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Big Adventures in Little Buffalo: Hikes on the Healing Trail

Posted by Bubba on January 19, 2020
Posted in: Musings. Tagged: Holman Lake, Landscape Photography, Little Buffalo State Park, Neil Peart, nikon, Photography, Travelogue, Tuscarora State Forest. 1 Comment

Winter blanketed the banks of Holman Lake on a January afternoon in Tuscarora State Forest. Visibility along Fisherman’s Trail diminished as the second leg of the season’s first real snowfall intensified.

DSC_2272

Ahead of me, a crossroads: do I trek on, risking an increasingly icy commute home through the mountains? Do I turn back now, surrendering to the conditions and forgoing further exploration?

The mantra in my head, as it so often happened, as it is so likely to be again, was a Rush lyric.

Shadows on the road behind
Shadows on the road ahead
Nothing can stop you now.

I glanced down at Daisy, my Lab/Shepherd hiking companion for the last year and a half. Her snout was pointed east, toward the unblemished footpath leading deeper into the woods.

DSC_2232

You call me, you call me. 

We would journey on.

In the week since my hero died, I pined for adventure. Neil Peart was the single most influential musical and literary figure on my young and adult life. In particular, the travelogues he documented on NeilPeart.net inspired me to pursue and chronicle my own outdoor exploits. A pastime I hadn’t truly indulged in in years.

Until now, when I found myself miles deep in the Pennsylvania wilderness during a driving snowstorm.

Adventures suck when you’re having them. 

DSC_2291

I followed my front wheel down a snow-packed footpath. Downed beeches and steadfast birches, barren sugar maples and lush evergreens lined the trail. In the moments between the crunch of my boot and the pitter patter of Daisy’s paws, the hemlock forest echoed only with the sound of falling snow.

Our pace quickened as Daisy caught the scent of something downwind, most likely a squirrel. We delved deeper. The light of midday diffused as the forest canopy thickened overhead. Precipitation heightened.

Autumn woods and winter skies.

DSC_2251

Fisherman’s Trail hugged the 88-acre Holman Lake for a mile before diverging into a series of walkways that would eventually lead us back to the trail head where my Subaru awaited. That could take hours. It could also take precious energy – a fleeting resource for a narcoleptic.

Half an hour after making the call to press on, the decision to turn back weighed on my mind again. So did Neil, and his words.

All these wounds that I can’t get unwound.

I owe so much to those lyrics. All Neil’s writing, really. His work resonated with me at different times for so many different reasons. Marathon fired the light in my eyes after four knee surgeries. Afterimage gave me solace when I lost a friend. The Pass helped me steer by the stars when every other light had gone out.

DSC_2283

And today, in the snow-laden solitude of Tuscarora State Forest, I was reminded of another lesson.

When we are young,
Wandering the face of the Earth,
Wondering what our dreams might be worth,
Learning that we’re only immortal,
For a limited time.

The soundtrack to my life, indeed.

Bowing to my limitations, I turned my path westward, homeward. The return journey through two inches of loosely-packed, accumulating powder was taxing but assuring. Had I hiked any longer, I may have been too tired for the thirty mile commute back.

In the waning moments before departure, I was reminded that the point of this journey was never to arrive, but to pay homage to my hero.

Thank you, Professor. For everything. I am so grateful to have lived in this one of many possible worlds at the same time you did, to have found refuge in your words at the hour I needed it the most, and to have a revolving carousel of lesson and lyric at my disposal when I need it going forward.

Entering_Badlands

Photo by Michael Mosbach. 

 

 

photography

Posted by Bubba on October 10, 2016
Posted in: Photography. Tagged: dauphin county, find your park, great blue heron, harrisburg, nature, pa dcnr, parks and recreation, Pennsylvania canal, Photography, waterfowl, wildwood nature reserve. Leave a comment

Pic of the week: “Prey and Wait”

 photo Wildwood_BlueHeron.jpg

Nestled between the Towpath Trail and Industrial Road, a Blue Heron stalks sunfish in the Pennsylvania Canal. Motionless. Undisturbed. Unfathomably patient. The silent hunter would pluck an unsuspecting fish out of Wildwood Park’s swampy waterway a half hour later.

