In the morning, our apartment is cozy and warm, the fireplace having burnt into a smouldering glow overnight. We get dressed and have our breakfast of chocolate croissants, juice, and yogurt. It is just past 6 AM, and first light is showing over the treetops in the backyard. The photographer’s heart within me flutters, for there are shapely, medium-altitude clouds in the sky, which are just beginning to catch color. Perfect conditions for a stunning sunrise. In the car, we drive the short distance northeast out of Lake Placid to the turnoff for Connery Pond Road. A single dirt track takes us about half a mile into the woods, to a parking spot just short of the water. Unfortunately, we fail to notice the small wooden signpost pointing toward Connery Pond, and instead set off up the trail toward Whiteface Landing. We realize our mistake after a few minutes, when the path begins to wind uphill, but valuable time is wasted. Back beside the car, we locate the portage trail, which leads us to the marshy southern shore of the pond. Boots sucking in the mud, Jane and I make our way to the water’s edge, where I set up compositions of the breathtaking view across Connery Pond.
Though we missed the best of the sunrise colors, there is still plenty of drama in the sky. Clouds streak past us toward the northeast, shrouding the upper body of Whiteface Mountain, which only emerges in momentary glimpses. Sunrise builds behind the peaks of the Sentinel Range to the east. And all along the water is that classic sight of fall in the Adirondacks: a prism of autumn colors atop beech, maple, and oak trees, set apart by the fine, slender-white trunks of silver birch. I move back and forth along the shoreline, using the reach of my new camera’s lens to take close compositions of the distant trees while the second camera captures a timelapse. A carload of noisome Chinese photographers, their yelling audible from half a mile away, come and go after taking a number of selfies and flying a drone around for a few perfunctory minutes. Jane, myself, and one other photographer continue our work in silence.
Daylight is advancing in the east as we leave the shore of Connery Pond, walking the portage path out to our car. Back on the highway, we proceed a few miles down the road to High Falls Gorge, where we are the park’s first visitors of the morning. Paying our entrance fee, we walk out onto the boardwalk, which forms a short loop that clings to the edge of the canyon. Through the canyon, the e Western Branch of thAusable River cascades downward to the Wilmington Plain in a series of picturesque falls. At the bottom, where a suspension bridge crosses the chasm, I stop to take photos of this magnificent scene: jade-green moss clinging to weathered granite; ferns and hemlocks perched upon rocky holds; and oak leaves, like golden crystals, shimmering in the chasm’s reflected light. We have the place all to ourselves - at least, until a few minutes later, when a busload of touring elders begins to make its way down the canyon. From the bridge, I take a series of one-second exposures with Jane standing beside the waterfall, using the median technique to remove other humans from the shot. On the other side of the chasm, I use my zoom lens at an overlook to capture the vibrant autumn canopy covering the eastern slope of Whiteface Mountain. We wind our way back along the canyon, stopping to photograph a lovely curve in the river upstream from the gorge.
Back in the car, Jane takes a brief nap while I drive us back toward Lake Placid along River Road. On the banks of the river, we pass an alpine ski team training on roller-blades. Past the town’s Olympic ski jumping complex, we turn south on Adirondack Loj Road, which meets the highway at a large open field with expansive views into the heart of the Adirondack massif. I stop here to take some photos of the clouds rolling in over the mountains; a rainstorm is due later in the evening. Heading south now, we enter the busiest region of the park - the High Peaks, beloved by hikers, climbers, and campers alike. We leave our car in a turnout a few hundred yards down the road toward South Meadows, and reach our first trailhead of the trip: a five-mile out-and-back to the summit of Mount Van Hoevenberg.
After typical vacation car lunch (bread, chocolate milk, oranges, and Pringles), we sign our names at the trailhead register and set off. The western approach to the mountain begins as a flat, leisurely jaunt through mixed hardwood forest, which seems to go on forever (in fact, just a mile and a half). Jane and I take our time, stopping frequently to take in the intimate woodland scene around us, and to take pictures of the foliage. The wind out of the southwest is beginning to pick up, but down in the understory, the air is calm, and the sound of the breeze rippling through the treetops is quite evocative when paired with the crackle of the fallen leaves underfoot. These are the sights and sounds that remind one of autumn - and of the inevitable, slow, but beautiful passage of time. At length, the trail emerges into a clearing at the edge of a sunken forest, with the broad top of Mt. Van Ho looming in the distance. We skirt our way around the pond, making a muddy crossing over a series of boulders, before rejoining a dirt path that becomes increasingly steep and rocky as it ascends the flank of the mountain.
