The Great Outdoors

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Avian Excitement

Spring is springing all over the place around here these days – really, it’s more like summer here, but I’m not complaining, bring on the heat – and the birds are as active as ever. Living in the temperate Mid-Atlantic region, and in a wooded exurb neighborhood, I have bird activity to enjoy all year ’round, which is wonderful, of course – but spring is a particularly busy time for the local bird population. And on that note, I have some fun updates!

First, on the home front: years ago I bought a vase-shaped ceramic nesting box from Crate & Barrel. This was long before I got into birding or knew anything about what to do or what to look for; I just liked the way it looked and thought it would be a nice addition to my (at the time) back porch. It’s moved with me from house to house, purely as a decorative object – until recently! Over the winter I saw a few Carolina chickadees going in and out, which was very cool, but just within the last month, a pair of Eastern bluebirds have decided to make it their home! (Sorry, Carolina chickadees – y’all are cute, but bluebirds are much more exciting.)

For weeks, they have been coming and going, bringing twigs, pine needles, and long strings of pollen (ugh) to literally feather their nest. I’m sure it helps that I hung a gigantic mealworm feeder right next to the nesting box (after swearing multiple times that I would never, ever, EVER buy mealworms).

So cool! I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I now take all conference calls from the sunroom so I can watch the bluebirds’ decorating progress all day long.

Further afield (but not much further) – while my backyard bluebirds have been living their real estate dream, the eagles at Riverbend Regional Park have added to their family: we officially have eagle chicks!

See them?

How about now?

You can tell they’re chicks because they’re not bald yet, but dang – even the chicks are gigantic birds! (These aren’t newly hatched, obviously.)

Mom and Dad are clearly so proud. We don’t have a nesting pair every year – although this nest has been around for as long as I can remember coming to Riverbend – and even less frequently do we catch a glimpse of hatchlings or chicks, so we’re obviously excited about this development. Prepare yourselves for more eagle pictures to come over the summer season…

Any avian excitement in your neck of the woods?

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Outdoor Report: February 2021

February was cold. We had back-to-back snowfalls; a couple of ice storms; and a lot of icy rain. Our house doesn’t get – or stay – especially warm, and I took to walking around with my hands curled around a steaming mug of tea a lot of the time, just to keep from chillblains. I tried squinting and pretending that I was living in a draughty Scottish castle, but it didn’t work.

As you can imagine, with all this cold, it was another indoor month. We did make a point of getting out and hitting the trails most weekend days, but hikes were truncated and we did miss a few because of yucky weather. Between the grim skies and the hibernating garden, I spent more time in my reading nook than in the fresh air. Really hoping that March, and the beginning of more consistently warm weather, will be the turning point.

Trail report. I read a beautiful quote earlier this month: “We cannot learn the story of the year if we read only eight or nine of its twelve chapters.” (Edward Step, 1930.) That was really our philosophy in February. We hit the trails in the mud and slush, and we slipped around our neighborhood park in the ice. Although we made a point of getting out, it was mostly to our local favorite – Riverbend Regional Park. Riverbend is a favorite for a reason, and we definitely enjoyed our rambles there. (Well, mostly. There was one very muddy day that I could have done without. Hiking in the mud isn’t my jam.) Hoping that March will bring more consistently hike-able weather, and that we’ll get to some trails a little further afield.

In the garden. So, I realized that I shared the above picture in my January recap, but it was actually snapped on February 1 – whoops! This is what the garden looked like for most of the month – although after a few warmer days and rains toward the end of the month, the snow is gone now. I have a big stack of garden books to read in the evenings ahead, and am still trying to figure out what I’m going to do about the big wild area. Now I am leaning toward planting some annuals. I don’t have much time left to make this decision!

At the feeders. (Another January picture – busted! But that view was pretty prevalent in February, too.) With great caution I will tell you that – so far, knock wood – my starling-repulsion techniques seem to be working. Between putting out food they don’t prefer in the feeders they can access, and their favorites in the starling-proof cage feeder, I have seen very few of them. They stop by now and then to see if I have let down my guard, but they leave right away. And even better news is: surprisingly, the Eastern bluebirds are able to get into the starling-proof cage feeder, so they’re still around! I had thought they would be locked out of the good stuff, but they surprised me. I’m so glad that my war on starlings didn’t have the collateral effect of driving away the bluebirds. They’re so lovely.

1000 hours outside. Oof. So, another largely indoor month. I guess that’s to be expected in pandemic winter. It’s funny – I love winter sports, skiing, ice skating, snowshoeing – and every year I say this is going to be the year I get the family into something new, but it never really happens. I didn’t even try this year, so that explains why – only 10.5 outdoor hours in February. And it would have been even less were it not for a 3.5 hour outdoor playdate last weekend. I’m still holding out the hope, or expectation really, that outdoor time will go way up once the weather starts warming up and we spend more time in the yard, on the playground, and on the trails and the water.