Headshots. Portraits. Landscapes.

 

A Farewell to the King

Posted by Bubba on December 7, 2015
Posted in: Musings. Tagged: Arthritis, Giant Center, knee replacement, Neil Peart, Retirement, rush, Time Machine Tour, Time Stand Still, Tribute to Neil Peart. Leave a comment

My scars were particularly sensitive to atmospheric pressure under the half-dome of the Giant Center the evening of April 8, 2011. Outside: a limited grey ceiling leaked rain from every crevice. Within: a 21-year-old college kid stood on tender, mechanized joints, too proud to sit down during a Rush show.

My left knee was just replaced. The right: realigned, but this was the god damn Time Machine Tour. Moving Pictures. Moving fucking Pictures! I wasn’t about to lose it.

Against my better nature, I committed to standing, and I committed to doing it without the aid of narcotics. A “get out of jail free” card prescribed to me for purposes like this. It was a slippery slope I had slid down too often with too dark results. Tonight, though, the experience was natural, human. No drug-induced chemicals. Just self-made endorphins.

Like most Rush heads, I had heard everything from Moving Pictures (except Camera Eye and Vital Signs) live already. The real draw, for me, was the promise of B-siders. B-siders I tried to keep under lock and key until the concert arrived. I wanted to be blindsided by each consecutive tune, and I didn’t want to miss the brilliance of a song while in anticipation of another.

I was already lamenting the decision to stand when the lights dimmed, a distant early warning signalling “go time.” Alex ripped into Permanent Waves’ flagship anthem, Spirit of Radio. I couldn’t sit if my legs were made of jello.

Without pausing to catch their breath or let the audience catch ours, Rush then opened a riff in the space-time continuum, traveling seven years into the future from 1980 to 1987. When I heard the opening notes, everything ceased.

Time Stood Still.

Holy shitballs. Ho. Lee. Shit. Balls.

Instant goosebumps. Swiftly followed by uncoordinated arm flailing. Finishing with the most potent release of dopamine I had ever experienced.

For the next five minutes and nine seconds, the wounds I could never get unwound were suddenly unwinding. The defenses were down. The past going too fast came to a halt, and a kid with a degenerative disease would now find permanent respite whenever this song played.

Thanks, Neil. Take a load off, you earned it.

Neil

Picture courtesy: Power Windows

 

 

The Cradle of Forestry

Posted by Bubba on November 19, 2015
Posted in: The Fall Foliage Tour. Tagged: Adams County, Arthritis, Autumn, Caledonia, Fall, Fall Foliage Tour, Foliage, Franklin County, knee replacement, Landscape Photography, Michaux State Forest, Ortanna, Photography, Route 30, Shippensburg University, sony cybershot, South Central PA, South Mountain. 1 Comment

Michaux State Forest: often admired, rarely explored. For four years, I passed through these woods on my way to and from Shippensburg University without meandering off course once.

Today, I’d wander.

10.25 south mountain foliage

I approached the 85,000 acre woodlands from the west, through Chambersburg. The plan: to journey down Route 30, eventually arriving in Adams County – my homeland.

Autumn greeted me at the forest’s gates.

10.25 orchard straight on

Already sojourning off course, I turned left away from the forest entrance in Caledonia. An orchard lie dormant against a rising sea of autumn. At its center, a sapling saturated in saffron. I sat down on the dirt path, undoubtedly private property, framed the shot, clicked the shutter, paused. Then reminisced.

This was vintage fall. The one you remember from your youth. Wind blowing. Clouds scattered. Leaves leaving. A hint of winter in each breathe. Fucking. Whimsical. But not as whimsical as the dinner Mom promised me upon my return home for the first time in months.

