(A note: whenever camping, canoing, or doing things in the wild, take proper saftey precations.)
If you take the northern, scenic route from Boston, MA to Long Lake, NY (and stubbornly, I always do), the billboards disappear entirely once you cross the Connecticut River between New Hampshire and Vermont. There are few clearer indications that you’re going the right way.
For me, the annual trip north changed from a vacation to a pilgrimage almost as soon as I was old enough to distinguish between the two. This year’s unconventional retreat was my 18th in as many Falls, and although the company’s changed, the feelings of the trip, the ones that form way deep down, truly haven’t.
I could spend this whole article describing the feelings I get at Long Lake – how the days spent in a canoe on a lake with no houses contrast the mornings spent in a gas station convenience store (the only source of quick coffee in town) getting apple fritters and deli sandwiches; how both seem to exist in a fantasy world where outposts of civilization grow among vast, untainted wilderness – but I’ll try and tone that down. That wouldn’t benefit you, reading this.
You will either travel to Long Lake in the Adirondacks (or any similar place), bringing along the right headspace, and know exactly the feeling it stirs up inside a person, or you won’t, and no amount of personified trees will make you understand it. Instead, I’ll describe what happened this past weekend (10/17/20 – 10/18/20) on my most recent pilgrimage, provide some tips and logistics, and perhaps this will be enough to inspire you to seek out your own annual trip north, or south, or wherever the wild lands lie.
Planning
I knew Long Lake was long, but I never knew how long. That was the half-baked reasoning that inspired our itinerary: we would paddle to the top of Long Lake, camp out in a lean-to, and paddle back the next day. Not every trip north has to follow the same route, and this year we wanted to try something different.
It turns out Long Lake is 10 miles long if you start in town. I found that out by looking at Google maps.
Setting Off
We loaded the canoe with camping gear, food, and more beers than was necessary. Once we had installed the third seat – made from an old wood plank and screw-in hooks bought at a Wal-Mart – we kicked off from shore, paddled to the opposite bank to hide from the wind, and promptly stopped to take pictures. Before us was glassy water stretching out so far that it began vibrating like heat reflecting off asphalt on a hot afternoon. Eventually the mountains in the high-peaks wilderness cut off the long expanse of water. The branches of trees on the banks were barren except for yellow leaves which for some reason outlasted all the other colors.
Crew
As we drifted further up the lake, the wind was the hardest working member of our crew; we paddled only on occasion. After 30 minutes we cracked our first Busch Light to celebrate a packing job well done.
“Dylan, you awake back there?” Mat called from the front of the boat. “Where the fuck we goin?” When traveling by canoe, the person seated in back has most of the steering power.
“That’s for the captain to know.” I answered
“Oh yeah, sure. Well I’d say we’re off course.”
“That’s why you’re not the captain.”
“Hey ya know what-” He turned around.
“Yeah?”
“Probably time for that second Bush huh?”
“For sure. Also, in all seriousness, I’m trying to keep us as close as possible to shore. Because, ya know, falling into the water in the middle of the lake means we’re straight up dead.”
“No, see, I get that, but we wanna be going around there right?” He pointed to an edge of shoreline that jutted out into the middle of the lake.
“Not really. I was trying to go behind those Islands – to the left of them.”
“What islands?”
“The ones you just pointed at.”
“You mean the peninsula?”
Anna, seated between the two of us on the homemade seat, spoke up. “Pretty sure those are islands, you can see the trees on the shore are further away.”
“Thank you” I answered.
“Nah, you’re both wrong.” Said Mat.
20 minutes later we passed the land in question.
I looked around the corner. “Huh, weird how this peninsula isn’t connected to shore at all.”
“You can shut the fuck up back there.”
Evening, Twilight, Night
A few hours later, the sun began drawing close to the trees along the hilltops on our left and we pulled up to a beach at the end of the lake. A lean-to sat on a hill behind the beach and looked out across the darkening water.
