The next morning, we drive west out of Lake Placid, passing through the sleepy Main Street of Saranac Lake before turning north. To the east, beyond green pastures and miles of rolling forests, the sun is cresting the summits of the McKenzie Mountain Wilderness. We mark a turnoff along the highway for tomorrow’s sunrise, before continuing to Church Pond, a quiet lake just outside the hamlet of Paul Smiths. We leave our car on a narrow dirt road, beside the little church house for which the pond is named. The morning air is calm but cold - the dense sort of cold that settles around you and chills you to your bone. Jane and I wander to the water’s edge, where I set my camera up to photograph first light on the opposite shore. Here, working with a palette of rainbow foliage and mist-cloaked water, I am in my comfort zone. I fire off a short timelapse series with the RX-100 while using my longer lens to highlight the birches and maples, which in the morning light stand out nicely from the soft background of firs and black spruce.
After half an hour at Church Pond, we drive a few miles west of the village, to the trailhead of our main walk for the day - a 7-mile round trip to the summit of St. Regis Mountain. The walk begins as a pleasant, undulating stroll through the woodlands surrounding the St. Regis Canoe Area. The forest, all aglow with golden aspen leaves, is quite lovely in the morning light, and we pass our time on the trail mostly in peaceful silence (it is a Tuesday morning in October, and we see only one hiker with his golden retriever on our way up the mountain). Past the two-mile mark, after treading through the forest, across boardwalks and footbridges, and up and down leaf-littered slopes, we reach the main ascent, a series of rockfalls turned into waterfalls by the previous day’s rain. Feeling grateful for my new boots, I lead carefully up the stone steps, avoiding puddles and deeper portions of the rivulet. The going is hard, but we’re drawn upward by the thinning canopy - the beckon and call of the soaring, beautiful blue sky. At the top of the climb, a short scramble over boulders breaks us free of the treeline, and we find ourselves standing on the rocky summit of St. Regis Mountain, with a breathtaking panorama before us.
Climbing over the granite, Jane and I ascend the steel steps of the fire tower. From the top, we have unobstructed views for miles in every direction. To the east, across a sea of foliage, are the St. Regis Lakes and the McKenzie Mountain Wilderness. To the south and southeast, the ponds of the Floodwood and Saranac are shining under the midday sun, like a string of pearls on an emerald necklace. Behind them rise the High Peaks, a towering mass of earth in the far blue distance. To the west and north, clear past the Canadian border, lie ponds and woodlands as far as the eye can see, the fiery colors of deciduous autumn transitioning gradually into a dark and endless boreal forest. Alone at the summit, Jane and I take in these marvelous vistas before descending from the tower. I shoot a mix of panoramas and far landscapes while Jane relaxes below. After awhile, we are joined by another hiker and her dog, who seems completely unfazed by the 3-mile climb and runs circles around us, lapping up our attention. We leave them at the summit and begin our long descent and walk back toward the trailhead.
After a seemingly interminable walk back through the forest, we reach our car and backtrack past Paul Smith’s College and Church Pond. In Saranac, we trudge into the McDonald’s with our sweat-laced brows, disheveled gear, and muddy boots. I order a mango smoothie and a 20-piece box of chicken nuggets, and Jane gets a double quarter-pounder with fries. We eat like pair of vengeful ghosts. A short drive and half an hour later, we are back at our basement apartment in Lake Placid, showered and relaxed. Jane takes a long afternoon nap, while I recharge my batteries and flip through television channels by the fireplace.
In the late afternoon, we re-lace our boots and set off to capture the golden hour just a few miles outside of town, at the Cascade Lakes. Pulling into the small dirt lot between the lakes, I can tell that we are in for truly special conditions. To our southwest across Upper Cascade Lake, the light of the setting sun is beginning to fall, obliquely, on the shoulder of Cascade Mountain, bathing the treetops in a warm, golden glow. The air is tranquil, and the lake surface forms a perfect mirror, transformed into an amphitheatre of light and color. After capturing a quick panorama and setting up a half-hour timelapse of the fading light, I use the reach on my new camera to isolate the most compelling portions of the landscape: an exposed rock face on the nearby ridge, half-caught in shadow; intriguing sections of shoreline, reflected in the water; and individual or stands of trees, perfectly catching the sunset’s dream light. In the next minute, I take my favorite photograph of the entire trip - a simple portrait composition of birch trees standing at the water’s edge.
As the light wanes, we pack up our gear and head back toward Placid. Along the way, we stop on the corner of Adirondack Loj Road, beside the so-called Plains of Abraham, a rolling expanse of fields originally settled by hardscrabble New England farmers in the early 19th century. Beyond the fields, twilight is falling on the High Peaks, and the sky moves through shades of vermilion and burgundy. I fire off another timelapse while we admire this scene - the silence broken only by the rush of the passing cars, their headlights fading down a country road.
