An evening at Cayuga Lake Inlet, home to the Cornell University Crew, is depicted as a serene haven for reflection. The Collyer Boathouse, vital to the local lore, sits across the inlet holding a rich history of crew camaraderie and competition.
Ithaca’s bedrock, formed 370 million years ago, deeply influences its landscape, neutralizes rainwater’s acidity, and carries a story of Earth’s resilience and transformation.
In Ithaca, New York, the story of the land is deeply rooted in its geology. Beneath the vibrant autumn leaves and along the path of Lick Creek lies a bedrock formed 370 million years ago. This ancient foundation, once the sediment of a vast inland sea, now forms the solid base upon which the city stands.
The bedrock here is a silent witness to Earth’s long history. Originating in the Devonian period, it marks a time when vast seas covered much of the Earth’s surface. Within these ancient waters, life flourished, leaving behind sediments that, over eons, transformed into the layered rock beneath Ithaca.
These layers are more than just historical records; they actively shape the landscape. The bedrock influences soil composition, affects plant growth, and directs the flow of streams. Lick Creek, with its clear waters, is one such stream that interacts intimately with this bedrock.
In autumn, the beauty of this interaction is vividly displayed. The red and yellow maple leaves create a striking contrast against the grey-blue backdrop of the bedrock, a blend of the vibrant present with the ancient past. These fallen leaves, over time, decompose and enrich the soil, continuing a cycle of life that this bedrock has supported for millions of years.
This bedrock also plays a crucial role in water chemistry. As acidic rainwater percolates through it, a remarkable transformation occurs. The bedrock naturally neutralizes the acidity of the rainwater. By the time the water emerges as streams, it is buffered to a neutral pH. This process is vital for maintaining the ecological balance of the area. The streams that flow out, including Lick Creek, support diverse ecosystems thanks to this natural filtration process.
The neutral pH water is crucial for the flora and fauna of Ithaca. It sustains the forests, the wildlife, and the natural beauty that defines the region. This water, once acid rain, purified by the ancient bedrock, now nurtures life in its journey.
In Ithaca, the bedrock is a testament to the enduring nature of our planet. It reminds us of the continuous cycle of transformation that defines the Earth. The contrast of the autumn leaves against the bedrock is not just a scene of ephemeral beauty; it symbolizes the dynamic interplay between the living and the geological, between the present and the deep past.
The bedrock of Ithaca, with its ability to neutralize acidic water, highlights the interconnectedness of natural processes. It shows how the Earth self-regulates and sustains life in intricate ways. As the buffered, neutral pH water of Lick Creek flows over this bedrock, it carries with it the story of a planet that is constantly renewing and sustaining itself.
In this landscape, the past is not just a memory; it is an active participant in the present. The bedrock, the autumn leaves, and the flowing streams tell a story of resilience, continuity, and the beauty of nature’s balance. This is the legacy of Ithaca’s bedrock, a legacy of endurance, transformation, and life.
the largest and brightest yellow canopy on Libe Slope.
Cornell University is on a west-facing hill above Cayuga lake. Libe Slope is between the West Campus and Quadrangle / Libraries.
Besides the exercise of walking the 18 degree incline several times each day, Cornell students and alumni remember The Slope for autumn color.
Built in 1868, McGraw Hall has the honor of having the first of Cornell’s towers. The building is built of Ithaca stone and is home to the American Studies Program, Department of History, Department of Anthropology, and Archaeology Intercollege Program. The first floor of McGraw Hall houses the McGraw Hall Museum, a collection of roughly 20,000 objects from around the globe used for teaching by the Anthropology Department.
This is a Pignut Hickory (Carya glabra), the largest tree according to a 2009 Campus Tree Inventory (see link, below).
I remember this hickory for the contrast between the canopy and trunk, the way the clumps of yellow hang from dark boughs. An overcast day is the best to capture this spectacle. October 20, 2012 provided both bright sun and dark, rolling autumn clouds. I waited on the north side, sheltered from the glare of the sky, for these perfect moments.
