Here’s a nice little fifty-footer, not too far from Boonville, NY.
People are surprised to learn, that the falls is actually located in Hurlbutville. They often say, “Goodness, can that be so? I’d have thought Hawkinsville, or over by Forestport. Or perhaps, between Alder Creek, and Alder Creek Station? Or possibly, at the foot of Potato Hill?”
It’s hard not to scoff at such speculation, and I’ve no patience with wild conjectures.
It seems to me, that a sprightly name like “Pixley Falls” should be located someplace more legendary-sounding. Rome, NY is just down the road, so they could’ve called this hamlet to their north “Gnome,” for example.
But it’s definitely Hurlbutville. I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped.
Even though, I’ve never been able to see any real trace of that place. I think maybe Hurlbutville, with a name that magical, might be like Brigadoon, only appearing once every century.
But then, I haven’t looked that hard, I don’t wander too far off the winding, sagging little road that runs from Rome up to Boonville, along the remnants of the Black River Canal. It’s one of those wooded, thinly populated areas that surprises people, who think New York is all urbanity.
Just on the other side of the old canal, is a creek called Lansing Kill, and this falls.
That name shouldn’t make you uneasy. If you’re from NY, you already know this, but “kill” is just an archaic Dutch term for a stream, and there are kills all over the Mohawk and Hudson valleys. Like the little mountains called The Catskills (get it? Cat’s Creek, maybe because of mountain lions, or because they used to wash the cats there, before making them into felt hats, when the beavers were all gone). (OK, no, that’s not true.) (But in the old days, they did use them for coat collars, my sister just read Gogol’s story “The Overcoat” and told me that. )
Just north of the waterfall is Boonville. A nice little town, on the Tug Hill Plateau, famous for amazing amounts of snowfall, even by upstate standards. People come there in the winter, to snowshoe and cross-country ski on the canal trail.
The Black River Canal took almost twenty years to complete, and then operated for seventy years. It used to connect to the Erie Canal, until it went bankrupt a hundred years ago. You’ll see some beautifully-constructed old stone locks along the trail – – they built 109 of them, for only 35 miles of canal – – more locks, and a greater rise & fall, than the entire Erie Canal.
This is from the Library of Congress, taken sometime during the last fifty years.
I’d seen different lengths quoted for the canal. According to the Black River Canal Museum in Boonville, it was 35 miles long, with another 10 miles for the Erie Canal connector, and they also “canalized” 42 miles of the Black River, to make it navigable.
In the autumn, Boonville is kind of an entrance to the Adirondack region, and hunters head there in droves, chasing after deer with not just shotguns and rifles, but bows, muzzle-loaders, and crossbows. I realize they’re high-tech items, with AR-style stocks and telescopic scopes, but somehow seeing hunters with crossbows, or black powder/percussion cap rifles, just seem to add to the forgotten-by-time flavor of this corner of upstate.
The canal trail, about ten miles long, is a very pleasant walk, down the old towpath, part of it with the Lansing Kill right along the other side.
An old iron bridge, closed to cars for many years, takes hikers over the Seneca River, to Howland Island, a few miles north of Port Byron, NY. About halfway between Rochester and Syracuse.
The island is a state “wildlife management” area, 3,500 acres, near the better-known Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge, 10,000 acres, run by the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service.
Like so many words connected with the federal government, “refuge” is used ironically, since they allow hunting and trapping.
“Wildlife management” seems more honest, with its suggestion of headhunters, cutthroat competition, and getting the ax. Or maybe, like, letting the animals run things, which seems to be the current political trend. Howland is hunting land, and not a park, but most of the year, it’s a great place to just walk and bird watch. The rifle & shotgun “downsizing” season for deer would be the exception, and in late November/early December, you don’t wanna go near the hunting areas.
Waterfowl season, it’s pretty safe, just stay away from the ponds, wear orange, and I always remove the plumes from my Tyrolean hat.
Little Bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium) Which despite its name, turns reddish or coppery in the fall. Now that I no longer have to mow a lawn, I’ve grown enthusiastic about grasses.
Howland is just barely an island, almost a peninsula most of the year. The channel on the longest, northwest side is narrow in some places, hardly more than a big ditch, except during the spring floods. But the river along the south shore is pretty broad and impressive.
The Seneca River begins in Geneva, as the overflow from Seneca Lake, and then wanders more-or-less northeast, picking up water from a number of creeks, and most of the Finger Lakes. North of Syracuse, it helps to form the Oswego River, which empties into Lake Ontario. It was a trading route for the Iroquois, and then for the colonial fur trade, and for almost two hundred years, sections have been dredged and “canalized” as part of the Erie Canal system.
So today, you can cast off your boat from, say, Watkins Glen, on the southern end of Seneca Lake (42° N), only thirty miles north of the Pennsylvania line, and sail, by way of canals, Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence River, all the way to the North Atlantic, at Nova Scotia or Newfoundland (49° N).