The orchard was tranquil, serene, and neat,

But I’m hungry and beat,

And have miles to go before I can eat.

10.25 caledonia forest path

“Home is behind. The world ahead, and there are many paths to tread.” Tolkien.

Motoring down Lincoln Highway to Caledonia, I found a path worth exploring. A gradual ascent into South Mountain, littered with oak, maple, and birch petals. Evergreen bract sprouted at the base of the hike, giving way to taller shrubbery as the elevation climbed.

Foliage here was intermittent. Trees more exposed to the elements were stripped bare or half naked. The remainder, though, was vibrant. Ruby and gold. Hazel and coral. Strung like Christmas ornaments on the edge of branches, just a mishap away from falling.

10.25 south mtn foliage

I continued a half mile into Michaux when I came to a small clearing. Trails split threefold, each path looking more ominous than the last. Shadows grew longer. My stomach rumbled. The knees showed signs of fatigue.

I would have followed that trail to the very fiery peaks of South Mountain, but wisdom stayed my progress. I was a solo adventurer with metal appendages isolated in a foreign forest, and I was losing daylight. Turning around was logical…but far from easy.

To have the vigor and yearning of youth, but the fragility and injury of old age. A constant battle. Today, though, a small victory.

10.25 caledonia forest path w color

Intermittent gusts strew leaves across the walkway en route to Shadowfax, the Lord of all Subarus. Sunlight burst through a broken canopy, countering the temperature drop ushered in on winter winds. I made good pace, fueled by the thought of homemade food.

Back on Route 30, foliage forged a gateway to Adams County. Traveling west, looking south, the rolling hills of Ortanna were undeniable. So I veered off the beaten path one last time.

Old Route 30 descended from South Mountain. Farmlands dotted sloping hillsides. Homes grew half miles apart. I didn’t have to see the people who resided here to feel the pride that resonated from each dwelling. The tiny town on the Franklin/Adams border where hope was harvested each fall.

South MountainVoyaging home, many a picture opportunity presented itself, and many a picture op was denied. Mental snapshots, preserved in my memory bank.

The best views aren’t seen through a viewfinder. They’re experienced. Sights, sounds, smells, sensations. You remember what you feel much longer than what you see.

And this night, I’m feeling Mom’s homemade stuffed shells.

The Tour

Posted by Bubba on November 8, 2015
Posted in: The Fall Foliage Tour. Tagged: Arthritis, Fall Color, Foliage, knee replacement, Landscape Photography, Leaf Peeping, Photography, sony cybershot, South Central Pennsylvania. Leave a comment

An escapade born on cautious optimism. Hopefully imagined. Carefully executed.

On a reforged knee, I chased fall color across eight central Pennsylvania counties, photographing autumn scenes and documenting the adventures that followed. Presenting: the fall foliage tour.

  • Juniata County
  • Franklin/Adams County

Many paths to tread

roximus and the foliage finders do the Tuscarora State Forest

Posted by Bubba on November 8, 2015
Posted in: The Fall Foliage Tour. Tagged: Applachian Trail, East Licking Creek, Fall Color, Fall Foliage Tour, Foliage, Hiking, Juniata County, knee replacement, Landscape Photography, Photography, sony cybershot, Trails, Tuscarora State Forest, Woods. 1 Comment

On an unseasonably frozen mid-October Sunday, under threatening skies and in between gusting winds, fall fell on the Tuscarora State Forest.

Autumnal bliss

Five adventurers, assembled the night prior on a whim at a karaoke bar, meandered over a gravel trail laden with fallen leaves and broken twigs. The Fall Foliage Tour’s maiden excursion would be one of only two trips where I tackled the trails with traveling companions. Here, sixty miles west of home, in a 96,000-acre forest, I was grateful for their presence.

