Mission Accomplished
Back in early May of 1972, when I had not yet completed my 21st year and the snows had not yet left the Adirondacks, I joined four other youths and two dogs in a mad adventure hiking, more or less, the Northville-Placid trail, north to south, as far as Piseco. Bill Naple, as always, took charge of the preparations, which included a plan to pick up the trail at Duck Hole via a short-cut through Indian Pass.
Some complications ensued, including a very late start (the five of us and the dogs having split into three groups hitch-hiking from Plattsburgh) and the rather minor matter of the topographical map, or rather Bill's reading of it, which failed to enlighten us that this "short-cut" had a number of contour lines mighty close to each other, which, with full packs loaded with a week's supplies, proved to be quite challenging.
Duck Hole was impossible to reach. In fact, we barely got over the pass and climbed down the ladder to the far side before it became so dark that we lost the trail completely, with no hope of reaching the nearest lean-to. We ended up camping in the snow over some pine boughs, built a roaring fire and attempted to dry out our clothes which had already gotten plenty drenched from icy streams that occupied many a spot where the trail should have been. I had worn a couple of pairs of socks inside my brother's army boots, and the nylon pair that had been closest to the skin quickly melted into a tiny ball from the heat of the fire.
We survived, and a few days later emerged from the woods where the trail crosses Route 28N near Long Lake Village. By now we had learned to read contour maps and realized that the section ahead of us leading to Lake Durant went up and over a very high ridge on a steep trail, all of which by-passed Blue Mountain Lake village, where we had reason to believe Bill's mother, the saintly and lovely Dorothy Naple, had mailed us a snack.
So we skipped the trail, hitch-hiked around Blue Mountain to the post office, where we devoured a large box full of scrumptious fresh-baked apple bars mostly before we had even left the post office building. We grabbed some grub from the General Store, hitched on down to the next trail-head, and continued on our merry way.
***********
But some things just shouldn't be left undone. So last week, the better part of forty years later, Bill and I set out to complete the missing fifteen miles of the journey, along with another friend of Bill's. This time, taking into account the age of our bodies and those crammed contour lines, we allotted parts of three days.
Of course, by the time we finished jibber-jabbering and spotting two cars (does anyone hitch-hike any more?) it was after 3:00 PM when we hit the trail.
But oh, how nice a walk through the woods it turned out to be, with unexpected late-September warmth and the afternoon sun filtering through leaves well-along toward peak color. We had hoped to get over the ridge by nightfall, but around 5:30 with a fair amount of steep trail ahead of us, we figured we had best take advantage of what might be the last substantial running water and pitched camp.
We each had a tent, and found enough fairly flat space to accommodate us. Bill gave me a harmonica and we attempted a few duets near the campfire, but I'm pretty sure the instruments were in different keys. It didn't matter.
Next morning we ate well, broke camp, and started up the toughest part of the mountain. The trail was fortunately well-marked, because otherwise that section has been exceptionally poorly maintained. The trail actually pretty much disappears near the top of the ridge, which we reached after a long, hard, much-perspiring struggle.
The trail down the other side was not much better, but we had a full day ahead of us. At times it seemed like we were traipsing through a mile straight of muck. The drainage was terrible and blow-down from long-past storms still obstructed us regularly. We did seven miles that day before settling into the north lean-to at Tirell Pond, and it took us seven hours.
Tirell Pond is a beautiful spot, and I'm rather sorry that we hadn't several days to spend there, as Bill quickly found a leaky canoe secreted in the bushes which would have been great fun if we hadn't been so bone-weary by that time. A pleasant sandy beach is nearby, and the least-foul outhouse I've ever come across in the woods. The lean-to was well-stocked with dry wood, tarps, a visitor's log, and even a Danielle Steele novel, if that's your type of thing. I slept like a rock.
So far the weather had been perfect, but the five miles out the next morning came through a morning mist that turned into a light rain nearly the whole way out. I reached my car just before ten, and a welcome sight it was.
Still, all things considered, I was mighty proud of what my sixty-year old body had accomplished. Once I removed the heavy pack from my somewhat troublesome back, I realized that I felt just plain great. It helped that I had thought to leave a set of dry clothes at the destination.
The easy companionship continued with a lingering lunch at the Adirondack Hotel in Long Lake, and I was home well before supper-time and even managed a long hot shower and shave before Mary got home.
And if that wasn't enough, a couple of days later Bill dropped off some of his home-pressed apple cider.
Life is good.
************
I'm pretty sure that only leaves calculus as the last unfinished business of the 70's. Or maybe playing Harold Hill in The Music Man.
