We May Never Pass This Way Again

The mountains were very near their peak, though a few of us are well past ours.

For some, this is a repeat of a nice trip many years ago.  Why not, when a fine campsite and local points of interest beckon?  Even when hours of downpour greet you upon loading up your canoes and paddling to the campsite.  There was so much rain, it was questionable whether we'd know the difference should we capsize our overloaded canoe.

But no reason to broadcast, "Mayday!"  Or even, "M'aidez!"  A good part of the experience is taking inconveniences in stride so that the annual camping trip can provide excellent entertainment opportunities.

There was a vaudeville review.

After much precipitation,
one wakes up to fog in the forest.
There must be a wizard and a gnome back there somewhere.

The loons have no problem with swimming close to the campsite
before the sun melts the mist.

Less mist means more color.

Eventually, the sun breaks free of the haze
and boots can be dried.

Had there been a few more giant mushrooms,
we would not have needed a tarp the size of Rhode Island.

Rain and fog gone, the decision to paddle was unanimous.

After paddling, we hiked over mossy ground
on the way to Ledge Pond,
carrying the lightest of the canoes with us.

Plenty of color to be seen once there,
all the better appreciated from the canoe.

As a rule, ponds are not so aptly named.
Here is one of the ledges.
Had it been warmer and had we been more adventurous,
ledge leaping might have been the preferred activity.

A fine reward for a paddle and a hike, don't you think?

Here is a barrier put up by the government to keep undesirables out.
M. F. G. A.
Make Fishing Great Again!

Later that same day, the fishermen fished.
While no catches of great note were reported,
the fishermen didn't really care.

Later that same evening,
we were visited by a lumberjack who said, "I'm OK."

Even later, backsides were warmed.

And a disembodied head floated by.

Though the sky had been blue the previous day, 
the next morning provided evidence of rain during the night,
which continued through the morning.

Another paddle and hike were the orders of the day.
We left after the rain tapered off.
The bag hanging from the tree?  That contains our food.
At that height and proximity to the trunk,
it only discouraged underachieving bears.

Scenery worth paddling through,
regardless of the clouds.

Lots of it.

Time for intermission?  Too many pictures?  Always.  And this is the edited group!

Out of the boats and onto the trail to Long Pond Mountain.

We hiked the beautiful path through the pines, past a picturesque pond,
and up Long Pond Mountain.

Interesting mossy growth.

Weary bones enjoy lunch at the top.

Fabulous views!
Pay no attention to the man almost completely obscured behind the hiking stick.

He thinks he's hiding behind the stick.

We work to get to the pinnacle, but never stay long enough 
to fully assimilate the sights.  It is not possible. 
The photos never do justice to the views.
While one's head is larger than this picture,
it's impossible to get one's head around the vastness of the actual space.

The larger mountains have gathered in the far off mist.

The gang gathers on a second rocky ledge.

Green-clad Jim drank in the views.  "This is probably the last time I'll get to see this."

Oh, Jimmy, don't say that.  Even if it is 100% true, let us old guys have the illusion that encroaching age will not soon end this fun. 

But damned if Russ, the third of the "mature" campers, didn't tweak his knee on the way down, just to emphasize the point.  We could have rolled him down the steep spots, but chose to get him a walking stick instead.  We did not leave him, since he kept insisting, "I'm not dead yet!"

Sappy cones

Mossy shrooms.

A last look and then on our way.
We came from one of those water bodies way down there.

We departed and the butterfly had the entire mountaintop to himself.

Nosewood?

Mushrooms "Heart" NY, too.

A mushroom of the 4-fingered variety.

Delicate saprophytes on the forest floor.

Up there.  That's where we were.
Will we ever return?

We got back to the campsite just as another rainstorm arrived.  Dinner, another campfire, and outstandingly intellectual conversation ensued.  Maybe even an inappropriate song or two.  

The next morning saw us striking camp and hustling out of the woods.  On the 4th day in the woods, the call of the warm shower is strong.  But even so, the beauty of the land makes for a few delays.

The rocky summit of Snowy Mountain looms high above Lewey Lake.

And farther south, the lowlands of the Sacandaga River
 cause another short delay.

Going with the flow

The Cedar River Flow is a rather remote lake created when a dam ruined a fine swamp.  But the result is a pretty lake with wonderful mountain views and campsites for extended visits.  The loons approve.

The inviting upstream view.
"Explore me!"

Does the downstream view show remnants of a bridge?
A wooden dam?

Our fearless leader moving his canoe to the launch.

Canoe camping is different than carrying a pack from place to place.
Weight and bulk constraints are much less stringent.
However, you still need to make sure your stuff and y'all fit in the canoe.
Without sinking it.

The man is yelling at Russ.

The elderly gentleman drove his car up to the launch, pressed the button that caused his window to descend, and barked, "Where's the road to Inlet?!!" 

