the Adirondacks

Discussion early this morning in tent on Low's Lake in the Adirondacks: should we pack gear and set out on a big exploration, given a 50% chance of thunderstorms this afternoon? See if you can guess how the votes align themselves.

To be continued tomorrow (posted via iPhone email).

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The Adirondacks

I turn on my phone, testing, sparingly -- the battery life is short! Cell service! An email post is possible. Of the one sentence kind. My thought, summarizing the last two days: things you think will be easy often turn out to be tough as hell! Things you think are difficult can leave you gasping with disbelief -- at the beauty of it all.

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the Adirondacks

The First Journey

A post in twelve brief chapters.

 I

There's a shack by the tip of Long Lake. It's owned and operated by a guy who moved here from the city (thirty years on the big island, then thirty on Manhattan and now here...). We stop for my morning coffee.






So, you have espresso...
Well, I'm out. I have decaf espresso. I'm guessing you don't want that.
I just want coffee. And we'll talk to each other. I'm referring here to the sign that says "no WiFi. Just talk to each other."

Ed and I have left over raisin bread and pepper jack cheese for breakfast.


II

We're riding in a jeep with a guy who is taking us and our kayak to the put in point.

My great great grandfather took a canoe up these lakes. 226 mile trip, in 1886. He kept a journal. Hey, his canoe is in the Adirondack Museum! You should go there. In the Fall, I'm going to follow his trail.

He's young -- he just joined the team at Raquette River Outfitters this year. In contrast, Ann and her partner Robbie, who own and run the place, have been doing this stuff for over thirty years: build, clean, rent, sell canoes. They know every put in point the region. They help us plan our trip.

We are impossible customers.
Royalite v. Kevlar canoe? 
We'll be okay with Royalite (cheaper!). 
But there's a 1.25 mile portage!
Let me lift it. Hmm. Still, you have to be so careful with the Kevlar.
It's a big portage.
We'll take the Kevlar (this from me).

On our first journey, we'll be going down Long Lake (day one), then following the Raquette River (day two), all the way to Tupper Lake (day three).
There are bugs on the river. You'll be okay once you get a fire going. Wear long pants.

No, I'm not taking long pants and we don't build fires. I grab her Balsam Ridge Herbals Extreme Summer Time Solution. We have the usual potent stuff, but I read recently that the oils are equally, if not more effective.






III 

First set of issues: Ed leaves his sun hat (essential!) in the car and I leave my water bottle (even more essential!) in the jeep that took us to the put in point.


IV 

Long Lake is well named! But out tip is pointing toward the Adirondacks.
You do not get views like this in the Midwest.






The water is clear. No algae. No run off. Luck New Yorkers. Someone worked hard to keep the supply of the City's drinking water clean. 


  



The raindrops make an appearance in the last hour, but they're gentle. Nonthreatening.

Long Lake permits speedboats of course and we do encounter them, but much more common are the skiffs, with a few guys fishing in them.






Do men talk about their wives in all the time they're on the boat?
Never.
Never?
Never - says my guy of great authority on the subject.
Maybe how to build a porch or put in a patio door?
Or what car to buy or politics.







We do not encounter a single paddler. And yet it's hard to find a take out point that's not occupied by a skiff. Ed had thought we'd just find random spots to land, but that's not the way it works here. Most of the shoreline is inaccessible. Either the bank is steep or it's boggy. When there's enough of a clearing to pitch a tent, there are markers announcing this. Some are just okay spots, some are unusually beautiful. But along Long Lake, most have a skiff nearby and unless you're desperate, you do not land where someone already has set in.






V 

At the tip of the Lake, our absolutely last chance for docking for the night, we find, in fact, a beautiful spot. Ann had told us of it -- it's not yet marked and it really is lovely.

 




The mosquitoes? Moderately dense. We've seen worse, but they are bad enough to keep us inside the tent. It is, to me, like the porch back home -- a safe haven.  As we pitch it and unpack, I smile at the routines we know so well! We've worked with this tent since backpacking trip two. (Trip one, in the Canadian Rockies had us in a leaky tent sized for 1.5 people. That would be all of Ed with little room for much else. This one is for two and fits us and our gear well.) It has protected us from bugs in Wisconsin, in Iowa and in the Upper Peninsula of  Michigan. We've slept in it in French speaking Quebec and French speaking France. In California, we pitched it under redwoods, in Scotland -- under Douglas firs. There's a sweet space for my flashlight an book (though here's an upgrade: no flashlight needed for a Kindle!). In these remote places, it feels like home.





