From Lake Lila to Lows Lower Dam

Putting in at Lake Lila

I was awake at 1:40 AM to pick up Jim, Mike and Doug at the Rochester Curling Club, the appointed rendezvous point where they left their cars.  We were on the road by 2:30 AM.  Ugh.  Need intravenous coffee.

We stopped at the Pulaski Exit on Rt. 81 to release the coffee and grab a few gallons of gas at Fat Nancy's.  Great t-shirts.  We had to tour the town to get back onto the highway.  Some politician probably got re-elected for that, but there is not a lot going on at 4 AM. 

We dropped a key at Raquette River Outfitters so they could move our car to our journey's endpoint.  Then we stopped in downtown Tupper Lake for a fine breakfast at the Swiss Kitchen.  I was happy they didn't take the theme to extreme because it was too early for yodeling.  A short time later we traversed the bumpy road to Lake Lila and put in.

On Canada Island, our campsite near the west end of Lake Lila.

 After driving through the night to get to the launching site, I was so tired I didn't know what I was doing.  But once in the canoe, I was invigorated and could not wait to go exploring.  We set up camp and then headed across a short stretch of water to find the trail to Mt. Frederica.

Up on Mt. Frederica,
with leaves already changing at higher altitudes.

 When we arrived at the top, the heavens decided to follow the advice of the growing thunder and spewed rain upon us.  Doug had the foresight to bring his rain gear, but the rest of us got soaked to the bone.  From within his jacket, he described how cold the rain could be.  

I was OK since I was wearing synthetic materials, but Mike's cotton shirt came off due to clammy wetness.

The view most people don't see, because they're not dumb enough to climb up while the thunder increases.

But beautiful nonetheless.

Doug is saying,
"Down there is where you should have put on a raincoat."

After the rain, we walked the tracks to the dilapidated station.

The rain abated, so we followed the tracks to the abandoned station a DEC employee had told us about as he passed through our campsite to fix the privy.  The station was a let down,  but no matter, because the trail from there to the lake led almost directly to our boats.  We raced another dark cloud back to our campsite.

Note the accumulated rain in the the boat.

Jim, Doug and Mike on the rocks near the campsite.
You'd never know it had rained.

 Jim cooked a fine dinner, and Mike provided a fine provincial wine to improve our digestion.  We sat in the sun and gabbed on the rocks just beyond our sandy beach.

Mike and the sky.

The haze ran down the valley and spilled out onto the lake.

Day two - we got a late start after a good sleep.  Well, at least I slept well.  There was some rumor about Doug snoring in the tent with the other two while I lounged in my hammock without the benefit of hearing assistance.

A short paddle took us off the island to a portage with some of the worst footing I've ever seen.  Your choice: ankle breakers or muck.  

What a lousy place to have to carry all your stuff so that you can put it back into the canoe.

The Cody Contingent on Harrington Pond

After the carry, another short paddle brought us to the long portage of the day.  We pulled out at a railroad bridge and trudged up the tracks for for about half a mile.  Why is it that railroad ties are positioned so that no-one can ever be comfortable walking on them?

We carried for about half a mile on the tracks, and then up and over a small ridge to get to clear pond.  We usually take two trips, first with the packs, and then with the canoes.  We missed the trail down to begin with, but the private property sign turned us around.   "At least we won't have to carry the canoes all that way, " quipped Doug.

Desperados waiting for a train.
It never came...so they walked.

Got to respect this guy.
He was buzzing down this rail as fast as he could go.
Had to be hot on the tootsies.

I wonder what station he was looking for.

Lunch break at the Clear Pond put in.

 Crossing Clear Pond, I became distracted while guiding the canoe from the stern.  "Don't hit the wood," directed Doug just before the bow plowed into to branch I hadn't seen that stuck up out of the water.

The Kingfisher pointed the way.

The final carry of the day took us to Bog Lake.  The wind had come up, so we surfed the rolling waves downwind into the channel leading to Lows lake.  We finally beached it at a campsite at the mouth of the bay that received the channel.

Looking over the loon and across the lake from our campsite.

But there were rewards for all the hard labor of getting to the lake.  In addition to the view, we were treated to the cries of the loons warning each other about the bald eagle that came to rest in one of the tall trees on the island close by our campsite.

The eagle landed in one of these trees on the island a short distance away.

Doug in his natural habitat.

A great sunset over the west end of Lows Lake.

Jim's favorite thing is telling stories around the campfire.
He has a never ending supply.
It helps that we don't remember them from one trip to the next.

Day three - Though I didn't sleep well, and awoke to the rain, I slept through the loon aria the others insisted had been incredibly loud and probably right next to my hammock by the lake.  Maybe I just like their music.

We headed east with the wind at our backs, thank goodness.  It would have been slow going into that stiff wind.  Even so, crossing the bay where we came in was a bit hairy.  I wasn't sure our canoe would handle the whitecaps well, but when the wind blew my hat into the water, we were able to turn around and retrieve it without mishap.  

Where are we?  And where are we going?
Mike puzzles it out while Jim practices for a government job.

 Once we made it down the length of the lake, we paddled down the Bog River Flow, an interesting confluence of multiple channels with a glacial esker running the length.   The channelled wind was high enough that Doug and I often made good progress by holding our kayak paddles out of the water, letting the wind push us around.

Leaves already coming down in an uncharacteristically calm spot on the Bog River Flow.

Beautiful campsite where we ate lunch.

The only navigable slip in one section of the Bog River.
Damn beaver dams!

Will they make it?

 After lunch, the wind died down, but it was followed by rain that intensified as we paddled.  We made it to the upper dam and scouted the remains of the Lows Estate.  This time not only Doug wore rain gear.

Remains of a portion of the Lows Estate.

Amazing haul, and I didn't even know they were trolling from their canoe!

 We intended to pick out a campsite at Hitchins Pond, but the good ones were taken and the weather was only getting worse, so we paddled our way out to the lower dam.

As Doug and I paddled through the narrows just above the dam, a tree crashed down into the water along side of us.  If we hadn't been so wet, we might have felt the splash.  And if we had been on that side of the narrow channel instead of the opposite, I wouldn't be writing this now.

We paddled through this for much of the last day.
Off in the distance, where the channel narrows, is where nature tried to do us in.

But it wasn't our time, so here is our tale.  Hope you enjoyed it.

The intrepid explorers may be wet,
but their spirits aren't dampened.