How was your outdoor February?

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Snowbirds

These days, whenever we get even the tiniest dusting of snow, I can be found at my kitchen window, camera in hand, waiting to paparazzi the neighborhood birds.

We’re a busy way-station for songbirds and cardinals year-round, but they seem to go particularly bonkers when there’s snow on the ground. It’s like they think they’re never going to get fed again. (They cleared out half of the nutberry suet blend, and a third of the safflower, by lunchtime after our last snowfall.) I love watching their little squabbles and dramas around the feeders, but I think my favorite thing about these avian visits is snapping pictures of their beautiful colors against the muted, snowy backdrop.

Cardinals, for instance, look stunning and dramatic against the snow.

Lady cardinal!

This fella was palling around with a female eastern bluebird.

Speaking of whom…

It literally never gets old to see them in my yard. For years, I wanted to see a bluebird – and never did. Then this summer I finally spotted one while out on a walk, and the dam broke; I see them everywhere now. Lately they’ve been visiting my front yard feeders, which feels like a miracle. I hope they keep coming; as soon as the starlings give up on me I plan to get the bluebirds some mealworms.

How funny is this fluffernutter with his feathers all poofed out like that? It’s to stay warm; fluffed feathers are the bird equivalent of a puffer jacket.

Of course it doesn’t hurt that it makes them look like adorable fluffy tennis balls.

Hello, pretty lady.

The finches were out to play, too. American goldfinch:

And a sweet purple finch:

I never get tired of their sweet faces and elegant plumage. I’m glad I live in a region with year-round avian residents – and so many of them. They’re certainly brightening up this dark pandemic winter around here.

Are you a bird nerd? What sorts of visitors do you get at your feeders?

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Outdoor Report: January, 2021

As part of my word of the year (breathe) and my goal to spend 1,000 hours outside in 2021, I’m planning to check in here with monthly outdoor reports. The idea is to consolidate notes about hiking, the garden, the bird feeders, and other outdoor time in one spot – at least until the garden wakes up enough from winter slumbers to need its own monthly posts. So here goes:

January wasn’t the best outdoor month. That’s largely because the first two weeks of the month were consumed by work – sixty-plus hours each week, oof. The workload is a tiny bit lighter these days, which does help, and I’m trying to keep it that way. And I did manage to get out on the trails and in the garden quite a bit, in the meantime.

Trail report. It was a good month for hiking – lots of good sunny days, and one lovely snowfall. It’s been a tradition of ours for a few years now to start off the year with a New Year’s Day hike. This year, both of the kids begged off, so my parents graciously babysat while Steve and I had a day date at the Pine Bush Preserve in Albany – one of our favorite New York hiking spots. Back home in Virginia, we hiked at our local favorite, Riverbend Park, several times, both upstream and down (including once in the snow; I used my snowshoes and it was glorious). We also hit up Great Falls Park (recap here) and checked out a new-to-us hiking spot at Beaverdam Reservoir. Although my ulterior motive for suggesting Beaverdam was to scope out the kayak and SUP launch spot for warmer days ahead, we really enjoyed the hike – I predict it’s going to become a favorite going forward.

In the garden. As I type this, the garden is sleeping under a blanket of snow; I haven’t done much this month, other than planning and dreaming. Still trying to decide what to do about the wild area between my house and patio; my current plan is to throw a handful of wildflower seeds at it and see what happens. What could go wrong? Other than plotting spring exploits, I haven’t done much. Tidied up the woodpile and burnt a stack of yard waste in my fire pit – that’s all. I’m getting itchy to rake up the leaves and straighten up, but I’m resisting the impulse for now; the birds and other little critters need the dead leaves and sticks for their cozy winter habitats.

At the feeders. Speaking of the birds – it’s been an active month at the feeders. Between our winter visitors (dark-eyed juncos and white-throated sparrows) and the year-round residents, our front yard is turning into an all-day-and-all-night bird buffet. Recently we’ve gotten some new birds stopping by; in some cases, welcome, and in other cases, not so much. The bluebirds that live in the neighborhood year round have been popping by to supplement their winter diets with some of my suet, and it’s always exciting to see them. On the other end of the spectrum, a gang of European starlings recently turned up. I could write an essay about why I don’t want these voracious, invasive bully birds at my feeder, but I will resist the impulse. To discourage them, I put in some time setting up a new feeder station – moving the expensive food the starlings love into a caged tube feeder they can’t access, and filling up the other feeders with safflower, which they won’t eat. I also hosed off the tray feeder and filled it with sunflower seeds and peanuts, both in shells, which the starlings’ wimpy beaks can’t handle. I put in an hour on the feeders the day before we were expecting a big snowstorm (that didn’t totally materialize, but we did get some snow) and the birds definitely appreciated it; they chowed down.

