Day 40: “Have I by any chance mentioned that I hate big lakes?”

Mike & Jim preparing for departure

The next morning, we heard some heavy gusts through the trees. “Light and Variable Winds my ass” was our reaction to the official NWS forecast of a couple days ago.  The adrenaline started before the boats were loaded, even though from our limited vantage point things looked pretty benign.

The plan was to head northeast from Stony Point across to Clark Point in as expeditious a manner as the taciturn lake would allow.  Things began auspiciously enough, but as we traded the blocking influence of

Starting on the crossing to Clark Point

North Hero Island for the blocking influence of Popasquash Island (which is about a bazillion times smaller and farther away), we started to rock and roll.  This water was BIG.  The winds seemed to only be in the ten m.p.h. range, but the waves, which occasionally were in the 3 to 3.5 foot range, hadn’t  gotten that message.  Fortunately, these were not breaking waves; rather, they were fairly steady swells with interspersed minor chop and a smattering of whitecaps.  Nevertheless, it was an unsettling feeling, and I now have a good idea what it might be like to paddle open canoe in the open ocean.

Our route pretty much left us with beam seas coming from our right (southeast), and this orientation lead to a pretty weird phenomenon as we stroked our way north.  Despite the wind coming from the southeast (which should have pushed us northwest) and the waves rolling with the wind (which also should have flushed us in the same direction), our canoes definitely drifted to the northeast (in fact more east than north) with no effort.  My suspicion is that, with a heavy stern, the waves were swinging the boats so that as we paddled we were slightly quartering the oncoming waves.

At any rate, I never felt unsteady or in danger.  Whoever said the SRT excels in big lake water was absolutely right…the boat did everything I asked of it and more.  When the time came to turn downwind so I didn’t smash myself to pieces on Hog Island, it even caught some swells for brief but exhilarating surfs.  We all eventually made it across and at the first opportunity landed on a beach to kiss the shore and let the adrenaline levels subside a bit. Jim confirmed for maybe the fifth time that day that he hated big lakes.

Looking back at the madness we crossed.

Our next challenge (this last day seemed to be throwing plenty at us) was to make it under two bridges in to Missisquoi Bay.  This sounds pretty easy, and in the case of the Route 78 bridge it was, but before we got to it we had to get under a railroad bridge.  The bridge, which was only about 4 feet high,  is set on large piers set maybe 4 feet apart across the entire width of the lake, except for a section near the center that is set on a large mechanism that rotates to allow larger boats through. Hoping to avoid paddling that far out into the maelstrom, we sought a way through the piers.

The problem was, for quite a distance, all of the piers marching from the eastern shore were blocked with cross bracing.  Once we found openings without the cross-bracing, we found most to be inhabited by the stubs of former pipers, the tops of which winked in and out of sight in time to the swells.  So, we picked one that seemed to be stub-free, approached cautiously, and essentially surfed our way through the wickets.

Tommy and Jim in Long Marsh Bay

Once in Missisquoi Bay, things got a lot easier.  The waves calmed down to the “one foot or less” that the NWS was predicting, and we had a pleasant paddle past Donaldson Point into Long Marsh Bay.  The delta hiding the mouth of the Missisquoi River was pretty obvious and, unlike many travelers before us, we had no problem finding the correct channel.  GPS is a beautiful thing, but I think a good map is enough in this case.

Jim and I enter the mouth of the Missisquoi

At the mouth, we met a couple guys fishing, and Jim asked them if “this was the way to Louie’s landing”. They replied in the affirmative, and suggested that they hoped we had “eaten our Wheaties” (people up in Northern Vermont evidently still use that expression)because we had to paddle against the current into a southerly wind.  Ha! If they had only known what we’d paddled through that day already!

Mike bypasses Mac's Bend and heads upriver.

Needless to say, the Missisquoi presented no obstacle whatsoever.  The current was negligible and easy to paddle against.  The wind put in a half-hearted effort at slowing our progress, but we were equal to the challenge.  We saw quite a few motor boats going up and down the channel, carrying either fishermen, or duck hunters with enormous bundles of evergreen branches to use for blinds.  Tommy, Jim and I stopped briefly at Mac’s Bend for a break, but Mike kept at it.  Ten or fifteen minutes later, we followed him, and I sprinted for the finish, catching Mike just as he hit the boat ramp a hair ahead of me.

It was a phenomenal experience to take on the challenge of solo canoeing across Lake Champlain, and we all enjoyed it immensely.  Even Jim, despite frequently asking us all if he had mentioned that he despised big lakes.  I think it is safe to say that we all agree (especially Jim) that we are unlikely ever to try it again.  We never had any major problems, but I think we all feel like we got away with one.

Shiva doesn’t blink often.