The pignut hickory is native to these Eastern United States. It is known to favor moist slopes and this specimen has thrived on The Slope. The ground beneath it is thick with nuts.
Just one week later, late afternoon on a sunny Friday as hurricane Sandy approached the east coast the hickory has fewer, tawny golden leaves.
References
A Photo Tour of Key Buildings at Cornell University by Allen Grove
Websites
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
A tripod and Neutral Density filter
Winter 2020 I posted “Winter People Watching” featuring the Sony F828 and candid street photography.
What I love about this place, a unique feature, is the size and different vantage points making it possible to view the same place from different angles. November 2019, readers were shown “The Bend,” a place with Taughannock gorge makes a 90 degree turn, changing from a southeastern to an eastern flow. Here are photographs from spot overlooked by that post.
Here the camera faces away from the sun, the graduated neutral density filter allowing me to capture the cloudless blue sky, a little milky the way it is here February with a hint of spring.
This little one is studying the information placard with rapt attention, learning how the African continent, pushing against North America, across the eaons, formed the right angle fractures mirrored by this dramatic change in Taughannock Gorge. For the Big Bend photographs I was standing behind them, along the stream bed.
Here is a broader slice of that sky.
Can you see the tiny figures of hikers, dwarfed by the frozen cliff?
…and Gorge Cliffs
Purling of the water beneath this foot high waterfall was enhanced by reducing ISO to 100, tamping down the aperture to f/22 resulting in an shutter speed of 1/10th second. I set the graduated Neutral Density filter to shade the left side.
On the cliffs ahead is where the observation platform is cut into the rock. It has a great view of the waterfall, in some ways the experience of the falls is enhanced, compared to hiking the 3/4 mile path and standing below.
A marvelous forest grows on talus from the high gorge walls.
A sign on a disused pier warns waders to leave the creek bed. Ahead the gorge walls tower above the creek. Rocks dislodge and crash down unexpectedly, crushing foolish waders. It is appalling to see, in warmer months, people walking below those cliffs gathering the fallen rocks to make delicately balanced cairns.
Waiting for the Whooooosh
Whoosh….whoosh. Taking out the garbage Monday evening, July 15th, 2019 I heard the unmistakable sound of a liquid propane burner. As the propane is gasified and ignited, the flame and exhaust are directed into the balloon, all under control of the human operator. What a sound!!
These past years, hot air balloons started launching from West Hill and, when the breeze (balloons never launch in winds, as far as I know) is right the balloon and gondola full of passengers drift in the direction of our home. More than one time, directly overhead, I estimate 200 feet away. We could clearly see and converse with the passengers. What fun.
Each previous viewing I regretted not filming the balloon as the vision floated away. Last Monday, I dropped everything (not literally, I did leave the garbage in the bin), mounted the Canon lens EF 70-300mm f/4-5.6L IS USM on a EOS 1Ds Mark III body, returning to the north side of our property as the balloon emerged from the trees, only the envelope visible.
We have enjoyed this balloon before, the envelope pattern evokes a classic Navajo Rug, the colors really pop against the blue sky.
Tourists and local residents pay $230 per person for the experience of floating silently over Finger Lakes landscape with a launch from Trumansburg, ending up over Ithaca, in its valley surrounded by hills. Cayuga Lake is visible the entire flight, to the east, then northeast as the path reaches Ithaca. As they approached the balloon elevation was not so high relative to our home. You can see this clearly in the first photograph. With the zoom on 300 mm I was almost able to look into the basket, each of the four riders (the operation, looking at a cell phone, and three passengers) was recognizable.
There are three propane burners, two in front and the edge of a third just visible between the front pair.
Ethereal silence and reveres are broken when the burner lights up. Here it appears only one burner is running, sending the craft high above us.
Seven of the forty images are shared here. The duration was three minutes. With a goal of capturing the action, I had the camera on burst mode, with the shutter pressed the exposures run serially, in close succession.
