A placid, misty morning greets us as we step out of the house the next day. I’m wearing my closed-toe water shoes (Jane declined to purchase a pair, as we couldn’t find any women’s shoes in her size), and all of our snacks and camera equipment are packed in a sealed water bag. The plan for the day is to try for another sunrise (whatever of it is visible) at Connery Pond, before returning to the heart of the Floodwood region, where we’ll rent a canoe and spend the rest of the day paddling and exploring the region’s many lakes and waterways. We make the short drive from Lake Placid to Connery Pond, leaving our car at the same parking turnoff we used the weekend prior. This time, we easily locate the trail to the water’s edge, and reach the south shore of the pond within a few minutes, joining a small group of assembled wildlife and landscape photographers, who huddle quietly over the tripods.
The weather, unfortunately refuses to cooperate. The lake is draped in thick fog, obscuring all view of the opposite shore and the rising hulk of Whiteface Mountain, which lurks somewhere beyond. The pre-dawn excitement of landscape photography (being in a beautiful place, feeling creatively enabled, connecting with nature, etc. etc.) quickly gives way to gallows’ humor. “Thirty minutes of fog. That’s 5 gigabytes of fog,” remarks one photographer who has his camera set for a timelapse. “If you look over there, you can see… absolutely nothing,” notes another. “I love it. I drove up from Albany this morning. My alarm was set for 2 AM,” states one bleary-eyed photographer to a chorus of appreciative nodding. Without a grand vista to shoot, I turn my attention to the parts of the scene that remain compelling: a lesser blue heron in the distance, wading and fishing amongst the marsh grass. Layers of treetops accentuated by the fog. A timelapse of mist drifting across the shore, momentarily obscuring and revealing the foliage. Wearing my shoes, I feel my feet squishing and sinking in the mud. This pleasant sensation eventually turns to unpleasantness of having cold, wet feet as the hour passes, and a thoroughly invisible sunrise begins to lighten our foggy surroundings. We eventually make our way back to car, where I towel off my legs and turn on the heater. We make our way back to Lake Placid, where Jane buys a hot cup of coffee at a gas station convenience store.
Back on the road, we drive out of Lake Placid, through Saranac, and then north and west past Lake Clear, following our route from two days ago. This time, just after the country club at Saranac Inn, we turn off the highway onto Floodwood Road, a well-graded, leaf-covered road that cuts westward past the ponds of the Floodwood region. A few miles in, across a set of railroad tracks, we reach the Floodwood outpost of St. Regis Canoe Outfitters. Parking our car in the dirt lot across the lawn, we head inside the building, with its log cabin exterior. After a short wait, we’re provided with our gear for the day: a pair of canoe paddles, bailing equipment (a bucket and a sponge), flotation vests, and a terrain map showing the region’s lakes and portage routes. Outside on the front lawn, we’re introduced to the We-No-Nah Adirondack, a lightweight, forty-pound boat with a waterproof kevlar hull and two seats. The attendant demonstrates how to mount the canoe’s central yolk onto my shoulders for portaging solo or in tandem (never quite getting the hang of it, we wind up hand-carrying our boat for most of the shorter pond-to-pond carries). With our water bag, paddles, and gear in tow, we pick up the canoe and make our way across the railroad tracks, down a series of dirt steps to the northern shore of Floodwood Pond (I leave the RX-10 in the car, not wanting to jeopardize the newer camera in the uncertain likeliness of the event that we capsize). After using the nearby campground outhouse, we push off onto the water.
Our plan for the day is to cover 12 miles by water, in a counterclockwise loop that will take us to the far southeastern end of Floodwood Pond, down Fish Creek to Square Pond, and then north across Follensby Clear Pond, circling back to the Floodwood Pond over a series of short portages between Follensby, Polliwog, and Middle Ponds. After a chilly start to the morning, the weather is beautifully sunny and clear, with just a slight breeze blowing across the water - perfect weather for paddling. With Jane in the bow and me in the stern, we set off across Floodwood Pond, past islands and vacation homes at the water’s edge. The top of Jane’s head is my directional indicator as we steer the boat, using J-strokes and calling to each other to switch hands whenever we begin to drift off-course. In the main body of the pond, as we turn east, we fall in with a small group consisting of two solo canoeists and a solo kayaker; we follow them to the end of the pond, where they disappear around a bend as they enter shallow water at the head of Fish Creek. As we enter the creek behind them, we briefly become lodged between a sandbar and a sunken log (watching for obstacles, I must point out, is Jane’s responsibility in the bow). Carefully so as not to upset our paper-light boat, we pry ourselves out of the jam using the paddles, and then continue on our way down the meandering river.
