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taking my peeps to the precipice above the Hudson
Thursday, May 20 2021
At the end of the workday, Gretchen, the dogs, and I drove down to the vicinity of the Hurley Mountain Inn, where we met Ray, Nancy, and their dog Jack. From there, the six of us placental mammals car-pooled (with Ray driving) to the quarry Alex had showed me back on the May 6th. I didn't really know how to get there, so I looked at the road Alex had had us drive to the end of and had Google Maps navigate us there. Google sent us down I-587 ("the world's shortest American interstate"), though we ran into crawling traffic as we approached its eastern end. It turns out that all the construction at the intersection of I-587, Broadway, Albany Avenue, and St. James Street is to build another traffic circle, one complete with fancy bluestone landscaping. All the traffic lights have been removed, and this likely was causing confusion and the resulting traffic jam.
We parked at the end of a branch of Corporate Drive, the place where the two lane road suddenly stops at the edge of a forest. As we crossed beneath the powerline, I pointed out the place where one could see both the Catskills and the Hudson River from a single point. Soon thereafter we were wading through the mesic near-old-growth forest and the others were saying how great this hiking find was. But they had no idea. Then we were walking along the edge of a bluff with a view of the Hudson down below. But somehow I got confused at a rocky ledge and didn't think we needed to be taking the trail downhill just yet (though it turns out that that was how Alex and I had gone). Instead, I led us on a route on flatter terrain to the west, passing just east of a forested pond where Jack did some recreational spashing. At some pont I sensed there was a cliff to our east, and I led us to it, and it gave us all a little thrill from its obvious danger, particularly when our dogs marched right up to the edge. Eventually we made it to a metal gate that I'd remembered Alex and myself reaching from the other direction. At that point I knew that if I continued down the ruins of an old mining road, I'd get to the place where Alex thought a spaghetti western could be shot (41.941544N, 73.971478W). At this point Gretchen was worried that maybe we'd worn out Ramona (the oldest dog in our group), but I said we'd be heading back to the car this way.
This swath of terrain was realtively unforested because it was a fairly-recent mining scar, a 200-foot-wide trench cut in the limestone so the rock could be made into cement. Despite its artificiality, the landscape there is just natural-looking enough for the people in our party consider it beautiful. Eventually I found the ramp up to one of the overlook spots Alex had shown me. Judging by the few scrawls of graffiti, the modest amount of broken glass, and the hundreds of rusty nails (not sure about that one), it's the place where the few teenagers who make it back here tend to end up. We sat around for awhile at the precipice here, watching the boats on the Hudson and the Amtrak train (looking a bit like a stubby millipede) coming up from the south and stopping at the Rhinecliff station. Ramona was only mildly interested in the precipice and spent most of this time in the shade, whereas Neville (who'd been here before) had no interest at all. Jack, on the other hand, kept walking up to the edge and looking out, seemingly as interested as the humans.
I made a mistake on the walk from there, leading my party to the south end of the mining scar, which ends abruptly with cliffs on three sides and no easy way to proceed. So we had to double back to the overlook and then head south along a terrace east of the trench. There was a nice spring trickling audibly out of the rocks, but it was behind a clutter of awkward bolders and only Jack was able to get to it to drink. I tried to carry Ramona part of the way there, but the moment I put her down, she turned and escaped. So she wouldn't have water until we returned to Hurley Mountain. From the south end of the scar, it wasn't much of a hike through the mesic forest back to where we'd parked in the industrial park. It was after hours there, and I was able to photograph turkeys on its grounds.
On the drive back to Hurley, Nancy said something about a newish coffee shop she liked, and Gretchen thought we should swing by there on the way. We ended up in this amazing little fast-gentrifying neighborhood behind an ugly Burger King along Jansen Avenue that featured a previously-unknown brewpub (41.92667952790385N, 73.99284491681692W) with a strong Portland, Oregon vibe. I would've wanted to get a beer there, but suddenly parking was difficult and I was worried about how thirsty Ramona must be. It occurred to me that with all the culture Kingston has rapidly accumulated during the pandemic (and the resulting influx of people from Brooklyn), it's probably achieved a critical mass that will perpetuate desirability for years to come. Once things are built that attract creative people, they come and build their own things to attract even more. After awhile, there is so much human-attracting infrastructure that it becomes self sustaining even after the conditions that initiated it (such as the coronavirus pandemic) evaporate.
As we were getting ready to relocate to our car in the middle of Old Hurley, I noticed a black Prius arriving at the four-way stop from Wynkoop. It was Powerful. We briefly considered tailing him to see what he was up to, but he escaped before we could. He goes out a lot and is vague about what he's doing, so it's all kind of a mystery.
Ray, Gretchen, Nancy, and Jack at the overlook, looking north.
Ray and Gretchen and the overlook, looking south.
Ramona away from the overlook, tired and resting.
Rusty nails at my feet at the overlook. Normally I don't wear Crocs away from the house, but this time I did to protect my toes.
A pair of turkeys at the industrial park.
Returning to Ray & Nancy's Subaru where the road ends.
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