1000 hours outside. Slow start to the year – only logged 13.5 hours of outdoor time between hiking, gardening, and a little bit (a very little bit) of outdoor running. I’ll have to pick up the pace substantially over the rest of the year! I’m in a deep hole now. But once the weather improves I predict I’ll be spending more and more time outside, so I’m not worried about it.

That’s it for January – one of my favorite months of the year, actually, but a bit lame this time around thanks to a heavy work schedule, which happens. Hoping for more outdoor runs and walks in February, and of course some good trail time.

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Bad Day to Be a Frog: Great Falls, January 2021

It’s hard to believe we have been hiking at Great Falls for over a decade. Steve and I started coming to the park in January 2008 – thirteen years ago, crazy. One of the big draws in moving to the exurbs was being closer to this and so many other hiking spots – and while we have enjoyed the bounty of local trails, we’ve mostly focused on exploring other, less popular, parks near us. But recently the kids asked to go to Great Falls and we were happy to oblige. It’s always a delight to hike there, but I guess the park wanted to show us what we’ve been missing out on while we explored the county parks, because it delivered every element of the Great Falls experience.

Starting with the falls themselves – roaring!

I love watching the falls from the three successive overlooks and could stay there all day. Often in the summer months, there are whitewater kayakers and paddleboarders testing their skills, which is also such fun to watch. And sometimes, we see them in the winter, too…

Get a load of this guy! Hardcore.

I was very relieved to note that, as you can see here, he is wearing a drysuit. It was cold – about thirty degrees. The water must have been absolutely frigid.

After making a few heroic rushes at the whitewater, he let himself be carried downstream into Mather Gorge.

See him way down there? We were impressed, obviously. (I mused to Steve later that while my baseline is wanting to do ALL of the paddlesports, whitewater kayaking is pretty much the bottom of my list of water activities to try, although I do love watching the paddlers in action. I would like to go rafting, though.)

Eventually we tore ourselves away from the view and set off on our hike upriver. I love the trail that winds downriver from this point, but it’s very cliffy (that’s a word) and we can’t trust our two rambunctious, non-listening children to not go tumbling over the side. So we hike upriver, right along the water’s edge, instead. I do hope that one of these days I can wander downriver again.

As we headed off on our upriver walk, I spotted a bird flying up to perch in a high branch and trained my camera lens on it. Two ladies walking in the opposite direction stopped and asked me what it was. “I’m not sure,” I confessed, “it’s backlit. I’m hoping that when I get home I can adjust the exposure and figure it out.” We traded guesses – they thought by size that it was a pileated woodpecker, but it wasn’t sitting right and lacked the crested head. I theorized that it might be a yellow-billed cuckoo, but I really wasn’t sure. When I got home and adjusted the exposure so that I could finally see its markings I discovered – we were both wrong. Trail ladies, if you read this, it’s a northern flicker.

We parted ways and our family continued on our upriver hike. Steve and I chatted about a big trip we are planning for 2022 (more soon) and the kids lagged behind, dragging their little Sorel boot-clad feet and bickering. I peered through my camera viewfinder at some mallards, snapping away as we walked.

Suddenly I stopped short, gestured toward a little offshoot of the river, and whispered “Great blue heron!”

Steve didn’t see him right away; he had his eyes trained on the opposite bank – but this heron, who did not care at all about the hikers on the path, was on our side of the tributary, no more than fifteen feet away. (Great blue herons are famously indifferent to people; some of their cousins, like the green heron, are much shyer.)

This guy reminded me of Gru from the Despicable Me movies. Anyone else?

despicable me 2 thats GIF

You can totally see it.

(Worth noting: I did not get all up in Gru the Heron’s business to take these pictures. My bonkers wildlife camera has a 125x zoom capacity. Thanks again for the sick birthday present, Steve!)

Eventually he got tired of standing in one spot and stalked off to the opposite bank. At that point, I was ready to continue on with our hike – until Steve grabbed my arm and pointed again.

“He has something in his beak!” he said excitedly. “A fish or a crayfish or something!”

The light caught and we saw: it was a frog, a very unfortunate frog having a really, really awful day.

The heron kept dipping the frog back in the water, then pulling it out and carrying it in its beak as it stalked around the tributary. Washing the frog off? Playing cat-and-mouse with it? No idea. But it was fascinating – and a little alarming – to watch. And since he was clearly a terrifying frog predator, we changed his name from Gru to Baby Yoda.

