HDR Photography
Boaters can’t swim across the lake (without checking with a guard first) and boaters can’t enter the swimming area, but they interact across a thin membrane of ropes and floats. Look at that log, moored perpendicular to the floating platform on the right; it splits the difference between the boat/swim categories.
Glaciers carved deep between stones to create the lake on which Mohonk Mountain House appears to float, but I feel like those glaciers left behind a little bit of their cold blue thermodynamic impact in the colors (and temperature) of the water.
Since leaving the North Country, I haven’t frequently looked back, but this drone image of the expansive garden of a Miner Street homestead stood out in ways that made me surprised I hadn’t shared it years ago.
Our stay at Mohonk Mountain House last fall produced so many images I loved. I posted the first of them last October, and today (more than a year later) I post the last. This nook between glacial cliffs is simultaneously private and yet offers an exceptional view of the lake and Skytop perched on the cliff in the distance. This is the perfect place to spend an afternoon reading a book.
In the cracks between the glacier-carved cliffs above Lake Mohonk, hidden platforms make the perfect spot to read a good book on a truly relaxing afternoon.
A clifftop view of Mohonk Mountain House’s swimming hole shows the impact of last summer’s drought: sections of beach that would be deep underwater are instead showing green sprouts of grasses. Even with that minor asterisk, the setting is idyllic and captures the late-summer pleasures of a little escape well.
From one Mohonk framing to another, we arrive one of Mohonk’s signature gazebos (but during the day this time.) After a gentle hike, a charming view is a perfect way to cap off the summer season.
A quiet morning between father and son, fishing from a rowboat on a placid mountain lake: does it get more classically summer than this?
Mohonk’s gazebos are iconic, but in my childhood, they vanished into the woods as night fell. The addition of strings of lights to them means that they stand out more without the sunlight.
Warm, welcoming, and… monolithic? Though Mohonk is a huge, castle-esque structure, the hotel nonetheless feels deeply cozy in the evening. Perhaps it’s the sense of life about it. Zoom all the way in and people are visible, enjoying the warm air on the many balconies.
A human-made building-cliff faces a glacier-made cliff; when the sun sets, one glows and the other reflects the light.
All of the little details of place—the railings and paths, the docks and balconies—stand out in the blue hour. There’s a cozy contrast between the warm lights of Mohonk Mountain House and the cooler colors of the little gazebo atop at rock staring back at the hotel.
A couple of months ago, I published what I anticipate will be my final pictures of St. Lawrence University, and with this post, I believe I’m releasing my final pictures from St. Lawrence County more generally. They’re an interesting pair, because I feel they capture the dichotomy of the area.
The first image is a high, dramatic drone shot into the Adirondacks, taken near Colton. Nature! Topology! Wilderness! (Clicking through to Flickr, you can see this shot was even featured in their Explore page.) This was perhaps what I was expecting when I moved to the North Country. This was the last such picture I captured on a rare quiet weekend while preparing to move out.
The second picture is one I took on the last day of classes at St. Lawrence. A charming view of our small town, I suppose, but also a vast, flat landscape with a few too many parking lots and strip shopping centers to quite constitute rural life. This was perhaps a better depiction of everyday life in the North Country, and a strong contrast with the drone views that I get now.
A cliff face may not seem the optimal spot for a tree, but there will always be specimens that go against the grain. (I couldn’t help myself.) The lights of the granary barbecue across the lake almost makes me think that this particular tree is pining (again, I’m sorry) to pick up its roots and go join the party.
Every town between the high peaks of the Adirondacks and the low point of the St. Lawrence River seems to have its own modest hydroelectric dam to capture their slice of the accrued aqueous kinetic energy.
Decaseconds 