Moonrise Over Lake Moreau

So many happy coincidences occurred on Saturday night: the full moon rose just at perigee, creating a "super moon" bigger and brighter than any other moon this year; a cloudy day cleared  to a blue-sky evening perfect for viewing that moon; and to top it off, Moreau Lake State Park offered an evening paddle, allowing for unobstructed viewing of the moonrise from out on the lake.  Of course, I had to join in.  Here are some scenes from this wonderful evening.



 Paddlers set forth on a breezy lake, as the sky began to clear.

Mare's Tails soared across the sky, looking like angels' wings.

A happy group of paddlers made for a colorful parade.

Shorebirds sought an evening meal before settling in for the night.  I believe that this is a Lesser Yellowlegs, stopping off for a rest on its way to the Arctic.

 Another view of that shorebird.  We wondered if it might rather be a Solitary Sandpiper, but its legs are definitely yellow, not dark, as the sandpiper's would be.

As the sun sank behind the mountains, some clouds moved in to provide for a colorful sunset.

As the evening darkened, the breeze died down and all was still.  The "sleeping woman" profile of the mountains added to the quiet serenity of the moment.

As the sky grew ever darker, Venus revealed her lovely light high over the western mountains.

Before long, we began to see a light behind the hills to the east, and then, at last, a glowing orb appeared above the trees and cast its golden light upon the water.

Newspapers and websites will offer all kinds of perfect photos of this extraordinary moon.  My photo is far from perfect (shot in the dark from a rocking canoe), but I think it is beautiful anyway.

Balmy Air, Icy Trails

Nearly 60 degrees today.  Bright blue sky.  Nice day for a hike, right?  Yeah, but only with Yaktrax or microspikes on your boots.  I thought a walk around Mud Pond at Moreau Lake State Park would be a nice easy way to get my hiking legs back, after a week away from my home woods and mountains.  But just a few steps from my car had me grabbing at tree trunks to keep myself upright.  So back I teetered to get myYaktrax out of the trunk.  Then, the walking was easy, even on the packed icy trail that circles the pond.  

 Mud Pond was still frozen, despite many days of warm temperatures, but a layer of water turned its surface into a mirror, reflecting the sun-warmed, tree-lined shore and a lovely, puffy-cloud azure sky.

These ruffly tree fungi reiterated the blue color-theme today.   With a minutely pored undersurface and alternating hairy and smooth multicolored stripes, this fungus resembles the bracket fungus called Turkey Tail (Trametes versicolor), but I have never seen any Turkey Tail colored this blue.  Pretty!
 

Even the moon looked translucently blue today, as if that deep-blue sky were showing through.

We Were Strollin' Along . . .

 . . . On a moonlit lake, and what a marvelous night for a moonwalk it was.  Moreau Lake State Park offers  full-moon hikes every month, and there are plenty of months when no moon can be seen, but tonight that silvery orb was in her glory.  The sky cleared just in time for her to light our path through the woods and around the lake.

There were about 30 of us (including a number of children and dogs) making our way along moon-dappled trails where we hardly needed any flashlight to show the way, especially with park naturalist Gary Hill leading the group and stopping us from time to time to give a brief nature lesson.   I volunteered to bring up the rear to help keep us all together, which required that I resist the temptation to slip off by myself to experience the magic of sitting quietly in silence and moonlight.

Gary keeps up a pretty brisk pace, which helps to keep folks warm on winter nights (although tonight was barely below freezing),  but it also kept me from spending a lot of time trying to get good photos of the night sky.  No time to stop and set up a tripod, so these shots are pretty much point and shoot on the run, resulting in grainy but rather lovely images of the kind of darkened landscape few of us ever get to see any more.  Both Venus and Jupiter hung in the sky like bright lamps tonight.  I believe the shining planet in this photograph is Venus.

The ice-covered lake shone with a silvery glow as the moon climbed higher and higher, accompanied here by the winter constellation Orion, with the bright Betelgeuse marking Orion's right shoulder.  (If you click on this photo, you may also see part of Orion's belt as well as his left foot.)

There were a few clouds, but they only served to amplify the beauty of the moonlight.

After making our way around the lake, the group stopped off at the warming hut for hot cocoa and hot dogs while enjoying a roaring fire in the fireplace inside.  Now that I no longer had to watch out for stragglers, I went outside to try to get better photographs of the moon, but all my shots turned out super-grainy, the moon consistently blurred by a purple halo.  To the naked eye, the moon's edge was as sharp as if carved with a scalpel.

Since I couldn't get any perfect photos of the moon, I went ahead and had fun distorting the photos with various editing options, altering the exposure and the gamma and saturation and even changing the colors outright, coming up with some amazing abstractions of the moon shining through trees.  This is one that pleased me even more than a perfect image would have.

