Primitive Archer
Main Discussion Area => Flintknapping => Topic started by: Dane on September 11, 2008, 06:55:05 pm
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Hi, this is probably the first time I have written in this forum, but I hope someone can help.
Does anyone happen to know the location of flint in the Northeast? I was looking at a book, and it stated that there were three main paleo flint sources in Little Falls, Mohaw River, NY, Coxackie, Hudson River, NY, and Catskill, Hudson River, NY. All there locations are fairly close to me, and actual campsites are only a few miles from me, in Deerfield, Monatgue, and Chicopee, Massachusetts.
If not the actual sites, anyone sell flint or other type of knapping stone that would have been used in Paleo times in North America?
Thanks much,
Dane
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Hey Dane: I've never been to NY, but the best places to look for flint or other knappable material is to go to a creek or river bed. Look for rock that either has a concrete outer covering and has a glass bottle type "ring" sound to it when you strike it with a rock or bone or has a shiny outer surface, (nature has broke the rock up and hence the lack of the outer concrete). Road cuts are also a good place to find rock that is readily exposed. If it knapps, there is a good bet that paleo folk used it in some fashion or other. Rock hunting is now one of my favorite things to look for when I'm out stomping around.
If you want to buy some rock, Missouri Trading Company sells some good stuff. Most is local to the Ozarks, but some of it is probably more common than to just that area. If you want to try "cheap" stuff to get started, glass bottle bottoms, porcelain toilet tanks or other types of glass all are good free learning material.
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Thanks, Otoe Bow. It is not exactly just for my own personal purposes, but also for a larger project I hope to get off the ground. Part of what I want to do at the club I'm with now is to create a primitive skills and life program, and it will focus on Paelo through early colonial periods in this part of New England. That includes making tools from known local sources of stone - even if conjecture, the closer I can get to stone sources used by peoples of this area of Western Mass, all the better.
Ideally, I want to build a small settlement or camp, and that means eventually making stone tools to create the village.
Dane
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Dane, NY has Normanskill chert and Onandaga chert. Try googling those cherts or formations, should narrow your search a bit.
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Thanks, Hillbilly. I will do that next week. BTW, any ideas about knappable rock in Western MA?
Dane
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Dane- I've been trying to get some info on NY stone as well. I've been getting nowhere. Jamie was telling me of an area around the CT river in Vermont. I'm going to keep trying to get some locations. If you find any places I would be glad to go rock hunting with you. ;D. I know by me on LI, the natives knapped white quartz . Most of the stuff you find is that, really thick and lumpy points, but I can't imagine trying to knap that stuff.
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Yep! They worked what they had. But I bet ya it worked just as well on the animals they hunted as the fine cherts and flints back your way.
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You're right about that. If it didn't they would have had to go vegetarian ;D
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Vegitarians? Shocking! Absolutely SHOCKING!!!
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Dane- I've been trying to get some info on NY stone as well. I've been getting nowhere. Jamie was telling me of an area around the CT river in Vermont. I'm going to keep trying to get some locations. If you find any places I would be glad to go rock hunting with you. ;D. I know by me on LI, the natives knapped white quartz . Most of the stuff you find is that, really thick and lumpy points, but I can't imagine trying to knap that stuff.
Maybe we can make a day of it. I will do some more looking, and let you know. As well, I was tramping through the woods of Vermont, near Grafton, searching for a couple of abandoned soapstone quarries for other projects. I was close, and will be going back again soon. It is an "epic story," if you guys want to hear it.
Dane
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Dane-
Lets hear it.
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Mmm. Look chief granola head, little white chocolate, and double latte have come back from hunt. Look like they have good fortune hunting. Lots of wild asparagus, oh, and brocoli too! Looks like big feast tonight huh chief? Ugh!! Where my corn mash?
Wayne
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You got it Rick. I'll get it posted after work today.
Dane
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A few Fridays back, I decided to try and find two early 19th century soapstone quarries located near the village of Grafton, Vermont. One use of the stone is for atlatl weights, and I can find a lot of other uses for the material. And, getting some from an abandoned old historic quarry seemed like a fun thing to do.
To get there, I took I-91 North over the Vermont line, and then traveled to Putney, about a 40 minute drive. I love Putney, it is very tiny, and has one of the best open pit bbq joints I have ever eaten at, Curtis’ All American, which consists of two old blue school buses without wheels and a big open hardwood pit, a few picnic tables, and a grassy area. After driving through the main part of the village, I took the road that passes through Westminster Parish and then into Saxtons River. The river, apparently, was named after someone from colonial times who drowned in it.
