It’s often difficult for me to wrench myself away from The River, with its dramatic falls and tranquil pools, but the bordering woodlands have an allure all their own. So I made the most of a cool day not long ago, climbing away from The River on herd paths and side trails in search of subjects for my lens. I wasn’t disappointed.

I kept climbing, following an informal trail that I knew would take me to a seasonally maintained dirt road. As I crested the last rise, the trail opened up into a clearing. Formerly a staging area for logging operations, this opening in the woods boasted a profusion of berry bushes—a favorite spot for berry-pickers of every species, including man. No longer, however. The canes of the berry bushes had been stripped bare of their leaves by the passing and repassing of ATVs and trail bikes, and in the now-barren heart of the clearing was a large fire ring.

Spent shot shells covered the ground, and…

Tangles of rusty wire were everywhere.

So the despoiled berry patch had become a sort of temple to Adirondack North Country ideals of beauty, with the fire ring serving as high altar, an evocative heap of ash, plastic trash, partially burned paper, charred wood, and still more wire—heaps and heaps of wire.

And the high altar of this sylvan temple is a truly impressive structure, nearly 30 feet wide at its widest point and almost three feet high. The congregation of worshippers have every reason to be proud of their handiwork.

But the wire continued puzzle me. Not for long, however. I realized that I was looking at a blending of two religio-aesthetic elements: one or more burnt-out innerspring mattresses and a large number of incinerated steel-belted radial tires. I applied my somewhat rusty anthropological skills to deciphering the underlying rituals, but beyond noting that the bedsprings and tire belts were emblematic of two activities sacred to nearly all North Country indigenes, I was left with little except fruitless speculation. The details of this newly-discovered, contemporary pyrolatric cult must await more expert analysis than I can bring to bear.

Abandoning my attempt to reconstruct the cult’s ritual life from their charred artifacts, I continued on my way through the woods. Soon the fire-pit altar was no more than a discordant recollection.

Avid cyclist and kayaker Mark, of Spokane, Washington, was inspired to write about this month’s “Beyond the Beauty Strip.” I couldn’t agree more with his sentiments:

Your question about how many of us want to look “beyond the beauty strip” reminded me of a quote that I once read regarding Ansel Adams’ photography. “It’s not that there aren’t empty beer cans in his photographs, it’s just that he chose not to see them”. His were powerful images and it kind of makes you wonder what kind of impact they would have had if he had chosen to see a few empties.

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How many of us take the time to look beyond the beauty strip? And how many of us really want to? After all, it can be downright painful to see what lies just outside the frame of the photos in the tourist board’s brochures. But if you ride a bike along the highway, hike less-traveled trails, paddle on public waterways, or just walk the city streets to do your shopping and pick up the mail, then you really can’t avoid seeing what lies in front of your eyes, can you? And maybe that’s a good thing.

In any event, we think it’s worth the effort. To that end, Tamia Nelson’s Outside will take another look “Beyond the Beauty Strip” on the third Monday in every month. And any number can play. So if you have an example that you’d like to share, please send it along.

 
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