gov/science-ne...ercentage of,with magnitudes brighter than -3.

We timed a lot of trips to coincide with meteor showers or other astronomical events. For the ’98 Leonids, forecast to possibly become a storm, six of us did a canoe camper on the Atlantic coast, distant from any artificial light sources.

At dark we hiked out to the middle of the island for unobstructed horizons. The shower started slowly and unimpressively, and two of the guys yawned and decided to turn in. Much like the northern lights show it got better. Much, much better. We tried to keep count of the big streakers that went nearly horizon to horizon and lost track at 400.

Multiple exploding bolides, sonic booms, fireballs with long trains or lingering smoke trails that wavered in the sky, meteors that split into two or three streaking pieces, at least one that skipped brilliantly across the sky like a flat stone across a pond.

We debated sending someone back across the island to awaken our sleeping companions, but no one volunteered to leave their post. The next morning our two sleepyheads did not believe our tales of bolides, shattered and skipping meteors.

That fireball storm of course made the papers, and they only partially believed us even after they returned home and read the news.

In their suspicious defense the same two guys, laden with fishing gear, were about to launch from camp that earlier that day when another companion and I returned from a day paddle. On the spur of the moment I turned to him and remarked “Those were some of the biggest fish I’ve ever seen”. He picked it up instantly and replied “I guess they got back in that pool at high tide and can’t out ‘til the water comes back in”.

Our fishermen friends were on us like white on rice. “How big?”, “How many?” and, most importantly “Where?”. We pulled out the map and Jonathan and I began a “debate” about whether it was “Up this gut, and then we dragged over the shallows to here”, pointing at a basin pond back in the marsh, or “I thought we went up was this shallowing channel to the end and then dragged into this pond to the north”, pointing at a different route and pond.

It was a spirited debate, so we inked two possible routes on the map and bade them good luck.

They returned late, muddy, skunked and suspicious, so our tales the next morning of a meteor storm fell on deaf ears.

 

[ppine]

I have seen the Northern Lights from the North Cascades in summer. Just me and the dog. Green only.

In Alaska they are common. I was exploring the Interior with a friend in a rented truck and camper.
We were up north of Fairbanks in the fall. I got up to piss about 0100. The Northern Lights were insane, the best I ever seen. I woke up my friend. We got out the chairs and drank a few beers. We spent about 3 hours in amazement. Mostly white, red and green.

I was driving through the Yukon going north past Lake Labarge, and the Northern Lights started up so I just kept driving north and watching them It was like being in a dream.

 

[Johnny 5]

I have seen the Northern Lights from the North Cascades in summer. Just me and the dog. Green only.

In Alaska they are common. I was exploring the Interior with a friend in a rented truck and camper.
We were up north of Fairbanks in the fall. I got up to piss about 0100. The Northern Lights were insane, the best I ever seen. I woke up my friend. We got out the chairs and drank a few beers. We spent about 3 hours in amazement. Mostly white, red and green.

I was driving through the Yukon going north past Lake Labarge, and the Northern Lights started up so I just kept driving north and watching them It was like being in a dream.

I have never seen the Northern Lights but hope to some day. ( Bucket List )

Last summer I was camping and the smoke from fires in the area created amazing red colored sunsets. Strange that something as destructive as a forest fire would have this beautiful consequence.

I have seen amazing sunsets while at sea. I watched the perfectly round shaped and soft glow as it seemingly touched the water and disappeared into it. I sometimes imagined the sun actually sinking into the water and how the water would bubble up and boil as it first made contact.

 

[RickR]

Our oldest son Ben and I were grouse hunting with our Brittany, Libby, who was then still a puppy. Suddenly Libby ran on a bee line toward the base of an overturned tree and froze, not pointing, faced off with something. I was thinking porcupine and hustled over to retrieve her. Just before I grabbed her collar I realized she was standing on freshly excavated soil. She was literally nose to nose with a black bear at the entrance to its den. We got away from there quickly. Ben had watched the whole thing and when he learned of the bear wanted to see it. "I've never seen a bear". I muttered something about "Natural Selection", and wasn't enthusiastic. But when I thought about it more it seemed safer. Libby had run straight upwind to the den. The bear had not smelled us. I wish I had a video of Ben trying to get a peek at the bear. He was on his tip toes, gingerly sneaking forward, and was finally satisfied to see just the bear's head sticking out of the ground, sort of like a woodchuck. It was the 1st week of November, just before VT rifle deer season. After deer season I went back in a foot and a half of snow, and set up a trail camera on the den entrance. I got some really nice photos of a sow bear and 3 cubs.

