Full Circle - Returning to the Adirondacks

NYS Gazetteer Pages 37,78,79                             

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through.
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.

                “The Circle Game” ~  Joni Mitchell

Is it truly possible that it has been a year since I started spinning my yarn of our beloved fall Adirondack trips?  Yes, indeed, the years spin by and now the girl is 50, and there will always be new dreams and plenty, and sweet dreams they are.  We have managed to take a few short jaunts over the past year and thanks to your wonderfully positive requests and feedback I have resolved to make more time to share our special places with you.  Thank you. 

I believe I left off with preparing to drive through the Moose River Plains in the central Adirondacks after rescuing my treasured lamb figurine from the antique shop in Northville.  Zzzing!  Fast forward one year. (Don’t worry - this really will end up in the Moose River Plains!) This year’s fall foliage pilgrimage was long anticipated - it was our first full week off in a year. Must have something to do with running a newspaper...  And, yes, you might think we’re stuck in a rut, but there’s something indescribably, etched-on-your-heart special when we return to our familiar haunts in the mountains and assess the effects of another passing year on the people and places that we have come to love. 

The weather forecast for the first week in October wasn’t exactly sterling, but we really didn’t care. Just get me outta here!!! Our friends at the Sodus Bay Tackle & Marina Restaurant served up our favorite breakfasts and gave us hugs and a hearty send off as we headed down the road.  As seems to be typical when we have our trusty Wenonah strapped to the roof of the truck, the winds were howling, making it a real adventure to keep the truck headed straight down the road.  The winds continued to build, and by the time we crossed the north shore of Oneida Lake on Route 49 it had turned just plain ugly.  As luck had it, it was my turn to drive.  We’ve decided that taking one hour shifts driving when we’re traveling works out nicely.  We both like to drive and neither one of likes to be a passenger so it strikes a somewhat happy medium.  Oneida Lake is what those of us with small boats call “big water” and when the wind is roaring out of the south, there’s nothing to block it as it slams the north shore.  We could feel the canoe trying to raise the truck aloft at times. By the time we reached North Bay and the end of my shift, I was definitely ready to ride and read maps for a while.    

We had planned a stop at a waterfall between Prospect and Hinckley on Route 365 (NYS Gazeteer p. 37).  I fondly recall looking forward to stopping there as a child, hopping from rock to rock with my brother in summer sun and having a picnic of tuna sandwiches and orange pop.   The pull-off from Route 365 is easy to spot when you’re heading west; not so when coming from the east.  We slowed down so I could keep a watchful eye, much to the dismay and general ill-humor of the motorists who zoomed by us with those looks that kill.   In their hurried ignorance they just don’t understand that the best part of a journey isn’t arriving at your destination, it is in getting there.  As Hinckley Reservoir Dam loomed ahead, I knew that we had missed it, but you can be sure we’ll find it the next time. 

Towering, fragrant pines began to line the road and the truck prompted us to use 4^th gear rather than 5^th as we continued to climb.   The foliage began to change noticeably as we crossed the bridge over sunlit, bluer-than-blue West Canada Creek at the intersection of Routes 8 and 365.   Cold nights inspired brilliant reds this year, and savoring their combination with softwood yellows and oranges against a background of velvet evergreens we knew we were in for a very special fall show this year as we moved north.  

Perfect timing.  Two o’clock-ish and the canoe straps needed to be checked and we just happened to be at the Bear Path Inn in Hoffmeister (NYS Gazetteer, p. 78, A-3).  Owner Rollie Ford gave us a warm welcome, along with some sad/glad news: they have sold the restaurant and really do plan to retire.  His wife Carol was heading into surgery on both of her carotid arteries last fall when we visited.  All came out well, but they have decided to retire and enjoy their life together.  You have to see this place to believe it.  They own a mile of property back into the mountains.  A mile.  I can only dream.  All of a sudden, the lights went out and the coolers stopped humming.  The unceasing wind had taken its toll, and the power was O-U-T.  No problem. Rollie has a generator that will power the whole place - except that the battery needed to start it was dead.  Ethan sifted through our more than fully packed truck, emerging with our super heavy duty jumper cables and assisted Rollie in coercing the temperamental generator into chugging into action.  We hope that the new Bear Path owners leave the business cards, coins, dollar bills, and matchbook covers in their right and proper spots embedded in the ceiling’s rough-hewn wooden beams, and that the eclectic beer can collection remains intact. We know that Carol’s lovingly hand-made gifts in the display case by the front door will be gone forever.  I guess it’s that old carousel of time thing again.  I’m glad that last year I bought my tiny centerpiece fashioned from a tree fungus adorned with dried grasses and flowers complete with a diminutive wooden deer.

We found some most pleasant surprises in Speculator.  Two new businesses have spread their wings and appear to be quite successful.  One of my most favorite old buildings, the former Graham’s Hotel that boasted a roaring, bawdy business catering to lumberjacks before I was even a gleam in my parents’ eye has been resurrected into a very well done antique and craft shop with a café in the works.  The two-story building lay in decay for decades; now the new owners have restored most of the downstairs and are working their way through the building.  Another pleasant surprise is the new Lake Pleasant Inn, formerly the Gables Motel (which in its latter years was creepy enough to have been called the Gates Motel.)  The restaurant has a Nordic theme with a limited but delightful upscale menu.   We opted to have our “big” dinner during our stay in town at the Inn at Speculator, an old favorite.  Ethan’s choice was haddock encrusted with bleu cheese, served bubbly and golden and ridiculously rich.  Our waiter responded to my special request to substitute pork tenderloin for veal in their Forestiere creation with “by all means; our chef is happy to prepare anything that you’d like.” Tenderloin medallions arrived sautéed in a roasted garlic sauce with fresh mushrooms and sun dried tomatoes.  It was outstanding.  All of their dishes are garnished like pictures from Gourmet magazine: perfectly curled green onions and sprigs of rosemary resembled miniature Adirondack balsam fir trees.   

The weather was a little cooler than we like for boating, but was perfect for taking a hike and we set out to explore what our hiking books described as an easy hike back into a fabulous waterfall, supposedly to take only a couple of hours. Ha! We’d find out.  The trip involved a nine mile drive into the mountains on the West River Road in Wells at the south end Lake Algonquin (check your Gazeteer - p. 79, A-6).  The road winds along the West Branch of the Sacandaga River, terminating in a large parking area at Whitehouse where all that remains of a former lodge is a large stone chimney in a clearing next to the river.  Loading our packs with some munchies, water bottles, and a couple of frosty Blues, we set out to find the falls...only to discover that our first obstacle was a suspension bridge across the river which was a foaming, raging menace from the recent torrential downpours.  Yes, “she who is afraid of everything” did cross the thing - twice - and lived, although my hair is noticeably grayer...

More to come!