Weekend pictures

A brownish black tree frog, a baby lizard and four humans were the only forms of life we encountered while backpacking along the smallish trails adjoining New Jersey's highest peak, High Point. The sudden downpour that postponed our planned beginning by about an hour laid waste to the trails by scheming to make them as soggy and mushy as possible. The dead leaves helped the situation by camouflaging the beaten path. The water still dripping off the heavy undergrowth that spanned both sides of the narrow walkway decided to come off and settle on the inside of our shoes resulting in a wet squelching gait that announced our arrival to no one in particular. Sampling some of the wild berries that we found along the path made me think about survivors in remote jungles waiting for the airlift. In addition to the sojourn with nature, we took some time to explore the inside of a little known war memorial at High Point. The vertigo induced on climbing the spiral steps that go up the 200 foot monument was not the greatest feeling but the views from atop of the sprawling Poconos, Catskills and a range that I did not know compensated. We also found a location along the famed Appalachian Trail from whence we plan to trek the New Jersey length of the trail in the near future. All told, the time spent outdoors was worth every little bit.

Prose / Pictures

"The sun was going down. I walked, after a few cold beers, to the edge of town, and it was a long walk. All the men were driving home from work, wearing railroad hats, baseball hats, all kinds of hats, just like after work in any town anywhere. One of them gave me a ride up the hill and left me at a lonely crossroads on the edge of the prairie. It was beautiful there. The only cars that came by were farmer-cars; they gave me suspicious looks, they clanked along, the cows were coming home. Not a truck. A few cars zipped by. A hotrod kid came by with his scarf flying. The sun went all the way down and I was standing in the purple darkness. Now I was scared. There weren't even any lights in the Iowa countryside; in a minute nobody would be able to see me. Luckily a man going back to Davenport gave me a lift downtown. But I was right where I started from" - From 'On the Road' by Jack Kerouac.