Mt. Tremper hike
Site 29
I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and made the sweeping turn onto FDR Drive. The cars looked like those tiny little goldfish darting around with random abandon. I followed along being as aggressive as one can be without knowing where they are going. Ten minutes later the rains came forcing me to put the wipers on. The five second intervals proved not to be enough, I switched them to high and watched the water pour off the windshield. I felt like a scout being sent ahead to find a place to sleep for the night. Some male gene was kicking in telling me that this campground must be really sweet. After driving around the Catskills for an hour I finally stumbled upon a campground. The signs said "Closed" fuck, I was fried and decided that one little sign was not going to slow me down. I drove down the road until I saw a house and was greeted by a woman who was not happy to see me.
"Can I help you"
"ah, I'm looking for the campground"
"Were closed, just like the sign says...All the campgrounds don't open until next week."
She directed me to Phonecia as a last resort. This town was a few miles away...I pulled into the Sleepy Hollow campground and assessed the surroundings. RVs everywhere, this is a bad sign in the camping world. I am not claiming to be Mr. Outdoors but I have only stayed in a RV once...and it was for a bachelor party in Mexico. A different kind of trip entirely. I made a fire ,cooked and took in the fresh air. The following morning I packed up and headed to the tourist info center to get a handle on the hiking. After being given a list of hikes I sat in the truck and read a few of them. It seems like all the hikes were separated by 15 miles. I had a little Epiphany while sitting there. That campground would not be all that bad if I just moved across the road onto the Esopus Creek. I headed back and picked out spot number 30. The old lady at the front desk was not anywhere to be seen. I parked in front of the office and opened Blood Meridian by Cormack McCarthy. This book is pure carnage...pillage and murder through out the West. It's a good book but damn, you don't have to scalp everyone that crosses your path.
Site 30 was booked a week before by a volunteer firefighter named Clark. I took the spot next door and we both got set up. He hung his NY Giants flag and I laid out a tarp and pitched my Kelty tent from my Uncle Buzz who worked their for many years. A couple hours later I drove into Pougkepsie to pick up Blyth. She got off the train with her large backpack and a sweet wraparound dress. I opened up The Cocoon to put her bag in when a large black lady in a SUV stopped and opened her window.
"You guys look adorable"
We were feeling it, apparently it was obvious. We got on the 87 toll road and headed back to the campsite. Once again, the rain came down in sheets. I could see the road for a brief moment when the wiper blade went by, then total washout. That night we cooked some gourmet mac n cheese with sausage, tomatoes garlic and onions. We drank a couple of beers and watched our poor little rain soaked fire smolder and try to stay lit. We moved the futon out of The Cocoon and into the tent...I felt a bit strange, camping is supposed to be a bit rough. This seemed like it was pushing the comfort level slightly high. Never the less, it proved to be a much needed anchor the following night when the Gael force winds started in. After hearing Clarks awning come crashing down, Blyth was freaked that his crap would come flying into our tent. We didn't get much sleep that night but we made up for it with a ruling breakfast at Sweet Sue's in town.
All in all, the Catskills are really cool once you drop your California expectations of natural beauty. A good time was had by all. Next stop suburbia.
No comments:
Post a Comment