Always quick witted, Russ answered, "Huh?"

"Inlet.  There's a road to Inlet here somewhere.  Where is it?" he demanded.  Russ asked the rest of the party for Inlet insight, but none was found.  "Sorry, but we don't know about any road to Inlet other than the main road, 15 miles back."

Scowling, he used a great deal of energy to move his bulk out of the car.  Regarding us with contempt, he went to study the trail map, which shows only the lake and campsites.

Here he was, at the end of a long, backwoods road to nowhere, with no idea where he was or how to get where wanted to go, but somehow we were at fault for not for not having the information he needed.  He must be in management.  

We finished loading our canoes and paddled away.  As we put distance between ourselves and the launch, it became apparent that we had missed an opportunity.  Yes, he let us know he wanted help, and we should have given it to him.  Any hairbrained set of directions would have done.  "Well, you need to go back to the main road and turn left.  Then you go past the first dirt road off to your left and turn onto the second one.  Before long you'll come to the white house (not the gray one!), where you turn right."  And so on.  

What we delivered might not have been what he wanted, but it would have been what he deserved.

Not sure what's going on here.
Our paddle in was no more than a mile,
and we only checked out one other site prior to settling in.
Fearless leader is losing his touch.

But the view from the selected site needed no apology.

Setting up.
If there is no picnic table or rocky flat surface,
and overturned canoe makes a fine table.

Much more important than a picnic table,
a privy with a view makes any campsite more appealing.
Ignore the flies.

Though the leaves were gone,
The birches towering over the site were lovely.

High up, people have difficulty practicing
the ill-advised act of stripping the paper birches.

Ahhh...

Not Iwo Jima, but teamwork is always important.

Would you stand under the food box?
Any savvy high-peaks bear would make short work of our precautions,
but here in an area with less bear-appeal,
we had no trouble.

He would not share because he only carried one flask.

Some of the crew near the fire.
Someone has obviously been hitting his flask too hard,
since he is already blurry.

You may note the cans in hand.  Not recommended practice when camping...only hard stuff, due to weight to wallop ratio.  However, on this trip, it was straight to the campsite, since there were no places where we had to unload, schlep and reload canoes and gear.  These carries, or portages, generally keep idiots (we often use a different descriptor) who carry in coolers of beverages and chainsaws and boomboxes from moving too far into the woods.

This time, at least with respect to the beverages, we were the idiots.

Have you ever heard Arthur Brown's "Fire?"

Gotta love the headlamp-eyes and fiery feelers.

It is easy to measure the of the state of mind of the photographer during the previous evening. There is inverse relationship between the number of campfire pictures captured and lucidity.  

The above are only a small sampling of the total.

The most important meal of the day.

Off on an adventure.
We paddled south down the lake to explore the river
above the point where it becomes a lake.

The cliffs on the mountain opposite our campsite
had to have an amazing view.
A bushwack up the spine of the mountain was planned for the next day.

But this was a splendid sunny day
just made for paddling.

It gets very swampy towards the river's mouth.
Not easy to find.

This nice shot is of one of us standing up in the canoe
surrounded by so many swamp plants
that the canoe is fully obscured.
The unrecommended vertical rise was an attempt
to see where the opening to the river might be.

Does this look like a river to you?

Well upstream, the group pulled up onto shore 
and had lunch at a nearby lean-to.
The antisocial fisherman in a kayak left when our band arrived.

He's fearless.
At least with fashion choices.

Dead lichen-covered trees lined the river channel.
Whether a natural cycle or signal of an environmental issue,
the trees are strikingly beautiful in demise.

Many treetops were loaded with pine cones.
Is this the reaction to a wet summer following dry?

The way back provided an opportunity to race geese.
They cheated, taking flight.

Relaxing after 9 miles of paddling.

Regardless of the catch,
there is joy to be had in fly fishing.

Even without vibrant color, mirrored sunsets are beautiful.

The beginning of an all-night rain put a damper on festivities.
Far fewer photos this evening.

After the soaking,
the clouds hung low over the lake.

Bacon, bacon,
in the skillet.
Soon the campers
fill their gullets.

A small side fire is stoked.
Very important that coffee water is readied,
regardless of posture.

The opposing cliffs looked down upon a loon,
50 feet off our shore.  He provided an hour of entertainment.
Unusual to see one in the same area for such a long time.

By noon it was apparent that the entire day would be damp.  Since the plan was to get up and out early the following day, it was decided to pack up and vamoose in the afternoon.  The bushwhack up the mountain would have to wait, since the wet underbrush would make it a miserable pursuit.

The decision to break camp made,
this guy was discovered high and dry under the tent fly.
Glad to be of service.

And off they go!
Wait a minute...is that a patch of blue?

[Editor's note:  There IS a road from the Cedar River Flow to Inlet.  There are things to be learned, even from the boorish.  Still wish we had "helped" him.]