A Place of Peaceful Retreat

For those who try to imagine a world at peace, I can think of no better place to contemplate this vision than Pyramid Life Center, a spiritual retreat center on Pyramid Lake in the heart of the Pharaoh Lake Wilderness in the Adirondacks. Far from the noise and noxiousness of human greed and violence, here we can experience the world much as God made it, and acknowledge that world as sheer gift. What could we possibly have done to deserve this magnificence? All we have to do here is open our eyes and ears and hearts and minds, and we are struck dumb with wonder and joy and gratitude. Thank you, dear Creator and Sustainer, for the gift of life in this beautiful world!

I've been coming to Pyramid Life Center for 20 years now, beginning in 1991 at the start of the first Gulf War, fleeing the cheers and flag-waving enthusiasm for war my fellow Americans were exulting in. Let's see now, how many wars ago was that? Nothing much has changed in our world so addicted to violence and greed, despite all the sit-ins and rallies and demonstrations and jail terms we peaceniks have engaged in, and yet we persevere. Why don't we just give up? Sometimes we do, growing cynical and despondent and very, very weary. And that's when we need to gather in retreats like this, to share stories of hope and courage, and above all, to immerse ourselves in the life of our greatest hero and fellow disdainer of military power, Jesus. He, too, grew weary and frightened, and for darned good reason. The Roman army killed him in just about the most terrible way a man can die. But we who would follow him remember who had the last word. And so we go on.

We were Catholics, Quakers, Methodists, and other seekers. Many were long-time activists who have served on the front lines of the anti-war, anti-empire movement for many years. (Dorothy Day's granddaughter was one of those who joined us.) Some of us seek to bring about peace in smaller communities than the world stage, through teaching, social work, addiction counseling, hospitality to the homeless, anger management and conflict resolution in schools, and many other areas including my own, which is hospice caregiving. Our overriding cause, whatever our occupation, is to try to ease the suffering of the world.

It's certainly easier to imagine a world without war when we come to a place as peaceful -- and affordable -- as this. The accommodations are simple -- rustic, even -- but who needs more than a quiet bed and good food and loving companionship? Why would we strive and struggle (even kill!) for more than we need?

What billionaire could hoard for himself a more majestic view than this?

Everywhere you look, some lovely work of nature greets your eye. This thriving clump of Hedge Nettle had found a foothold along a rushing stream.

Orchids are likely to pop up anywhere, such as these Green Wood Orchids nestled against a moss-covered log . . .

. . . or Rose Pogonia, still blooming in profusion in a marsh.

These mushrooms and Clintonia leaves just seem to know how beautiful they appear together.

A jumble of boulders tumbled from the mountain above creates a fascinating shoreline, where minks can hide from the paddler who spied them, and giant fishing spiders hang above the water teeming with minnows.

Multicolored lichens have covered the rocks with beautiful colors and textures.

Paddling by fallen logs that were carpeted with Round-leaved Sundew, I liberated this Bluet damselfly whose wings were caught by the sticky fringe of the sundew's leaves.

This little bur-reed, Sparganium natans, is one of New York's rare plants, but here at Pyramid Lake it has found a happy home and thrives by the hundreds.

After sunset, I stood and watched the lake exchange its colors with the sky. As the twilight darkened into night, the firelight from a lakeside campfire glittered on the water.

The sight of this caused me to think of a lovely song called "Little Fire" from Patty Griffin's album Downtown Church: "All that I need is one who knows me, a kind hand upon my face when I weep. And I'd give back all these things I know are meaningless, for a little fire beside me when I sleep." Patty would love it here.

What could make a mountain lakeside weekend even more close to perfect than beautiful weather and delightful companions? How about a big moon coming up over the mountain and casting a silvery path across the water?

Or a perfect moonset dawn, with a pink sky tinting the drifting mist that was rising from the warm water?

That mist flowed about my body as I set out to paddle around the lake, and I felt the very air embracing me in warmth on this chilly morning. Soon, the sun cleared the mountain top and lit the trees on the near island.

Slanting shafts of sunlight picked out the fluffy pine boughs against the dark shadowed forest.

Here's that rising sun peeking through the boughs of the pines on a tiny island.

The mare's tails flinging their veils across a blue, blue sky promised fine weather the rest of the weekend. And their prediction was right.

I had heard the loons calling all weekend, but it wasn't until Sunday morning that I finally saw the whole family: Mom, Dad, and their two downy chicks.

Mom and Dad Loon soon dived, and I took that opportunity to draw nearer to the chicks.

While Mom and Dad were underwater, the babies would stick their heads under the water, too, and go snorkeling along. I wonder if they were watching their parents catch fish down there.

Soon Mom (or was it Dad? I can't tell) emerged with breakfast, and the little ones swam to greet her.

Open wide, little one!

"Hey you, you're getting too close to my babies!" I think that's what she was telling me by rising up and beating the water with her wings while hooting loudly.

Okay, Mom. I will leave you and your family in peace. That's why I came here this weekend. To try to live, and to help others live, in peace.