Roximus and the Foliage Finders

Without destination, we followed a path along East Licking Creek, a tributary of the Juniata River. Its shallow depths ran parallel to a road of the same name, the only in-route to the forest accessible by automobiles. Swift-running waters, choked by dead and dying leaves, provided a quick photo op.

East Licking Creek

Excitement mounted. As much as I enjoy people, and as much as I have faith in humanity, its nature scenes like this where I’m at home, at ease, serene yet filled with spirit. An emotional state of mind I hadn’t known for some time, now heightened by how hard I’ve physically worked to be able to get there.

Wind gusted from the north, driving us to action. We ventured farther and higher into the woods, where changing elevations provided subtle variations of color and presentation.

10.18 forest path w sunlight

The brighter hues of yellow darkened, giving way to amber and jade. Sun peaked through clouds long enough for me to capture this view.

The climb continued. No overlook was promised, but one was certainly desired. The eroded peaks of the Appalachians ran uncontested through this region. I was clamoring for a clearing a couple thousand feet up, looking down on miles upon miles of rolling foliage. Some real scenic shit. Swiftly and efficiently our company ascended, but the Tuscarora showed no signs of thinning out.

10.18 forest path vertical

Afternoon arrived in the form of sputtering sleet. Surprisingly soothing, despite the Mercury falling. Regardless, the unanticipated weather event marked the end of our search for overlook glory. Turning back the way we came, and walking again over the only foot trail the forest allowed, we made good pace.

Muffled by vegetation, I could hear faintly the rushing waters of East Licking. Warmth followed. Breaking clouds provided the available light I needed to grab some final shots.

10.18 orange foliage 3 shot

I could have spent the rest of the afternoon wondering these woods. The spirit was willing, but the knee was swelling. So I drained half my battery taking pictures, paying homage to the forest whose splendor would not be duplicated for another year.

10.18 licking creek road

Chalk the first stop on the Fall Foliage Tour a success. On to the next one.

10.18 drive shot

Part 2: The Muscle Remembers

Posted by Bubba on November 14, 2014
Posted in: Reversing the Atrophe. Tagged: celebration bitches, knee replacement, photojournalism, REHAB, reverse the atrophe. Leave a comment

For six weeks leading up to the operation, sometimes four times a week, always at least ninety reps a week: I was doing leg raises. Tedious and tiresome, I rarely failed to complete the routine. I needed momentum going into the surgery, but my options were limited. The knee was shot. Couldn’t squat, couldn’t extend, couldn’t descend without a throbbing reminder of my mortality. But I could ascend. So I did, time and time again, and the muscles remembered.

Ascend

Recovery: Day 5. 

Sunday night. Sleep overcomes the majority of the household. I’m restless, though, and pumped full of narcotic-induced bravado.

I’m going for it.

Using a maneuver I’ve perfected through the years, I shift from the couch seamlessly to the floor without waking the sleeping giants within. Those slumbering behemoths are the four horsemen of an excruciating apocalypse. The quadriceps, resting a bit longer.

In between deep breathes, a mantra: “…align the knee to toes. Engage the thigh. Push down to go up.” I have to remind my body how to function. It’s like someone hit the reset button. I’m relearning how my leg works, but this is the fourth time taking this test. I’m a better student now. I studied for forty days. I remember. The muscles remember.

Engage the thigh. Align the knee. Push down to go up and…pain. Pain everywhere. Pain all the time. Giants awaken. Push down. Go up. Push down to go up. Ride out to meet them! Engage. Align. FIRE! Apocalypse. Keep pushing. For death and glory! Breathe. Go. Rise!

Boom. Goes. The. Dynamite.

frabz-ITS-A-CELEBRATION-BITCHES-e344aa

 

 

 

 

 

Game: blouses. One more little victory. One more morale boost. One more momentum-building moment for a psyche desperately craving a win. Suddenly, this recovery seemed less daunting.

