Fire Towers: Form over Function?

About two months ago, I read about the Department of Environmental Conservation’s Adirondack Fire Tower Study and the “Hurricane Mountain Primitive Area – Draft Unit Management Plan.” I talked to some people about their opinions about it, since it created a bit of discord among North Country citizens, and I heard opinions ranging from calling the Hurricane fire tower “a hunk of junk,” to beliefs that the towers should be restored for their historic value.

I hadn‘t heard anything about the proposed removal of the towers on Hurricane and St. Regis

Hurricane Mountain fire tower / photo by Mwanner

mountains lately, so I decided to look into it. I didn’t find out what course of action would be taken, but the Adirondack Park Agency is looking for ways to save the towers.

I also found that that the fire towers of the Adirondacks have a lot of history behind them. Although no longer in use, they have a rich background, and there’s no way I could cover it all. I’ll give you a crash course.

The story of fire towers in the Adirondacks starts in the early 1900’s, when fires plagued the park. Two years in particular, 1903 and 1908, seemed to be especially troublesome, with fires devastating nearly 1 million acres of land, according to the Adirondack Architectural Heritage. To give you an idea of how widespread the fires were, the park is 6.1 million acres, so that means roughly a sixth of the park was affected by fires.

According to the DEC’s website, the Forest, Fish and Game Commission reported about 605 fires in 1908. These fires burned through more than 396,000 acres of forest. Logging and dry, windy weather are considered to be factors in why these fires were so severe.

The fires led to a much more concentrated effort on forest fire prevention and education, and one of the main courses of action was the construction of fire towers on the summits of mountains. The first fire tower in the Adirondacks was built on Mount Morris  in 1909, constructed with logs. Soon, however, towers were constructed of steel instead.

Observers manned the towers, keeping an eye out and alerting park rangers when they spotted fires. Many accounts I’ve heard about these observers say that they weren’t just people sitting up there, watching. They were storytellers who took charge of informing, educating and entertaining the many people who hiked to these towers to climb them and enjoy the panoramic views.

Eventually, more efficient methods of surveying the park for fires were brought into use, including aerial surveillance, and it became more expensive to keep the towers maintained and running during the fire season. The last operating fire towers were closed in 1990.

There were once about 120 fire towers in New York state, with the Adirondack Park giving a home to 57 of them. Only 20 remain standing on state land, while 4 are on private property.

St. Regis Mountain fire tower / photo by Mwanner

Now, some fire towers, such as the ones on Bald (Rondaxe) Mountain, and Poke-O-Moonshine,  have been restored and serve a higher purpose– the education of environmentalists, hikers and wildlife enthusiasts. Groups such as the Friends of Hurricane Mountain or the Friends of St. Regis Mountain are following the model set by other groups, like the Friends of Poke-O-Moonshine, who organized to renovate the fire tower on that summit. In the summer, summit stewards still man the tower to educate people about the natural environment and history of  the Adirondacks.

It seems to me that the towers have a place in Adirondack history and a place in the park. I understand that they no longer serve their original purpose, and  they need to be restored if they’re to do any good, but I can also see that they’re going to cost money. I guess when it comes down to it, I just like them ’cause they look cool.

Cache-ing in on North Country Boredom

Camoflauged cache

Living in the North Country, I am often told by outsiders how there is absolutely nothing to do here. These are typically statements by students I meet who hail from the city and fail to amuse themselves. But I’ve found that the North Country has much to offer to outdoor enthusiasts, even treasure-hunters.

We don’t wear eye patches. We don’t have peg legs. And we don’t say, “Argh!” Instead of a pistol and shot, we are armed with a GPS and pieces of swag. We don’t plunder so much as barter, but we are still looking for treasure.

I was recently introduced to a little sport—I suppose it’s really more of a hobby—called geocaching. Essentially, people take a GPS and romp around in the wilderness, using coordinates that will lead them to treasure, called a “cache.” These are small containers, filled with a log to mark who discovers the cache and when, and there is often times “swag”—known to pirates as “booty.”

