That evening we made camp, about five miles in, at Rock Lake. This was a glorious spot set not far from a bowl of blue water with a view of the collage of red, tan, and yellow trees around its circumference. As soon as we pulled out the tent, Amos bounded about excitedly, pulling bits of gear from our packs and throwing it around the forest. Once the tent was erected, he pawed to get inside and roll about. This guy couldn't have been more excited to spend a night in his favorite place - the forest. A barred owl hooted in the dusk and that night, a gnarly beech tree kept vigil as we slept. Now romantic as this sounds, I must say, it was a tight squeeze, three peas in a very small pod, considering we were zipped up in our two person sleeping bag with Amos wedged between. To roll over was no small feat.
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Hobblebush (Viburnum lantanoides)
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The next day we awoke leisurely, dined on warm oatmeal and instant black coffee, packed up our belongings and hit trail. The sun periodically burst forth from the clouds throughout the morning and later claimed the sky, lending us a beautiful blue canvas overhead. Hobblebush lined our path with plum-colored heart-shaped leaves and boreal forest plants such as bunchberry speckled the mossy earth. Hobblebush has edible blue-black one-seeded fruits (flesh can be sucked from the seed), whereas bunchberry, the smallest member of the dogwood family provides red pectin-rich berries, although both are mealy. Sparking amidst the leaflitter, was Foamflower, it's leaves bejeweled in forest moisture.
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Bunchberry (Cornus canadensis)
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Foamflower (Tiarella cordifolia)
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Partridgeberry, a prostrate vine of acidic soil, sporting the biggest leaves we've ever seen, twined along the ground, minty smelling wintergreen peeked from the leaf litter -both offering up tasty red gems of the forest - and snags and stumps housed plump ivory puffballs. Puffballs are a category of edible mushrooms, comprised of numerous genera, however the tricky part is finding those that are not already going to spores. These mushrooms, in fact, earn their name from their spore stage, when they turn hollow and become filled with airy spore that "puff" from a tiny hole in the mushroom's top when crushed. A puffball is edible when you split it open to find it pure white inside, rather than yellow or purple or oozy. But do your research before eating these - there are potential deadly look-a-likes.
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Puffball (Apioperdon pyriforme)
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By late morning, we reached Meco Lake. Here, we walked undulating trail blanketed in crisp needles and were shaded by the boughs of an evergreen forest. I was excited to spot the flat needles of balsam fir - a tree that I rarely encounter and usually associate with higher elevations. Pinching a twig tip, I cupped it in my hands and breathed deep its sweet aroma. This aroma brings back so many memories of hikes past, from the Appalachian Trail to the Catskills. Balsam fir was dappled between thick stands of red spruce, which can be distinguished by its sharp four-sided needles arranged on all sides of the twig. Red spruce needles are also generally shorter and finer. I felt truly transported, we could have been far more than a few hours from home.
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Balsam fir (Abies balsamea)
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Meco Lake
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At Silver Lake, only a hop-skip away from Meco Lake, in the damp, moss-cushioned earth, the delicate three-parted leaves of goldthread sprung forth. Although this plant is abundant in certain environments such as bogs and acidic-soiled moist forest, it is not one that you can find just anywhere. It is most certainly habitat-specific. Its common name refers to its golden colored thread-like root, which is rich in berberine, a medicinal constituent. For those of you who are familiar with goldenseal - a once popular herbal supplement - it too contains berberine. Berberine is a potent anti-bacterial, anti-inflammatory, and antioxidant. However, please do not harvest either of these plants from the wild - instead opt for another berberine-rich invasive plant, Japanese barberry.
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Goldthread (Coptis trifolia)
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Scott and Amos at Silver Lake
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The forest floor held other treasures as well, such as this toad which I believe is scientifically named, Anaxyrus americanus - any of my amphibian-loving peeps out there reading? Correct me if I am wrong. Scott spotted him first, at a wet spot on the trail where we had to use roots to cross, and this totally cool dude remained perfectly still through numerous photos and our stepping over him. By the looks of him too, I think he'd been working out - beefcake!
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| American toad (Anaxyrus americanus) |
Onward we hiked over rocky, rooty, trail, blanketed in leaves, now warmed in the mild autumn temperatures, beneath enormous rough-skinned beeches to which we had to crane our heads to the sky to see their leaves. These beech trees were continually perplexing throughout the trip. Beech trees typically have smooth grey bark, even into maturity. It's what sets them apart from many other trees that grow scaly or furrowed with age. However, it was no denying these were Beech trees, the mature ones with flaking/peeling bark and silvery-white patches, the younger trees covered in what looked like gray canker sores erupting in the trunk of the tree. After some research (upon returning) home, we learned of beech-rot disease. An invasive insect, originating from Europe, attacks the tree bark, which in turn leaves the tree susceptible to a native fungus that causes further damage. Eventually the tree, in its weakened state, falls prey to various insects and fungi. Over 90% of beech trees in the Adirondacks have been affected by beech-rot disease. Knowing this, has given us an even greater appreciation for this dominant tree of the forest.