Part 1: The Patient

Posted by Bubba on October 19, 2014
Posted in: Reversing the Atrophe. Tagged: LITTLE VICTORIES, PARTIAL KNEE REPLACEMENT, PHOTOJOURNALIST, REHAB, SURGERY. 1 Comment
The Patient

Taken from the comfort of my hospital bed with an iPhone 5, edited in Snapseed.

Music: familiar but unidentifiable in my inebriated state. Frustration mounts. I know this damn song. The synthesizer rhythm section waxes and wanes, inaudible beneath the cacophony of science and conversation resonating in the OR room. I’m up early, again, shrugging off the anesthesia half an hour ahead of schedule. I’m cut open from thigh to cafe. A nerve block paralyzes my body from the waist down. A doctor hammers my new knee into place. I just want to name this fucking song.

A momentary lapse in the construction. Lyrics. I can hear lyrics. “Don’t look back, you can never look back.”

Boys of Summer. Got it. Friggan’ nailed it. Dad would be proud.

Somewhere in my pacified nervous system, dopamine releases, and with this tiny victory – a disproportionate amount of euphoria. I smile at the anesthesiologist, “…is this Don Henley?”, already knowing the answer. “Hey, you are alert!” Dr. Greensmith said, surprised.

I wouldn’t fall back asleep until 8 that night, taking pride in my defiance of the anesthesia. Of all the mottoes I’ve adopted in my travels and learnings, getting “little victories” has been especially pertinent. Chalk one up for today. Small, somewhat irrelevant, but victorious nonetheless – overcoming copious amounts of sedation to correctly identify an 80’s pop song playing in the operating room.

The recovery commences.

Floated

Posted by Bubba on February 13, 2014
Posted in: Photos from the Field. Tagged: blue mountain, fort hunter, harrisburg, jvc pro, Photography, river ice, rockville bridge, sony cybershot, susquehanna, whp tv. Leave a comment

Dusk on a frigid Susquehanna.

Train on Rockville Bridge

Hours prior, Harrisburg River Rescue ceased and desisted a drunk photographer from falling through said ice into said river:

http://www.local21news.com/news/features/top-stories/stories/emergency-crews-rescue-man-standing-icy-susquehanna-6319.shtml

We attempted a live shot at 5 to no avail. Where technology failed, a glorious sunset remained. Stowed away the JVC Pro and grabbed my Cybershot.

blue mountain, white river

frozen dusk

An unfortunate turn of events for the producers, but I’ll allow it.

Frozen Silence

Kings of Winter

Posted by Bubba on February 9, 2014
Posted in: Photos from the Field. Tagged: dreamline, kings of winter, landscapes, paxton creek, Photography, polar vortex, rush, sony cybershot, wildwood lake, wildwood nature reserve. 1 Comment
“When we are young, wandering the face of the Earth, wondering what our dreams might be worth. Learning that we’re only immortal for a limited time.” – Rush, Dreamline.

Recollecting and reminiscing, my post-birthday thoughts were noticeably darker than average. Now 24, hair thinning and cartilage thinner, I was feeling particularly mortal. A little bit of youth leaking out daily, each time I passed on an adventure. It was the type of blues that clung to the back of your thoughts, weighing down a normally positive approach.

The mounting pressure created a sense of urgency. So I revolted in an ill-advised, brash fashion. A rebellion pinning me against my greatest and previously undefeated foe: Winter.

An Age of Ice

The polar vortexes of 2014 were as fierce as they were photogenic. Hence the scene for my excursion.

The goal: to recreate this photo, replacing the autumnal backdrops with frosted, alabaster landscapes . Capturing tundra-like scenes and further polishing my new found photography craft in the process.

Passageways

The venue: Wildwood Nature Center.