We continue this way, leisurely drifting downstream while occasionally checking the map to confirm our location. I take breaks from paddling to photograph our journey in the canoe, through beautiful, serene surroundings. Sunlight glints off the crystal-clear water, and the shallows are alive with flitting schools of small fish, snapping turtles, and beds of underwater grass that bend with the flow of the river. The surrounding woodlands are invitingly picturesque, as well. We pass several takeouts on forested shores, clearly well-used and beloved by summer campers and picnickers. We see an abundance of bird life, including herons, kingfishers, marsh wrens, waxwings, and a bald eagle circling its eyrie, far overhead.
Further down the creek, past Little Square Pond and just before the inlet of Square Pond, we come to the small wooden jetty marking our first carry of the day - a brief, 300-yard jaunt up a dirt bank and through pine forest, to the southern shore of Follensby Clear Pond. After sponging out any collected water in the canoe, we make this portage with little issue, then enjoy a quick snack (again, bread and cheese) from our water bag before putting into the next pond. We set off northward across the surface of Follensby Clear Pond, the longest stretch of paddling on our trip. The southern part of the lake, round and deep, is dotted with pine-clad islands, which gradually enlarge from the horizon as we glide toward them in the canoe. From a distance, we hear the cry of a northern loon on the lake surface - a haunting, melodic tremolo that perfectly encapsulates the beauty of the wild North. It is my first time hearing a loon in the wild, and I have Jane pause her paddling so that we can float for awhile, listening to the lovely call as it is borne by the wind over the water.
Navigating onward, we target an outlet of the lake between two spits of land (our childhood experiences playing Amazon Trail coming in handy here), and continue on a zigzag course to the north end of the pond. We briefly lose our way, misguided from a distance by a sign demarcating the carry toward Green Pond; after a quick consultation with our map (and loaning it to another couple in a tandem kayak, who are trying to find their way toward Upper Saranac Lake), we follow the shoreline westward and come upon the carry route toward Polliwog Pond. This consists of a steep but exceedingly brief portage (we can practically see lake-to-lake) over a narrow, forested isthmus. We put in at Polliwog Pond, and resume our route westward, past a nesting bald eagle and a pair of lesser blue herons. Notwithstanding the work of paddling and carrying a boat, which will surely make us sore the next day, Jane and I are quite enjoying our idyllic, lonely afternoon on the water.
At the western end of Polliwog Pond, Jane and land at the shallow, grassy takeout that leads toward Middle Pond. We take a brief break here, sitting on the leaf-littered ground while eating our remaining snacks, bread rolls, and drinking big swigs and orange juice and chocolate milk. Rested and fed, we pick the boat up and embark on our longest carry of the day, along gently rolling path that winds through the woods. Not quite having mastered proper portaging technique, the two of us use the novice method of lifting the canoe by its side handles, carrying our belongings in the other hand, and taking care to raise the boat bottom sufficiently so that the kevlar does not scrape on the forest floor. Even for the two of us together, this is fairly inefficient and tiring and tiring on the arms, and probably infeasible in the heat and muddy terrain of summer (so I would really recommend learning to portage the correct way - with one person carrying the boat on their shoulders, and the other supporting it from behind). Jane and I manage to get through the experience, taking breaks every few hundred yards to switch hands. It is a gladdening sight - one that I can imagine many holiday merrymakers, young adventurers, and seasoned explorers have shared - when we see the distant shimmer of sunlight on water through the trees, marking the end of our walking trail.
We put in on Middle Pond and repeat this process, navigating westward along bright and colorful autumn trees which stand radiantly on the shoreline, until we reach our fourth and final carry of the day, a path just under half a mile that returns us to the eastern end of Floodwood Pond. We arrive at the lakeside tired and panting; it feels amazing to wade into the shallows, and to wash our faces with refreshing, crystal-cold water at the end of the portage. Finally, assisted by friendly kayaker, we paddle out from the shore and turn toward west, toward home. It is mid-afternoon by now, and the warm, golden sidelight makes the treetops look even lovelier than they did on our way out.
Back at the outpost, we return our gear and bid farewell to our canoe. Too tired after 12 miles of paddling and portaging to really take advantage of the sunset hour in earnest, we head home to begin packing for our departure from the Adirondacks. We make a pit stop by the Lake Placid Hannaford to recycle our mountain of cup-noodle ingredients (emptied tins of Spam and tuna; cans of corn, peas, and spinach; and an endless pile of milk bottles, juice bottles, and yogurt cups), and to buy some last provisions for our drive back to Vermont, along with ice cream sandwiches and a big bag of buffalo chicken bites - desperation-hunger purchases made after a long day on the water.
