Stream at Hoxie Gorge
With the Hoxie Gorge lean-to site resembling a fraternity house on a Sunday morning, my friend Dave and I set out doing some minimal cleaning before sitting down for a slightly late lunch. We collect the scattered garbage and pile it up just beyond the fire ring for packing it out the next day, with the exception of the dip bottle. There is no way I am putting that anywhere near my backpack, let alone in it.
We unpack our backpacks, spreading out our bedding, so as to mark our claim on the lean-to, just in case the fraternity brothers decide to make tonight a party sequel. After indulging in a little well-overdue lunch, I explore the lean-to site, making a beeline to the clearing not more than fifty yards beyond the lean-to.
Although the topography within the forest appears rather level, the clearing is another matter entirely, as it drops off to the south and climbs up to the north. It remains mostly empty, with bramble, goldenrod, high grass and numerous other herbaceous vegetation dominating. Scattered about are some trees and shrubs, especially a line of trees between the forest and the parking lot. Everything remains a dull brown, with only the few remnant snow piles breaking up the monotony.
A section of Interstate 81 lies in the far distance, where a high bridge spans two moraines well beyond the parking lot. Large trucks whiz by on their way north, moving their wares somewhere near Syracuse or places farther north. With my binoculars, I can see the details of every vehicle, although only for a few seconds until they vanish from view behind forest and hillside.
Upon a cleared hillside to the north, I spot a large animal. Thinking moose, but knowing otherwise, I swing my binoculars in that direction revealing it as a large horse milling around in a pasture. Perhaps the horse is from the same farm the chickens are orphaned from.
As we consume a late lunch consisting of sandwiches, the chickens return in search of scraps. My sandwich is peanut butter and jelly, while Dave has chicken salad. He dismisses it as my imagination, but I swear the chickens start looking at him differently after that.
After unpacking and eating lunch, Dave and I decide to take a little hike back down to the confluence of streams by the culvert and investigate the area a little more. Given the short hike in, both of us are feeling a little antsy at this point in the early afternoon.
The trip back to the confluence of streams and its accompanying campsite remains uneventful. I follow the stream all the way down to the culvert, taking photographs through it and out into the open space beyond. Dave eggs me on to crawl through it by volunteering to take my photograph at the other end. Always up for an interesting experience, I contemplate taking him up on it, but decide against it since the bottom looks slippery and the water appears way too cold to take an ass plant in.
By the time I emerge from down along the culvert, Dave is nowhere to be found. From the tracks, it appears he followed the snowmobile track across the bridge, and over the hill. His tracks are very indistinct and appear much older, most likely due to the microspikes
Culvert beneath bridge at Hoxie Gorge
The snowmobile trail undulates through the forest way up slope from the stream. After walking along the snowmobile trail for a while, I reunite with Dave coming from the other direction. We stop to contemplate a North Country Trail sign on a tree, and then at a metal McDermott Nature Trail sign on a post. The metal sign has numerous dents in it, apparently shot at by a disgruntled or frustrated hunter. Or maybe just a dick that likes to shoot things.
We follow the snowmobile trail past the confluence until it enters the open field lying between the lean-to and the parking lot. We follow another hiking trail north through the clearing, along the edge of the forest through some deep, crusty snow until reaching the vehicle tracks, which we follow back to the lean-to.
We are only back for a short time before Dave suggests we bushwhack down to the tributary stream and obtain enough water for the remainder of our trip (i.e. until tomorrow morning). Since it sounds like a good plan to me, I grab my hiker’s friend (i.e. a piece of purple Silnet nylon used as a portable water bucket) and my Platypus 3L reservoir
We follow the trail from the back of the lean-to to the top of the ravine and then head off-trail directly to where the stream ought to be. Within a few minutes of descending through the crusty snow, we arrive at the streams edge. The water is moving swiftly here, and is nearly ice cold. After filling up all our water containers, we head back to the lean-to for some various kinds of water treatments, including Aquamira
Snowmobile trail at Hoxie Gorge
Soon after returning to the lean-to, I glance up and notice two young men walking to the lean-to from the direction of the clearing. Since reaching 40 years old, I am a poor judge of age; these “kids” could be anywhere from late teens to early twenties. Both are constantly staring at the ground, apparently searching for something.
Dave engages them in some conversation. They are peddling some story about a brother (fraternity or sibling?) losing his cellphone during last night’s revelry and they came to retrieve it. Dave and I glance at each other, displaying our best Jim Halpert “yeah right” expression. Unfortunately, we cannot help them out, since neither of us saw one during our clean up.