Wintry Canopy

The endeavor: trekking through a near mile of snow covered woods on two mechanically flawed knees, reaching the destination and returning before work.

into the white nothing

Into the White Nothing

I was still wearing the scars from an earlier clash with Old Man Winter. In that brush, I was 13. A freshly-turned teenager, exploring the depths of youth immortality. Brash. Ill-advised. I sled down a hill. Brief moments of euphoria dislocated into searing bouts of pain. Exiting the toboggan, a hundred yards separated from the point of departure, I pivoted. The body turned, the kneecap remained. When the patella slid back into place, it shattered the knee bone and ripped the quadriceps.

I called for help. My dad and uncle found me at the bottom of the hill. Even at that age, I was a Bubba. Two grown men were unable to lift me up the icy slope, now seemingly a mountain. The ascent was brutal. When I made it to the peak, the knee had doubled in size.

trail unwinding

In the frozen cacophony of Wildwood’s forests, I trampled a similar snow underfoot. No longer a boy and increasingly aware of it. Recent weather blanketed weary tree limbs. A mid-afternoon sun hid behind massive cloud formations. Only a dull glow to illuminate the subjects of my photos, but it would have to suffice.

I purposely began this adventure on the other side of the wildlife reserve, the North entrance, a lake away from the coveted bridge.

IMG_1789

I gave myself a little over an hour to explore the snow-laden woods before worrying about making it to work. I wanted more time, but today would not allow it. The first captured scenes were promising.

trails unwinding pt 2

I lingered here for awhile. The path under the trees calling to me. I’d have followed it to the very end, to the solidified waters of Wildwood Lake, but, alas, that was not my fate. A shot presented itself in the form of some fisherman’s misfortune. Vibrant orange juxtaposed against pale snow, but what showed up in the viewfinder didn’t do it justice. Like MJ said, though, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

cast awry

Time melted into the ether. In a half hour, I’d have to relinquish this quest, leave the serenity of Wildwood, and clock in at WHP. The tripod folded, almost reluctantly, as I packed it up and slung it over my shoulder. I wielded it like a battle axe, proudly, triumphantly. The pace quickened, much to the dismay of my aging joints. I then realized the folly in my plan.

The walkway through the woods wrapped around the lake, leaving no direct route to the sought after man-made overpass. I would have to cover roughly two miles of slushy earth in thirty minutes to reach the destination. Plausible? Absolutely. Admirable? Indeed. Rational? No. Hell no.

It was another blow to my weakened psyche. To know that, despite rigorous effort to restore strength to my knees, I’m incapable of making that trek. Dejected, I turned around. A cold, familiar walk to my car. It was a wise decision to forego the exploration, but sensibility doesn’t build egos. My thoughts were heavy.

time crisis

Another miscalculation, this time in my favor. I had time, I realized. I could drive closer. I could make it happen. In my noble steed, a Chrysler Cirrus with 160,000 under the hood, I bolted out of the North side lot. She slid across the slippery roadway. A calculated drift. Accelerating through Industrial Drive, I arrived at the park’s main entrance, drove to the far end of the parking lot, and slid again into a space.

In one seamless motion, I grabbed the sticks and Sony Cybershot while opening the door. Joints snapped and crackled upon exiting the car, but they didn’t pop. The sign read “Delta Boardwalk 0.4 Miles.” The bridge unseen but waiting for me at the end of the walk.

I passed on several photo ops, the most intriguing: a family of mallards swimming through a narrow unfrozen patch of the Paxton Creek. This opportunity surrendered for the greater good of this mission.

downstream man

When the tree line thickened and the boardwalk narrowed, I checked the phone again. Months of endurance training paid off. I had made better time than anticipated. I stopped to capture a message in the forest. Not deeply poetic, but it gave me peace.

I saw the outline of the bridge in the peripheral. Snow clung to the railings, two inches on either side. The rush of running water drew my attention away. In an instant, I mounted the camera and popped a pic of the Paxton winding.

the paxton bend

Momentum built. A deflated morale rallied. Stride length doubled. I finally stood on the meager bridge over a tiny creek in a subzero woodland, soaking in my victory.

a passageway

I was a King of Winter, fabled and stoic, at least by my own accord. 

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