Subject: Aunt May, Hazel and Mt Marcy, Aunt May Story #3
Date: Apr 27 16:44:59 1994
From: Kevin Vang - kvang at LAUREL.OCS.MQ.EDU.AU

Now the following is undoubtedly one of the greatest stories of birding
history in the entire of the good ole USA. Every autumn, May and Day ,
accompanied by any number of family or friends from her birding group,
headed out for a week or two to see the fall colors and watch the
migrating birds on their way south. Sometimes it was the Maine coast.
Sometimes Cape Cod or Long Island. Often it was in the Green or White
Mountains or father north into the Mahoosacks or even into Quebec or the
Maritimes.

Anyway these trips became a major annual affair. Now May could take on
anybody or anything in life and often did. But in the autumn of 1954, she
was about to meet up with a wayward gal named Hazel, that was to leave
quite a lasting impression.

The trip in 1954 was to revisit an old favourite, Mount Marcy, at 5344
feet, the highest peak of the Adirondacks. My aunt had heard reports that
the pine grosbeaks and the white-winged crossbills had flocked into
Hamilton and Essex Counties. She was always particularly fond of these
birds (or any that were pink or red--her favourites were always
cardinals). Plus my grandfather was keen to climb Marcy as he hadnUt been
for about 5 years, and May loved the North Country as well. The colors
were particularly good that year.

So off they went. May and Day in their skyblue Studebaker which was
quite an elegant site. My grandparents, Frank and Alice in their dark
green Dodge with my mother, Pat and her girlfriend Mitsy in tow. Lee and
Lila, next door neighbors of my grandparents, and Uncle Harry (May's
youngest brother) and Aunt Eleanor (Alice's sister).

The trip started as usual with a major fight between May and my
grandfather about Franklin Roosevelt. Now May thought that FDR was so
good and my grandfather thought FDR was so bad, that Jesus and the devil
took the middle ground just to watch. May liked FDR mostly because she
adored Eleanor Roosevelt. Every time Eleanor changed hats , so did May,
literally. May always said that Eleanor Roosevelt was a keen birdwatcher
and kept her a substantial record of birds at the White House and at their
home in New York (does anybody on BirdChat know about Eleanor Roosevelt
and birdwatching??). A decade after FDRUs death, May and my grandfather
never missed a chance. The rest of the family just ignored them, after
all Eisenhower was president in 1954 and nobody seemed to mind him.

Finally, after their ritual FDR confrontation, they got underway up old
Route 30. Now driving with May was no easy task. May always had her eyes
peeled on the surroundings to see any bird that moved. This means that
one had to drive very slowly. Luckily Day was always keen to have people
notice his fancy cars, so he didnUt mind too much. However he had to be
alert for May's whistles. When May saw a bird of interest, she let out a
shrill, piercing whistle that meant the car was to come to an immediate
stop regardless of anything. And when May meant 'come to a stop' she
meant instantly not one inch further!! To add to this , she had the habit
of opening the car door , and jumping out of the car the split instant it
stopped, and dashing into the bushes to see the bird of interest. I often
thought that this should be an Olympic sport as May would have easily won
the gold medal. God only knows what the bird thought. To this day, I
never can believe how May and Day never had an accident. I can still
picture in my head that whistle of May's (that could literally wake the
dead) and Day sharply breaking in full traffic and whipping over to the
side of the road. Uncle Day, of course, always carried his little metal
pocket canteen well filled with 'the medicine', so if any offended
motorist got out to yell at him, he would point to May with a little
smirk, offer the offended driver a little snort, and everyone was happy.

To further add to the complications, Aunt Eleanor always made Harry stop
so she could pick the wild flowers and my grandmother had a notoriously
weak bladder. This led my grandfather, who owned Mayfield's first
motorbike and was a bit of a speedmonger, to lament that by the time we
get to Mt Marcy, the leaves will be starting to grow back on the trees.
Once when May and my grandmother were planning a trip to Boston, and they
asked my grandfather how long it took to drive there. He responded that
it normally it takes a long day, but with you two I think we could do it
in a month. Anyway the little caravan wound its way north into the high
country on that nice October day.

Now quite unaware to May and co, a wild woman by the name of Hazel had
just that day taken a northward course somewhere around the nation of
Haiti. She was making a bee line for Mt Marcy as well. Now of course I
am referring to Hurricane Hazel, one of North America's most powerful
storms. Now in 1954, the news media didn't blast about Hurricanes the way
they do now. A hurricane headed for the Outer Banks of North Carolina,
probably wouldn't make a big mention in the news media of Upstate New
York. So May and the rest of the family didn't have a clue as they set
out, that their birding adventure was really going to live up to its name.