For a while, after dragging our belongings up the hill to camp, we each drifted away and into our own separate worlds. Between us there formed an unspoken agreement to allow the others their peace. We sat – at the base of trees, on rocks along the sandy shore, between tangled roots; heads down in notebooks or up in the clouds. A gentle rain fell but did not block the early evening sunlight as it bathed our worlds’ in a soft orange haze.
We remained there a long time. At last, the light fled behind the mountains and hunger called us back to earth, or rather, back to each other.
It got cold that night. Not real cold, but mid-to-low 30’s – cold enough that if you drank your water too fast, your teeth would hurt and you’d be left with a bit of brain freeze. The whiskey helped. And I know, I know: “doctors say it doesn’t actually make you warmer! It actually makes you colder, you only feel warmer!” Fucking perfect. Unless I’m about to die of hypothermia, feeling warm is really all I’m going for.
If you’ve never slept in a lean-to, picture a small cabin with a single room lifted ever so slightly off the ground. Now cut that in half. That’s a lean-to; a floor, a roof that extends just far enough to keep you dry, and three walls.
I didn’t sleep much. The cold saw to that. But I didn’t mind. It’s so quiet out there at night, and if you fall asleep right away you don’t get as much time to enjoy it. From my sleeping bag in the lean-to, I could look out where the fourth wall would be, and, through the pine branches overhead, the night sky reminded me of my place in the vast unknowable nothing.
Last Legs
The next day, we began moving before it was light. Despite this, our coffee took twice as long to boil as it would have in the summer, and we didn’t pile into the canoe until the sun was well clear of the high peaks. But we did see the thick mist along the lake gradually vanish between trees on shore.
Paddling back in the direction we came, we hugged the opposite bank. There were fewer houses on that side – more state land – which meant that we could pull up along small beaches more frequently to deal with the aftermath of the morning’s coffee. Each and every time we stopped we discovered some new world of soft floors carpeted by golden leaves, birch beams arching overhead, ancient lean-to’s that seemed to grow with the trees, and views of the lake that would fetch seven figures on the real estate market should anyone wish to desecrate those sanctuaries by calling them their own.
It was two o’clock before we reached town, and the only remaining task was lunch at the Adirondack Hotel. If you do visit Long Lake make sure to stop there. It’s sat on the lake since the 1800’s and few such havens of good food, good beer, better people, and a taxidermy bear in the lobby still exist.
Nitty Gritty
All told, the trip was 20 miles and required about four hours of heavy paddling each way – more on a day when you’re pointed into the wind. We set off from the public boat launch at the end of Dock Road in the town of Long Lake, New York, and camped at one of the Lost Wilderness lean-tos. There’s a map of Long Lake at the boat launch which marks all the lean-tos along the lake so you can easily extend or shorten this trip as long as you don’t mind playing a game of: Is that a lean-to through those trees? Or just a sad looking Spruce.
Find Your Own
There you have it; most of the information you’ll need to get started. You can go almost any time of year (in the dead of winter you do need to worry about hypothermia so pack proper gear), but I’d recommend going when the fall colors eliminate the need for hallucinogens (late Sept. to mid Oct. in the Dacks).
Long Lake is a good place for an annual wilderness trip, but if you’re far from the northeastern U.S., don’t fret; there are many places in the world where trees outnumber people and nights are quiet. Seek these places out and sooner or later one will burrow itself way deep down in your person. Then you won’t be able to go more than a year without a visit.
When preparing, make sure you bring some people you love, make sure you paddle slow, and try not to take any of it too seriously – a light touch of solemnity is best.
Next Adventures
As for me, I’m hitting the road now. I’ll be living in my VW wagon (not the cool one you’re thinking of from the 70’s, mine’s a 2011 Sportwagen) for the next few months out west. There are many destination articles in the works, as well as a look at the philosophy of Van Life, so check in on the blog when you can. Until then, be well, be kind, and safe travels out there.
Dylan
