Day 6: The Reserve

On Thursday morning, we’re up before sunrise, with a plan to spend the day hiking and exploring in the Adirondack Mountain Reserve, a privately owned acreage that lies between the High Peaks region and the Dix Mountain Wilderness. Owned and administered by the Ausable Club at St. Huberts, the AMR is a beautiful place, filled with rugged mountains, winding valleys, and pristine lakes and woodlands surrounding the East Branch of the Ausable River. After a breakfast of chocolate croissants with yogurt and juice, we head east in the car, passing by the Plains of Abraham and the Cascade Lakes in the pre-dawn darkness. We continue south, over the Ausable River and through the sleepy towns of Keene and Keene Valley. At St. Huberts, we turn into the private driveway of the Ausable Club, which has a small public lot with a limited spots for hikers. The lot fills by 7 AM on most days, and is jam-packed every weekend during the warmer months. Later arrivals are forced to park several miles down the road, which leads to dangerous traffic issues on the highway, for drivers as well as pedestrians coming back uphill (the Ausable Club, the New York Department of Environmental Conservation, and local communities are working on solutions, but over-visitation remains a difficult and sensitive subject for many in the Adirondacks). Fortunately, we are plenty early, and park our car beside two others in the dirt lot before setting off up the driveway toward the Ausable Club

After a long walk along Ausable Road, past golf greens and clusters of quaint vacation cottages, we turn left onto Lake Road just reaching before the clubhouse, with its grand porch and luxurious trappings. After leaving our names on a trailhead register, we head through the gate to the Reserve. To our south, the slopes and treetops of Noonmark Mountain are beginning to catch the light of the morning sun, which comes up over the Giant Mountain Wilderness.  We continue our walk to the southwest, along a fire road which follows the East Branch of the Ausable River to its source at Lower Ausable. Along the way, I stop frequently to take photos of the trail, the foliage, and the little tributary brooks and pebbly rills that flow into the river.

Three miles into the reserve, we are in sight of Lower Ausable Lake, a placid blue sheet of water that sits in a narrow valley between two mountain chains . Here, Lake Road begins to curve downhill toward the concrete dam at the outlet of the lake; we first turn to the left here, heading off on a forest trail that climbs steeply uphill toward the rocky outcrop of Indian Head. On our way up the mountain, we briefly lose the trail, which makes a sharp left turn and becomes a narrow dirt path that winds and switchbacks its way along the slope; we end up scrambling up a steep section of fallen rocks of logs, a more adventurous route than intended. Before continuing uphill, we briefly pause at the Gothics Window, a opening in the treeline affording lovely views of the opposing mountain with its trademark, gash-like rockslides. The trail becomes an enjoyable, light scramble over tree roots, boulders, and rock shelves before rising to the ridgeline of Indian Head, where we find a 3-way intersection with the Gill Brook Trail (which heads north and back to Lake Road) and the trail to the Fish Hawk Cliffs (the rocky prominence just south of Indian Head). We take the small path that heads out of the forest to the summit of Indian Head, where we are greeted by an iconic vista over Lower Ausable Lake.

From the cliff top, the lake forms a sinuous curve that runs in from our right, and stretches away to the southwest. It is flanked by Gothics and Sawteeth on one side and Mount Colvin and Nippletop on the other, whose steep mountain walls cast a shadow upon the lake surface until the late afternoon. Beyond the water, in the far distance, we can see Upper Ausable Lake and the rounded hills surrounding Boreas Pond. It is an utterly stunning American landscape, especially when clad in the glorious golds, oranges, and auburns of early October. While I set up my camera gear, Jane clambers down further along the granite cliff. I take a picture of her standing in the distance before joining her on the lower ledge, which offers a more sweeping view of the lake. We grab a few selfies before sitting down to rest, rehydrate, and consume another trail lunch of bread, cheese, and dried fruit.

After descending Indian Head the same way we climbed it, we rejoin Lake Road and proceed downhill, toward the northern end of Lower Ausable Lake. Here, the lake pours over a steep concrete dam with a series of fish ladders, flowing into a beautifully clear stretch of the Ausable River. As evidenced by the nearby gear, tackle, and parked pick-up trucks, this is a favorite local spot for fly-fishing. As we cross the river over a wooden footbridge, we watch a novice fisherman get coaching on his technique; a few minutes later, he successfully lands a sizeable brown trout, much to Jane’s excitement. I stop to take what turns out to be one of my favorite photos of the trip - a long-exposure composition of the opposite riverbank, with its rippled water and colorful blend of maple, birch, and beech trees.

Continuing onward past the lake, we head up the Weld Trail toward Sawteeth and Gothics. A short way into the forest, the path branches off toward the head of a side canyon. We follow the creek here upstream for about half a mile, as a roar of falling water continues to build and build. Rounding a bend, we abruptly find ourselves stepping into a cathedral of towering stone walls, backlit by the glow of the early afternoon sun, which illuminates a canopy of leaves as vibrant and detailed as any stained-glass window. At the center of this sacred room, Rainbow Falls plunges from the mountain above into a crystal wading pool, from which the creek emerges. A stone staircase, like steps to an altar, lead to a ledge in front of the waterfall. Jane and I scramble up over the wet boulders, and she climbs the staircase while I photograph from a distance. Notwithstanding all of the beautiful waterfalls and watery palaces we have visited throughout the world, this is a special one - one of those truly rare places where nature seems to overflow with abundance, and one’s thoughts cannot help but turn to the eternal. We sit here alone for some time, silently enjoying this momentary space in our lives, before gathering our gear and returning the way we came.