VI 

On this first day, we barely paddled for four hours. Are we done now, in the early afternoon? It's raining. We dare not go further. It's hard to pitch a tent in the early miles of the Raquette River.

We head into the lake again... 






...then decide to explore a little at the river's beginnings. Lilies grow abundantly at the river's edge.










Ed navigates us toward some still water. All is quiet here. Except when it;s not and in a burst of anxious flight, a heron takes off. Quiet again. Then the stomp of something in the boggy water.
Want to get closer?
Can a moose or a bear swim?
Let's not disturb Mr. Big Splash further!


VII 

Ed takes out his ancient cooking gizmo and starts a flame. Out comes the even more ancient pot for boiling water, the ouches with our selected dinners -- Mac and Cheese today.





Shortly after, Ed falls asleep. On these adventuring outings, he so quickly loses himself to sleep that I sometimes wonder if this is what he looks for: the quiet mind that comes with the quiet landscape, from which there is no escape (because it's a long way to human contact).

For me, it's never really quiet the first night out. The rain on the tent, the plane above that sounds like thunder. The gallop.
What was that?
Deer probably.
Then deep, rhythmic breathing like sounds.
Ed? Do you hear it?
Uh huh.
What is it?
Frogs.

All night long, frogs huffed their rhythmic song.


VIII 

We wake to a glorious morning outside.

 


But who wants to leave the tent when there is a blanket of bugs clinging to the mesh, begging to come inside?

We watch them bounce and buzz. We tap the tent walls, they go into a tizzy then settle again.

As the sun begins to reach the forest grove, some of the bugs disperse. Enough for us to start moving. Familiar routines. Oatmeal, coffee. But inside. Bug free.





Fold tent, pack bags, set out.


IX 


Or maybe not? 

Get in the canoe? 





Not yet!





X 


And now we are on the river. I could take a thousand photos and none would look like the other. You'll see just one or two. I'm writing on the fly, in the few hours I have between trips. Here's the river's peaceful moment.





But there are many with a faster current. And then there are the famous Raquette Falls. We know about them and I am on the look out for the warning sign. (Will we miss it? Will we be thrown into the current?)

Of course, no one wants to lose a couple of tourists to the cascading river, so the sign is obvious and the take out point straightforward.

And now comes the moment of muscle truth -- the portage.

Ed takes the canoe and two of the light bags.






I take the three heavy sacks. Up the hill, then down again. A mile and a quarter, but it takes us forty minutes of huffing. I feel like the mule that I am, with my bags at my side.

It's a huge exhale for me when we get to the put out point.





XI

A few hours past the falls, we're scheduled to set up camp again. The river here is very different. Beautiful, but at very high water levels, routinely overflowing.





It's boggy and buggy and most importantly, it seems too early to stop. The skies are beautiful (too beautiful -- I'm just a touch too late with the application of sun screen). Why stop at 3? Or even 4?


I'll tell you why: because after you pass landing point number 26, there are no more wild camping possibilities until you reach Tupper Lake. If we don't stop now at 4, we'll have three hours of paddling left for sure. And what if the immediate lake-front landing spots are occupied? What then?

It's a tough call and I make knowing the risk involved (paddling in the evening without an obvious place to overnight). I want better for us than these last few riverside camping clearings. Wont the lake breezes disperse some of the bugs?

We pause for a quick lunch of trail mix, then continue.





We paddle rhythmically, steadily. We started at 9 a.m., did not pause after the portage and now it's getting close to evening. My back, shoulders -- they're not used to so much use.

And still we continue.


XII 


We are more lucky than I can possibly explain here. The very best possible camping spot is empty. At 7 p.m., after 10 hours of work (with only a 25 minute pause for lunch), we pull in.






And here's the beauty of it: there is a breeze and it is almost completely bug free.


Curry for me and an ancient, dated camping packet for Ed labeled "beef stroganoff," from the years when he still ate beef (significantly before we met).






And the morning dawns bright and clear...






And the ducks keep us company for breakfast...






(We shoo them away. They should not be eating handouts. But one lingers, watching the morning preparations...)











We're in a good (bug free!) place for very brisk "showering" (accomplished out of the lake, with the help of the tiny pot) and we do that today, ready now for the big village of Tupper Lake.

We paddle in the brief stretch of lake to our take out point at Tupper. And WiFi.


Post Scriptum 

The storms are coming tomorrow. But that's tomorrow. We have a handful of grand days behind us. Arms stronger, souls well rested. We're ready for the Second Journey. (I'll be offline for at least two days. Too, my apologies for Flickr photo issues. I've tried to use a quick fix and I'm hoping to correct the previous photos with the embeded information when Flickr develops a permanent solution. It could be that my temporary improvised fix will wipe out all my photos. Be patient. Any such problems and editing issues I'll correct when I get home.)