I perfected these seven photographs to represent the perfection of this colorful event as it passed from the northwest, disappearing in the tree line to the southeast.
I am listening for the next event, camera and lens ready.
Post script….it was my usual early morning blogging time when I heard the familiar Whooooosshh, whoooosssshhh, grabbed my IPhone for a video and captured the following. You will hear the gondola occupants chatting. The burner was turned on at 1:03 when the balloon was fairly distant. The Whoooosssshhhh is low, but audible.
Today, they were headed North/Northwest in the opposite direction from Monday and are backlit. Enjoy!!
An 84-degree October walk up Cascadilla Gorge—quiet paths, bluestone porches, fresh paint on the bridge—waiting for the footbridge to catch the last, warm evening sunlight.
Every fall I make a point of walking Cascadilla Gorge at least once. On an 84-degree October 9 afternoon, Pam was tied up with chores, so I parked downtown and stopped to see the grandchildren. They were with their mom. Two were “too tired” after school to do anything. The youngest, at the age of four, was not yet in school and he floated the idea of the skateboard park; for me, that wasn’t in the cards. So I set off on foot up Court Street, past the residence of Buddhist monks at the gorge entrance.
Cascadilla Gorge is part of Cornell Botanic Gardens (formerly the Plantations), the university unit that stewards natural areas and gardens across campus. Foot traffic was light. A sign explained why: the lower trail was closed at Stewart Avenue, where the bridge spans the ravine. I crossed to the north side by the Christian Science church and wound up Cascadilla Park Road to the rim trail that climbs East Hill toward campus.
Homes line this stretch, porches facing the gorge where the constant music of creek and falls carries up. Not feeling ambitious, I made a few phone snapshots. Here the path squeezes past a porch built of local “bluestone,” a feldspathic sandstone native to the region—around town it’s sometimes called “Llenroc,” Cornell in reverse.
That pot you see in the previous photo gets a closer look here, with more of the same weathered bluestone.
The drop to the gorge floor is steep, sheer in places. The barrier fence looks stout in some sections and thins to almost nothing in others. A few years ago, a recent Cornell graduate walking home late along this path fell to his death. I continued to the fork for the Ithaca City Cemetery, climbed to Stewart Avenue, turned right to cross the Cascadilla bridge, then right again onto the Gorge Rim Trail back toward town. At the bridge I noticed part of the closure work: fresh paint on the bridge and on the suicide-prevention netting beneath. On September 24—just fifteen days earlier—a Cornell senior had jumped; the net caught him, and the fire department brought him to safety.
From the concrete barrier in that photo you can peer into the gorge: a beautiful view, the steady voice of water rising from below. I try to leave the darker stories where they belong—at least until the sight of fresh paint pulls them back to mind.
I took the following photograph in 2005, the September before my previous post, “Autumn Stroll in Sapsucker Woods” with the Kodak DSC pro slr-c, an ND filter, 50 mm lens and a tripod. It was a planned session, I work waterproof boots and was able to stand in the creek after a series of rain-free days. At this time of the year the gorge opens to the setting sun. I waited, taking a series of photographs for the perfect amount of light on the footbridge. The feature photograph (the header to this posting) is a detail from a shot with the bridge more fully lit.
The header image for this post comes from a planned session in September 2005, just before the photograph of my “Autumn Stroll in Sapsucker Woods” post. I used a Kodak DCS Pro SLR/c with an ND filter, a 50 mm lens, and a tripod. After several rain-free days I wore waterproof boots and stood mid-creek. In autumn the gorge opens to the setting sun; I waited and shot a sequence until the light laid perfectly across the footbridge. The banner image is a detail from a frame where the bridge is more fully lit.
We have a framed print of that photograph at home. I mounted it as a gift to Pam on our first Valentine’s Day.
If you’ve walked Cascadilla Gorge in autumn, I’d love to hear your favorite vantage points—porches along the rim, the lower stone steps, or the footbridge at golden hour. Do you know any stories about Llenroc bluestone on these houses, or remember the Stewart Avenue Bridge before its safety upgrades? Photographers: what helps you balance deep shade and bright water from the designated trails? Share a tip or a memory in the comments.