Another road took me after about 10 minutes into the village of Cambridgeport, Vermont. At the sharp turn in the road that takes you into town, there is a stone shell of a defunct woolen mill. Sheep were introduced into this area in the 1800s for large-scale wool production, but that is long past, as is the soapstone trade.
Once, Cambridgeport, founded in the late 1700s had, like almost every little town and village in the state, a much denser population. Today, there are less than 600,000 people living there, and there is an emptiness to the state that I have not encountered anywhere else, including out in the Mohave Desert. It is a strange feeling, considering how many settlements are here, but there is also more than one ghost town here, too. In the middle part of the 19th century and forward, there was a huge migration of people traveling out west, and the hills all over Vermont show the mute testimony of many abandoned farms, the only thing remaining being the cellar holes and what seems like endless old stone walls that once enclosed pens and fields. There were once six schools here, all long gone. Little towns like Mechanicsville are gone too, and one town I talked to a local historian about (the name of the town escapes me) is known to her as the Bermuda Triangle Town; one day, everyone just left, leaving behind everything. Normally, buildings were burned to the ground, so the owners could recover the nails when they started a new farm in Ohio or places further west, but in this case, the population just walked away, and it isn’t shown ever on a modern map.
This is a part of Vermont that tourists simply don’t go to very often, and that is why I love that area so much. There is a kind of eeriness to it too, as if you can almost feel the ghosts of long gone farmers and merchants still traveling the narrow roads, unseen but felt. I did see one ghost a few times along a road coming in to work when I had a job near Grafton about 10 years ago, which is why I even know about the area. Around here is the Bennington Triangle, and they have their own monster who once roamed the empty woods and fields, and a number of people allegedly vanished in the 1950s near here. It does feel that way, a kind of emptiness you may or may not have experienced. And it feels very much like you are not all that welcomed in these out of the way places. Vermonters have a term for the rest of us, “Flatlanders,” and it is not a good thing to be called that unless in jest.
After traveling though Cambridgeport, which has about six houses and one empty commercial multiuse building and a dingy, dim old country store, I took another road about 7 miles to Grafton itself. I did take a bit of time to try and find the old millrace that used to supply power to some mills here, but like the buildings, the race has vanished.
Grafton is now famous for one item, Cheddar cheese (and it is very fine, if you come across some, get it, it is expensive but very worth it), but once, it thrived on all kinds of agriculture, as well as wool and soapstone. It was, in fact, the single largest source of soapstone in all of New England. There were a number of soapstone mills around here, notably one owned by the firm of Butterfield and Smith. You can still see Butterfield’s old mansion in Grafton, not far from a wonderful old, if narrow, covered bridge and the tiny historical society museum. Grafton is also odd in that it is nearly all owned by a foundation that bought the town in the 1970s and rebuilt it. I would not be surprised if the Stepford Wives lived here. If you want a Currier and Ives New England Town, Grafton is your kind of place. The hotel had some famous guests once, including Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling, who lived in Vermont, near Brattleboro, and wrote some of his greatest works here, stange to say.
I found an old map from the 1860s that showed clearly where the quarries were, and did a recon with Google Earth. The road I wanted was called Kidder Hill Road, and traveled up Bare Hill and then back down toward Cambridgeport. About half way between the two towns were the quarries. The Goodrich Quarries was the big one, and just next to it was the Smith Quarry. They are so large, I thought, I should have no trouble finding them if I follow the old wagon road. Other old, abandoned concerns next to these two quarries were the Butterfield and Smith building and the Steam Soapstone Mill.
Now, I was about to cross the old 37 foot kingpost covered bridge, built in about 1866 by long forgotten builders, but huge signs warned “dead end.” I decided I should ask in town, just to be sure. The woman in the museum was really cool, and she showed me the entire collection in about 10 minutes. She had never been up the quarries, but said she was told you keep walking until you fall in, which was not exactly comforting. The bridge was indeed safe to drive over, and Kidder Hill Road goes up a mile and a half or so, but you can’t park at the end of it, where it then turns into a narrow trail, which was once the wagon road from the quarries down to Grafton. There is one family living in a stone house just where the trail starts, and I asked if they would shoot me. Naw, don’t worry about it. The old lady that used to live there would shoot at you, but she, not only trigger happy, was once the unofficial poet laurite of the state, and the matriarch of a huge family. Here husband on their wedding day promised her a store-bought dress is she bore him 20 children. She only had 19, so we both assumed she never did get that dress.