Anyway the first night they all stayed at Blue Mountain Lake. And the
next day they pushed on through Tupper Lake, Saranac Lake, North Elba and
finally ended up at the Adirondack Lodge on the north slopes of Marcy. On
arrival to the lodge, the everpresent grey jays were there to greet her,
and May had a pocket full of peanuts for them. If grey jays were red, I
think they would have surpassed cardinals in my aunt's favourite bird.
She always loved to feed them. (Are the grey jays still there at the
Adirondack Lodge??). About the same time Hazel was just hitting the Outer
Banks and causing a great mess.

The family spent the night there. In the morning May, my grandfather,
Lee, my mother and her friend donned their packs for the ascent to the
top. My grandmother, Day, Harry and Eleanor were not into the rugged life
and were going to stay behind and do day trips. Because May and my
grandfather were getting up in age, they planned to do the trip slowly
taking about 4 days and coming down the Keene Valley trail where Day would
pick them up. As the group split up and waved good bye, little did they
know that the next days would be what they were.

The first day, the little group made it up to the lake just below the
summit, where they made camp. May was all excited because they had seen a
small group of Spruce Grouse which was not terribly common, and they had
seen many crossbills, grosbeaks, chickadees, nuthatches, jays and winter
wrens (another of my aunts favourites). My grandfather and Lee put up the
tents (remember the old heavy canvas things), and afterwards went fishing
for bullhead. May scoured the lake for signs of birdlife.

Meanwhile that night back around the radio in the lodge, the first reports
were coming through of the devastation in North Carolina, and the fact
that the storm was working its way up the coast about ready to plow into
New Jersey. Soon after storm warnings were issued for New Jersey, Long
Island and Connecticut. Day and grandmother began to get a little nervous,
but nobody really thought it would be more than some rain.

Next day May and the crew got to the summit, and for the first time my
grandfather felt a bit worried. All day everybody noted how strangely
calm it was, and none of the birds were singing. However, because they
had been on the north slope, noone had gotten a look at the far southern
horizon. Finally up at the top, a warm breeze from the south hit them,
and the southern horizon was swathed in deep, dark clouds. All the clouds
were moving to the northwest which was a very unusual pattern except
during a spring noreaster. However my grandfather and Lee concluded that
it just might be rain storm, and because of the warm wind they werent very
worried. They pitched camp in the northeast summit tarn and May went off
to look for the fabled population of Rock Ptarmigan. Many of you readers
may know that Mt Marcy, Mt Washington and Mt Katahdin were fabled to have
populations of Rock Ptarmigan at their summits. (Does anybody know the
real story behind these old reports--- In her list May has recorded both
Rock and Willow Ptarmigan in NewFoundland but never in the USA.) No
Ptarmigans were seen however, and that night at dinner, the first drops of
rain began to fall. That rain would continue for a very long time. May
who had carted 2 dozen eggs in her pack unrolled a dozen and made wild
mushroom omelettes. May always rolled each egg individually in socks or
handkerchiefs, and amazingly they never broke. What was to come however,
was to challenge her long-held record of no broken eggs.

That night at the lodge, Day, my grandmother and the rest were in full
panic. Neither Day and May, nor my grandparents had ever been separated
much during their life. Now they were separated with the storm of the
century between them. They also knew that neither Frank, Lee nor May had
any idea about this storm and what was coming. The news reports made it
sound like coastal North Carolina and New Jersey were completely washed
away. Most all the power in New Jersey was out and the storm was now on
the New York, Pennsylvania border below the Catskills, and headed north.
Day alerted the police in Lake Placid who said that many hikers were on
Marcy and the surrounding mountains, and that they were monitoring the
situation, and not to worry.

Back on the mountain, the little group awoke to a steady rain and strong
winds. My grandfather was a bit worried and everybody decided to stay in
the safety of the tarn where they were sheltered from the wind. Later
that a day, as the storm was worsening, a small group of people from
Somerset, Pennsylvania led by a Lutheran Minister joined up from them.
They had hiked up the southwest slope from Henderson Lake and had been
able to see the storm's approach. However, they did not know it was a
hurricane either.

These Pennsylvanians (or as my grandfather referred to them 'foreigners')
didn't know anything about the mountain, and my grandfather said, that it
was best that they should stay with them, because he knew the mountain
very well. As the afternoon passed the storm broke into full swing and
Mount Marcy started turning into one big series of lakes and rivers.
Hurricane Hazel was itself meandering around Syracuse and Rochester
heading for Lake Ontario and Toronto, keeping the Adirondacks on its
eastern side. The tents wouldn't stay up in the wind, and they were
sitting in half a foot of water. And still it poured.

