Father's Day at Lampson Falls (Photo: Stephen Easter)
Today, my father and I went out walking. He’s an avid geocacher, so we decided to go off in search of a cache that had just been posted near Lampson Falls, a lovely spot near our home in northern New York. Only two people had found this cache before us–it’s a bit far from the road (3.5 miles round-trip) for most cachers.
The trip began in the rain, and the weather was unsettled all day. We tromped over old logging roads, now overgrown with grass and fern, passing the occasional hill. The morning’s rain still clung to all the greenery, which soaked us as we passed.
In the end, the geocache was well off-trail at the base of a tree. My dad found it; I’d stopped looking, having grown fascinated by the sound of running water and the pattern of woodpecker holes in a venerable fir tree. We walked back along a different route, a riverside trail that’s seen a great deal of blowdown. We got to clamber over downed trees, occasionally passing beneath a fallen old king of the forest.
Eventually we returned to Lampson Falls (seen above), which drops more than 40 feet and is one of the more dramatic falls around our area. My dad laughed–I’d brought a clinometer to check the angle of the rocks at the falls, since I wanted to see how my new boots would handle the slope. I walked up and down as he watched from above.
And for a while, we just sat and talked.
I found myself thinking, as the day passed, how much we come to bear the tool-marks of our makers. Although my love of the outdoors has gone in a different direction from his, there’s a great deal of common ground, and I often thought about the ways he taught me to love the wild places of the world.
I saw a few eastern ribbon snakes sunning themselves on a rock, and I smiled. I remember climbing mountains with my dad when I was a kid. I’m sure our miles-per-hour figure was pitifully low, because I insisted on picking up and carrying every single toad, frog, and garter snake we passed. Priorities! I remember his smile, watching that young Hollis.
I remember his smile today, as we shared a walk through these familiar places.
I remember the mid-winter campout I did at Lampson Falls as I worked toward my Eagle Scout award. I remember lying on my back in the snow, gazing up through the lofty pines to a sky so black I could hardly believe it, shot through with the glimmering jewels of the northern sky. I remember my breath, flashing into fog as I exhaled. I remember running through these woods playing midnight capture the flag using glowsticks, which is how I became viscerally aware of just how many crotch-high stumps are found by Lampson Falls.
I remember, at the campsite below the falls, fulfilling a Scouting requirement of building a fire and cooking on it. My Scoutmaster felt that wasn’t hard enough for me, so he adjusted the requirement: build a fire, using only dead and down wood, light it with only one match, and cook on it. Did I mention that I had to do this in a rainstorm? That success still resonates for me more than a decade later.
I remember my dad helping me to plan and complete my Eagle Scout project, designing and building benches and a garden for a local park. He taught me to use the power tools, helped me with design ideas and the people skills needed for leadership… and he let me make my own mistakes. I have a memory of him shaking my hand when the work was finally done.
I remember the look in his eye at my Eagle Scout court of honor. I think he pinned the award on my chest, although the ceremony is a blur for me.
I remember how I felt when, as a small child, I learned that he had completed his journey to become an Adirondack 46er, someone who’s climbed all the highest peaks in New York’s Adirondack Mountains. I knew it was special, and I couldn’t have been prouder to know that my dad had done it!
I imagine how he’ll feel when I join him as a 46er. I’m halfway there; going in a slightly different direction, I’m doing them in the winter. I remember, and smile as I do, how we talk about my winter hikes when I return, sharing the fellowship of these sacred heights.
So many memories, and most of them rooted in a sense of place. My dad and I walked together today, and I felt all those memories walking along with us, just out of view–but occasionally visible from the corners of my eyes.
I can’t imagine a better way to spend Father’s Day. And, since I’m sure I don’t say this enough (how could I?): Thank you, Dad. For everything. I love you.
I recently purchased a pair of Merrell Siren Ginger shoes. I liked the looks, and thought they’d be great for casual spring wear. Turns out, they have been on my feet more than any of my other shoes. I wore them on a trip, and found they are perfect for getting through airport security. I can unbuckle them, and still walk with them on. Once I get all my other bags, computer, etc in the bins, I slide them off and put them on the conveyor first. This keeps me from having to walk barefoot very far. Which, is funny because I walk barefoot outside and like it – but in the airport, it just is a bit gross! Once through the line, I slide them on, move out of the way and buckle them back up.