 

[Alan Gage]

I spent a night in the Mexican forest on the Yucatan. I don't know if it was technically rain forest or not but it was pretty different. I was setting up my hammock and tarp in the dark via headlamp when I noticed something with yellow eyeshine down by my foot. Thinking it was going to be a mouse or some little mammal I bent down for a closer look and found a big spider. Not like tarantula big but good sized. I noted it as interesting because I'd never thought of spiders having big enough eyes for eyeshine and it was distinctly yellow.

I went back to what I was doing and a few seconds later noticed another spot of yellow eyeshine on the tree I was tying off to. And another. And another. And then I started looking around and they were absolutely EVERY where. It was insane. First thought was: Thank goodness I'm not afraid of spiders. Second thought: I sure am glad my hammock has a bug net. Third thought: How can there possibly be any insects left with so many spiders? It seemed impossible that anything could move anywhere without getting nabbed. I suppose they had their own defenses.

Anyway, it really stuck in my head. Nothing bit me and I slept fine until I woke up freezing at 4:00am because I hadn't brought a blanket or any sort on insulation other than a jacket. Eventually I got up in the dark and started walking back down the road for something to do. It was so dark I couldn't really even see the road. I was in that area to watch birds and the mottled owls (similar to our barred owl) were calling all over the place. I tried calling back to one and instantly it glided into a dead tree directly over my head where I could just see the silhouette against the sky.

Lots of neat memories from those 2-3 days.

Alan

 

[Loon]

I spent a night in the Mexican forest on the Yucatan. I don't know if it was technically rain forest or not but it was pretty different. I was setting up my hammock and tarp in the dark via headlamp when I noticed something with yellow eyeshine down by my foot. Thinking it was going to be a mouse or some little mammal I bent down for a closer look and found a big spider. Not like tarantula big but good sized. I noted it as interesting because I'd never thought of spiders having big enough eyes for eyeshine and it was distinctly yellow.

I went back to what I was doing and a few seconds later noticed another spot of yellow eyeshine on the tree I was tying off to. And another. And another. And then I started looking around and they were absolutely EVERY where. It was insane. First thought was: Thank goodness I'm not afraid of spiders. Second thought: I sure am glad my hammock has a bug net. Third thought: How can there possibly be any insects left with so many spiders? It seemed impossible that anything could move anywhere without getting nabbed. I suppose they had their own defenses.

Oh man, I was sweating just reading this.

Anyway, it really stuck in my head. Nothing bit me and I slept fine until I woke up freezing at 4:00am ...

Really! You actually went to bed and slept!
I would have levitated my azz right out of that jungle.

 

[Patrick Corry]

Memorable? Without a doubt, as a 15 year old, my first trip on the newly established Allagash Waterway in 1967.

Before leaving Millinocket we stopped at a diner to have a hearty meal and that's when I realized I had forgotten to bring eating utensils for the trip. So, I 'liberated' a fork and spoon from the diner, shoving them into the pocket of my LLBean vest exactly like this one- my Scoutmaster posing on Pillsbury Island, Chamberlain Lake:

Once on the Golden Road on the way to Telos Lake, and riding in the back seat of a convertible which was pulling our 6 canoe trailer, a fox crossed the road ahead of us. In order to get a better look, the three boys (with me in the middle) stood up to see the fox. When standing up, the fork fell out unbeknownst to me, and fell- tines up- stuck in the crack between seat and backrest. As adolescents do, we all sat down abruptly from a standing position and my lifelong friend Bob sat directly on the tines-up fork. He immediately was impaled on the fork- and lifting his butt off the seat- stared with incredulity at the fork sticking out of his arse, while we all howled with laughter! I wish I could find the picture of him skinny-dipping and in mid-dive from what was then a log bridge upstream from Churchill Lake, his white bandage taped to his arse covering the four perfect puncture wounds!

Here's a picture of our taped-together topographic maps of the waterway, as a publicly available waterway map wasn't available yet:



Also, at the end of that trip we returned to Baxter State Park and climbed Mt. Katahdin from the Abol Bridge Campground. Along the way, well above treeline, my pal Tom had to take a crap. The only privacy was to be found behind a large boulder with a sloping side. Well, Tom dropped his trousers and did his business, but the turd hit the sloping rock surface and rolled directly into the upper cuff of his desert boots which were popular at the time. We were alerted to this fact when he loudly exclaimed " I just crap in my shoe!" So, ever since- 50+ years later- Tom remains in my mind, 'Old-crap-in-the-Shoe', the nickname he carried through his Scouting career. Here's a shot of me (second from right) and my pal Tom (on the right) in a happier moment on the trail! Memorable times indeed!