GIF by moodman

Heh.

The kids were remarkably unfazed by their first predation event. Peanut complained about her boot the whole time and Nugget threw sticks into the water and pointed out “duck butts” every time the mallards dove for a fish.

(All pictures taken with Nikon Coolpix P1000, if you’re curious.)

Quite the epic day at Great Falls! It was a good reminder – while we’ve been enjoying exploring all the parks near our new home, Great Falls is a favorite for a reason; must come back here again soon.

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My Outdoor Gear Pet Peeve

It’s true that the only thing you really need in order to spend time outside is yourself.  Walk out the door, maybe find a park, and you’re in business.  (There are access to outdoors issues, which are very real and urgent, but that’s not what this post is about.)  But it’s also true that the more you get into outdoor sports – be that hiking, kayaking, climbing, snowsports, or something else – the more you might get interested in gearing up.  And it’s an inescapable fact that certain gear makes the outdoor experience more pleasant.  A hike is more fun if you’ve got good boots and you’re not rolling your ankle every five steps in your sneakers.  Basically, if you’re into outdoor sports, you could find yourself at your preferred outdoor retailer from time to time.  How many time-to-times depends on your budget.

I’m pretty responsible about my budget, but I hear the siren call of REI from time to time.  And when I do find myself either browsing the website or standing in front of a display at my local co-op (or the D.C. flagship), I have a pet peeve.

I hate all that girly crap.

There, I said it!  What drives me crazy more than anything else is when I am trying to buy women’s-specific gear and I am stuck deciding between pink, purple, and aqua/teal or powder blue.  How about none of the above?

The first time I really thought about this was when I was buying a life jacket, a couple of years ago.  We had been renting kayaks more often, and I was sick of swimming (please appreciate the pun) in ill-fitting PFDs.  When Steve asked me what I wanted for Mother’s Day, I said I wanted a women’s life preserver.  Something that was designed for women, that would fit right and not ride up.  Shouldn’t be hard, right?

I did extensive google research and decided that I should probably try on a few different options.  So one lunch break, I hopped on Metro – these were pre-COVID days – and ran over to the REI DC flagship store in NoMA.  I had a hunch I was going to end up with the Stohlquist Flo, but I wanted to try them all.  I spent an hour with a sales consultant, taking life jackets on and off, zipping and cinching and pretending to paddle, and concluded – Flo it is, just like I thought.  Then I asked about color choices.  And it turned out my options were purple and… purple.

“This style used to be available in orange, right?” I asked.  “Do you maybe have one in the back?”

No.  Purple.  And purple.

At the end of the day, I wanted a life jacket that fit me properly.  I wanted something that was going to keep me comfortable for hours on the water – we were planning our five-day kayak trip to the Salish Sea, and I hoped there would be more multi-day paddling trips in our future.  The Stohlquist Flo was perfect in every respect, except for the grape color.  I gritted my teeth and bought it.

(Worth noting: it’s a great PFD.  I’ve had it for two paddling seasons now and I love the way it fits.  And recently as I was walking down the steps onto the dock at one of the DC boathouses, another paddler stopped me and started gushing: “I have that life jacket too!  It’s the best!”  This has also happened to me with my Oboz hiking boots.  Women’s outdoor gear tends to create something of a sisterhood of devotees.)

(Here’s a piece of outdoor gear I love: my Werner Camano kayak paddle, in the “Mount Baker” design, which makes me smile every time I use it – especially now that I can say I have paddled in the shadow of Mount Baker.)

I tend to be drawn to colors that would today be considered gender-neutral.  All my adult life, my favorite color has been green.  I like blue and orange, too – colors found abundantly in nature.  (And before you @ me, I know about flowers and sunsets; I know that pink and purple can be seen in the natural world, too.)  And it drives me crazy that I can’t have both a piece of gear that is designed specifically for women and also… let’s say… a nice, calm navy blue.

I was reminded of this recently while shopping around for new trekking poles.  I don’t have any immediate plans to replace my (teal, of course) trekking poles.  But they are getting on in years, and they’re starting to slip around a bit.  It may not be time for new ones yet, but it will be eventually.  So I mentioned to Steve that new trekking poles would be a good gift idea for a birthday or Christmas down the road (but not too far down the road) and that when that day came, I’d like a pair of Leki poles.

Why Leki? he asked.

Well, a couple reasons, I told him.  One, I have not been impressed with some of the political stances taken by the company that makes the poles I have currently.  Two, I grew up using Leki ski poles and always liked them.  So: Leki, I said, that’s what I want.

