A journey of 1,500 miles begins with the first book. Or two.
It doesn’t hurt to bone up a bit before heading out on road trips and outdoor adventures.
When Doug Shaffer suggested a paddling and camping trip to the Adirondacks, I was all in. And clueless. I’d never been there.
The closest I’d come to that was spending 10 days in Oneida County Jail in the 1970s. (A two-week hitch for public intox, with four days off for good behavior.) A small chunk of Oneida County sits inside “the blue line,” which is what the Adirondack Park boundary is called.
Travel, especially to someplace new, is far more fulfilling if you have an inkling of what you’re getting into — whether it be jail or the great outdoors.
Before heading out, I visited my favorite online bookstore and ordered Paul Schneider’s “The Adirondacks: A History of America’s First Wilderness.” A great read. Comprehensive, well-written, even entertaining at times.
For instance, thanks to Schneider, I learned the meaning of “Mohawk manicure.” Which describes a certain practice in which some Native Americans tortured their adversaries by removing their fingernails — with their teeth.
I found this encouraging because, no matter what adversity Doug and I might encounter in our weeklong Adirondack adventure, it wouldn’t seem quite as harrowing as having our fingernails pulled out.
Here’s my takeaway from Schneider’s book: The more things have changed in the Adirondacks throughout history, the more they’ve remained the same. Skirmishes over territory and dominance continue to this day.
Only now, instead of bloody battles fought with cruel tactics and crude weaponry, Adirondack occupiers mostly legislate and litigate over what should remain “forever wild” and what should be open to exploitation.
Meanwhile, the native flora and fauna struggle to hold their own against invasive species — human and otherwise.
In post-settlement times, the Adirondacks have been mined for iron ore, logged, farmed, trapped, hunted and served as a retreat for the healing and the well-heeled — with tuberculosis sanitariums and posh lodges and summer homes sprouting up here and there.
Eventually, exploitation was held in check by a combination of the excesses of its perpetrators and the dedication of outdoors enthusiasts determined to keep the Adirondacks “forever wild.” Which has proven to be a moving target.
Long story short, the Adirondacks cover an astounding six million acres, less than half of which is public land. Regardless, this unimaginably huge park offers a seemingly infinite variety of mountains, streams, lakes, ponds and trails with stunning scenery and reasonably well-behaved people.
I ordered a second book in preparation for the trip; it saved our bacon.
Had I not read Anne LaBastille’s “Woodswoman” before venturing out to the Adirondacks, Doug and I might have succumbed to hypothermia. Or, in the very least, spent some very uncomfortable nights shivering in our tents on the Saranac Lakes and nearby ponds.
Our initial plans were to take a multi-day canoe trip. Weather permitting.
Given the forecast, that seemed doable. But something I read in LaBastille’s book disabused me of that notion.
She was a hearty woman who, in the 1970s, built her own cabin, lived in the wilderness and became a certified guide. In her book she noted that, even in late summer, nighttime temperatures can plunge below freezing.
Further research confirmed this and revealed that it’s common for overnight temperatures to dip into the upper 20s in mid to late September. Which is when we planned to be there.
By my standards, that constitutes winter camping. Which requires a higher degree of preparation — physically and mentally.
I let Doug know what I’d learned and packed my winter sleeping bag and heavy woolen clothing. We adjusted our plans accordingly and lived to enjoy our bacon. Except for the morning I burned it.
Speaking of which, Schneider mentions LaBastille in his book. He notes that her barns were burned down — retaliation for her preservation efforts. Apparently a pro-developer’s idea of an Adirondack housewarming.
That might not rise to the level of being declawed by your adversaries, but it did serve as a warning that not everyone in the Adirondacks would welcome us with open arms.
Although it was a safe bet they’d welcome our money.
(To be continued.)
