When you are an adventurer, there are always special places you go that you like to keep to yourself. (It is much harder today with GPS, Google maps, drones, social media and geo-tagging, but you still try to keep things on the lowdown.) For my family, we had a special lake up in the woods about an hour or so from our house. We don’t name it — although it has a name — because you know… it’s our place. One time, we were in a gas station on our way up to the lake and Sara’s husband Jake made the mistake of telling the cashier where we were headed and he got the dagger-eyes from Sara. She said, “Jake, we don’t say the name of the place we are going… ever.”
Created by the State of NY in 1892, the six million acre Adirondack Park is the largest park in the US. Although it is not officially a national park, it is a national historic landmark. 2.8 million acres are owned by the state and 3.4 million acres are privately owned, most of which is regulated forest preserve. The Park is also home to 105 towns and villages. The southermost portion of the Park is called The Shaker Mountain Wild Forest and is comprised of 40,527 acres. In case you are curious, the word Adirondack was a derogatory term used by the Iroquois for the Algonquins and means “eaters of tree bark.” In 1837 a man named Ebeneezer Emmons named the area (which was known on maps at the time as “deer hunting country” or “high peaks”) the Adirondacks.
This is where my sister currently lives and where we grew up hiking, swimming, camping and experiencing the magic and wonder of nature and the beauty of creation.
In June of 2010, I visited with Dad, Christine, Sara and the kids and I wrote this:
It’s been 20 years since the several mile drive up the rough and rocky mountain trail, bumping and creaking on rutted washed-out dirt road, curving alongside a steep drop to the creek below. Once the motors are silenced and the backpacks are in place, the hike begins, up through the forest, birdcalls and the sounds of water running down through rocks. The sunlight filters down through the trees, creating interesting patterns and shadows. The water pools are crystal clear, and ice cold. Yup, it’s been 20 years and everything is exactly as I remember it. The meadow is neither bigger nor smaller… just that burst of open sunlight and the first glimpse of the mountain lake through the trees. The air was sweet and clean, and the sounds of nature and a few humans was all that could be heard that day. When I was young, this was like holy ground, in many ways. Dad would stop us and say “shhhh… listen.” And we would hold our breath to hear the sound of creation for just a few moments. Then it was on to our favorite swimming rock across the lake, where the goodness of mountain pies over a fire awaited. It was good to be back.
From the time I was a little kid to my teen years, Dad and Mom would pack us into the car and we would wind or way through the various little towns and take the road up the mountain to a lake in the woods. The 1.5 mile dirt road to the trailhead was deeply rutted and rough. One time we tore the muffler off our old rust brown Ford Maverick as we attempted to maneuver over rocks and holes up the trail to the parking spot. But it is beautiful as you move upward, a feeling of serenely and silence begins to descend. When we would reach the parking area, which had room for a few vehicles, we would tumble out of the car, full of excitement and energy. There was a big iron gate across the trail with some rusty stop signs that had a million bullet holes in them.
The 1.1 mile trail can be easy or rough, depending on the season. You will encounter streams that run across the trail, rocks to climb over, definitely mud, and the hike culminates at the edge of the lake. As we would start down the path, things began to slow down. You would start to hear the sounds of the birds, the rusty of grass and ferns against your pant legs, the creaks and squeaks of Dad’s backpack, and the smell of Off mixed with earthy woods. On the left up on the hill (in the early days) were several cabins. They were old and worn. Some were abandoned and falling down, but there were a couple inhabited by old mountain men, or so dad said. I remember seeing them a few times, watching us from their porches as we hiked the trail below. Eventually, Dad said the cabins were all burned down by the state. I always wondered about the story of those guys who lived in those places — who they were and how they ended up there.
From 1830-1890, logging in the ADKs became quite prolific and profitable — the forest was full of old growth lumber. Sadly they began to clear cut significant portions of the forest at alarming rates. They would haul the white pine, spruce and cedar logs out by logging roads, and send them down the rivers to various mills in Glens Falls. There were also mills at logging camps throughout the mountains. This was one of the reasons that the Adirondack Park was created to prevent this and preserve the forests. Logging continued into the early 1900s as railroads became more prevalent and significant amounts of hardwoods were removed, as well as damage was done by forest fires caused by the sparks from equipment. There are still some places of old growth forest that do remain in the park.
As we continued up the trail toward the lake, after clambering over rocks, streams and muddy trails, we would come to an area that was more flat and filled with large trees. There were a series of stone piers as well as the remains of a long stone pit that looked like a narrow basement. There were also several large pieces of rusted metal laying about the forest floor –– what Dad told us were the remains of a sawmill. The narrow pit was where the saw blade would have been, and the piers were the foundation of a building. In fact, Dad had a big saw blade in his garage which would have probably been similar to what was used here. It was about 5’ in diameter and had some serious teeth on it. I did a little research and found this article that stated: “A large sawmill and woodworking factory … operated from about 1900 to 1920 on a site … north of the trailhead. The numerous cement piers which supported the mill and other remains can be seen in close proximity to the trail. Just before reaching [the lake] there is evidence of an old clearing with a few scattered apple trees and stone walls. This location, now growing up with young trees, was the location of a boarding facility for the 24 people who worked in the sawmill and spindle factory.”Once we passed the sawmill site, we would enter “the meadow” and knew we were getting close. This beautiful sunlit space was often filled with butterflies and buzzing bees. As we were walking, Dad’s rule was that we did not shout in the forest. We spoke quietly and respectfully, for this was home to the animals and the trees and the wind. We were taught to honor those spaces as though they were sacred temples… and they are. And yeah… we did hug some trees and feel the life in them. I remember doing this with Dad when he came to visit me in Indiana once and it brought me back to these years as a kid. As we left the meadow, we saw the lean-to. At the time, it was in rough shape but it has since been updated with a newer one. Just past that… our destination!