(Or you could reach the Atlantic by way of the Mohawk River, and then south on the Hudson River to New York City.)
(Or, if it’s a really small, inflatable boat, you could put it in a duffle bag, go to the Trailways station in Elmira, take a bus to Patchogue, then take the ferry out to Fire Island, and row into the Atlantic from the beach.)
(And the buses do have WiFi now, and I’m guessing the St. Lawrence River doesn’t, unless you’re really close to Montréal.)
(If you do choose that St. Lawrence route, remember, when asking for the WiFi password as you float past Montréal or Québec, they pronounce it “le wee fee.”)
(I’m not trying to tell you which is the best route, you know, but if you did take the bus to Patchogue, you could stop by Flo’s Luncheonette, and have waffles, before you get back in the boat.)
(But for heaven’s sake, wait half an hour, after the waffles, before you go onto the ocean.)
a calm backwater along the eastern border of the island
Waffles, yeah. I have not had waffles since I moved to Milwaukee. It is getting cold, and time for waffle long johns, and for waffles. Where was I?
cellphone snap of a heron enjoying lunch
I’ve walked around the island many times, and am often struck by the relative scarcity of game. I’ve don’t recall ever seeing any grouse, pheasants, or rabbits, or even their tracks. Despite the hickory trees, even squirrels make themselves scarce. A few whitetails, groundhogs, and ducks, but there are way more deer, geese, and turkeys in the surrounding farms, than that woods and ponds here. So maybe word gets around, and the animals actually avoid a designated hunting zone?
A young painted turtle was flipped over, next to a culvert, and looked pretty disgruntled, but it cheered right up once we got it right-side up, and set it on a nice patch of mud
Some acreage is leased for growing soybeans, but no one lives on the island anymore. Woods, fields, sandy hillocks, ponds and marshes. Settlers in the early 1800’s spent a lot of time draining the swampy areas, and then in the 1930’s, the Civilian Conservation Corp reversed course, and spent a lot of time creating ponds and marshes, for waterfowl. The CCC barracks later housed POWs from Rommel’s Afrika Korps, who worked as farm labor ($.80/day), and in a nearby Procini & Rossi pasta factory. (Apparently, things worked out peaceably – I’ve never read of any escapes, or trouble of any kind. Although, being German, they insisted on straightening the elbow macaroni.)
On a walk in October, it seemed surprising to find dozens of orange butterflies, fluttering around with the falling leaves, almost like they were trying to blend in. ¿I think they were Question Mark Butterflies? (which seem to have a varied appearance, depending on which book or website you’re looking at), but please let me know if that guess is wrong.
The very green frog, is named appropriately – Northern Green Frog. He blew a lot of money on that camouflage outfit, feeling pretty fly, as frogs said back in the ’90’s, but now he finds he’s no longer blending in, as the leaves and ferns turn brown. You know the song sung by Kermit on the Muppets, right? I had to look up the writer, Joe Raposo, and I had no idea it was covered by Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Van Morrison, Shirley Horn, Lena Horne, Diana Ross, Della Reese, Ray Charles, etc.
It’s not that easy bein’ green
Having to spend each day
The color of the leaves
When I think it could be nicer
Bein’ red or yellow or gold…
Looking at that frog reminds me. Did you know our military now has at least ten types of camouflage, for different situations? The Navy has a uniform for the desert, which is a bit mystifying, unless your ship was going really, really fast when it hit land. Or maybe, once in a while, the sailors just like to get as far away from water as they can? And according to the Washington Post, the Navy wanted to distinguish their uniforms from the Marines’, so their desert pattern is green.
Maybe “sand” was too obvious? I guess if the Navy guys are green, and sticking out like a sore thumb, they could hunker down, and pretend they’re frogs? Just abnormally large, Northern Green Frogs, who tragically, have become lost in the desert. Technically, that kind of camo’s called “mimesis,” trying to look like something else, rather than “crypsis,” avoiding detection.
Well, I had been feeling kinda good about this post, actually staying focused & on track, but now somehow we’ve wandered into a discussion of Muppets and camouflage? I suddenly thought, wasn’t the inventor of waffle irons named Howland? That would be a nice coincidence and a good wrap-up. But I was thinking of Elias Howe, and it was a sewing machine. But I’m sure some people are aware of another Howland Island, a tiny coral lump somewhere in the Pacific, where Amelia Earhart was headed, when she disappeared, kind of like the thread of this story. The airstrip there was another New Deal project, done about the same time they were constructing the ponds on our local island.
The Pacific’s Howland Island, now managed by the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, is one of only ten remaining territories still claimed by our country, under the Guano Islands Act of 1856. That law is still on the books, allowing us, the citizens of the U.S.A., to take possession of any unclaimed islands, as long as they (the islands) have a really big pile of bird excrement. No kidding. And on that note, I’m gonna go get some waffles.
Washington Post May 8, 2013 “U.S. Military has 10 Kinds of Camouflage”