So, no crazy old gun-wielding poets to worry about, I drove past what was the WC Putnam Forest. It was the strangest state forest I have seen, in that there was the big sign, but it was adjacent to the old single lane wagon road, with no place to stop, no maps, no trails, just a sign and dark, closed forest in all directions. I guess you have to pack in there, and if you need a ranger, forget it.
I finally found a tiny side road, parked there, and hiked about ¼ mile up the steep road, past the stone house, and then was pretty much in the woods. On both sides of the road you could see the old stone walls of the abandoned farms, and it was very quiet in there. I could see that almost no one went in there, as I saw no garbage at all the whole time I was searching for the quarries, aside from one beer can about a mile past the stone house.
I only carried a folding clip belt knife and a small bearded axe for harvesting a bit of stone in a canvas shoulder bag, and my cell phone, which was useless until you returned to I-91, as they are no cell towers anywhere around. I wasn’t particularly worried about defending myself, but you never know, too.
The road got progressively steeper as I tramped along, getting, I hoped, closer to the quarries, and wondering exactly why they called this Bare Hill, as it was far from barren, and almost a jungle of hardwoods, and somewhere in those trees, the sites of A Amsden and CE Ross's farms, and the Davis Homestead.
To be continued soon.
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Well hurry up Dane, it's like buying a book, only to find the last two pages torn out!
Wayne
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Call this a penny-dreadful serial, Wayne. It will take months to complete.
Just kidding - I'll get the last part up tomorrow at the latest. Honey-doos for me today.
Dane
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What?! AWWwwwwww!......ok.......I guess...... Just dreadful, just dreadful......This would 've never happened with the Indian story tellers !
"Foul Buffalo Wind! Me thought you said you going to clean out hide scrapings today? Hhmmph!" " Y e s s s, she who has many moccasins. Even as me speak, me go in general direction of scrapings." So anyway, as me saying before, there me was, me thinking soapstone be verrrwee cwose......hahahahahaha......( All rights reserved by Elmer Fudd inc. )
Wayne
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Wayne, very funny :)
Okay, the rest, as promised.
So, here I am, tamping along this rutted, winding, steep old wagon road, marveling that horsedrawn wagons would pull tons and tons of stone up and then back down into Grafton. Thick forest came right to the edge of the road, and I could see the old farm walls snaking up and down the steep sides of Bare Hill. I stopped at one point and tried to imagine a team of mules or horses pulling a plow with a cursing old farmer spitting and muttering as he unearthed yet another rock. They say, in fact, that in New England, they farm rocks, not crops.
About this time, about 45 minutes into the walk, and being careful not to “fall into” the quarries, I began to suspect that I had missed them. The Google Earth image I had printed and taken with me showed that there was no disernable industry that can be seen from space.
Where I went wrong was missing a fork in the road. If I had taken it to the right, I would have found the quarries. Instead, I took the left fork and ended up going down a road called Ledge Road. Ledge Road would have taken me to Route 121, the road that travels from Cambridgeport to Gratton, so I would have ended up on Route 121 and walked about 20 minutes back into Cambridgeport.
And that is the story. Having failed to find the quarries, I still had a great time. the solitude was nice, too, something you dont get a lot of in New Engalnd, as it is so densly populated. It was about 3:30 about this point, and starting to get dim, so I decided to get back to my car and not try to find that fork and find the quarries on this day. After all, they have been there for many years, and were first worked by pioneers in the late 1700s who used soapstone even for tombstones.
Walking out, of course, was a bit tougher than heading in, but I made good time and got to my car about 4:30. I stopped back in the little museum and kept my promise to tell the woman there if I had found them, and then stopped in the one store in town for some water and snacks. Coming out, I cross the street and saw what goes for excitement in this tiny village; an old farmer who looked like the archetype of all New England farmers was hauling a trailer full of cordwood behind an ancient tractor at about 5 miles per hour. I nodded and smiled at him, and he nodded back. Another old man wearing those 50s style black framed glasses was following him in an old Buick. I nodded and smiled at him, but he frowned at me and looked away. A Flatlander, I guess.