The Adirondacks

A fleeting moment of cell service! So I could do a post, using an iPhone and email. Ah, but a good story cannot be told that way! If we cross paths with civilization tomorrow, I'll post then.
Now, let me return to my curry in a pouch dinner before a bear beats me to it!

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the Adirondacks

I caught the last bits of color on the lake as the sun went down last night.





As the lake took on the peaceful quiet of a summer evening, the teens of Long Lake Motel and Cottages gathered around the pool and ping pong tables (positioned under a cupola, right across the motel parking spaces) and played their adolescent flirtatious games, the girls breaking into favorite songs, the boys hitting the balls way too hard.

I thought we'd have a night of noise, but I needn't have worried. Some adult with a modicum of authority chased them out by 10 and a few minutes later, quiet prevailed.


In the morning, we should have been packed and out early, but somehow the cool lake air kept us under cover far past the hour of sunrise.

The weather in the Adirondacks is so far cooperating: clouds today...


 
(looking out toward the back of the motel)


... but there are promises of sunshine for the weekend. And in any case, the storms wont roll in until (they say) the end of Sunday. But the nights are cool -- very cool.


Eventually, we brace ourselves for that morning chill,  pack our little car with all the gear of camping and paddling and head due north toward Tupper Lake.

And now comes a day? a few days? ... of Ocean quiet. 

the Adirondacks

Should vacations (or -- in our case, vacation trips) replicate what you left behind at home? Of course not. So let's break with routine and not begin with a breakfast photo. And in any case, what would constitute breakfast, on a day when you leave the house just after 5 a.m. and grab one of those overly-sweet yogurt-granola combinations at the airport and eat it (sharing, of course) standing in line to board the plane? Supplemented (for Ed) with the free cookies the flight attendants dispense in their quick run down the aisle?

Our plane travel is  painless. Exactly the opposite of my nephew's recent flights. On time, smooth, comfortable. For me, the pleasure is in once again knowing my seating companion. Like the door to the porch which I adore in recognition of all the years when it wasn't there, so, too, something so simple as the familiarity of the arm next to yours will thrill you if you've taken some fifty consecutive trips brushing against the arm of a stranger.

Goodbye, Wisconsin...






Hello New York...






Can you tell the difference? No? This was Ed's comment when we were picking a place to do some adventuring: isn't upstate New York awfully similar to up north Wisconsin?

But the true answer is no. The photo is, after all, from Albany, not the Adirondacks. Missing are the mountains, the lakes, and the rivers that make the Adirondacks a paddler's paradise. And because much of the upstate land is a wilderness area, there are plenty of places to pitch a tent. (That is the selling point. I'll let you know if it's true and I'll especially let you know if it's not true.)


It's about a 2.5 hour drive from Albany to where we want to overnight and this drive is my most challenging moment: I'm tired. The highway is boring. The rural road -- more interesting, but by then I'm counting the miles. Ed is dozing, the radio signal is poor. Long Lake, you're long in coming!

And then we're there.

I bargained with him for a first night in a motel. I looked for a place close to where we'll pick up our canoe tomorrow. I came across the hamlet of Long Lake and in it, the Long Lake Motel and Cottages.












Both the hamlet and the motel look as they probably looked when Ed and I were still kids. (His family vacationed not terribly far from here.)  It's a humble (and very small) community of vacationers, probably regulars. They come for the fresh air. Maybe for a spin in a kayak. Likely for a conversation on the beach. There isn't anything especially attractive (or unattractive) about this place and so it got passed by when the big chains invested in lakeside communities and made resorts out of them. And so there is my motel and, too, there is the Adirondack Hotel, which is old, creaky and full of faded character. If you are taken aback by the big stuffed moose over the desk, they'll tell you not to worry -- it's from Alaska.






My motel hasn't a moose head. But it has something else -- something that I recognized right away when I called them from home and asked about a room. I can spot that accent anywhere: the owners of the Long Lake Motel and Cottages are Highlanders from Poland.






Ed and I walk along the hamlet's main road and decide to make a meal of bread and cheese from the grocery store, hesitating, but only for a minute before this lakeside stand:






The cheese from the grocer isn't your specialty New York artisanal anything, it's a pepperjack (probably from Wisconsin) and the bread is a dense cinnamon and raisin (from Gansevoort, New York). With tomato and blueberries (probably from Michigan) on the side.






We doze off on Adirondack chairs and barely wake up for our evening meal at the Adirondack Hotel. Wednesday is barbeque night and you can have half a chicken with beans and corn on the side for a reasonable price. It's packed with locals. Wait a minute -- who is a local? What form of employment keeps someone here?