Finally. We reached the lake!18 acres of pristine, crystal-clear water surrounded by trees and mountains. It was all ours. Our destination was the other side of the lake where a massive slab of rock projected out of the water. You could see the rock across the lake, but it was a bit of a hike to get over there. The first challenge was crossing the beaver dam. It was curved, uneven, with sticks sticking up in random spots. Some years it was in bad shape or had spaces where water had broken through, and you had to try and keep your balance as you walked along the top of the dam. The water was shallow on your left and crystal clear.
In the early days, the lake was a “dead lake.” The emissions from coal plants over the years had caused acid rain, which essentially killed of the fish population of hundreds of lakes in the region which was very evident in the early 1980s. They began to recover in the early 2000s after clean air regulations were enacted.
Anyway, back to the journey. Once the dam was crossed (“boys, help your mother!”), we had to do a little bushwhacking to find the trail, but when we got on the trail it was a nice little hike through the pines until we found the little campsite near “the rock.” There were actually two car-sized rocks — one a boulder, perfect for sitting on and sat above the lake’s edge, and the other a huge angled slab that came out of the water. This is where we would jump off and go swimming, lay out in the sun, and have conversations about… well everything. Because the lake was so clear, you could see quite a distance down. At the bottom of the lake there were logs left over from the logging days, jutting upward at odd angles and in the shallower parts, scattered here and there, lying half exposed to the elements. I remember Dad would hold his breath real deep and swim downward and touch the log at the bottom. As a kid, that seemed so deep! The lake was about six feet deep where we would go swimming off the rock, but the logs were down much further. He taught us the “dead man’s float” and how to float on our backs. Funnily enough, I didn’t float very well because I was so skinny.
As a family we would often camp here. We would set up the tent, make a fire and enjoy being together under the stars. I remember Dad making Mom coffee with the silver camp percolator over the fire. We would take two pieces of bread and some spoonfuls of canned blueberries between the slices and put that sandwich into a metal device that, when folded together and held over the fire, made a perfect toasted hot blueberry mountain pie. Those were honestly the best. As boys, Dad would take use here and teach us how to gather wood for a fire, to use tinder and where to find it, and we would have fire starting contests. Matt and I would bring our matchbox cars and play with them on the rock, I would sit there and read books, or we would have discussions with Dad about life, spirituality, sage wisdom, and always spirituality. He would take us on trails to another nearby lake, and show us how to use a compass. I remember the first time Sara jumped off that rock into Dad’s arms. As we would hike out, we would always pick up trash. It drove Dad crazy that people were disrespectful and left their trash behind, so we carried an extra trash bag with us to pick up cans and bottles and such as we left. Sara told me recently that she still practices this today, as do I.
For me, the last time I went to the lake was when I was in high school. After college, I stayed in Indiana, so the years went by and I hadn’t been there for quite some time. I came home to NY in June of 2010 and said to Dad, “You know, we should go to the lake. It’s been a long time.” And so we did. He and Christine grabbed the Kevlar® canoe and we met up with Sara and the kids and drove the trucks in and parked. We had so much fun hiking, Sara and I stopping to take a million pics along the way of course, and reliving memories on the trek in. Dad carried that canoe the whole way too! Of course the kids wanted to know about the sawmill and Dad told the stories. We crossed the dam, built a fire in the campsite, and took turns trying out Dad’s canoe. I have a video of a big 10” leech swimming around the water, and Rhea’s little voice claiming how she would just flick it off if it ever got on here. Haha! Dad caught some trout and Christine grilled it over the fire. I had no idea at the time when I mentioned it to Dad, but honestly it was a meaningful and memorable trip that was meant to happen. A few months later, in November, Dad unexpectedly passed away while working at his shop… doing what he loved doing. I am grateful for the opportunity for us to have made one last hike in there together with Dad.
The following year, after a special time together with Gram, Mom and others at the house, Christine, Sara, Jake, Matt and I hiked back to the lake and had a memorial for Dad there. He became a part of the place we all loved so much. Another year later, Sara and Jake were married on the shore of that lake. About a dozen or so of us (including a family member who was a judge) hiked in and celebrated their wedding. Mom and the others were a mile down the road at the house where Sara and Jake now live, preparing for the reception. And it was such a fun time of celebration with a lot more people!
I was so blessed that somewhere along the line, Dad and Mom discovered this place and made it a point to bring us as a family there again and again. The lake was central to so many special and significant memories and amazing moments of my life. We went into the woods and took the road less traveled by… and what a difference and an impact that made in our lives.