And that is the story. I stopped at Curtis and got some ribs and chicken, and then drove the 45 minutes home. Before winter sets in, I’m going to give it one last shot, and think I will be successful, if the Bennington Triangle monster or a moose doesn’t get me first.
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Well couldn't you have at least thrown in a mishapen dwarf that kept following you at a distance, or some mysterious sound in the woods, just out of sight......or a glowing orb in the sky that kept following you, and when you made the wrong turn it kept bobbing towards the right......or an old farmer that looked up at you from his field, where he was wrestling with a large stone, and as he slowly stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow, he slowly faded away into a light mist......or a mysterious shimmering area, just ahead......something like that......Well be sure to let us know when you find the quarry, and if you can get some of the soapstone. I would love to get some of that stuff. There are some carvings I want to do. Let us know, and take lots of pictures. Now clean out that garage, and for the last time, take out that garbage! Oh, and take the dog for a walk, and the cat's litter box needs to be emptied. Do that before you take the garbage out. Wayne......
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The garbage is out, and I ate the cat. Okay, I don't have a cat. Davenport the Pug, however, I took out.
So you want a real ghost story? I worked at Cambridgeport for a year, back in 2000 - 2001. The route I took to work took me from Putney, through Westminster, and then into Saxtons River and then down Route 121 to Cambridgeport.
This happened about five times. As I approached Saxtons River, the road passed a couple of farm houses on my left, before making a sharp turn to the right, then a sharp turn and over the river and onto Main Street. The first farmhouse that I would pass had a long, overgrown hedgerow that paralled Westminster West Road, and ended at the edge of the house's yard. Behind the hedgerow was a tillered field. As I slowed down to 25 mph (you don't speed around there, the cops are bored and hide), I would see a woman standing on the edge of the road. As I got about 50 yards from her, she would turn and walk back toward the field, and disapppear from sight behind the edge of the hedgerow. About 10 seconds later, I'd pass that spot, and the woman was gone.
As I said, this happened at least five times. She wasnt wearing classic ghost white, but a light colored dress, and long dark hair. I am kicking myself for not stopping and asking the owners of the house if someone died there on the road, or in the field. This always happened about 7:45 AM, as I was always punctual and passed the spot at the same time each morning. It wasn't a threatening ghost, just strange to see, as if I was seeing something I perhaps shouldnt have been seeing, or a replay of some event from the past.
I guess it is true that there are a lot of ghosts in this part of the coutry. The suicide vicitim I encountered at another old job was also not threatening, but seeing it at dusk alone in an old restored mansion was not exactly fun, either. It was about three feet from me the time I saw it, turning around suddently and there it was. The only ghost I have encountered that I felt in danger from was in the attic of the house I grew up in, which I am pretty sure was once lived in by Amelia Erhart. Whatever was up there was evil. And it, like all the other ecounters I have had, always happened during daylight hours.
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Cool. I have never seen any, but don't doubt their existence. I ,like my Dad have had dreams that have actually happened as in my dream, or near about as it happened in my dreams. I have seen a lot of UFO stuff though. My Dad has seen Ghosts before. The last one was an old sailing ship. He was fishing late one night, or early in the morning, at the Jupiter Inlet. It had been foggy, and had finally cleared up, and the moon was shining through the clouds, and my Dad said after a few minutes he heard a loud banging, and thumping, and grinding noise, like an old wood barrel, against the rocks. He kept hearing it, and he walked along the Inlet towards the sound, and he looked across the inlet, and there was an old sailing ship, the sails, were in tatters, and the ship was sideways up against the rocks, and it was being tossed back and forth against it, and as he watched it, it slowly faded from view. He said loaded up his fishing gear and went home. He said he had never told anyone about it before. He used to have dreams, when I was younger. He would tell us about them, and we would laugh, and make fun of him. Till they started coming true. Some of them were exactly as the dream was. When I was in high school, I started to have a dream, about once every six months. It was an extreamly intense, and realistic dream.
