Tadpoles

Took a long walk along Alberton Road Saturday morning. I expected a crowd, and was shocked to find the parking lot empty. The river was very high, perhaps keeping the fishermen at home. But the road was dry, and we walked a long way. The rock spots were covered with water, unfortunately, so throwing rocks was not possible. Instead we ate snacks upon snacks, and we did some stomping through the woods and we played with tiny, tiny tadpoles in the puddles. I am still kicking myself for not bringing the camera...

Something about tadpoles brings kids right to their knees. My boys stared at a wriggling puddle for 15 minutes, getting thoroughly dirty and enjoying themselves immensely.

Geocachers

You can spot them a mile away. Mostly two or thee in a group. They will be walking head-down, staring at a global positioning receiver (GPS). Stop, look at GPS, walk. Stop, look at GPS, walk, stop, push a button on GPS, stare at it for a while. Refer to a map. It’s the latest craze. I don’t get it.

I tried. There are several geocaches along the river. One is on the cliff not far from the Dogwood Rd. parking area.

I got the coordinates on-line, hiked to the spot with my trusty GPS, and easily found the canister under a rock. I took out the single sheet of white notebook paper, signed “PatapscoMike” with the date below the previous name. Then I walked back to my car, unfulfilled. I could have been fishing or wandering aimlessly. The last thing I want to do when I have free time is have to go look for something someone else has tried to hide from me. The whole idea of Geocaching seems to be that you give the GPS coordinates to a spot, but then you try to make the actual cache hard to locate within the 20 feet or so accuracy of a GPS receiver. WTF is that? I spend enough time looking for things in my house- why make it a hobby too?

Maybe it's just me, but geocaching reminds me of Mark Twain’s famous quote about golf- "a good walk, spoiled."

Maybe one day I’ll get into it, but I doubt it. If you think it’s for you, go to www.geocaching.com and read all about it. Maybe one day I'll see you down at the river. You won't see me though, you'll be staring at your GPS...

The Dam

To the boys, there are several rivers. There is "Train River" where the big trains rumble past. "Swimming River" is self-explanatory. The trail that hikes up the Howard County side of Daniels Dam impoundment is "Bridge River, Goose River, or Trail River," depending. When I ask where we should go, Drew names one of those rivers. All of them are of course the Patapsco, and all of those spots are within a mile of each other. But I'm not sure he realizes that it's the same river.

Then there is "The Dam." Daniels Dam, where the river runs over the dam with such force that both boys stare at it every time they hit the water and look up. When Drew stopped wearing diapers, we noticed that this sight and sound was enough to make him immediately pee his pants every time. The boys love the dam. It's loud, wet, always has a few fishermen, herons, geese, or something going on to look at. And there is an unlimited supply of small rocks. It's perfect.

We walked down to the dam yesterday. Nick was still scared from a recent tumble into a pond, so he hung back and sat with me on a log. Drew threw rocks for the better part of an hour, only stopping to get a piece of Easter candy now and then. Two fishermen were steadily catching trout as we watched. It was windy and raw, and the water was cold. Neither boy complained when I said it was time to walk back up the hill to the warmth of our fireplace. Of course, they knew we were going to roast marshmallows...

Down the Hill

Diapers, check. Wipes, check. Snacks, check.

OK boys, into the stroller!

Down the hill we went. Left onto the gravel road, and out spilled the boys to scramble for rocks. Four rocks in four hands, eager eyes looked for targets. That log. Big tree. Rock. Water!

Walk. Stop. Throw rocks. Repeat. Endless supplies of rocks and energy.

Perfect weather. We made it as far as the old bridge abutments, where we stopped for mineral water, dehydrated bananas and apples. Nick wasn't interested in the food, instead throwing sticks to an odd couple of one Canada and one domestic goose. They tested each stick in case one might be bread. Poor luck for them.

Paddlers were out today, and dog walkers. I met a neighbor and his 7 month old. We poked into the Camel's Den, looking for "big owl."

The boys just dropped off to sleep, exhausted. Dreaming no doubt of the flowing water and splash of rocks.

Spring

The spring peepers are out in force, the daffodils are up, and it's time to begin taking the boys down to the river more regularly. It was a cold February and March, and I only made it to the river for brief runs that go by too fast. Soon, soon...

Lunch Rock

Above my old house about ½ mile is a rock that reaches 2/3 of the way across the river. We’ve always called it Lunch Rock, though we’ve only eaten lunch there once.

I’ve seen drunk teenagers tumble off it, pretty girls sitting strumming guitars and singing Bob Marley tunes, dogs leaping off to chase sticks, and many many Northern Watersnakes resting quietly in the shade. It's the only spot I can't ever attain past in my kayak heading upriver.

I’ve held my boys fingers as they lurch over the uneven surface. I’m sure many an Indian child was guided across this rock in the same way 500 years ago. We always take off our shoes and sit with feet in the water, feeling the powerful current and sometimes having black nose dace nibble our toes.

My oldest son knows the spot so well that when it's just barely in sight, he takes off running for the small path down to the water. We must, must stop and throw rocks. Long live Lunch Rock.

The Railroad- The Old Main Line

Spend time along the Patapsco river, and one constant will always be the railroad. The stretch of the "Old Main Line" carries coal from Western MD to Baltimore, and all kinds of freight from the port of Baltimore to points west. Near Daniels, visitors hear the train blow the "crossing whistle" at the Old Frederick Road crossing. According to this website, this gateless crossing is the oldest surviving railroad grade crossing in the world. This dates back to 1830, when the first railroads were snaking their way across the east.

To a river wanderer, the railroad tracks are sometimes the fastest way to get from point A to point B. The tracks provide rocks for my kids to throw, big sunny clearings for the wineberry and blackberry patches, shade under the bridges for sunny summer picnics, and a source for railroad spikes for home or garden projects (discarded spikes and metal debris litter the railroad bed). To a large degree, the reason the river valley is so nice and undeveloped is because the railroad companies have owned all the land along one side since the 1800's.

Three summers ago I was fishing in the river as a train chugged past. I heard the trains brakes, and it went slower, slower, slower and came to a complete stop. It sat that way for something like 15 minutes when I saw the conductor come walking down the tracks looking at each car. A few minutes later he came walking back up, and perhaps 15 minutes later the train slowly picked up speed and left. OK, that was an extraordinarily boring story, but I have always wondered what that was all about.

Sunny Saturday

Took the first walk with my boys down to the river from our new house. It's a beautiful walk, one we will be making many hundreds of times.

The woods were quiet today despite the warmth. The massive flight of crows we watched yesterday has passed, and the only birds that were active were the ever present nuthatches, titmice and chickadees. A handful of mallards, Canadas, and one domestic goose were loafing on the rock throwing beach. Drew scattered those with his screaming descent from the road, sending them to the shady side of the river out of rock range.

We threw rocks for a solid hour. Big rocks, skipper rocks, handfulls of pebbles. Tiny feet went back and forth from the rock pile to the waters edge, tiny arms cocked back and tiny dirty fists flung all into the river. Beautiful!

Moving to the river

We're moving soon to a spot where it's easier to get to the river. It's about the same distance. Half a mile as the crow flies. But instead of a death-hill all the way, it's a steep hill then a modest drop. Much nicer. Time to explore the Howard County side of the river.

The Patapsco Slasher