Regenerating blowdown southeast of Cropsey Pond
After my brief rest following the climb up from Raven Lake Road, the decent through a regenerating blowdown down to the shore of Cropsey Pond awaited. I plan to spend the night near the shore of Cropsey Pond, so I can start the Birdathon the next morning at this small remote pond nestled within the southeastern Pepperbox Wilderness.
Not far from the height of land, I cross a path marked with orange flagging, running roughly perpendicular to my bearing. Marking of bushwhacking routes with flagging is rather amateurish, anyone who knows how to operate a compass and read a map (and if you do not, then being out in the middle of trailless wilderness is probably not where you want to be), should not need to mark their trail.
The temptation to remove the flagging weighs upon me, but instead I leave it be, not really knowing why. There is little of interest to the southwest except a wetland, so perhaps the path leads to a hunting camp in the fall. Where did the path originate? Raven Lake Road seems likely.
View Day One, Part Two in a larger map
The bushwhack down to Cropsey Pond proves much less arduous than the climb to the height of land. The slope is much more forgiving, with absolutely no cliffs to detour around. Downed logs, regenerating saplings, and small tree (mostly American beech) make up for the slope. I weave through the stems in a serpentine manner, as I continue the descent down to the remote pond that shall be my home for a single evening.
Section Stats:
Date: May 17, 2013
Length: 0.8 miles (1.7 total daily miles; 1.7 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Moderate (dense regenerating blowdown)
In some places, the beech saplings are so dense, I find myself squeezing between them as their lower limbs grab and tug on my backpack like the hands of hundreds of panhandlers looking for a handout. Their growth over the last few years has not lessened the greed of these young trees much. Occasionally, a horizontal limb clocks me in the head, knocking my hat off, leaving me scrambling to retrieve it, and swearing each time.
One particularly nasty limb hits me right in the face, catching the side of my lip. After the initial shock, a sharp pain around my lip slowly fades to numbness. Is the numbness from the smack in the face or a black fly bite, or both? Regardless, I instinctively run my tongue over my lip just to feel the swelling all the way down to Cropsey Pond.
Regenerating blowdown on the way to Cropsey Pond
Regenerating blowdown
In addition to the crowding saplings, the large downed logs present another hazard to avoid. Typically, I move around them, either making my way to the tipup mound that was once their nutrient providing roots, or out toward their decayed branches where the log tappers down to a point where little effort is spent to step over it. When the opportunity presents itself, I just step right on a log, using my momentum to vault over it and down the slope. Sometimes the logs support my weight easily, while other times, it is so rotted and full of moisture that it shatters underneath my hiking boots
As I descend, I continuously try to veer to the west when possible, as to get back on track with my original bearing from way back at Raven Lake Road. Whenever I check my GPS
Cropsey Pond’s southern inlet
Southern inlet stream flowing into Cropsey Pond
Finally, after enduring the blowdown obstacle course, the open water of Cropsey Pond becomes visible through the dense regenerating forest. And not a moment too soon either! Between fighting my way through the dense beech saplings, constantly blowing my nose, and waving away the cloud of black flies, I am drained and exhausted.
When I force my way through the dense trees around the pond, I pop out along one of the two small inlet streams. Just upstream is a massive beaver dam, one that I crossed below the previous two times I stayed at Cropsey during Birdathons in 2010 and 2011.
Toward the pond, the stream is wide and meandering, bordered by shrubbery, traveling to Cropsey Pond’s southern shoreline. Upstream is much smaller, with just a trickle of a stream escaping through a series of beaver dams, with herbaceous vegetation and mud bordering it along its banks. From my vantage point, I can see some of the eastern portion of the pond. The sunshine glistens off the water’s surface, giving it an almost magical appearance.
My absence has been way too long.
The stream bank upstream is dry enough to walk along, so I walk a short distance before crossing on an old beaver dam downstream from the massive dam dominating the view to my left. As I cross the stream, I notice numerous tracks in the mud, most of which look recent. Most are white-tailed deer, but a few are canine, apparently coyote, although I suppose they could belong to a wayward dog too.
After crossing the stream, I head roughly northeast, not even bothering to extract the compass
Huge beaver dam
Canine tracks
Before setting up my camp, I check out the pond for any wildlife that may be lingering about. Before even reaching the shoreline, I spot a male common goldeneye and what appears to be an American black duck. Both fly off as I approach to get a better look. Hopefully, they will return tomorrow, so I can count them on the Birdathon. Replacing the departed ducks, a mallard pair fly in and land on the pond before I address the need to set up my campsite.
Cropsey Pond is a small, irregularly shaped, remote pond located in the southeastern part of the Pepperbox Wilderness. The pond consists of two distinct parts connected by a channel about midway along its length. The northern section is thin, running roughly east-west, with an open northern shoreline that rises steeply from the pond. The southern section is larger, and its shoreline is less open and more level, which fortunately for me, affords more opportunities for making camp.
Path down to Cropsey Pond
Tarp near Cropsey Pond
Returning upslope to where I plan on making camp, only to find it less level then I remembered from years past. Regardless, the possible sites are limited due to the regenerating saplings, so I make the most of it. After the tarp is set up and my sleeping gear is safely ensconced inside for the evening, I begin attending to other affairs.
While collecting some water from the pond, I notice a pair of broad-winged hawks engaging in an aerial display above the pond. While watching them, I nearly step on a sizable garter snake, which slithers off hurriedly to escape me.
After my communing with the local fauna is over, I start filtering water. My gravity filter
Cropsey Pond
Cropsey Pond
Cropsey Pond
Cropsey Pond
The gravity filter begins slowly initially, as is often the case, especially after being dormant for two years, so I pull out the other filter I brought with me. The PurifiCup is a compact, well-made, on-demand filter that I am writing a review for this blog, as well as the Adirondack Almanack.
The temperature drops rapidly as the sun begins its decent below the horizon. I scramble to finish my dinner of turkey hot dogs and mashed potatoes with corn, so I can escape the cold inside my sleeping bag. A beaver just offshore in Cropsey Pond continues to slap its tail on the water as I hurriedly wash and clean-up so I can retire early.
An early bedtime is essential, as I plan on setting my alarm for midnight so I can ring in the Birdathon with (hopefully) an owl as the first species for the day. By eight in the evening, I retire under my tarp for an early night, hopefully, interrupted by an hour at midnight.
After writing up some notes, arranging some equipment and setting the alarm, I lay down and drifted off to sleep to the sound of spring peepers in great anticipation for my first night in the wild for almost two years. Not to mention what I hope to be a fantastic and productive Birdathon.
Dusk at Cropsey Pond
Crospey Pond at dusk
Affiliate Disclaimer: Some links within this blog post may send you to a retailer website. If you chose to purchase any product on that site at that time, this author receives a small commission. These commissions provide compensation for the author’s time and effort necessary to provide the content at the Bushwhacking Fool.