I was in an old abandoned house, and I was with a friend. Only I didn't know who it was, his face was blurred, like on tv when they don't want to show people's faces. I kept having this dream till I graduated from High School, and finally went into the Army. The dream was, I was standing in the front room of an old abandoned house, with my buddy, and all of a sudden there were about four or five teenagers, about 12th grade highschool age, or a little older, and we were in a knock down drag out fight, and then I would wake up from my dream. Well after getting my appendix taken out in Ft. Lewis Washington, the night before I was to ship out to Vietnam, (Oh, I also had an intense feeling that I was not going to Nam, even though all the paper work said I was. I also had the same intensity that if I did, I wasn't coming back.) anyway, I was sent to Ft. Lee Va. instead. After about a year or so, I had a couple days off, and a buddy of mine said hey, you collect any antiques? I said just guns and knives, but I can't afford the stuff I would like to. He said well since you have a car, and we both have time off, how about we go exploring. He said he collected old porcelein light switches, and door knobs. He said he had been talking to some locals, who said that there were a lot of old abandoned homes scattered about the area, and some were fairly old. So I said ok, lets ride. So we hit the road, and I said you tell me where you want to go, he said he had no particular area to start, so I said well pick a direction. So we went all over different places, and finally we came to a four way, and on the south west corner, was an old house with the door hanging on one hinge, and most of the windows out, and he said hey go there. So we did. Well to the south side was a little fenced in area, and a little lean to, and a small whit pony. So I said, hey I don't think this place is abandoned. He said " Somebody probably just keeps the pony here. And as we entered the front room the hair on my arms stood up, and I this chill! I turned to look at him, and I guess my shock showed, because he said what is wrong with you? Now the blurred face in my dreams was clear. I told him about my dream, and I told him, you go upstairs, and you will find the bathroom on your left. There is an old claw foot bath tub, and the front bedroom has little roses on the wall paper. He went up stairs, and came back down, and smiled, and said you've been here before. I said only in my dream, and I'm leaving now. He said you're serious aren't you?! I said you'd better believe it, and headed out the door, and got in my MG, and started it up, and he got in, and we took off. Well just as we reached the four way, and started out on the highway, this fifty seven chevy turns onto the road we just left, and there were about four or five teenagers about our size, and they gave us a dirty look, and then they pulled into the driveway of the house we were at! My buddy, said man you're haunted! I still had goose bumps.
Well I am glad I had that dream, because I don't know how the dream ended. Probably not good, hence the early warning.
Wayne
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Dane-
Both great stories. I've got to check out that part of VT. I love spooky places. Especially abandonments. My favorite place in Putney is the Putney Diner. They have the best meatloaf sandwich. We got to hook up for a rock hunt. ;D
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Dane: I had just remembered after I posted that last post about the Ghost, and dreams and such. I said I had never seen a ghost, well I was thinking people ghosts. I have actually seen one ghost, and it was that of some Friend's cat that had died, about a month before I had gone to visit them, after some time not seeing them. Well they had a Black and Tan Dachs Hundt, and a Seal Point brown and cream colored Siamese cat. The cat and dog were like two peas on a pod. They would wrestle, and play, and the dog would get the cat down, and the cat would submit, and the dog, Beans, would start strutting off, and the cat, Louie Chang, would jump up on the couch, and launch another attack. Anyway, I used to play with them both when I was visiting, and the cat really took to me. I would sit in the kitchen with my friends, and we would be having some snacks, and something to drink, and the cat would come in, and I would put my hand down under the seat of the stool, and he would start batting at it, and such. Well like I said I hadn't been over for a month or so, and I was in the Kitchen, and sitting on the stool, I usually sat on, when here comes Louie Chang, around my leg, and then around corner of the breakfast bar. I got off the stool, and said "Hey, Louie, come here", and my Friends looked at each other and at me, and said that's right you don't know do you? I said know what, and they said Louie was hit by a car last month. I said I just saw him! He was at the foot of my stool, and ran around the corner here. Their house is haunted anyway. Not bad, just that sometimes you can hear someone walking up stairs, nothing sneaky, or rushed, just casual walking like you would if you were going about your business in your own home. I have heard it several times when I was helping them paint the outside, and I was there by myself. And when I house sat for them, for a couple of weeks. I have tried to get on my little Indian toes, and go up stairs, and catch whoever it is, but everytime I get there, No one or anything is up there. But as soon as I get back down, there it is again. They have heard it also. It is just as plain as day, like someone with hard soled shoes, just walking across to the dresser, or the closet, or wherever. The house was built in the late teens, and the original deed, says there will be no parking of " Flying Machines " in the front yard. Anyway, I thought I would put that in here, while I am thinking of it.
Wayne
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Wayne, I hate when those dang flying machines park in my yard, too. :)
Great stories, thanks for sharing them. You risk being ridiculed when you tell real ghost stories, so doubly thanks.
