Goat shadows on snow and the Beaver Marsh

It happens every time. I can be in a hurry and stressed. But then I see the sign saying I've crossed into the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. And my heart rate slows. My blood pressure drops. I can breathe. 

I don't have this experience anywhere else. Not at our local Towner's Woods in Kent. Not at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in Michigan. 

It's not even like there are these great panoramic vistas to greet a visitor like there are at, say, the Rocky Mountain National Park.

It's that the CVNP is here, 22 minutes from my house, 33,000 acres that breathe to me the words "Nature counts." It's a sweeping statement that came into fruition when the area was named a recreation park in 1974 and then again in 2000 when it was deemed a national park. This statement, made subliminally now every day by the society of workers and the people who frequent the park, calls to me from my backyard. As soon as I cross the border, I am in solidarity with like minds in solidarity with creation. I always feel better when I've been to the Valley on a given day.

On this particular Sunday, I didn't know exactly where I was going. I knew the sun was shining, and the sky was blue. I knew I wanted to see shadows on expanses of snow  -- one of my favorite images in nature. I knew I had only about half an hour once I got into the Valley and so I had to make my visit quick, which meant this would be a perfect day for parking my car at the lot off Ira Road and walking 15 minutes to the Beaver Marsh boardwalk. I knew I likely wouldn't see any beavers as they are nocturnal and it was 2 in the afternoon. I would, however, see frozen water and maybe the shadows atop it that I wanted. 

~~~

First, though, on my way to the marsh, just before the intersection of Ira and Akron Peninsula Road, I came on some goats. I thought to keep going, but instead, I got out of my car and walked up to the fence on the other side of the road and started photographing with my long lens.

The whole herd started moving slowly toward me. Without even lifting their heads from the grass they were munching, they all inched toward me, en masse. Except for this one dude. I'm thinking he must have been the leader. He kept lifting his head from his munching and staring hard and long at me.

He'd look at me and then look back at the herd as if to say “I got this.”

And then he started walking slowly straight at me, his eyes never leaving mine. At this point, the thought occurred to me that he might be wanting to head-butt me. I might have been concerned except surely this was an electric fence separating us.

Smart boy, he got within a few feet of the fence (and me), and stopped. I'm not sure what he was trying to communicate. He stood straight and still, staring directly into my eyes.

He looked away a time or two and then back, dead-on into my eyes.

I kept my camera on him, whistling a couple of times when he was looking straight at me so I could get a photo of his ears straight out.

And then he turned and headed back to the herd. "She's cool," his body language must have communicated to his buddies.

And that was that. He resumed munching, as did they. And I moved on to the marsh, a place I'd only visited once, about 15 years ago when my children were participating in a Junior Ranger program.

It's the "Beaver" Marsh, but I knew I wouldn’t see any beaver or other little critters as most of the animals that hang out in the marsh are nocturnal. The best time to see them, according to my good buddy, Ranger Judson, is around sunset or sunrise. A woman headed toward the marsh walking a new English cocker puppy told me she did see a mink the other day.

I told her I wouldn't know a mink from a muskrat. I hope one day to know such things from many more trips to the marsh. I hope also one day to be able to identify the tiny little footprints I saw on the marsh this day. There were so many different ones.

It will be nice to go back in the spring near sunset and just sit quietly and watch and wait for various animals. I hear there are not only beaver and mink, but otter and muskrat here too.

Meanwhile, I did get to see those shadows on the snow. I saw beautiful blue sky against the white of the land. I saw joggers taking advantage of the sun and the boardwalk. The path was icy in spots, but easy enough to avoid, apparently, when eyes are wide open.

I believe this piece of wood has been gnawed by beaver.

The community brought back this place, once a junkyard for old cars, to its original intent as a wetland with a boardwalk so humans can enjoy. I imagine the work that went into that. I imagine the intent. And once again, I am comforted by this solidarity. Thanks, CVNP folks, for making this place for the beavers and us. There is much to see and learn from this place. For now, I can say I have been to the Beaver Marsh in the Cuyahoga Valley.

Introduction: Take me to the river, but first, where is it?

It's the 100th anniversary year of the National Park System. And how lucky am I:  The system is represented in my back yard, 22 minutes from my house. As an inhabitant of northeast Ohio these past 19 years, and as a mother of three, my family and I have sure visited this Cuyahoga National Park, named after the river that runs through its 33,000 acres.

We've hiked the Ledges, cross-country-skied the Kendall Lake loop, downhill-skied Boston Mills and eaten at the Winking Lizard in Peninsula.

