[Journal entry for September 23, 2014; Upper Pound Swamp and Beaver Pond, Harriman State Park, New York]. I parked at the pullout on Route 106 near the point where both the Suffern-Bear Mountain Trail (SBM, blazed in yellow) and Minisceongo Creek cross and took the SBM north. The first part of the trail follows the creek. It was flowing strongly, even though the last few weeks have been fairly dry. Being the outflow of Lake Welch, its flow is controlled by the dam not the rain. I hiked the SBM up the flank of Irish Mountain, passing the huge glacial boulder called the Irish Potato, which is near its summit. While, for the most part, the woods are still summer green, the Blueberry bushes on its floor are now fall red and the ferns are pale yellow.

The SBM passes close to Upper Pound Swamp but at a level considerably above it. I bushwhacked down to it when I could see its blue water below me – it is more of a pond than a swamp. The hillside is steep and full of angular blocks which extend right down to the lakeshore. The pond is small, perhaps a quarter mile across, with steep wooded hills on three sides. The air was very still and the surface of the pond was a mirror, reflecting the trees and Phragmites growing along the lakeshore. A few trees stood out with fall colors. I watched a tiny ripple caused by the plop of a frog into the water spread across much of the lake. I then walked counter-clockwise around the pond, first tip-toeing from rock to rock, and then following an informal trail through a Mountain Laurel grove. Most such groves are difficult to traverse, for they are a tangle of thin branches, but this one consisted of unusually high bushes with much sparser and thicker stems. The path led to a clearing along the lakeshore with a fire ring. It is the terminus of a woods road that follows the lakeshore. I followed the road as far as the dam, admiring the view of the lake and enjoying the warm air and ample sun. Vegetation along the lakeshore shows many signs of beaver activity, yet I saw no indication that it was recent. The dam, a low earth-fill affair across the ext stream, is in terrible shape; so much so that I may report it to Park officials. It has been substantially eroded recently, and its top surface is actually an inch of so below the level of the lake, with the water being held back only by debris.

I then followed a woods road that ascended up to a set of ruins atop nearby Pound Swamp Mountain. A decorative stone wall encloses the foundation of an old house, which though smaller than a mansion must nevertheless been expensive, for the stonework is substantial and very-well done. Furthermore, the hilltop view, though now obscured by tall trees, must once have been tremendous. I walked through an archway into what may once have been a formal garden in order to view the foundation. Several nearby conifer trees seemed to me to be elderly ornamentals.

I then returned to the pond and continued on the woods road. It first follows the shoreline and then ascends back up the hill and reconnects to the SBM. I took the SBM back to the Irish Potato, but then took an informal trail down to Beaver Pond Campsite. It is a car-camping style campground of the sort I seldom use. Today’s was my first visit. I was pleasantly surprised, first to find that the area looked very nice, with green lawns set among trees, and second to find that it was still open and being used by campers. I had always assumed this campground to be on Lake Welch and its name Beaver Pond to be merely poetic, but in that I was mistaken. There is a Beaver Pond, a small body of water a few hundred feet across created by a pedestrian concourse that cuts a corner off Lake Welch. The concourse has benches and tables and is a beautiful spot for a picnic. I walked along the lakeshore until I reached the concourse, and the followed it south. It offers pretty views of Lake Welch and its beach and Beaver Pond.

I walked past the Camp Office, a sturdy stone building like many in the Palisades Interstate Park system. A couple of ambulances surrounded by emergency crews were present. I was not sure whether an accident had occurred or whether some sort of training exercise was in progress. Some of the personnel were wearing team shirts, so maybe the latter.

I crossed the Minisceongo Creek twice as I walked back to my car, first on the Camp access road and then on Route 106. The pastels of the evening sky was beautifully reflected in its waters.

About two hours.