Rick, thanks man. I'd love to get together for a day of rock hunting, maybe at Grafton again. I will have to see if there are rock clubs in this area who may be able to help point out stone locations. And, there are supposed to be some great petrogylphs in Bellows Falls, which is a town near Saxtons River and Grafton, just off I-91.
And, a town a few miles from mine, Montague, is the location of Argullite, according to a reference work I have here.
Dane
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" See Dead PEOPLE!!!!" :o :o :o :o ;D ;D ;D ;D
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You're welcome. It's nice to talk to someone of like experiences. as for being ridiculed, I have thick skin. Besides I used to be quite skeptical myself. Like when I used laugh and tease my Dad about his dreams, till I started to see the results first hand, and then I started to have them my self. As for Ghosts I think they are like UFO's, most can be explained,but the rest......Just can't be dismissed, as swamp gas, hallucinations, cloud refractions, or meteors etc. ...... Good luck rock hunting, You guys should get together and combine your searches, and I hope you find that soap stone quarry. Go back and talk to the lady you talked to in town, you will find out a little bit more. Sounds like an interesting town, to visit for a week or so. Get to know some of the locals a bit. I'd like to do that. Let me know, and take pictures of the quarry.
wayne
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D Tiiller, "they are everywhere." :)
I will be going back, and if Rick can join me, all the better. The Putney Diner is very good, too.
I hope I can go this coming weekend, if it doesnt rain all day and night as it did this weekend. And I promise to take lots of pics, I did on the last trip, but all I got were pictures of the forest.
I just talked to a friend about Grafton, she too thinks it is a strange place, so that is not the first time I have heard those kinds of comments. They actually filmed a famous Bud commercial there years ago, the wagon and team of horses in a perfect New England village, if you recall that commercial, that is Grafton. I always get the feeling that every building is empty and there are no actual people living there. I also get the feeling you are being watched closely the moment you get there. Yeah, contradictory feelings, but that is Grafton for you.
Getting to know the locals in New England can be difficult :) I've lived in Greenfield for 10 or more years, and I am still an outsider, and always will be. They may like you and all that, but you never really are felt to be part of the community. The woman I wrote about in the musem is actually from Texas, her dad grew up in Grafton, but she only arrived lately, so she too will always be an outsider. That is why I got so much info from her about the surrounding area. She showed me photos and told me about this wierd pavilion you can rent for the day for family picnics and events, but there are no roads leading to it, you have to pack in through the woods and across some fields. Vermont is typical in that way. They dont make it easy for you, lol. They didnt get universal electricity service until after WWII.
Apparently, there is a haunted old school house in town, I will be checking that out as well next time I go there. What I read was that you can see a shadow on one wall of a hand holding a ruler, and at times, chalk boards appear and disappear on the walls.
Dane
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Man sounds like my kinda town. Uh......about those feelings in town, you didn't by any chance eat any of the brownies at the Putney Diner, did you? Just wondering. Oooh, about the school house, I was going to say be careful of getting smacked by a ruler, when I read the part about the shadow of the ruler......ooooweeeeooooo ,man I have got to make plans to go there. As for not being accepted, maybe a few extra " Ay-ups " might help...... Yeah, take Rick with you. He can warn you when the ruler goes in your direction......also the ghosts always go for the friend first......That way you will know when to vacate the premises at warp speed. By all means take pictures, and of the School House also. Keep us posted.
Wayne
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Will do, Wayne. And you can bet I wont be the guy saying "hey, let's go look in the basement filled with warm human blood...and what about that attic torture room? Someone go look there, too. Split up everyone..and the guy in the wheelchair, stay here and keep an eye out."
Pictures will be posted, no matter what I find.
But don't use Ayeup around here. That is up in Maine, not Vermont and Massachusetts. :)
Dane
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"Holy Wah!"
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lake champlain has normanskill on several portions of its banks. north-western and northern new york and through new england along the canadian border has onandaga. the catskill -hudson region has normanskill. lower new york on the ct border has eopus. normanskill is the best knapping material there is. supposed to be 99 percent pure fint. always harvest rock yourself and spall it at the location . the problem with the stuff is it is loaded with fractures. ive broken it open to find it completely made up of 1/8th " tiny blocks, totally useless. there is also rhyolite in new hampshire. but its very difficult to obtain as most areas are protected sites. also crystal quarts is available in parts of new england mainly southern portions. most of this needs to be mined from exposed vanes in cliff walls. it was a highly prized knapping material in new england hence the crystal room at the mohegan sun casino.