I've scoped out the pottery at the Elements Gallery, sold some of my Christmas photo cards at the Peninsula Arts Academy and contra danced at GAR Hall.

We've biked the Towpath Trail, hiked the Oak Hill Trail and looked deep into the depths of Deep Lock Quarry.

We've skipped under the covered bridge on Everett Road, splashed in the water at Blue Hen Falls and dodged the spray at Brandywine Falls.

I've taken my kids to Junior Ranger events, photographed returning herons to the rookery on Bath Road and seen a dam in the making at Beaver Marsh.

         

I've visited dots on the Valley map over the years. But I've never known exactly how the dots connect, where I was in proximity to everything else.

This was especially discombobulating earlier this week when I went into the Valley with my camera for the first (finally) major snowfall of the winter. I had shot a lot of winter shots around Kent.

Now I was ready to try my ISOs at Cuyahoga Valley photography like the landscape pros who slip around the Valley watching for sunsets and beaver damming and eagle sightings and then post their spectacular  photos on the Cuyahoga Valley Photographic Society Facebook page.
Only I didn't really know where to go or even what I was looking for or how I can even attempt to be like them.

Enough was enough, I decided. This is the exciting 100th anniversary year that I'm going to teach myself about this national treasure in my own back yard.

Facts: 1. There are only 59 national parks in the whole wide country. 2. Most of them are in the west. 3. Only 10 are east of the Mississippi. 4. The CVNP is one.

I'm excited about the prospects of this new adventure, excited to challenge myself with nature photography and writing. I'm super excited to be blogging about it here in this space, which I started one morning at 2 a.m. because I was so excited, I couldn't sleep.

BTW and special note: This is not going to be a bona fide, end-all Cuyahoga Valley visitors' guide. This is going to an excited-kid-in-the-candy-store meander.

Thanks for reading and happy new year! And happy birthday to these glorious parks!

~DLH

"Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see..."

Finally: The second full week of January brought the first big snow of the season for northeast Ohio. It started on a Monday evening and was still falling when I got up that Tuesday. "This is the day I go to the Valley to shoot," I told my husband.

Let me say frankly and right off the bat that I am not a landscapephotographer. I am a columnist, a print journalist and a           former newspaper reporter who learned photography by        watching other journalists takepictures of people and events. I have shot some nature photographer here and there, but     my abilities are nowhere near those of the pros who hang outin the Valley waiting for lakes to   freeze and eaglets to fly.   What I do have, I believe, is an eye for composition, a few     cameras and a  bursting desire to try my hand at something  new. And so, on that blustery Tuesday in January, I made sure I had batteries and memory cards for my old D-80, outfitted with my 60-mm 3.5 macro lens; my D-750 with my 70-200 2.8; and my D-700 with my 24-70 2.8.  I pulled on my Keens. And we took off for parts unknown -- literally.

"Where do you want to go?" my husband asked as we pulled deeper into the Valley. All this brown and gray and white. "I don't know," I said. I hate to say that it all looked the same, but it did, until, "OK, pull over at that bridge." I can't tell you the name of the bridge. All I know is that it was on Majors Road near Oak Hill. As my husband sat with the car idling on the roadside, I tromped across the woods to the bridge. It was a pretty hoop bridge, red and brown. I got some close-ups with the curve of the wood in the foreground and the bulk of the bridge faded in the background. I got some wide angles of the whole bridge. I started to go back to the car, but as I shot, with snow falling anew, and my body warm and cozy in just the right outerwear (which can be an issue for a Southerner), the inspiration showed up. I started seeing beyond the drab colors, finding beauty in composition and images I might have overlook on another day when I'm not taking the time to pay attention, including ice formations on the river below the bridge.

My husband ended up getting out of the car
and joining me.

We walked across the bridge after that, and up the path in the sweet, lightly falling snow, to find the Hunt Farm, an old white farmhouse turned visitors'  center, where my kids did Junior Ranger programs in the summer. This was beautiful in the snow, white on white, with its white outbuildings and large expanse of yard, now covered in snow. I shot a bit of the house and the out structures, and then a spot of red caught my eye in the snow under a large tree. It was a cardinal, which has always been good luck, as it represents my mother, who died 11 years ago. (Even if a red cardinal is always male.) I was so startled and taken, and I wasn't quick enough to get much. Ah, but then it was just good to know I'd seen a cardinal on this first day of winter's snow in the Valley.

I love this little house and the surrounding property.

From there, we drove on to the covered bridge on Everett Road.

As we drove along, my eyes opened and narrowed. Instead of a mass of brown and gray, I saw specific plants in the meadows. I began to see beauty around every turn, even as the colors were only so muted and drab. Sometimes a peek of blue would appear in the skies.