The two guys collect a few of the discarded articles around the lean-to, such as the gas can but not the ketchup bottle. During the entire time, their awaiting vehicle, a minivan, constantly blows its horn. Apparently, their getaway driver is the nervous type.
Soon after their departure, we decide Happy Hour is going to arrive sooner this year. Although it may be the abbreviated trip length this year, but since our partying keeps getting earlier every year as we grow older, it is more likely so we can take advantage of the senior discounts.
PurifiCup at Hoxie Gorge
Our subdued partying is momentarily interrupted when a group of people hike up along the edge of the open clearing. It is not apparent whether they notice our presence or not, which is a good thing as neither of us wants to share the limited number of alcoholic beverages we brought.
During the initial stages of Happy Hour, we do our annual gear show and tell. Typically, I have little to contribute, but this year is different. The PurifiCup makes its field debut. Dave is impressed with its appearance, marveling at its engineering. Unfortunately, it did not work so well after the first two 8 ounce glasses. The water flowed slower and slower, but tapping it against the lean-to floor got it going again, but only temporarily. Maybe it was the really cold water from the stream. I will have to fool around with it more at home before testing it in the field for good during the Birdathon in May.
Dave brought two toys to show, the show-off. The first is the Boilerwerks Backcountry Boiler, a kettle stove that boils water by burning sticks and twigs. The demonstration did not go well for Dave, as he had some difficulty keeping the twigs on fire within the stove. When he left to get more twigs, I step in and give him a hand. Between the two of us, we get the water boiling in no time.
Next, Dave brings out his Black Diamond Ultra Mountain Carbon Trekking Poles. These poles are clearly his pride and joy, his face lighting up like a father showing off pictures of his newborn baby.
Boilerwerks Backcountry Boiler
The poles are astoundingly light, made of 100% carbon fiber, yet super strong. Although only about 9 ounces apiece, they still are about twice as heavy as my current homemade poles, the very ones Dave made for me several years ago. The advantage of these Black Diamond poles is their Z-pole folding design that allows them to fold up and conveniently stow away in your backpack when not needed.
After the gear show and tell, we break out the heavy guns of snacks and beer, and Happy Hour really gets moving. With the arrival of Fritos Corn Chips
When these chickens show up, they immediately capture our full attention. The rooster and his three-hen harem strut around as if they are entitled to the scraps of snacks and bread we throw to them. We take pleasure in trying to touch the chickens by their tail as they eat, but they prove highly capable of evading our numerous attempts, putting our skills to shame.
Soon a fourth hen shows up. This Rhode Island Red is much shier than the others. It never comes too close to the lean-to, despite all the scraps we throw out for the other chickens.
Five chickens of Hoxie Gorge
Darkness soon settles in after dinner, it still being very early spring. Before full-blown darkness takes hold, we repair to our respective sleeping bags for the night. When Dave leaves the lean-to shortly to take care of some business, the chickens take the opportunity to start moving into the lean-to. One by one, they nervously approach the entrance of the lean-to and after a couple of attempts, leap up and quickly move to the back of the lean-to and into the corner with the broken glass.
Each chicken has its own turn, all except for the fourth hen, the shy one that mostly keeps its distance from us. The rooster is the last to enter, moving to the back of the lean-to with his harem. The hens huddle together as the rooster stand between them and any potential threat, including me.
When Dave returns, one of the Rhode Island Reds freaks out and runs from the lean-to, while the other chickens make strange mewing sounds. Despite their agitation, Dave is able to settle into his sleeping bag without spooking the remaining three any further. The three chickens remain in the corner with the broken glass for the remainder of the night, even with Dave’s radio on and his alarm going off at midnight. That does not mean they do so quietly, as they continue to mew off and on for much of the night. Apparently, chickens dream too.
The chickens are not the only noises of the night at Hoxie Gorge. Under a full moon, more than the usual sounds dominate the soundscape around the lean-to. A dog barks throughout a large portion of the night, occasionally joined by some howling coyotes. Two barred owls join the chorus at one point, asking the identity of our chef several times. The drone of traffic from I-81 remains a constant in the background, regardless of the hour of the night.
Sleeping chickens in Hoxie Gorge lean-to
At some point in the night, the squeal of a truck straining to climb the ridge to the south overcomes all other sounds. In our sleep-clouded judgment, both Dave and I fear the truck will smash into the lean-to, crushing us before any possibility of disentangling ourselves from our sleeping bags.
And throughout it all, the chickens continue their mewing in the corner of the lean-to on top of the shards of broken glass, the rooster protecting his hens with his own body.
What they are dreaming about is anyone’s guess.
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