Cropsey Pond
The morning after the Birdathon is typically filled with regret, disappointment and self-recrimination. This year is no different, especially given missing my target by a single species. A single darn species! Making matters worse, today is historically where fairly common species missed during the day before make an appearance, seemingly mocking my efforts. This year does not disappoint in that regard.
Unfortunately, my tarp location was not as carefully placed last night as it should, most likely due to the exhausted state when I arrived at Cropsey Pond. When I wake at 5:30 in the morning, my back and other joints are paying the price for my inattention to this detail. My head and shoulders sag down along the slope toward the pond, while my back is bent over an old root or a buried log. Adding insult to injury, my whole body keeps slipping to one side of my shelter.
My body is definitely looking forward to a night’s sleep in the frontcountry now.
Section Stats:
Date: May 17, 2015
Length: 2.2 miles (2.2 total daily miles; 15.2 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Moderate
My restless night tempts me back to sleep for another hour. That is, if the squirming and contorting of my body on the uneven ground with an occasional short slippage into dreamland is considered sleep. After about an hour of struggling to find a comfortable position for some more shuteye, I throw in the towel and start my day.
After depressingly glancing at my Birdathon results, I try to bury my sorrow deep down and move onto dressing for my hike out of the Pepperbox Wilderness. Even though the results are disappointing, they still need reporting in a timely manner, so I cannot delay too long. Packing up soon follows, with my sleeping stuff being jammed into their respective stuff sacks and stashing them away into my deflated backpack.
With the bird chorus going strong, I stop and make a quick audio recording, as today there is enough time to do so, unlike yesterday. Ducks fly overhead and land on the pond repeatedly based on the sound of whooshing of wings and the splashing of water as they touch down. When I stick my head out from underneath my tarp, I spot a pair of hooded mergansers swimming about the pond, while nearby a pileated woodpecker slams his beak into some rotting wood.
My results from yesterday might have been disappointing, but the avian activity this morning has me already looking forward to another try next year.
When I finally get my backpack mostly packed, I turn my attention to making a breakfast, primarily involving a nice helping of oatmeal. While eating and pacing to avoid the black flies as best I can, a least flycatcher makes an appearance, in sound, if not sight. This species has the dubious honor of the first species missed during the Birdathon to make its presence known the day after.
Breakfast at Cropsey Pond
I curse the little bastard under my breath in between ample mouthfuls of hot oatmeal.
With breakfast over, I assemble the last of my gear and complete my packing for my trip out of the Adirondack backcountry. The forest southwest of my campsite is no stranger to me, after the many years of visiting Cropsey Pond. Heading southwest allows me to cut across the mostly dry inlet to the south at a large abandoned beaver dam before starting the trudge through all the new ingrowth resulting from the 1995 blowdown.
My direction changes after crossing the dam, switching from a general southwest bearing to a 120 degree one, which provides the quickest route to Raven Lake Road that avoids the deep chasm that I often encountered along this route in the past. Hopefully, I can keep the bearing through the dense hardwood ingrowth while climbing out of the Cropsey Pond basin.
Soon after climbing from the dam and fighting my way through the dense ingrowth, nature’s ultimate urge comes onto me like a ton of bricks. As I look for a spot, a ruffed grouse flushes off the ground nearby. Shocking as the flush up is, it luckily does not scare the crap out of me, but it comes pretty damn close.
Restroom view
After a quick search and pit dug, I try to do my business as quickly as possible given the cloud of black flies hovering around my head. No self-respecting black fly would pass on such an opportunity to take advantage of my vulnerable position. Fighting them off and trying to complete my business provides a formidable challenge, especially at such an early morning hour.
Completing my business, I get going again, trying to maintain as fast a pace as possible through the dense ingrowth. I need to put as much distance between my business and the surrounding horde of black flies and myself as humanly possible.
Soon after the climbing levels off, the terrain begins undulating between ups and down for a while. When I finally reach a point where it looks like a significant descent begins, I take a much needed water break.
Nearby, while walking in circles in an attempt to keep black flies from getting a bead on me, I notice an old black bear poop. Nearby, a second pile of bear poop. Whether this is a popular latrine area for bears or simply a bear with some digestive issues, it is hard to say.
After the new drink, the need to get rid of an earlier one becomes paramount, so I find a good spot and try to pee as quickly as possible to avoid being bit again by a black fly, or seven. In mid-stream, something flushes up downslope and to the north, crashing through the foliage but always staying out of sight. A few snorts from that direction reveal its identity. It is a white-tailed deer, and an annoyed one at that.
Blowdown ingrowth
Downed logs
As the black fly horde builds up to epic proportions, the time for moving on commences once again. The descent is steep here, with rocky outcroppings scattered about as well as bare rock exposed except for some clumps or moss and lichen. Through the canopy to the southeast, glimpses of Stillwater Reservoir dominate the view, made visible only because of the lack of fully-formed leaves on the naked tree branches.
The steep terrain does not allow me to gawk at the view for long. Thankfully, the rocky outcroppings are largely gone now as I near the end of the descent. Instead of boulders, mature hardwood tree dominate, with a thicker canopy of branches and nascent lime-green leaves than before.
The descent finally ceases, leaving me in a level area with little understory, a welcome reprieve from the previous constant steep slope. A number of cuts in the surrounding landscape indicate that seasonal streams come together in this location during times of rain and/or snow runoff, but now are completely dry, despite being mid-spring.
Leaf out
Black cherry, yellow birch, American beech and red maple trees abound here as well as the same on the slope from before. Many are large, with bigger and more abundant leaves unfurrowed to a greater degree than from Cropsey Pond, which is just a short distance to the northwest.
The warmer temperatures and sunny skies here are not just appreciated by me, but by the black flies as well, which are retaining insane levels. Despite my desire to enjoy this area more, the constant horde of black flies around my head inspires me to move on.
The level area soon gives way to another descent, though not as long or as steep as before. A small stream, this one with flowing water, appears at the bottom of the slope. According to my map, this is all that remains of the deep gorge that I repeatedly encountered when fleeing from Cropsey Pond in this direction. Fortunately, I avoided it this time.
A slight ascent follows the stream and after going a short distance I catch my first glimpse of Raven Lake Road for the first time since Friday. Stepping up my pace, I arrive at the road about half way along the ascent from the bridge over the Beaver River. I waste no time, picking up my pace as I descend toward the river and make it back to the trailhead parking within another fifteen minutes.
Although my Birdathon goal turned up short by a single species, another successful adventure ends with a quick clean-up and a drive home of over two hours. Although not up to my expectations, starting north and working my way back south to Cropsey Pond worked out well. It turned out better than going in the other direction, which I did in previous years, where the tendency was to stop earlier in the day, although in this year’s case, it did not help at all.
There is always time to beat the 50 species ceiling again next year. Or, at the very least, make my best try.
Level area
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