The tokens are small, simple things left behind by past geochachers. The rule is that if you take something, you must leave something in its place.

Geocaching is a world-wide hobby

I set out for one in the town of Plattsburgh with a few friends. We typed our coordinates into our GPS and set out on our journey. Our guidance system led us through swampy terrain and rocky hills, and we are certain we went in circles. After an hour, and sheepishly passing by several “posted” or “no trespassing” signs, we decided we weren’t going to find our cache. Hint: it helps if you have a GPS device that is not intended for use in your car.

Defeated, my friends and I decided to take a break and go out to lunch. Afterwards we were back on the hunt and in search of a new cache, located less than a mile away from where we (supposedly) were supposed to have found the first one. This time we got lucky.

My, well, our first cache was hidden inside a hollow log at the base of a steep precipice. It was a small plastic

Some caches contain swag, and if a piece is taken, another should be left in its place

Tupperware container with a blue lid, holding several loose papers with names of adventure-seekers who claimed the container before us. It was filled with swag, including a small green bouncy ball, a cross, a marble, a few rocks, and other trinkets.

I didn’t take anything from this cache. Though it was little more than a plastic box with old notes and invaluable objects, it was gratifying to leave our names, waiting to be discovered by whomever follows the same path. 

I propose the following to those who still believe there is nothing fun to do outside of a big city: go to the geocaching Web site, grab some coordinates, and put that GPS to work. Argh!

Little Giants

The traihead to Rattlesnake Mountain

Every mountain has its own personality. Steep or jagged, wooded or bald, wet or dry, each climb is unique. A lot can be said for climbing the biggest mountain you can find and adding its name to the list of peaks on your conquered landscape.

But I’d like to talk about the little guys out there. Recently my wife, Andrea, and I climbed two smaller mountains: Rattlesnake Mountain in Willsboro and Silver Lake Mountain just outside of Hawkeye. We may not have racked up the miles on these hikes, but they were every bit as enjoyable as any mountain twice their size.

The trails up both of these peaks are less than 2 miles, and often hikers see these as beginner climbs or family hikes. Don’t get me wrong, they are great for that, but they shouldn’t be overlooked by the experienced hiker. They may be short, but what they lack in length and height, they make up for with something special: diverse wildlife and great summits for exploring. On both of these little peaks we found tremendous views, families of hawks, and their large, relatively flat wooded summits made me feel like a kid again.

Willsboro Bay and Lake Champlain from Rattlesnake Mountain

Rattlesnake is a privately owned mountain, which welcomes hikers, just a few miles down Route 22 from Northway exit 33. This little climb may be short, but it offers a commanding view of Willsboro Bay, Lake Champlain, Burlington, and the Green Mountains in Vermont. The hike begins with a peaceful walk up an old logging road, where it makes a sharp right turn and begins ascending to the actual trailhead. Here, the real trails up the mountain begin. This mountain offers a variety of routes to a variety of peaks, all of which are poorly marked but easily spotted. Whether you want to meander up a rocky switchback or scramble up large boulders with excellent views of Lincoln pond and Poke-O-Moonshine at your back, the choice is yours.

The Rattlesnake rock garden

As enjoyable as that is, the fun for me doesn’t begin until I reach the top. Immediately to the right of the trail is a large “balanced rock,” which is more or less the trickiest thing to climb on the whole mountain. Not only is it a blast to scramble up, but it’s a great place to relax, catch your breath, eat lunch, meditate or just soak up the sun. But this is just the beginning of the summit, and I would argue that there is just as much to explore on the top of the mountain as there is trail to there. Between my two summit markers, the balanced rock to the south and the WCPV radio tower to the north, there is at least half a mile of summit to enjoy with a panoramic view Willsboro Bay and Lake Champlain, complete with a family of red-tailed hawks and a large garden of rock statues built by the mountain’s visitors. Andrea and I have climbed Rattlesnake Mountain three or four times, and each trip we spend more time exploring the top than we do hiking. Be warned, there is a long and lovely trail down the backside of this mountain, but if you plan on hiking up the front and down the back, prepare yourself for a 10 mile walk back to your car. I know this from experience. 

