Paddling the Overflowed Lands

Jim and I drove up to the junction of Route 10 and the West Branch of the Sacandaga River, aptly named by the original locals to mean "Overflowed Lands."  The river's extensive flood plain accommodates a great deal of water during the spring run-off and when rainclouds get stuck between the surrounding mountains.

Pete was kind enough to drive up with us so that he could ferry me back from where I dropped off the car near the take-out.  He delivered me back to the the put-in, where Jim had skillfully solicited a few squirts of bug spray from others on their way back from Good Luck Lake.  Certainly a stroke of good luck.

No sunscreen required on this gray day.

The only obstacle in the flow was a log jam.  I've never seen one of these before on an Adirondack stream.  We had to pick our way through numerous logs that had been cut, mostly by beavers with chainsaws, from the look of the ends of the logs.  

The current hastened us along and pointed the green angel hair water weeds in our direction of travel.

"This way..."

Not to be outdone, the land grasses danced in the wind.

In addition to the stream, there were lakes to explore.  Chub Lake outlet was just a trickle that had been dammed by the damned beavers, and the lake was only a marsh, as far as we could see.  But Trout Lake and it's continuation, Little Trout Lake, were gems.  They sit in a bowl formed by small peaks, and though you are paddling less than a mile from Route 10, they have the feel of the deep woods.  

Looking to the west from Little Trout Lake

The two campsites afford a choice of view...sunset or sunrise.  The sunset site also beckoned with the possibility of a bushwhack to the top of either of two ridges where rock faces promise a spectacular view few have ever seen.  Next time.

Trout Lake from the sunrise-view campsite.
One of the rocky ridges is straight ahead.  The other is at the far left.

Do not ask to whom the ridge calls.
It calls to you.

Flowing downstream again.

We chased a heron all day.  

He kept flying downriver instead of circling around behind us.

"Why do they follow me?"

Toward the end of the paddle, we split a pair of hills along with the river.

Though the day was gray, the sights were green on green.

Since my hearing aid decided it had insufficient battery power,
Jim decided this would be the way he'd tell me if he saw a moose.

A fine place to end 10 miles of paddling....

...as the rain engulfed the far hills.

Since Pete and I had not known exactly where the takeout was, we donned our ponchos and carried the canoe through the rain.  A quarter of a mile later, the canoe was atop the car and we were soon on our way back to the Pine Lake Lodge for some video of soccer (Gold Cup...USA!!!) and sustenance. 

One of the other patrons identified the canoe as a Hornbeck, and began a conversation.  Before long, the bearded, experienced gentleman and I were talking about paddles.

"Come on outside," I said.  "You gotta see this paddle."  We went out to the car and I handed him my kayak-style paddle so he could get the feel.  It weighs next to nothing.

"I bet this thing cost you a few bucks," he stated.

"Oh yeah.  I wasn't going to spend this much, but Peter Hornbeck gave me a good deal, so the price was only ridiculous instead of obscene."

"Yeah, I suppose.  But it's your last paddle."

I was taken aback by the notion, but I could not refute it.  But the notion does make me glad I bought it.