Buy my murder mystery The Evil Has Landed NOW AVAILABLE ON KINDLE FOR UNDER A BUCK!
and don't forget The Judge Report (THE BOOK) is now available, too!
Some complications ensued, including a very late start (the five of us and the dogs having split into three groups hitch-hiking from Plattsburgh) and the rather minor matter of the topographical map, or rather Bill's reading of it, which failed to enlighten us that this "short-cut" had a number of contour lines mighty close to each other, which, with full packs loaded with a week's supplies, proved to be quite challenging.
Duck Hole was impossible to reach. In fact, we barely got over the pass and climbed down the ladder to the far side before it became so dark that we lost the trail completely, with no hope of reaching the nearest lean-to. We ended up camping in the snow over some pine boughs, built a roaring fire and attempted to dry out our clothes which had already gotten plenty drenched from icy streams that occupied many a spot where the trail should have been. I had worn a couple of pairs of socks inside my brother's army boots, and the nylon pair that had been closest to the skin quickly melted into a tiny ball from the heat of the fire.
We survived, and a few days later emerged from the woods where the trail crosses Route 28N near Long Lake Village. By now we had learned to read contour maps and realized that the section ahead of us leading to Lake Durant went up and over a very high ridge on a steep trail, all of which by-passed Blue Mountain Lake village, where we had reason to believe Bill's mother, the saintly and lovely Dorothy Naple, had mailed us a snack.
So we skipped the trail, hitch-hiked around Blue Mountain to the post office, where we devoured a large box full of scrumptious fresh-baked apple bars mostly before we had even left the post office building. We grabbed some grub from the General Store, hitched on down to the next trail-head, and continued on our merry way.
***********
But some things just shouldn't be left undone. So last week, the better part of forty years later, Bill and I set out to complete the missing fifteen miles of the journey, along with another friend of Bill's. This time, taking into account the age of our bodies and those crammed contour lines, we allotted parts of three days.
Of course, by the time we finished jibber-jabbering and spotting two cars (does anyone hitch-hike any more?) it was after 3:00 PM when we hit the trail.
But oh, how nice a walk through the woods it turned out to be, with unexpected late-September warmth and the afternoon sun filtering through leaves well-along toward peak color. We had hoped to get over the ridge by nightfall, but around 5:30 with a fair amount of steep trail ahead of us, we figured we had best take advantage of what might be the last substantial running water and pitched camp.
We each had a tent, and found enough fairly flat space to accommodate us. Bill gave me a harmonica and we attempted a few duets near the campfire, but I'm pretty sure the instruments were in different keys. It didn't matter.
Next morning we ate well, broke camp, and started up the toughest part of the mountain. The trail was fortunately well-marked, because otherwise that section has been exceptionally poorly maintained. The trail actually pretty much disappears near the top of the ridge, which we reached after a long, hard, much-perspiring struggle.
The trail down the other side was not much better, but we had a full day ahead of us. At times it seemed like we were traipsing through a mile straight of muck. The drainage was terrible and blow-down from long-past storms still obstructed us regularly. We did seven miles that day before settling into the north lean-to at Tirell Pond, and it took us seven hours.
Tirell Pond is a beautiful spot, and I'm rather sorry that we hadn't several days to spend there, as Bill quickly found a leaky canoe secreted in the bushes which would have been great fun if we hadn't been so bone-weary by that time. A pleasant sandy beach is nearby, and the least-foul outhouse I've ever come across in the woods. The lean-to was well-stocked with dry wood, tarps, a visitor's log, and even a Danielle Steele novel, if that's your type of thing. I slept like a rock.
So far the weather had been perfect, but the five miles out the next morning came through a morning mist that turned into a light rain nearly the whole way out. I reached my car just before ten, and a welcome sight it was.
Still, all things considered, I was mighty proud of what my sixty-year old body had accomplished. Once I removed the heavy pack from my somewhat troublesome back, I realized that I felt just plain great. It helped that I had thought to leave a set of dry clothes at the destination.
The easy companionship continued with a lingering lunch at the Adirondack Hotel in Long Lake, and I was home well before supper-time and even managed a long hot shower and shave before Mary got home.
And if that wasn't enough, a couple of days later Bill dropped off some of his home-pressed apple cider.
Life is good.
************
I'm pretty sure that only leaves calculus as the last unfinished business of the 70's. Or maybe playing Harold Hill in The Music Man.
Buy my murder mystery The Evil Has Landed NOW AVAILABLE ON KINDLE FOR UNDER A BUCK!
and don't forget The Judge Report (THE BOOK) is now available, too!