This last portion of the trail, also merely a mile or so in horizontal distance, feels equally interminable. Jane and I are in reasonable shape from our running routine, but the climb up the mountain quickly becomes a slog, at times requiring traverses along rock ledges, and in one place or two, some basic scrambling. As is common throughout the Adirondacks, the trail feels devilishly organic in design, shooting uphill along stream beds and rock falls, only to drop carelessly into a sheltered dell or a forest glade. This is in stark contrast to the modern, efficient switchback climbs that tend to inhabit such popular outdoors locations, which Jane and I are frankly more used to. We shed layers as we go, pausing to pretend to enjoy the forest scenery while we catch our breaths. Near the top, the whir of the wind rises into a howl, then a roar, as the trail funnels us out of the woods and onto open granite. We quickly replace our heavy outer layers as we reach the wind-blasted summit, where we are greeted with panoramic views of the mountainous plateau to the south: South Meadows with its picturesque, winding brook far below us to our left, the rounded knob of Mount Jo straight ahead (with the highest of the High Peaks shrouded by storm clouds beyond), and the outlying farms of North Elba to our right. I try in vain to take long shots of South Meadows Brook and the distant peaks from this vantage point, but the strong wind precludes any tripod use (or any prolonged fumbling with the camera in general), the light is flat and dreary, and the foliage in this skybound plateau is well-advanced, peak color having come and gone at least a week or two earlier than in the lower regions of the park. We settle for a quick panorama and an exchange of selfies with another photographer and his family at the summit, before turning around and making the long journey down the mountain and back to the car.
We retreat to the cabin for snacks and a brief afternoon nap before returning to the Loj Road, this time following it all the way south to the campgrounds beside the Adirondack Loj. Here we park and pay for a day-use permit before setting off toward Heart Lake and the trail up Mount Jo, where we intend to photograph the golden hour and the incoming storm clouds. The trail follows the north shore of Heart Lake for a few hundred yards, passing an old cabin and a number of interpretive exhibits before turning uphill to the north. While Mt. Jo has two approaches that can be hiked as a lariat, Jane and I decide to go up and down on the shorter, steeper (approximately one mile) route in order to maximize our time at the summit. Like on Mt. Van Ho, the path quickly devolves into a jumbled rock fall. Ignoring our labored breaths and burning calves, we scramble upwards quickly, not wanting to be caught in the dark on this descent. Above this long series of boulders, the trail levels into a series of boardwalks over mud pits before making a final push up to the summit, assisted by metal ladder rungs and wooden steps hammered into the granite.
At the top (note the false summit; the path to the true summit is just around a corner, obscured by a pine tree), we are treated to a breathtaking view of Heart Lake below, and the mighty Algonquin beyond. The wind is whipping furiously around us now, as a billowing mass of storm clouds surges over New York’s second highest mountain peak, which is drowned like a islet within a frothing ocean wave. As the sun drops toward the mountains to the west, the golden light is ever-changing, playing across the granite and the treetops and fading in and out with the passage of mist and cloud. After Jane and I take some photos together, I set up my tripod, which Jane dutifully helps me stabilize. As we sit and admire the drama unfolding before us, I find myself thinking that this evening encapsulates what I love so much about landscape photography - that it is all about being at the right place, at the right time, with the equipment to make the shot work. The rest of it is just bearing witness.
After a relatively quick timelapse, we descend the mountain the same way we came, in the growing dark. Back at the trailhead, we pay a short visit to the shore of Heart Lake before returning to the Loj. At the campground café, we order and share a hot dog with chips, a fruit punch soda, and strawberry ice cream cone before hopping in the car and making the short drive back to Placid. And not a moment too late - the pitter-patter of rain alights on our windshield as we enter town, and by the time we pull into our little parking spot and retire to our apartment for the night, the rainstorm has arrived.