~~~

Well-meaning people have often said to me over the years as they watch me with my camera: "Don't you want to be in the moment?"
"Oh," I say, "I am most in the moment when I am photographing."

I'm very excited to be doing this project.

Thanks for reading. Happy new year.

-DLH

.

Yogi Bear to the Rescue

After that first snow, I decided I needed help. I needed a trusty ranger.

And so, yesterday, which would be the third Saturday in January, after a big event on my calendar was canceled, and I realized I had a full day stretched out in front of me, I went to the Valley in search of a ranger dude who could help me find my way. I took my camera and my notebook with me.

This is the back of the van I drive when I go to the Valley.

I have never found an unhelpful park ranger. Surrounded by beavers and pond fronds, they are usually eager beavers themselves to talk to a human being. Such was the case with Ranger Judson, a big Santa Claus of a happy man with longish white hair, a turquoise ring and bracelet, sitting at the front desk of the Visitor's Center in Boston Mills, who turned out to be not only a naturalist but a font of history knowledge.

The Visitor's Center wasn't too busy on this chilly, gray Saturday, but several couples came in and out while I was there, including a couple who'd driven up from Cincinnati and another, from Michigan. Apparently, so Ranger Judson told me, people come from all over the state, all over the country and even all over the world to visit this 10th most visited national park in the country. I will hear and read this stat a lot.

I told Mr. Judson I was from Kent, I'd visited the Valley dozens of times, but I didn't really know my way around. He asked me what I wanted to do in the Valley. "Take photos," I said. "But other things too."

Along Riverview Road

Much-photographed bridge over the Valley Cuyahoga.

Brandywine icicles

Brandywine

Beautiful old barn on Riverview Road.  Black and white?

Or color?

First things first: Mr. Judson directed me upstairs to an 18-minute movie, which promptly put me to sleep. No offense to the movie. I'd been up all night starting this blog. I stayed awake for most of the film, though truly, and I'm glad I did, because it taught me, first of all, that the Cuyahoga Valley is defined by the Cuyahoga River that runs through it.  Duh? I couldn't believe I didn't know that before.

I learned that the Valley was once a bustling commerce area because of the river and because of  the Ohio & Erie Canal that carried freight into and through Ohio. It was so bustling that it helped shape Ohio into status as the third most prosperous state in the country at one time. The canal started losing business in the mid-1860s when the railroad took over freight-moving, and the deal was clinched 50 years later when a major storm flooded the canal. (The deal was not "cinched," BTW. I looked it up. "Cinched" is to fasten tightly. "Clinched" is settled.) At the same time as commerce had been developing around the area, recreation had also been developing. Cleveland residents escaping city life took to the area for boating and leisure. In the mid-1900s, as urban sprawl began to threaten the Valley, residents took up the cry to preserve and conserve the beautiful and diverse area. It was designated a national recreation area in 1974 and a national park in 2000.

So that was the movie, after which I went back to Mr. Judson. I told him what I already knew --about  the places I'd already visited but I needed to know where they were in proximity with each other. I told him I wanted good sunset photos and sunrise photos. I wanted to know where the high spots were for vista shots.

The second step: Mr. Judson took out a map to show me the areas I already knew, which really helped me get my grounding. He also told me about the main trail (there are 150 miles of trail throughout the Valley) -- the Towpath Trail. This is the world-renowned hike-and-bike path that follows the length of the canal -- and beyond, 100 miles from Lake Erie to the north to New Philadelphia to the south. Ranger Judson told me the Towpath Trail is the reason the Cuyahoga Valley National Park is the 10th most visited park in the country. (There's that proud stat again.) Mr. Judson also told me about the nearby hike-and-bike trail that roughly parallels the canal for part of the way, which also follows the railroad though the Valley. Because railroads can't incline more than 3 degrees, he told me, this makes this trail relatively flat, which makes it especially attractive to hiker/bikers. Glad to know this as I hate riding my bike up trails. Not so much down. I don't mind down.

The third step:  Ranger Judson pointed the way to a display of one-page, photographically enhanced information sheets that were very well-done and to the point. All these little brochures are online in their entirety and can be found at http://www.nps.gov/cuva/planyourvisit/brochures.htm

Some of the titles include : "Monarchs on the Move":  "Bald Eagles Return"; "Great Blue Herons"; "Bird Watching At Its Best"; "Beaver Marsh." I sat with the brochures and made notes and then took my questions back to Mr. Judson so he could help me find stuff on the map. Ranger Judson showed me the best place for butterfly watching, two places in the CVNP where butterfly-attracting plants have been planted. He showed me the two spots where herons show up,  also where the bald eagle nest is and how to get to the beaver marsh, which is clearly marked on the map. He told me that beaver and other critters, including muskrats and otters, often show up at sunset, because they're nocturnal. I didn't know that. He also showed me where the other cross-country ski trails are. One of the best is that flat bike-hike trail along the railroad.

Two important notes: Kendall Lake rents cross-country skis when snow is at depths of six inches or more, and snow shoes when snow is at depths of four inches or more!http://www.nps.gov/cuva/planyourvisit/winter-sports.htm I knew about the skis, but I didn't know about the snow shoes, which I've always wanted to try! Can't wait for four inches of snow!

Also, one title that's not on the web site page is about the farms in the area -- about 10 of them. I asked if they were organic. "Oh, they're all organic," he said. What! I'm not so sure about this, no offense, Ranger Judson; I couldn't find anything in the materials that support this, and will be trying to get the definitive word on this. Apparently, meanwhile, farmers do for sure sell their local produce during the warm months at a Farmer's Market near Howe Meadow on Saturdays. They also have a market http://www.cvcountryside.orgr on limited Saturdays during the winter.

I left the Visitor's Center and tooled around a bit that day, a lot more grounded and confident that I knew where I was going or at least where I would want to go. I ended up shooting at Brandywine Falls and along Riverview Road. (See photos above.)

Next step: I'd like to synthesize the information I gathered or color-code with Sharpies on the map the things I found most interesting and kind of stake out a plan for what's next.

Thanks for reading. Happy new year!

-DLH