Steve likes to get a link to a gift idea, so a few weeks later I popped over to the REI website to look for options.  There were two – count ’em, two – pairs of women’s hiking poles made by Leki, and only one was the telescoping style I like.  The color?  “Blue/Berry.”  A nice deep blue background, and a cork and white handle.  Yay!  But then they had to go and splash magenta accents up and down the poles.  Why?

(^If only Nugget’s trekking poles came in adult size.)

I’ll probably end up putting the “Blue/Berry” Leki poles on my Christmas list, or asking for them for an upcoming Mother’s Day.  Everything except the magenta accents is on point.

On one level, yes, there are bigger problems in the world than not being able to get a life jacket that isn’t purple, or trekking poles that aren’t pink.  But on the other hand… I do think it’s symptomatic of a world that is still too gender-normative, that it’s hard for women to find gear that is designed for our bodies, but that isn’t shoving socially gendered colors and patterns down our throats.  I’m a heterosexual, cis woman – my gender identity aligns with what is considered traditional in my social environment – who just happens to prefer orange and green to purple and pink.  I can wear a purple PFD, sure.  But what about a person who wants properly fitted gear but is harmed by gender constructs?  Doesn’t that person deserve to have a PFD – or a bike, or trekking poles, or any other piece of gear –  that fits them correctly but that doesn’t scream “lady adventurer”?

And if purple and pink is your jam, no shade!  You do you.  I guess what I’m saying is… wouldn’t it be nice if there were enough options so that we could all feel comfortable and joyful?

Just something to think about, outdoor brands.  Just something to think about.  And now I’m off to surf the web looking for an orange mountain bike that is both my size and also not for little boys.

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In Which I Am Emphatically Pro-Geotagging

The Great Range, snapped from a viewpoint on Big Slide Mountain, Keene Valley, New York

Warning: soapbox deployed, lengthy diatribe ahead!

I’m a member of a few different paddling interest groups on Facebook.  Kayak Mamas, Women Who Paddle, and Paddling in the Adirondacks.  I love the Paddling in the Adirondacks group for the beautiful pictures the members post, which give me an ADK fix when I’m not able to be in the region.  But lately, the group has been really annoying me.

There’s a subset of members of several of the outdoor groups I follow – Paddling in the Adirondacks being just one of them – who have been clutching their pearls especially tightly of late.  There was already a debate raging in the outdoor community about proper use.  And to a large extent, I’m sympathetic to the pearl-clutchers.  I get as angry as anyone when I see litter, graffiti, or initials carved into trees.  Enjoying an outdoor space in a way that mars it for others, or harms the environment, is selfish and irresponsible.  And as someone who lives in a tourist-heavy region, I understand the frustrations of traffic-clogged roads and out-of-towners behaving cluelessly.  (In D.C., there’s a special scorn reserved for people who stand on the left side of a Metro escalator.)

Kayaks on the beach at Jones Island State Park, Washington

But the pearl-clutching gets overdone in certain areas.  My Paddling in the Adirondacks group has a couple of bugaboos: closeup wildlife shots (don’t post a picture of a loon unless you’re prepared to include in the caption a breathless disclaimer about your long-range zoom lens); people who leave their gear scattered all over the previous night’s campsite (I agree: disgraceful; although I’m not sure it’s always downstaters or out-of-staters, ADK folx); and geotagging.

Mather Gorge, Great Falls Park, McLean, Virginia

So what exactly is geotagging?  Simply put: it’s the practice of including a location on your outdoor social media posts.  (Instagram, Facebook, and I assume other social media outlets – those are the only two I bother with – have location tagging as an option.)  Geotagging has been vilified for a few years now, but the pandemic really threw the debate into sharp relief.  As options for indoor entertainment fell away and more people hit the trails, the rivers, the mountains and the beaches, those who were “here first” (<–LOL, you were not) were incensed at the waves of newcomers, and convinced that the new people are ruining their favorite fresh air sports.

I’ll be the first to admit that I have been frustrated by people not social distancing on trails, and not wearing masks in crowded areas – even outdoors; I care enough about you (perfect stranger) to endure the mild discomfort of wearing a mask, and you should do the same for me.  But at the same time, I am on record as saying that I like to see other people on the trails – it makes me happy to see others experiencing joy in the outdoors, and I am disillusioned enough about politicians to believe that they won’t be motivated to protect a wild space unless they see it is being used and loved by their constituents.

Sunrise over Mirror Lake, Lake Placid, New York

So why chime in now?  I’m at my tipping point after one too many annoying social media posts.  Recently, scrolling Facebook, I was stopped in my tracks by a lovely picture of fall foliage over a serene Adirondack lake.  Enjoying the picture, my smile fell away when I read the smug caption: “If you know where this place is, please keep it a secret!”

