The following series was not shot from the same area as the others, but a very, VERY special place in my heart and memory. Years ago, when thoughts of catching trout overtook my common sense of daily duties, I would stay up all hours poring over the topo maps looking for any potential "fishy water", circling it in red and jotting notes in the margins of my oversized NYS Gazeteer. This was back in my days when I was known as Hydro Hannah, the early 90's, when most mornings tackled all the chores around the hydro site, leaving the rest of the day to my trout-seeking devices.
At one point I zeroed in on this one hydro site's headpond in a hidden little radar blip called Lyonsdale, where the Little Moose River cut a tumultuous swath through boulders glistening red with native garnets, and spilled through some world-class rapids before widening out in a placid 2 acre pond above the mill's dam. So one day I made the 95-minute drive north and found the odd place nestled between the Tug Hill Plateau and the Western Adirondacks. The moment I stepped out of my car, I was greeted by the acidic "North Country" perfume of tannin from the water, blackened with miles of accumulated conifer litter. I hiked a precarious ridge through maples, spruce, red pine and oak, and inched carefully out onto these rounded boulders, slickened through eons of raging river water. I then lived a trout fisherman's dream, catching a fat brookie on nearly every cast below the rocks! I had returned to that place with only two other friends through the next 2 or 3 years, and every time had found the fish just as fat and hungry as the time before. But alas, I had to grow up...I have had 2 different careers since then, and replaced my fishing passion with photography and golf. I don't think I'd been there since 1994, if that.
But since it's not a far shot away from where we were heading Saturday, I returned to find it as gorgeous as ever! Fishing was out of the question, as despite the drought, water had been released farther upstream to accommodate the Little Moose River Canoe and Kayak Festival. But we hiked up that same precarious ridge, no safer now than 13-years ago, and found ourselves at the small boulder-lined portage that forms a 90 degree elbow in the flow, cutting through huge tree-lined bluffs. The rapids were raging, and it wasn't long before we were visited by zealots in their rainbow-hued bananas, bobbing and disappearing below the white water, only to pop up 20 feet below and 50 yards downstream!
To begin the series, here is a shot upstream from that portage. This is my very special place. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did reliving it.
