Gone Fishin’

And an abandoned house along the Mullica

First, I want to thank you all for subscribing. I broke 600 subscribers around the new year, and that may not be a lot for some, but it amazes me. I had more followers on Twitter, but it was obvious most of them were writers who followed to be followed back, and neither of us read anything each other posted. I don’t know how many of you read everything, but thank you for being here. And double thanks for the paid subscribers who put a little cash in the cup holder to pay for gas on this road trip.

During the early pandemic, I hiked nearly every day. That was easy, because I had been laid off from my then-job. I also edited one novel and wrote another; The Boy from County Hell was published in 2021, and what’s currently titled Vyx Starts the Mythpocalypse is currently with an editor (cross your fingers). I wrote short stories every month until early last year, when I hit a wall in writing fiction. Not a block, but a burnout of sorts.

I would rather be out doing stuff than writing. Like many, I felt like I’d been cooped up and had a serious case of FOMO. So when a weekend goes by where I am not out exploring the Pine Barrens, it feels like I’m wasting it.

A few weekends ago, I returned to the ruins of Hermann, and got closer to the site of a long-gone old hotel, and the ruins of an illegally built house on the shores of the Mullica. Hermann had a glass works in the 1800s but both it and the hotel in town are long gone. The house ruins are quite impressive, but there’s no evidence that it was ever finished or inhabited.

If they’d gotten to finish it, the house would have had quite a view, and a sturdy foundation. The Pine Barrens reclaims things quickly, between the fires, rapid undergrowth, and the people who reuse found bricks to make hunting shacks and foundations. So it’s not often that you come upon such things; this one is well known, there’s a geocache nearby that I didn’t find—too many thorns, and I left my khukuri in the car—but remains as a landmark for kayakers and a nice peaceful spot to watch the water go by, even when it is rimed with ice.

A few weekends ago, I went on a solid hike with my friend Johnny, up to High Mountain in Wayne, New Jersey. The hiking trails around William Paterson University used to be a well-kept secret, and their treasures—which include basalt valleys that inspired H.P. Lovecraft, and the only known swamp on top of a mountain on the East Coast—are less often visited than the peak, which has a solar-powered star that can be seen from the highways, and a rock slab that’s been a lookout since pre-colonizer days, and now serves as a rather boring and predictable canvas:

I hiked up there in a kilt, which was rather bracing in the wind. Today I’m going to hop in the car and either explore some trails around Batsto Village, or find some ruins that I haven’t ventured to yet. I went for a bike ride yesterday and I feel kind of worn out; that’s lingering effects of the Coronavirus infection, my recovery is kind of shot. If that’s the worst I get, I’ll take it. Keep masking and get your booster. I was lax with my mask when I took my mother-in-law’s PC in for service, and I think that’s where I got it. The state of NJ called me to check symptoms, so I’m glad they are still behaving like we’re in a pandemic.

Here’s a teaser from a trail caravan to Funtown, a sand pit in the Pine Barrens that’s been used by dirt bikers and off-roaders for many decades. It’s a cool spot, but difficult to get to, with washouts on the roads keeping less capable vehicles away. There wasn’t much trash there, which was nice to see. I’m still working on the videos, and hopefully I’ll post more about it in the coming week.