Goodbye to All That

Nobody goes there anymore, it's too crowded.
   -- Yogi Berra

With April and the start of the spring migration I have traveled to several birding locations near me to see and hear what could be out there in the morning. Of late I have been going to familiar trails, as well as those I haven't walked in a few years. In the latter case I found things that were disturbing.

Atop Hawk Mountain, 2010 (RE Berg-Andersson)

I suppose it is a good thing so many people in my area feel the need to "get out" and go hiking. They like to dress themselves and their children in the latest outdoor gear out of the catalog of their choice and then scamper around, splashing through streams and bushwhacking off the trails on foot or, on occasion, on a mountain or other type of bike, taking pictures or filming with a portable camera to post to social media.

The problem is, in a national or state park or a sanctuary run by a private organization, there isn't always the money (or interest?) to repair trails worn down by all these people as well as the heavy rains that bring up tree roots and rocks or that have eroded ground around bridges and other structures.

The other problem is, I am getting older and afraid of falling. I've had several falls in recent years, including one just today in a national park located not far from me in New Jersey. I haven't broken a bone yet but I don't want a first time.

More birders on Hawk Mountain, 2012
(RE Berg-Andersson)

Back in September 2010 MH and I went to the north lookout at Hawk Mountain. On our climb up we found an assortment of warblers feeding during their migration south. After watching the raptor show we came down a second trail and found a life bird, a Bicknell's thrush. Two years later we went back. Thousands of people climb to the north lookout atop Hawk Mountain and it showed. The rocks were broken and worn. Maybe the hawk counters who know the area like the back of their hands didn't mind, or the rugged outdoor types or the ones who had no idea what they were doing but just wanted to be up there because they'd heard about it somewhere. But for MH and me the climb up and especially the climb down were full of peril, with several near-falls on my part. And that was when MH's knees were still good.

Never again unless we go to the south lookout, the one that is flat and wheelchair accessible.

I have also found worn and dangerous conditions at the Scherman Hoffman sanctuary run by NJ Audubon, a private group, and at the Freylingheusen Arboretum, a county park that was the first place I went to hike when I moved down the road over two decades ago. I wandered that place, usually alone, so much you could drop me anywhere blindfolded and I could find my way out. Now, all the paths I explored are blazed and filled with map-clutching people who want to walk in the woods and be "in nature," with or without phones on. Paths are eroded and not fixed, or they lead to locked gates or are closed entirely. Tree roots stick out. One uphill climb I did for the first time in years was so eroded near the top I had to grab the nearby beech until my panic ebbed. And now, today, my hike in the national park, Jockey Hollow, where the path I took was narrow and well traveled.

Scherman Hoffman, before the erosion (Margo D. Beller)

I know there are those who like a hiking challenge, the more extreme the better. I am not one of those people and I try to avoid them as much as possible. Luckily, to look for little birds during migration season it pays to get out early, before the mountain bikers and the hikers with their day packs and ski poles to steady them over rocks and ravines. It helps that I am now semi-retired and can travel on the weekdays during the school year and avoid the families who want to get their kids away from their phones and scramble up hills as tho' they were in a public playground.

The downside is, if I slip and fall, as I did as I was leaving a muddy trail up a slight incline to the road, I am usually alone. This fall was relatively mild. The next one might not be.

MH, bless him, is not too worried when I go off myself. His knees are such that there is no way he could've walked on any of the trails I mentioned above. After my most recent fall, I am not going back to any of these places either. For now, there are plenty of flatter places I can get to where, despite the erosion, I can find plenty of birds, and there's always out of state.

I'm not that sad to be saying goodbye to these old haunts. I'm just sad that I must.

Waiting for Sandy

Hurricane Sandy, or what the media call "Frankenstorm," is a few days away from hitting somewhere along the Midatlantic. There is a good chance it will strike the Jersey shore, but even if it is not a direct hit we will all be feeling the effects.

October 2011 snowstorm

Didn't we go through this around now, last year? Why yes, we did. Only last time we had a freak snowstorm that hit the leafy trees, pulled them down and disrupted power for a while.

This year the expected cold front won't make it here in time but the moon will be full and the tides would be higher than normal anyway. With the expected very high winds pushing high water there could be severe flooding along the coast, and that includes the tip of lower Manhattan.

Here in my part of New Jersey, my husband, with his scientific way of thinking, has been buying nonperishable groceries, restocking the battery case, refilling the flashlights. This morning I held the ladder as he climbed to the lower roof gutters to pull out debris.

At the same time, here is how many of those in my area were getting ready. They were blowing leaves to the curb.

I have lived in the suburbs for nearly two decades and I still can't understand this lawn lust, this need to water excessively, cut to literally within an inch of the grass's life and blow every last thing off to the street, heedless of whether it impedes a person's or a car's ability to travel down said street.

For me, it is a USELESS and WASTEFUL activity to blow several weeks's worth of leaves to the curb just ahead of a hurricane or tropical storm.

Best-case scenario - the leaves blow back on the homeowner's lawn, forcing him or her to do the job all over again, or pay someone else to do it all over again.

Worst-case scenario - the rivers expected will be blocked from going down the drains, creating ponds in the middle of the street. Already-treacherous travel will worsen. Water may even back up into homes.

The noise from the leaf blower-fans, which are much more power than the electric-powered blower I use only as a last resort, is deafening. As I sit in my home office, making plans for what to do to keep working and living should we lose power, the sound is as loud and as annoying as a continual car alarm or a siren.

Even as these lawn services or homeowners finish, the breeze brings down another handful of leaves. But hey, you've just paid for several big guys to do 10 minutes of work to give you 14 seconds of spiffy green lawn. Hurrah, I guess you're better than me.

I can barely see the grass in my backyard for all the elm, oak and maple leaves but there is no way I am going to go out when more leaves - and perhaps some tree limbs - come down in the storm. There are more important things.

These people will probably also freak out because they can't watch their flat-screen tvs, use their fancy big ovens and may lose what's in their fancy refrigerators.

Barnegat jetty. Will it be enough to protect the coast from Sandy?

Some do plan. There's my neighbor with the big gas-powered generator. Last year he ran his continually. It made a lot of noise and stunk of gasoline but at least he kept his refrigerator and other appliances going.

As these "freak" storms become more common, as even more of those who deny there is anything called global warning start wondering about all these extremes - too much rain, too much wind, too much heat, no snow, too much cold - we've been having, I am going to have to plan to buy a generator, too, for the next storm.

Even in my modest home, if I don't have power, I don't work, and if I don't work, I don't earn money. That is, literally and figuratively, the bottom line.

But at least I do not live near the water. All those people who built homes on barrier islands and those other people who tore down low-lying bungalows to put up high-profile behemoth beach houses should be ashamed of themselves. But they aren't. The builders got their permits and are long gone, and the homeowners will rebuild.

I don't want to wish this storm on anyone, especially anyone on the Delmarva, where I expect to be traveling in a few weeks, but I hope Sandy's blow isn't as hard in New Jersey as I fear it will be.