On Monday morning I slipped my arms through the straps of my 35-pound backpack and headed up the old tote road from the Piseco trailhead.
In front of me was 50 miles of wilderness with numerous lakes, rivers and beaver flows. So with a beautiful blue, cloudless sky above I ventured forth, anxious to see what lay ahead on the Northville-Placid Trail.
The mixed forest was beautiful that morning as rays of sunlight filtered down through the canopy of branches overhead.
With just gradual ups and downs I made good time. Every once in a while as you go quietly along something in nature gets your attention.
As I approached a small stream I noticed two weathered pine logs that spanned the brook. Just before putting my foot on the makeshift bridge I saw movement.
From under the log a dark brown animal looked up at me with black beady eyes. It was a mink. I’m not sure he had ever seen a person before. He didn’t seem scared, but quickly pulled his head back.
I stood motionless and saw him appear again on the other side of the logs to check me out. We played that little back and forth game for a couple of minutes before he headed down the creek, looking for his breakfast.
The day continued as the miles slowly passed. Finally by mid-afternoon I saw a lake glistening down through the trees. It was Spruce Lake.
I continued on until I saw a sign in the shape of an arrow on a tree lean-to. With no one else around I skinny dipped in the warm water for a while and lay out on the rocks collecting some rays.
As evening approached I heated some water in my Jet Boil stove. Then I heard a voice.
“Anyone at the lean-to?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Rick, is that you?”
Now that was a shock. How in the world did anyone know where I was? I’m ten miles from civilization deep in the Adirondacks. Moments later two people appeared at the shelter.
“We saw your name on the trail register and figured you’d be here. Mind if we join you?”
It was a man and his wife. He was a college professor from southern Florida and that was their 14th time hiking the trail. We had a fire that evening and swapped stories.
In the morning they continued on their way. I joined them until we reached the headwaters of the West Canada Creek. I decided to stay there for a while and fish for some native brook trout, so they went on.
As I cast a fly onto the tranquil water, I wondered if anyone had fished here in recent years. The fat 12-inch, red-sided brookie answered my question. I caught several but only saved two for my dinner that night.
Finally I arrived at the site of the West Canada Ranger Station. The old cabin was burned by the state in the winter of 1987. In that same clearing were the remains of a fireplace built by French Louie, a famous Adirondack hunting guide of years past.
I spent the night at the West Canada Lake lean-to. There was a notebook up on a shelf where people left a few comments about their trip. The night before I was there a woman and her two sons watched a cow moose and her two calves feeding in the shallows. That had to be quite a sight. I saw tracks but never saw a moose.
The next morning I continued my journey and ran into the Florida folks for a second time. They had stayed at the Carry lean-to on the south end of the Cedar Lakes to celebrate their anniversary.
We’ll continue further north next week.