Day, the Second

Wednesday 8.20
Day two. Even more exciting than the first. Woke up earlier (7:45) and stopped by the office after a shower for a muffin and a coffee for Meg. Then sat out on the lawn and watched one of the little Quebecois boys unhook and subsequently wander all over the grounds clutching the adolescent, oxygen-starved northern pike that he had apparently just caught off the dock. I think he even took it in the office. After this we took a paddle about halfway down Lake Flower. Then it was time to officially start the day.

We set off for Whiteface around 10am, headed the backway through Bloomingdale to get there. It looms large in front of you once you get in the vicinity, and I was a little worried to see the top rimmed in clouds much as Algonquin and Marcy had been yesterday. When we got to the gatehouse the sign said 40 miles visibility at the top, with 5-15mph winds and a temperature of a balmy 49 degrees.

It’s a special pleasure, being able to drive almost all the way to the top of the 5th highest peak in the Adirondacks. The Whiteface Memorial Highway was some sort of New Deal project in the ‘30s, and one, I learned from its pamphlet, which would be impossible to pull of these days. And it’s probably good that this is the only one because it was a bit of a strange feeling taking an elevator down off the summit with a bunch of prospective AARP members playing grab-ass. But I still think it’s a nice thing to have available to the public. Whiteface is quite separated from the rest of the high peaks region and its isolation made it an excellent candidate for that sort of project. After all, the elderly and the lazy deserve to revel in nature’s wonders as much as the seasoned outdoorsman.

The road climbs 2300 feet over five miles and deposits you in a parking lot right at the edge mountain, 250 or so feet below the summit. I guess the view probably isn’t worth trying to talk about, but it was spectacular, and it ramped up my excitement for Cascade even further. The high peaks are there again, but the difference between Whiteface and yesterday’s trip up Baker is about 2,300 feet in point of view. Even so, the view in the distance might be similar, but on a smaller mountain you just don’t have that seemingly never-ending slope of trees sliding away from you as you stand at the top. Whiteface also has some impressive slides, and of course, it’s always fun to look down onto a ski park in the summertime. We climbed up the last 250 feet over some very treacherous but user-friendly, railing-protected rock to the actual summit (cold and windy, alternating with downright pleasant), took all the tourist pictures, and then headed back down.

After being at such a considerable height it really felt a bit disappointing to be back down closer to sea level, and no longer with a bird’s eye view of the world. I kept looking up from route 86 at the gondola and the weather station and wishing I could go back up and just hang out. But there were more things to do. Lunch at an A&W was a nice treat of Americana. The next stop was an unplanned visit to the Wilmington Flume on the Ausable, which was a quick rock-scramble, photo-op, on our way to the High Falls Gorge, just down the road on the west branch of the Ausable. It was an attractive set of waterfalls through an impressive gorge. But I’ve been to a few places now where the trail head is a gift-shop and the hike costs 10 bucks and it always has a tendency to deflate the impact of the nature’s wonders for me. Still, nice, and I learned that it takes 100 years of lichen growth to create one inch of soil on bare rock. Chew on that!

On to the Village of Lake Placid. A Tourist’s delight. We parked and walked. Two book stores right next to each other is always nice. The inevitable Ben & Jerry’s and Starbucks. A variety of Junk shops and souvenir sellers. An Adirondack crafts and housewares store with 3 floors of “rustic” décor, gifts and attire. And on their directory describing each floor, they included the “rustic” qualifier for each one. Finally, having run out of faux log furniture and stuffed bears to look at we grabbed a lemonade and sat down in a park on the shore of Mirror Lake. A band was setting up in the gazebo with a poorly set-up drum kit and a keyboard. A clean cut guy (loafers, tucked in polo, Keanu shades) was onstage with a 12-string strapped on. I spurted a bit of a diatribe against the instrument to Meghan as he strummed a bunch of open chords, the usual 12 String fodder (G, Cadd9, D). A youngish drummer came up and joined, they were bad together. A lady came up and plugged in yet another 12 string. There were multiple miniature stand-mounted monitors. And 3 microphones clustered together on one side of the stage. “This is a Christian act,” I said. And then the guy began soundchecking his keyboard and vocal mike. “Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Lord, blah blah, etc, etc…” Bam! It was a proud moment for my powers of speculation, and yet another sad moment in the history of music. We left, quickly. Dinner at the Lake Placid Brewery. Beer sampler. Cheeseburgers. Slow Service. Stopped at the Price Chopper to stock up for our hike tomorrow, and then grabbed an ice-cream cone next door to the motel. And now here I am, ready for bed.