Total Mileage for the day:  12.5 miles

Total Mileage for this segment: 35.6 miles

Total NFCT Miles to date:  478.1

Day 39: The winds shift

North Hero in the morning

Sometime during the night, the wind shifted to come out of the south, and the air started to warm up noticeably.  When we woke up, all signs pointed to a fine day, although Jim pointed out that it still involved dealing with a large lake, which he was not fond of. We all coffeed up and threw some food down our throats, and were soon packed and ready to disembark from Knight Island.

Tommy headed towards Dameas Island

Winds seemed manageable, so we again got a wild hair about us and decided to beeline straight for Kings Bay rather than taking the more direct approach across to Carrying Place.  This involved an open water crossing of about 4 miles.  We paddled along the side of Dameas Island and then entered the watery no-man’s land between our last camp and North Hero Island.

Mike under Mackerel Skies

The southerly wind steadily increased as we paddled, and by the time we reached Kings Bay we were catching some surf rides on two foot-plus rollers.  We took a short break on shore to stretch legs, and then paddled across the bay to Holiday Point, where we again got out to stretch and snack a bit.  By this time, the wind was kicking up some good whitecaps into the point.  Fortunately, past Holiday Point we had a good wind block and had easy conditions the rest of the way.  We stopped again at a public boat access and had some lunch.  Jim filled up his water bottles at the water treatment plant located there.

Yes, there ARE glassy conditions on Lake Champlain

We continued to Stephenson Point, and when we rounded that point we found our first “glassy” conditions of our journey.  Right after that, we found a road access that we thought might be the place to camp, but a couple local hunters who showed up with the makings of a duck blind gave us directions to keep paddling around Stony Point to look for another road access.  A quick paddle around the other side of the point found us at the trail leading 500 feet back into the closed loop of North Hero State Park that is now used for primitive camping for paddlers.

This campsite was basically created out of a swamp, so it is no wonder it has a reputation for voracious mosquitoes, a reputation we found to be well deserved.

An Eastern Redbellied Snake

It would be much improved if they  would at least install a privy, or open up the bath houses, but we’ve done primitive before so it was no big deal.  We at least had picnic tables and a fire ring.  We set up the tents, had some beer and snacks, and roamed around the abandoned campground.  Occasionally, cars would drive by, presumably driven by hunters or birdwatchers or, perhaps, axe murderers.  We found a neat nature trail with some enormous shagbark hickories and a distinct lack of wildlife, save for the aforementioned mosquitoes.  On the way back to the campsite, Jim spotted the first Eastern Redbellied Snake I’ve ever seen.

The path to the water

It was much warmer this night than the previous night, and it was nice hanging around the campfire without worrying about hypothermia.  We had a discussion about the open water crossings, and voiced our personal concerns that, should something happen to one of us out in the middle of the lake, could the others do anything to help?  Any conditions bad enough to flip an open boat would not make it easy to re-enter or bail out that boat.  We agreed that we’d basically be screwed if something bad happened, and that the best we could hope for was working to get the paddler out of the water, and hope we had good enough cell coverage to call for help.

With that sobering thought, we eventually drifted off to our tents one by one for a good nights sleep.

Total mileage for the day: 9.0 miles

Sunset over Dillenbeck Bay

Day 38: Battling North to Knight Island

Jim gets his boat wet.

After taking advantage of the free Econo Lodge continental breakfast, such as it was, we headed to the Green Street boat access located where the Saranac River flows into Cumberland Bay and arrived a little before 7:00 am.  No one was there to greet us except some mallards, who promptly inquired as to the chances of being fed.  Jim announced something to the effect that he hated big lakes.

Everything looks calm from the mouth of the Saranac River

Now, I should say that during our planning for this venture, we had agreed to follow a number of Rules, the first of which was that we would always stick close to shore at all times when possible, except for crossings, even if it meant increased mileage. However, from the put-in, things looked pretty calm,with a light breeze out of the north, so we promptly broke Rule No. 1 and decided to head straight out to Cumberland Head Light, a distance of a hair less than three miles (this actually saved us over 2 miles of paddling).  Since the boats were trimmed for heading into the wind (which was coming from the north as we headed west-southwest), some of us had some control issues, but we made it without incident, and rounded Cumberland Head to head north.

Tommy and the Grand Isle Ferry off Cumberland Head

Straight  head of us was the Grand Isle Ferry, which was leaving (with another headed over from Gordon Landing on South Hero Island), so we took a short break on the beach at the dock. Once the next ferry arrived, we made our move, and ended up threading the needle between the two ferries as one arrived, curving in front of us, and the other departed behind us.  Boy, those big boats can move! In the meantime, we were now headed into a moderate breeze with 1 to 2 foot waves.  This was no big issue, since our boats were trimmed to deal with this, and we ferried ourselves across to South Hero Island, crossing into the State of Vermont as we did so.