Short as it is, the steep bald scramble to the summit should satisfy the experienced hiker looking for a challenge, for which they will be generously rewarded with a panoramic view and families of hawks to observe. But that’s not all.

The summit of Silver Lake Mountain also offers nearly two more miles of bushwhacking and exploring for those inclined. At the top, you’ll find a myriad of dead-end trails that cover the densely wooded crescent shaped mountain. Its many bluffs overlooking Mud Pond offer adventure, exploring, and majestic views of Taylor Pond, Silver Lake, and Catamount and Whiteface Mountains.

 Small as they are, I love these little peaks. What they lack in stature, they make up for with adventure, excitement, and just plain old fun. Next time you find yourself at the top of a high-peak, don’t forget to look down. Maybe next time you can humble your ego, and take a little hike.

The complete view from Silver Lake Mountain

She

To my beloved friend Jade,

 I am writing this letter from the summit of Jay Mountain, and I keep thinking about the last time I was here, and you were with me. We climbed up the steep side of Jay, you always in the lead, and you took to your business as I took to mine. I would stop to check out the bark and the goose-foot leaves of the young striped maple, or the scraggly troll-hair appearance of the bearded lichen, or the finest specimen of morel mushroom I have yet to find, and you would sniff your way through the understory, detecting things I can only imagine. That day was a good day.

 Today you are not here because age is taking its toll, and I miss you. You can no longer climb mountains because arthritis has stiffened your joints, although you still wag your tail in anticipation every time you see me

Jade refusing to smile for the camera

preparing my backpack for an outing. It pains me to leave you behind, old friend. It pains me to walk alone knowing you are sitting at home, peeking out of the window and awaiting my return. We had so many great adventures, didn’t we?

 Do you remember the time we climbed Cascade with Mike and Heather? It rained all day and the summit was engulfed in cloud cover, making it impossible to see anything but the rock we were walking on. We played hide-and-go-seek by simply walking ten feet in any direction, and the insurmountable mist took care of the rest. It was a wet, dreary day, but we were in good company, and could not help but feel the sense of freedom the mountains instill.

 How about the time we took a short hike up to the Giant’s Nubble two summers ago? I was climbing the slippery rocks at the base of Roaring Brook Falls and you got nervous and started barking at me, begging me to come down. I returned soaking wet and you glared at me, and then proceeded to walk back down the trail without so much as a glance to see if I was following. Such attitude! But I laughed because I knew you meant well.

The Jay Range from Silver Lake Mountain

The last big adventure we had was a hike up Silver Lake Mountain, late last spring. I knew your fourteen years could not handle anything too long or steep, so it was the perfect choice. You were yourself that day, young again, and bounding after any poor creature that triggered your senses. There was still snow lingering on the summit, and I lobbed snowballs to you and you chomped them out of the air, just as you’ve always done. It filled me with joy to see you that way, and your happiness almost made up for the sadness I felt at the limp you developed on the final stretch of our return.

 So on this sunny afternoon I have been thinking about all of the times we have shared, and all of the times you have made me happy. I swear sometimes I still see you as I walk through these woods. Whenever I hear a stick snap I expect to look up and catch you chasing after a chipmunk, like a perfect black shadow crashing through the forest. You’re still there, like a ghost, waiting for me to catch up at the crest of every steep section on the path. Perhaps most of all, I feel like you should be sitting here next to me, basking in this, the warmest of mountain glows.

 Although I cannot reverse the imposition of age, or restore the vitality you have lost, I can promise to do my best to make sure you are content. Our walks are shorter now, but there are still plenty of car rides and relaxing afternoons by the lake to enjoy, and when I come home tonight, we will sit out on the patio and enjoy the pleasant spring weather for a while.

Although I cannot have you by my side as often as I’d like to these days, you will always be with me in spirit, and the thought of you will always bring a smile to my face. You are a gentle creature with a crazy streak that might just rival my own knack for insanity. You are a good friend, a protective friend, and a loyal friend.

I cannot ask for anything more.

 Shaun