Flood and wind warnings started to go up all over Upstate New York
especially in the mountains. Uncle Day was in an all out bluster and doing
his best to round up a search group to go in after them. But it was
impossible to climb the mountain in these conditions.

That night on the mountain the storm subsided a bit, but everything was
wet and getting wetter. The group from Pennsylvania was not very well
equipped, so everybody had to pitch together to keep everybody warm and
fed. Keeping dry was no longer an issue. So there they huddled like a
bunch of drowned rats with the canvas wrapped around them. Nobody slept
much.

As the morning broke, the rain was still pouring, but the wind had died
down. Hazel had crossed Lake Ontario and was stalled over Toronto which
was about to have the worst flood in its history. Unfortunately for our
crew on the mountain, it was about to change course once more on the heels
of a midwestern cold front and head straight over the Adirondacks with all
its fury.

That morning with Hazel in Ontario, Day finally got up a search party to
go in at Keene Valley and look for them. However with the storm again
changing directions and headed straight toward them, the weather
deteriorated very quickly and they had to turn back. Day was almost dead
with panic. The only thing saving him was that he knew how well my
grandfather knew the mountain. Meanwhile that morning on the mountain, my
grandfather decided to try to bring the group down the mountain while the
weather held. Everybody found good walking sticks and they were off.
Down the group headed into the Ausable Valley, but soon the weather
worsened as Hazel made a beeline due east for Mount Marcy. The Keene
Valley trail had become a small river, and it was almost impossible to
keep your balance or know where to step. As the rain got heavier, my
mother fell and got washed about 10 yards down. My grandfather then got
out the ropes attached to the tent and each person was tied around the
waist.

Night caught the group in rain so hard, you couldn't see in front of you,
splitting lightning and crashing thunder, and very strong winds as the
storm was right over them. All that night, they all sat huddled next to a
cliff singing every hymn they could remember. May was very tired and
worried about how the birds were going to survive this storm. My
grandfathers always said afterward -Here we were on the mountain as wet
and miserable as could be, and May was worried about the birds. Between
my grandfather and the Lutheran Minister, they kept everybody's spirits up.
Amazing Grace, The Old Rugged Cross, Rock of Ages and all the old
favourites got well worn out that night. 'Abide with Me' took on real
meaning.

Well morning came and the storm had began to subside, everybody was wet and
tired, but in as good spirits as could be expected. Down they came and in the
late afternoon they were met by Day and his posse. Day was not the most in
shape person and his idea of hiking was bounded by the back yard fence. The
sight of him huffing and puffing up the trail, led May to say she didnUt know
who was going to carry who down. But hand in hand May and Day, and the rest
made it out that night into Keene Valley where a dry, well fed and warm night
was had by all. By the way, of May's 10 remaining eggs, none were
boken---The record lives!!

That morning my grandmother and Eleanor came down to meet them. Eleanor
had made the weary travellers a surprise--a DOUBLE CRUST apple pie. My
grandfather turned to May and quietly said --Havent we been through
enough already?

Anyway, they returned home to Mayfield to find lots of wind damage. All
of May's bird houses were down or damaged. Many large trees were down as
well. My grandfather had his carpentry work cut out for some time to
come. As so it was May's encounter with Hazel.

Every Christmas thereafter a card would wind its way north from Somerset,
Pennsylvania to tell how the pastor and his congregation were getting on.
May would always laugh and say, everytime I am in church and hear one of
those old hymns, I think of that night on the mountain--Amazing Grace has
never been the same since.

Many years later my grandfather walked me through the path they took, and
showed me the cliffside where they huddled together. I remember sitting
with him on top of the mountain and listening to the story. On the way
down, he remarked with a grin that the weather had been bit better on this
trip. Although May and my grandfather are now both dead, everytime I
return to the Adirondacks, I feel the power of those people that were so
important to me in my life, from a world that seems so long ago, and I know,
like May's egg record, they live on yet.


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Dr. Kevin Vang: School of Earth Sciences or the School of History, Philosophy
and Politics, The Macquarie University, Sydney, NSW 2019, AUSTRALIA

Director, Environment and Development Group International, 64/302 Burns Bay Rd
Lane Cove, NSW 2066 AUSTRALIA Email <kvang at laurel.ocs.mq.edu.au>

ANTARES*HEPHAISTION*ALDEBARAN*FARAMIR*ALTAIR*NORDLAND*RIGEL*MUIR*ETNA*RIVENDELL
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