The walk back along Lake Road is a long one, but Jane and I reach the gate of the Reserve, round the bend near the clubhouse, and walk back down to our car by the mid-afternoon. The parking lot, true to expectation, is completely full; we leave our spot for a lucky latecomer and make the short drive back to Lake Placid. That evening, exhausted from another long day on foot (11 miles), we grace ourselves with another absence from sunset photography. We spend the time instead in ourcozy apartment, perfectly content to enjoy our cup noodles, drink hot cocoa, and watch TV by the fireplace late into the night.

Day 7: Floodwood

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.

Day 8: Champlain

The next day, we tidy up the apartment, load our bags into the car, and set off from Lake Placid in the dark. Although we have not explored most of the Adirondacks, we are headed now to the southeast corner of the park, to catch sunrise on the shore of Brant Lake, before swinging upward into Vermont via the ferry crossing at Ticonderoga. In the dim blue light of pre-dawn, we speed past the Cascade Lakes, through Keene Valley, and down the gorge between the High Peaks and the Giant Mountain Wilderness. We continue past St. Huberts and merge onto the Adirondack Northway (I-87), which runs south to Albany and New York City, along the eastern edge of the Adirondack region. We proceed on the highway for about 30 miles, ever-cognizant of the towering shield of forested hills and mountains to our west. To our east, dawn colors begin to light the horizon over Schroon Lake. We leave the highway at Horicon and, crossing the road bridge over Schroon River, we enter the charming little lakeside hamlet of Brant Lake. We park near the town’s public boat landing at the southern end of the lake, where I’ve identified a beautiful view across the water.

To the north, mist is rising from the surface of the lake, partially obscuring a group of islands dotted with pine and spruce trees. On one of these islands sits a tall-steepled boathouse, and behind them lie a range of cloud-strewn mountains, which are just beginning to catch a gleam of sunrise. This is a delightful place to shoot with my new long lens, although even its 200mm reach is tested by the distance to the islands, more than a mile away (closer vantage points are available along the north shore of the lake, but I would highly advise against photographing from those, as there is no place to park a car, and any open spaces and jetties are invariably located on private property).  In addition to zoom shots and panoramas, I wind up taking a long timelapse from this vantage point, as the clouds roll past the lake and the morning sun gradually casts its light over the boathouse and the surrounding hillsides.

From Brant Lake, we continue eastward through the Graphite Mountain pass until we reach a T-intersection, where the road meets the western shore of Lake George. After so many years of plans and postponements, Jane and I finally lay eyes on the lake where we had planned to vacation all those Thanksgivings ago. In 2013, we’d planned a waterfront stay at the lake’s south end, with hikes to the summits of Sleeping Beauty and Black Mountains and a water park visit. For this trip,  I’d initially planned excursions into the Pharaoh Lake Wilderness and the Tongue Mountain Range before concluding that the distance would be too far from our home base in Lake Placid. As it stands, we have no time to really explore the region surrounding Lake George. We settle for a brief driving break at the town beach in Hague, where I admire the scene  while Jane goes to the water’s edge, stirring up a flock of resting Canada geese. We continue to north along the lake shore, passing Fort Ticonderoga and hitching a ride on the ferry to Vermont.

On the other side of Lake Champlain, we follow the highway north, passing through a bucolic landscape of rolling hillsides, farm roads through fruit orchards, and farmhouses amidst pastures of baled hay. To the east, the Green Mountains rise in an undulating ridge separating Vermont and New Hampshire, while to the west, across the ever-widening lake, the Adirondacks loom like an earthen fortress over the Champlain lowlands. After an hour of easy driving, we return along our original route a week prior, past the village of Charlotte and into the outskirts of Burlington. In town, we leave our car in a public parking lot on Elmwood Avenue, and set off to explore Burlington on foot.

Jane and I walk down past the iconic First Unitarian Church, and continue south along the Church Street Marketplace. Surrounded by a throng of flannel-toting, beanie-wearing blonde people, we stop at a coffee shop, browse a local bookstore, and thumb through a tent full of heavily discounted winter wear at the Outdoor Gear Exchange. Feeling more famished than spendy, we ultimately order burgers at Five Guy’s, and ice cream at Ben & Jerry’s. After lunch, we wander down to the city waterfront, along an avenue of stately oak and maple trees. Down by the water, we climb to the top balcony of the nearby boathouse and restaurant, and watch as ships go sailing past on Lake Champlain. A pleasure yacht rolls into dock carrying a wedding party, bride, and groom, who emerge on the deck to the cheers of the guests assembled ashore. Jane and I loop back to the north, past cafés and breweries, before walking back toward our car at the city center. Along the way, we stop at Hong’s Chinese Dumplings (the brick-and-mortar shop of a local heroine who started with a food cart two decades ago). We order a to-go stack of pork and vegetable dumplings, fried rice, and a scallion pancake, all paired with house-made sauce. Takeout dinner in tow, we head back to the car and drive to our accommodations for the night, a cozy basement AirBnB near the Burlington Airport. We have ourselves a relaxed night, and fly back to Baltimore early the next morning.