I don’t know where that place is.  And I guess I never will, since the author – who I will call Smug Paddler – doesn’t want me or any other unwelcome out-of-staters sullying up his secret paddling spot.  (Another group member offered a guess and Smug Paddler, still smug, responded: “Nope – but I might check that spot out, so thanks!”  So, basically, gatekeeping is for other people.)

And that’s my main issue with the no-geotagging movement: it’s a form of gatekeeping and purity testing, and gatekeeping is inherently elitist and exclusionary.  Oh, and more than that?  It’s racist.

Bears Den Overlook, Bluemont, Virginia

At its most basic: the no-geotag gatekeeping movement is nothing more than a bunch of tone-deaf white people, blind to their own privilege, other-ing “urban” hikers and people of color to keep them from enjoying the same recreation opportunities.  It’s keeping the so-called “wrong sort” of hikers out, so that the “right sort” can have the outdoors all to themselves.  It’s the promotion of the idea that certain people are inherently less deserving of fresh air, a beautiful view, or space on the trail.  And that’s just wrong.

Melanin Base Camp says it much more eloquently than I could:

The #nogeotag movement is a form of gatekeeping, or elitism. It involves individuals—usually those unaffected by structural racism and privileged to have grown up hiking and camping—asserting their self proclaimed authority over who should and shouldn’t be allowed into certain outdoor spaces.

Most of the articles begin with a white writer reminiscing over a much beloved hot spring, a treasured swimming hole or a rustic hiking trail from childhood that has now been “ruined” by a sudden influx of selfie-taking hikers.

They never stop to consider that their childhood was privileged with outdoor experiences not available to the majority of working-class families in the United States. They never stop to consider that this is a privilege many people in the U.S. would like to experience if given the chance. Their lack of self-awareness is pretty stunning.

(By the way, give Melanin Base Camp a follow.  Their Instagram feed is stunning, inspiring, and inclusive.)  The article, which I highly recommend reading in its entirety, lays out all of the problems – and there are many – with gatekeeping and excluding “urban” hikers (read: Black and brown folx), working class families, and people who are new to the outdoors.  It’s a must-read.

In fact, there’s no proof that geotagging social media posts has any effect on overuse of outdoor spaces.  As a like-minded soul helpfully posted in the comments to the obnoxious Facebook post that put me over the edge, the REI blog’s article “Is Photography Ruining the Outdoors?” debunked that notion pretty heartily.  (Using data collected by the Adirondack Council, in a bit of poetic justice for Smug Paddler.)  There’s no evidence supporting that photography (yes, including selfies) and social media sharing are responsible for overuse or improper use of public lands.

The only persuasive argument I’ve seen made against geotagging relates to safety concerns: it’s not wise to broadcast your location to the entire internet, especially when you’re in the backwoods.  I agree.  If we’re friends on social, you’ll notice I don’t geotag all of my posts.  There are certain posts I never tag with a location: my kids’ school and summer camps, for instance.  I do geotag my hikes and paddles, but I don’t post the pictures – or tag the locations – until I’m already back home (or at least in the car, on my way home).  If I’ve posted a picture of an outdoor adventure and tagged the location – especially if it’s wilderness – I’ve already left.  That practice, and keeping my Instagram account private (meaning I have to approve anyone who wants to follow me) is how I address those appropriate concerns about safety, and I’m comfortable with the personal decisions I’ve made in that respect.

Big Meadows, Shenandoah National Park, Luray, Virginia

There are plenty of ways to address overuse and improper use of public lands.  The good and smart folx at Melanin Base Camp suggest several.  More funding for the National Park Service, for instance, and more funding in general for education and outreach.  (Don’t like the way new outdoor adventurers are using public lands?  Educate – politely and respectfully – don’t gatekeep or hector people.  Those of us who choose to eat plant-based can explain how you inspire people to make better choices for the planet, without being a total @$$hole about it.)

While we’re funding NPS, maybe politicians can stop using government shutdowns as a political football, so that parks don’t end up unstaffed and abused.  Those images of Joshua trees cut down and overflowing trash cans at Yosemite were awful.  Keeping people of color out of public lands isn’t going to fix that problem, though.  You know what would?  Responsible government.

Other solutions: education, outreach, permit requirements, promoting alternatives (like state, regional, and local parks, or national forests and recreation areas that don’t get as much attention as the legacy parks).  Working with stakeholders.  Including indigenous groups and First Nations communities, and respecting their cultural and spiritual connections to these places.  (The myth of wildness, which Melanin Base Camp also eloquently debunks, is extremely harmful.  Public lands have not been “wild” for millennia.  They’ve been cultivated and stewarded by indigenous communities and that history deserves recognition.)