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American beech (Fagus grandfolia) with beech-rot disease
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When we reached Canary Pond, the landscape expanded, sun pouring down upon us. Carefully, Scott navigated Amos over the plant boardwalk that crossed its width, while I got up close and personal with the pitcher plants that flourished in the pond's boggy, sphagnum moss turf.
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| Scott and Amos on boardwalk at Canary Pond |
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Canary Pond
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Pitcher plant (Sarrancenia purpurea)
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| Pitcher plants (Sarrancenia purpurea) cluster |
Pitcher plants are by far one of our most intriguing native plants. These unique plants are carnivorous, meaning that they consume insects to supplement their nutritional needs, given that they typically inhabit nutrient poor soils. Insects are attracted to the flared hood, with brightly colored veins and nectar-rich glands. However this flap is covered in downward-pointing hairs that guide the insect towards the pitcher. Near the base of the flap, its surface is smooth and so the insect slides down into the pitcher, which is filled with rainwater. The plant produces enzymes that mix with this rainwater and gradually digests its prey, turning it into food. Pretty wild stuff. I've had a lot of folks express surprise at the fact these carnivorous plants can be found in the northern US. However, although they are habitat specific, their presence is not all that unusual. I have seen pitchers in numerous bogs surrounding where we live in Milford, PA and I remember well the copious sundews in Maine on the AT. This particular species grows along the entire Eastern US, west into Illinois and Michigan and throughout Canada. Apparently, it also grows in California.
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Amos on lunch break
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We broke for lunch in a pile of sun-drenched leaves and it was then that we witnessed a most miraculous event - Amos took a break! Usually when we go for a day-hike, no matter the mileage, when we take a break and secure Amos' leash to a tree, he wanders about getting tangled around this tree and that, nags us for our snacks (despite how many he gets of his own), or simply leans into his harness facing ahead on the trail and whines. He'd rather be hiking than breaking - believe me I get it. But low and behold, from this break forward, he just took a load off, sometimes curling up and falling fast asleep. It only took about twelve cumulative miles. Great to know for our future long-distance endeavors.
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| Beaver lodge |
Now what hike is complete in the Adirondacks, a region rife with ponds and lakes, than a beaver lodge sighting. It may seem strange that this lodge sat in the center of a dry meadow, but according to the guidebook, this meadow is at times a substantial beaver pond. In fact the trail purposely skirts this expanse due to its periodic flooding. This would also explain the lack of trees and snags at its center. At this meadow's northern end, at a stream crossing, we also spied a formidable beaver dam.
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Scott and Amos at Mud Pond lean-to
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When the temps began to dip and Amos took to shivering in the leaf litter on a water break, we decided to call it a night at the Mud Pond lean-to. Mud Pond lives up to its name with a thick muddy shore, home to many a blueberry shrub. The evening was quiet, all except for an owl hooting nearby and mice in the lean-to. In fact...so quiet. We wondered about this quiet - we barely heard a bird, a toad, not a chirp from a cricket nor a squeak from a chipmunk the entire trip. Never had we been in woods so quiet. Any of my Adirondack readers have an explanation for this quietude? However, we were also pleased not to hear a single passing car, airplane, nor human sound for three days.
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On the NPT amidst so many trees!
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The morning began with a long descent towards the Sacandaga River. Temperatures were warmer than ever and the airy felt balmy. Last we had had cell service - three days previous - the forecast had called for rain and so we wondered if we'd lucked out. Did I mention how amazing it was to have absolutely NO SERVICE all that time? Pretty awesome.
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Scott crossing suspension bridge over Sacandaga River
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However, upon reaching the river, all that changed. The clouds rolled in and light rain started to fall. We took shelter beneath the impressive suspension bridge, had a snack and suited up for the last 6 miles of the hike. Once to the other side of the bridge, the rain turned steady and continued for pretty much the rest of the afternoon. We hiked along, Amos keeping up the pace despite his usual aversion to precipitation, and I took the time to bathe in the vivid colors in which we were immersed. Had we had no way to get dry that night, I might have felt different, but given that within a matter of hours we'd be warm and dry and back in civilization, all I felt was gratitude for one more day in the these sacred woods. Don't ask Scott, he had a slightly different vibe, especially with the uphill that persisted for pretty much the rest of those six miles.
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Scott leading the way uphill on NPT
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Adirondack meadow
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Close to the end of our mileage, we crossed the outlet to Buckhorn Lake (I believe) - what a beauty spot unexpected. We walked downed logs hewn by beavers, dodged sucking mud, and marveled at evergreens strung with usnea lichen like garland. It is these unexpected displays of magic, on any trail, that stick with you, and that call you back to the trail again and again again.
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A swampy beauty spot in Adirondacks
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Our last half mile ended in a torrential downpour and strong winds. The tree tops whipped back and forth overhead, thunder reverberated throughout the forest, as lightning illuminated the dark tree trunks beside us. And by god, Amos kept on hiking, despite dripping wet hound dog ears plastered to his head, wetter than I've ever seen him in my life. We dashed the last so many yards to the truck and just like that...we'd finished our first, of many, hikes in the Adirondacks.