A personal discovery of the namesake of an Ithaca restaurant
Travelling light, using IPhone captures during a 4.6 mile walk on the Gorge and North and South Rim Trails of Taughannock Falls New York State Park, Finger Lakes Region near Ithaca, New York. A few waterfalls and sights along the way. Distance is from the “Health” app on my phone.
A “Rim Trail” follows the edge of the gorge. The “Gorge Trail” is within the gorge, along side the creek and ends at the 200+ foot waterfall.
This was the day Tiger Lilies bloomed along the roads the entire 13 miles. This stand was at the beginning of the South Rim trail.
A few steps farther the trail opens up to the expanse of the gorge above the waterfall, a place to contemplate the age of these rock gazing into the open space. There is no access to the bottom of the gorge here.
On days like this, the experience carries me away, enjoying the moments and forgetting the phone in my pocket. When I come to, it is the bottom of the South Rim trail at the entrance to the Gorge Trail and the hordes walking to the falls on a Sunday afternoon. This waterfall welcomes everyone at the beginning.
The vantages I choose usually exclude the crowds, here is a video of the observation platform beneath the 215 foot Taughannock Falls. Any closer and the camera lens is covered with mist. Feels great on this hot day.
I capture this tree growing along the Gorge Trail for later identification. It has fruits similar to a maple tree. Called samaras and also known as helicopters, maple keys, whirlybirds, and polynoses these must distinguish this tree as a member of the genus Acer though the leaf shape gives me doubts. Here the gorge changes direction almost 90 degrees from, generally, north/south to east/west. There is plenty of sunlight here and the tree has taken root in the talus of the cliff face.
I researched it and discovered the scientific name is Acer pensylvanicum and more commonly known as Moosewood. There is a “famous” restaurant in Ithaca, named Moosewood, so now I know there is indeed a tree growing locally by that name. The restaurant is near the commons of Ithaca and is 100% vegetarian. The last time Pam and I at there we were packed like sardines, like some collective, and we’ve never been back. The food is good and the basis of their fame is a cookbook by the same name.
Backlit lilies found on the climb up the North Rim trail.
Along the trail are interesting and informative sheets about the park and surrounding towns. Trumansburg is the nearest village to the park.
Manufactured Home Installed Next Door, September 2017
When Pam and I made Westwood Knoll our home in 2011, to the north, across the street, was an empty wooded lot that has since been subdivided into three of the last home sites in Ithaca. This summer, the corner lot was razed of all its trees, the lovely mature cherry, sycamore, ash, maple reduced to stumps to be cut up and carted away. There was a positive in that the lot was overgrown and unsightly, but every spring the upper reaches were masses of blooms and young green leaves.
In a heavy rain on September 5th, 2017 the two parts, call them “modules”, were delivered, and then sat until September 7th to be assembled in one day. The process itself was interesting to witness and, while being otherwise occupied, I came out now and then to document the progress.
Here are my photographs. What do you think? Please leave comments.
Positioning module one over foundation.
Final positioning of the module to form a whole structure.
Update: since this post was first published September 2017 the original owners moved to the southern USA after selling the property at an inflated price to a young Cornell professor.
Dangerous Practices
Today, I have a companion post to “A Summer Flower and Waterfalls” from a time of Coronavirus (COVID-19) from a walk cut short by inconsiderate people not following New York laws.
All photographs and videos are from an Apple IPhone 7.
Here is a long and close shot of Columbine Flowers thriving on the edge of a gorge cliff.
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With a video of the movement of this wildflower against a backdrop of flowing water over a 100 feet below.
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A scan of the upper gorge with some marvelous clouds.
Continuing onto the forest trail I spotted this Jack-In-The-Pulpit. Here is a photograph and short video.
My walk this day was cut short by joggers, unmasked, on the narrow trail. For each I stepped off to put 6 feet between us. So inconsiderate and unnecessary, selfish.
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 