Widewater State Park, Widewater, Virginia

Golly.  Can you tell I have some feelings about this?  Clearly that Facebook post touched a nerve.  But honestly?  I’m sick and tired of exclusionary tactics and elitism in the outdoor community.  Of course we should be responsible.  But what gives Smug Paddler the right to declare anyone unwelcome on a public lake?  People protect what they love; that’s well-known.  Doesn’t it serve everyone – and the public lands we claim to care about – if more people love the outdoors and want to protect it from the ravages of climate change?

So I’ll keep geotagging my posts and sharing my outdoor adventure finds.  And if someone finds a new favorite hiking or paddling spot because of me, I’ll be pleased – not incensed.

Where do you fall on the geotagging debate?  Debate welcome, but respectful comments only, please.

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The Great Bass Island Circumnavigation of 2020

Who’s ready for some Adirondack paddling?!  MEEEEEEEEEE.  Y’all know I can’t resist an afternoon on the water – especially via my kayak – and after many days of quarantining at my parents’ house (with my laptop, of course) I was desperately in need of some fresh air and fun.  We were cautious and mindful of the New York State travel advisory, but my parents’ camp is very private, and we were the only ones there, so we figured it still counted as quarantining.  The moment we got there, Nugget started begging me to take him out in the kayak.  You don’t have to ask me twice!  Steve hauled my old Perception kayak (I got it when I was fifteen!) and my parents’ Old Town down to the beach, and my mom dug up the duffing seat out of cobwebs.  I don’t think it had been used in years – since I used to paddle my cousins around.

Skipper Nugget was READY to go.  We let him decide where to paddle, and he said he wanted to paddle across the lake.  That’s 37 miles, so probably not doable in a day.  (Definitely not doable in a recreational kayak with a densely-packed duffer.)  But some additional questioning revealed that he actually wanted to paddle across the bay (whew) to Bass Island.  That, we can do.

We set off across the deepest part of the bay, carefully avoiding motorboats and waterskiers.  Nugget insisted he was having a good time, but later confessed to being scared at first.  Poor little dude!  Once he got into the rhythm, he definitely shook off any fear and started to really have fun.

Approaching the island…

Dad landed first and pulled us ashore.  Nugget immediately hopped out of the boat and set off on a hike into the brush (note: this is a very small island) while Steve and I followed behind him shouting things like “WATCH OUT FOR POISON IVY” (me) and “THERE IS GOOSE POOP LITERALLY EVERYWHERE” (Steve).

Don’t care, Mommy-Daddy!  Explooooooooooooooore!

We hiked through most of the wooded part of the island (it really is small, you guys) and came out on the beach on the other side, then walked around the point and back to our boats.  Where to next, Nugget?

Around the island, Mommy!

Whatever you say, Henry Hudson.

After our circumnavigation of Bass Island (which took less then ten minutes #keepingitreal) Nugget directed us to paddle along the shoreline.  We obediently turned our bows into the bay and paddled the length of the shore.  Nugget shyly waved to some people who were having a party on a pontoon boat, but they didn’t notice his sweet little greeting.  Their loss.

Much better: Nugget directed us into a smaller bay that off-shoots my parents’ bay.  We paddled around in the calm and quiet waters for a bit, and were treated to a fantastic view of a great blue heron – a huge one.  So cool.  After it noticed us and took off flying across the bay, Nugget dictated that it was time to return home, so return home we did.  With sore arms and cores, and big smiles.

Returned with plenty of time left for more swimming and mountain views.  Can’t beat it.

The state of the world being what it is, I don’t know if we will make it back to the lake again this season.  So it felt good to get there once.  Next year, I hope to make up for our relative absence this summer by being up there a lot more – and in some different seasons.  I want Steve and the kids to see the “ring of fire” on Labor Day (when everyone lights bonfires on their beaches and the whole lake glows) and experience the magic of a chilly autumn paddle while the mountains are ablaze with color.  There’s absolutely nothing like it.

Where are you escaping this summer?

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Twelve Months of Trails: Difficult Run Stream Valley Park (Great Falls, Virginia) — May 2020

Mother’s Day 2020 dawned bright and sunny, if a bit crisp in the morning, and I had only one request – a hike, please!  Hiking has been a challenge recently: as Steve and I have lamented, now that everything is closed, it seems that everyone in the DMV has discovered our favorite pastime.  I mean, really: the trails used to be less crowded, didn’t they?  I have no problem with fellow hikers on the trail – indeed, I’m on record as saying I love seeing other folks out there enjoying public lands as much as we do.  But still, it’s hard to socially distance when everyone and their mom suddenly hikes.  Adding to the difficulty is the fact that the parks eventually recognized the issue and most of them are now closed.  (While the rest of the country looks at reopening schedules, our stay-at-home order in Virginia is continuing for at least another two weeks, maybe longer.)  So when I said I wanted to hike on Mother’s Day, I was aware that it might not happen.

