Natalia Zukerman
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Alec Linden
On a cloudy Wednesday at the start of October, my girlfriend, Taylor, and I decided to enjoy the autumn afternoon by getting off our laptops and into the woods for some much needed movement. Having just moved to Norfolk as a new reporter for the Lakeville Journal, I was on the hunt for panoramic views of the landscape I now call home, accessible with the hour and a half of daylight left to us. Haystack Tower it was.
I’m not entirely unfamiliar with the landscapes of the Northwest Corner: I visited family and friends in the region as a child and would drive up on high school joyrides from my home in Westchester County. But calling somewhere home brings new meaning to a place, and I was eager to see a familiar view with a new sense of belonging.
To extend the walk a bit, we chose the yellow trail loop, starting from the bottom of the road leading up the hill off North Street. Our journey began on a neatly mowed path through a gently sloping meadow, with stands of purple-white New England asters poking out from a mosaic of green and red leaves and grasses on either side of the trail.
Our trail took us into a forest sporting half-autumn colors: some maple stands blazed gold and orange while others remained dark green. The occasional fiery swamp maple glowed bright red below the overstory, catching the glints of sunlight that managed to penetrate the cloud layer and canopy.
As we trudged up the forested hillside, my field of vision was so washed in texture — a chaos of rocks, roots, bark, and leaves of every shade — that my eyes almost started to ache.
The trail plateaued after a short climb into a new type of forest: three-story oaks underscored with hickory saplings. With a new composition, the forest assumed a browner and yellower hue than that of the maple-dominated lower hillside.
We eventually reached the imposing stone tower at Haystack Mountain’s summit, and we quickly climbed the winding stairs to find what we came for: 360-degree views of forested hills folding over one another as they spread into the distance, interspersed by patches of valley farmland. A copse of orange maples framed Route 44 as it passed through Norfolk below. This was the beautiful patchwork landscape I am lucky to now call home.
A relaxed jaunt down a wide carriage road took us around the mountain’s northeastern flank as eastern hemlocks leaned overhead and clung to the steep slope below. Reaching the car with daylight to spare, we decided to prolong the outing with an evening pint.
At Norbrook Farm Brewery, we were asked if we wanted to join a game of jukebox bingo. It looked like fun, but we couldn’t get enough of the October evening air, so we headed outside instead to sit fireside on the patio. Settling into an Adirondack chair, I sipped the brewery’s brown ale (the “Beckley Furnace Ale”). It was malty and crisp, and certainly one of the better in the style I’ve had recently. Taylor is partial to seasonal beers and opted for their pumpkin ale, joyously titled the “Gourdo.” I’m usually not a fan of pumpkin-flavored anything, but I agreed that this was a nicely balanced beer and enjoyed the few sips I took.
As the light faded on the hills, we noted that the foliage across the fields looked to be nearly peaking in the soft glow of the evening. A chill settled in and I huddled closer to the fire, eager to lean into the swiftly changing season in my new home.
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Kent unveils juried art show
Oct 16, 2024
Leila Hawken
Chilly rain sprinkles did not keep area art lovers away from the opening of the Kent Art Association’s Fall Juried Art Show on Sunday, Oct. 13. Judges for the event were association members Liz Maynard and Conrad Levenson. The show will continue until Saturday, Nov. 2, during the association's open hours.
Kent artist and long-term resident Carolyn Millstein (above) paused for a photo next to her piece, “Near Oakdale."
Autumn angling through lunar mud
Oct 16, 2024
Patrick L. Sullivan
I spent a couple days two weeks ago in Ulster County, New York, prowling the Esopus, around and below the Rail Trail pedestrian bridge in Boiceville.
The water temps were acceptable but on the sunny days approached the danger zone by mid-afternoon.
Water clarity was decent. Where it was murky, it was green murky, which is good, as opposed to brown murky, which means mud.
The flows were decent but definitely on the low side. We need rain badly, in the Hudson Valley and in the Northwest Corner.
And the area where I was had a decidedly lunar feel to the landscape, if the Moon has mud.
What worked: Junk flies.
What didn’t: Woolies, Tequilleys, unweighted streamers, Leadwing Coachmen, soft hackle wets in darker colors, orange-y caddis dries.
There were stonefly and isonychia casings on the rocks, but not a lot of them.
I was hoping for fat brown trout moving up into the river from the Ashokan Reservoir to spawn. Failing that, I was hoping for greedy rainbows looking to eat the brown trout eggs. It’s a little early for that sort of thing, but hey, I don’t make the rules.
No trout were disturbed, by me anyway.
Moment of triumph: Way down by where the stream enters the reservoir proper, and the lunar mud figures into the equation, I latched into three excellent smallies and one junior partner in a boom-boom space of about 45 minutes. What made this especially pleasant was that I had ventured forth with an 11 foot 4 weight single hand rod intending to either tight line nymphs or play with unweighted streamers such as Mickey Finns and Grey Ghosts.
Stonefly and isonychia casings on the rocks.Patrick L. Sullivan
At the last moment I stuck a small box containing mops and squirmy worms in the pack. This was a very good move and almost made up for the Dr. Boing-Boing moment when I realized I forgot the lanyard with the trout-sized tippet, forceps and clippers.
Reluctant to perform the Walk of Shame the half mile or so back to the car, I improvised. I had heavy tippet material, 0X through 2X, on a separate holder attached to my pack, and I found that with a little juju the cigar cutter worked as a clipper. What I could not approximate was the forceps, for squashing barbs, so I was limited to flies I had used before.
That turned out to be a two-fly rig, with the squirmy worm on a dropper up top and a green mop tied on a jig hook and with a bead head on point. Three of the smallies, including the fair-to-middling one, opted for the worm, and one bold soul took a flyer on the mop.
The commotion was such that an angler using spinning gear upstream wandered down to see what was up when I took a break. He then directed me to his companion, who was working a riffle further up with a fly rod.
Not wanting to hog the hot spot, and keenly aware that my wonky shoulder was sending out mild but unmistakable distress signals, I ceded my spot to angler number one and made my way upstream to angler number two.
He turned out to be from Millerton, N.Y. and had read Tangled Lines in the Millerton News.
He didn’t specifically say he was a fan but I assumed he was.. If he wasn’t then he was after I gave him a squirmy and a mop to try.
Note: As I peck this out on Sunday, Oct. 6, the 10-day forecast doesn’t look good for rain. If you take a shot at the very low Housatonic or Farmington rivers, your best bet is dawn to noon, long rods and longer leaders, clothing that blends into the background, and a high tolerance for frustration and agony of spirit.
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