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Ok, forget the " Ayeups ", and just stare at non locals as they go by......That way they will think, could've been born here, but moved away......Yeah, I know they don't use that in Mass. My Girlfriend is from Fall River. They haven't any " R's " up there. So when they get one they haven't got a clue where to put it. So when my Girlfriend says something that I can't understand, I either put an " R " in ,or take one out. Yeah, sometimes she just doesn't talk so too pretty good, like me. I try to teach her, but she just can't get the hang of it. " No Dear, it's pronounced Dawg! D A W G , Dawg." And there is no " R " in saw. And it is a " Pawn shop, not Porn shop. " It's like a whole different language up theya. Crap, now I'm doin it! Oh well at any rate, good hunting, and I'm sure we are all awaiting the next installment in the " Adventures of ......" The Outsider ", and mystery of the Soapstone, and the monster that guards it, and the town that knows how to keep a secret......
Wayne
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wanted to add one more note. you dont need knappable stone to put an animal down. long before flint was traded the people were still eating. bone points and ground basalt points are very effective. a pointed stick will also do the trick
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Sonofgaia, thanks for the great info. Doesn't mean, however, that I am less confused about stone sources in New England. :)
Okay, Wayne, I will continue the saga of the missing quarry as soon as I go back. If you find me stuffed in the little museum as a new display, don't say I didn't warn you the place is strange. :) Lovecraft would have loved Grafton.
Dane
PS New Englanders do have a different way of talking, wicked thick accents, ayup, ayup.
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Cthulhu fhtagn!!! R'lyeh!! Iä, Shub-Niggurath! The black goat of the woods with a thousand young!!! ;D
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Ayee, yes, the sunken city will rise, Hail C'thulu. Azathoth! Hastur! Dagon! Great Nyarlathotep! So, you are initiated into the secrets of the Necronomicon too?
I plan to take a trip to Miskatonic University soon, to study the book myself...
...but wait....no...no...IT is coming....closer...no....the smell of sulfer...the angels are WRONG...somehow...it is coming across the room...as I type...nooooo. I am doomed...no...closer...I should just get up and leave the room, but I...can't...though it is slow moving....where is my coffee...noooooo. :)
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I've spent a few hours with ol' Abdul Alhazred over the years. :) I thought Wilbur Whateley still had that Miskatonic copy checked out........ ;D
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Naw, if you recall, Wilbur was killed trying to steal the copy from the library. He melted into green, slimy ichor. Then, of course, the Duwich Horror escaped.
By the way, I used the eldrich sign and escaped at the last second earlier today.
Lovecraft has some connections to my area, actually! He spend some time in Brattleboro, and maybe even Greenfield.
Dane
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Just watch out for Pickman's models, Brown Jenkin, and luminescent meteorites. You're in an unhealthy neck of the woods. Not to mention some of those Mi-go might come down from Vermont at any time, and if the sea levels keep rising - well, the Deep Ones may decide that Innsmouth isn't far enough inland. :)
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"Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places. For them are the catacombs of Ptolemais, and the carven mausolea of the nightmare countries. They climb to the moonlit towers of ruined Rhine castles, and falter down black cobwebbed steps beneath the scattered stones of forgotten cities in Asia. The haunted wood and the desolate mountain are their shrines, and they linger around the sinister monoliths on uninhabited islands. But the true epicure of the terrible, to whom a new thrill of unutterable ghastliness is the chief end and justification of existence, esteem most of all the ancient, lonely farmhouses of backwoods New England; for there the dark elements of strength, solitude, grotesqueness, and ignorance combine to form the perfection of the hideous."
Thanks for the warning. This just about describes that part of Vermont.
I believe I did hear a buzzing the other night...pesky Mi-go again near my house. They hate bows and arrows, though. :)
As for Brown Jenkins....I tell my wife if she gets pissed at her coworkers, don't Brown Jenkins them...way too bloody knawing through their chest. She teachers Gothic literature, and I am happy to say she added Lovecraft to her classes because I turned her on to his work.
Dane
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I heard somewhere that there wa supposed to be a movie version of At the Mountains of Madness coming out in a year or so-hopefully it'll be a good'un.
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Cool, that is one of my favorite stories by Lovecraft, and I am looking forward to it. I can't think of any films based on his stories that really get it right. Fun movies, but not Lovecraft.
Dane