But it did!  Big thanks go to Steve, who did the research and found a trail option and then a backup option.  We did end up going to our Plan B, but it ended up being great – we discovered a new-to-us trail that I can see us exploring a lot in days to come: Difficult Run Stream Valley Park.  The trailhead was easy to find, and there weren’t many people on the trail with us: other than a couple of single hiker/runners, two families and a group of mountain bikers, we had the place to ourselves.

Steve packed trail snacks: NutriGrain bars for each of us, and M&Ms for the kids.  At one point, Peanut started complaining of something “small and round” in her boot.  I told her to hang tight until we got through a muddy section and then we’d figure it out.  We squelched through the mud, then Steve turned her boot upside-down.  When the offending object toppled out of her boot, she gasped in surprise: “OH!  It’s an M&M!”  Hiking with kids, I’ll tell ya – it’s never dull.

Difficult Run was beautiful!  While I took in the peacefully bubbling stream, snapping away on my iPhone and my dad’s old Minolta, the kids were doing this:

Sitting in a mud puddle, poking tadpoles.

Got them moving eventually!

Eventually we came to a stream crossing.  It was about the time we wanted to turn back to the car, but we decided to cross the stream first, just for fun, then cross again and head home.

Daddy went first:

My turn!  View from the middle:

And of course, on the way back, we stopped and poked tadpoles some more.

So excited to live closer to trails like this one – and many more – this summer and beyond!

Have you been able to get out for a hike this month?

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Bluebells on a Battlefield

While we are all holed up at home, spring is springing all over the place!  It’s been raining and gloomy here for most of the past couple of weeks, which has made the social distancing harder to handle – especially with two energetic kids in the house.  By Sunday we all had energy to burn, and even after last week’s crowded trails, we wanted to try hiking again.  I had some good intelligence that the famous Virginia bluebells were blooming, so we decided to check them out.

We normally hike the Bluebell Loop Trail at Bull Run Regional Park.  This year, with the pandemic raging, the park is open for “passive use” only – which means hiking YES, but parking NO.  The parking lots at Bull Run Regional Park were closed, and while parking outside park boundaries and hiking in to the Bluebell Loop Trail is perfectly fine, that would add 2.5 miles each way to our hike – just from the car to the trailhead and back.  Fine for adults-only parties, but when you have two little hikers, you have to maximize every step.  Bull Run Regional Park’s social media team was suggesting other options to folks who didn’t want to park more than two miles from the trailhead, so we decided to try one of the alternatives – Manassas National Battlefield Park.

Civil War buffs, this is the famous Bull Run battlefield.  Steve and I hiked the battlefield itself years ago – pre-small hikers – but had never been to this part of the park.  We made for the Stone Bridge parking area, lured by the promise of bluebells growing on the banks of the legendary Bull Run.

Crossed the bridge over Bull Run and saw…

That famous blue glory all over the forest floor!

We were a bit early – it’s always tough to time peak bloom for any flower show, especially when it’s not a flower that grows in the neighborhood (and can be monitored accordingly).  Local friends – if you want to hit the trail later this week or this coming weekend, I think you’ll be in for a good show.  As for us –

We had plenty of visual treats to enjoy!

The trail was a bit damp, but not too muddy.  Peanut made the best shoe choice, wearing her wellies.  Nugget decided on his Keen hiking boots, which worked well, but didn’t allow for puddle-stomping.

The wildflowers were growing all over the opposite bank of Bull Run, too.

We were careful to take precautions on the trail – we left as early as possible to avoid crowds (even so, there were definitely folks on the trail) and were cautious about touching anything.  We also leapt off the trail to give people distance, and most reciprocated by kindly and responsibly walking all the way on the other side of the wide trail, at least six feet away from us.  With the exception of two women who thoughtlessly breezed down the middle of the trail despite our attempting to give them plenty of space, everyone was responsible and considerate about personal distance.

I wait all year for this fabulous floral spectacle, and it definitely didn’t disappoint.  It was a lot of fun to check out a different spot – while I missed our usual stomp along the Bluebell Loop Trail, mixing it up is good, too.  And there’s a lot to explore out Manassas way – we really should make a point of getting here more often, and checking out some different scenery.

This weekly trail time is keeping my sanity intact – barely!  Missing our annual bluebell hike was unthinkable, so I’m glad we were able to take some precautions and make it happen.

What are your local spring spectacles?