Ed gets wonderfully pensive when he hits upstate New York. We talk a lot about families and especially his family, even as he shrugs off the idea that his New York roots get stirred up a bit when he's here.






The air is warm and smells of pine needles. A cool breeze comes off the lake. The loud sea plane -- this one, which sells you an hour of fun in the sky for $40 thankfully doesn't have many takers. (This woman was out earlier with her toddler. Both speak Russian.)






It's quiet here. Even though I know that where ever we land tomorrow, it will be even quieter.

In and Out

[Answer to anticipated question of: why aren't there photos accompanying this post??: I accidentally deleted all of them, including the cutest of all -- where my nephew plays with his second cousin. Or is it that she is his niece... Well, whatever. Photos gone. Memories remain.]

Sometimes connecting from one place to the next is so easy, other times it's not. My nephew, traveling great distances to be here -- for a wonderful visit and, too, to stay at the farmhouse while Ed and I go off adventuring -- should have arrived in the evening, by plane, but in the end he did not get here until the middle of the night and by bus. But I'm thrilled he's here!

And so breakfast, on the porch, is for the three of us.

Well, in addition to the rooster, crowing noisily all morning long, to assert his importance.

Then comes a day of roaming the neighborhoods and stores in our area, acquainting my nephew with what's where. He's not here for as long as the last time and he has a great recollection of everything and every spot, but still, it's quite fun taking him around to our various local favorites.

But we have to be back by afternoon, because Snowdrop is to spend her Tuesday at the farmhouse.

It is a first meeting of the cousins who are separated by an ocean and have only these meager opportunities for coming face to face with each other.

Snowdrop plays, stands, rolls and even gives a good effort at downing bananas and squash, squeezed onto a dish with sketches of Peter Rabbit on it. You'll have to imagine it. The vignettes are all now just in our heads.

In the evening, my nephew, Ed and I eat take out Thai and we fall into the farmhouse habit of just hanging out. And of course, I pack.
Don't you think I need a better flashlight? Do you like my new whistle? In the book "Wild," she carried a high pitch whistle for emergencies...
Okay, nice whistle. No, you don't need a bigger better flashlight...

The usual back and forth that accompanies pre-travel.

In the wee early hours of the morning, Ed and I will fly to Albany, where we will pick up a car and go due north, to the heart of the Adirondacks. If you're unfamiliar with the geography of the region -- think "where the escaped convicts hid when they wanted to avoid detection." We'll be canoeing through the wilder and more remote areas and this makes Ed very happy.

As for WiFi -- I'll have it Wednesday and early Thursday and then I'll likely be out of the loop for at least a couple of days. It's the first time in over a decade when I will have acquiesced to being off line. Even when we hiked the Rockies and camped our way across Scotland, on nearly every day, I found a way to post on Ocean. I'm not going to try so hard this time. I have put Ed through a lot of irritating maneuvers to get myself connected for blogging purposes. I owe him a couple of days of peace, without the worry of finding WiFi.

Alright, time to check for leaks in my new inflatable pillow. The tent? We'll find out if it developed rips if and when it rains. Adventures are made this way.


UPDATE:

Talk about a heroic recovery of deleted photos! Thank you Ed. Now, you match the photos with the text!

Monday

On the upside, Ed and I had a lovely breakfast on the porch...






...and the flowers continue to explode in color and mirth...






(benefiting, I'm sure, from the abundant rains we've had here, including today -- as observed from the kitchen through the gorgeous new door...)







... and Ed and I shopped together for our freeze dried foods at REI for the adventuring week before us,  and then, toward late afternoon, I spent a wonderful set of hours with happy girl herself --  Snowdrop.
 





On the not so upside, I did not manage to pass Oreo off to a potential taker and so now my poor nephew, who is coming here all the way from Sweden, will, in our absence, have to deal with a nutty rooster.

And, too, my nephew's journey continues to be fraught with issues, as he is currently stuck somewhere, who knows where, but it's not here, due to weather issues in the Midwest.

So there's that.

Still, there was so much prettiness to this day! Yes, the flowers, you saw those. But the image of Snowdrop doing her mobile antics stands out. Six months and a day... so ready to go out and join the band!






Now, let me get back to trying to figure out how I can find my nephew, possibly at Chicago's O'Hare airport, even as there are a million people there right now wondering how to get home, given cancelled flights and the iffy weather. (Unfortunately, like me when I travel overseas, my nephew does not carry an operable cellphone. )

Life can get very adventurous, even without having to go in search of adventure.