From there, we battled our way north towards Nichols Point.  By the time we got there, the wind had picked up again, coming from the northwest at around 10 to

Big rollers coming from the north

15 mph.  Jim asked us a couple times if he had mentioned that he disliked big lakes. We picked our way into the lee side of Long Point Island (a private island with a home) and, once no one appeared to kick us off, took another break, looking across at the entrance to The Gut (the bay that separates North Hero Island from South Hero Island) a little over half a mile away.  It was still early, about 11:30.  One camping option was Campmeeting Point on the north side of The Gut, but we decided to go straight across to the other side of North Hero and see if conditions there were any better.

The paddle across The Gut went smoothly, since we were sheltered from the winds to a great degree.  Conditions on the east side of North Hero were indeed

My bow pointed right for a distant Knight Island

better than the west side, so we decided to head to Knight Island.  The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.  The safest route between two points, at least on big lakes, is a short line.  These two lines are often different lines.  We initially hugged the shore headed north, but Mike started drifting eastward, clearly taking a more direct approach and simultaneoulsy breaking two Rules.   I made the proclamation, “Go Big or Go Home”, and also started heading directly to the island with Tommy, as did Jim, who opined that big lakes suck.

Fortunately, winds that were forecast to potentially gust to 25 mph (we had checked the forecast at the hotel) never made an appearance, and we made it to

No tents required at Birch Bay Camp

Knight Island almost two hours later. After a little perusal of the shoreline, which bought us an extra mile of paddling, we settled on Birch Bay campsite at the southwest corner, equipped with a privy, fire pit, two lean-tos, and even a convenient stairway up the steep bank.

After a snack and some celebratory beers and gulps of our faithful companion,

Even the canoes had a decent spot to camp.

Sailor Jerry Rum, we set up camp.  I took a hike out to the ranger station and found no one home.  I returned carrying a load of unguarded firewood, and found that others had been busy gathering wood as well.  After supper, we had a fine time talking around the campfire and watching the lights turn on in North Hero a mile and a half away.

Mike and I were the last ones to retire, and none too soon!  The wind had been robbing me of heat and I found that I was mildly hypothermic and suffering from bad motor control.  I also figured I might also be a bit dehydrated, so I sipped about a half bottle of water as I hunched by the remains of the campfire, and then promptly beelined to my mummy bag to settle in and warm up.  That night, it got down in to the low or mid 30′s, but we all had a warm night’s sleep.

The lights come on in North Hero.

Total Mileage for the day: 14.1 miles (not counting the extra paddle up the side of the island and back).

A decision is made: Lake Champlain it is.

After constantly monitoring the weather forecasts, and agonizing over our trip choice, we made the call to go for Lake Champlain to take advantage of a “ginormous” (NWS terminology, not mine) “ridge-o-saurus” (again, NWS, not me – those wacky meteorologists! Those madcap scientists!) of high pressure that was coming into the northeast.  Jim and I met up at Mike’s house, each with an extra canoe in tow.  Mike, not wanting to solo paddle his 17-foot Mad River Explorer across the sixth largest freshwater lake in the US, and also not necessarily wanting to tandem this trip, was going to look over both my 16-foot Explorer (which was set up to paddle solo) and Jim’s 16-foot kevlar Prospector (which was obviously lighter than my Royalex tupperware tub, and likely a more efficient hull) and decide what to paddle.  After some deliberation, Mike decided to take my boat, so that even if he wasn’t in his Explorer he at least was still on target for doing the whole trail in an Explorer.

After we loaded the boats, and made a quick stop to grab some Mickey D’s to go, we headed out on the road to drive to Swanton, VT, where we planned on meeting Tommy at the “Louie’s Landing” boat access on the Missisquoi River.

The drive up was uneventful, but seeing the damage in Vermont left behind by Tropical Storm Irene was pretty sobering.  We saw a lot of erosion, rivers that had been turned into rip-rap channels, washed out bridges and roads, and damaged homes and businesses.  It was pretty amazing how much damage a tropical storm could do that far north.  Vermont has definitely had to deal with more than its fair share of damaging floods in 2011.

We arrived at Louie’s Landing a little before 6:00 and found Tommy waiting with his Bell Magic.  We discussed the upcoming latest forecast, which called for northerly winds the next day, and briefly pondered the possibility of running shuttle now and starting on the Missisquoi, to take advantage of the northerly winds as we headed south to Plattsburgh.  Ultimately, since the following days would see a wind shift to the south (although the forecast was not predicting any significant wind), we decided to stick with our original plan.  This turned out to be a great decision.

Loading up the boats for the ride to Plattsburgh

Jim loaded up his kevlar Mad River Guide onto Tommy’s car and left his car behind, and they followed me (with my Explorer as well as my kevlar Hemlock Canoeworks SRT on my rack) over the north end of Lake Champlain, and then south to Plattsburgh, where we holed up in an Econolodge for the night after dining sumptuously at the Butcher Block steak house next door.  We made plans for an early rise the next morning.

Lake Champlain?

Looking across at the State of Vermont

Lake Champlain looks small and totally non-threatening…from Google Earth.  It is like a picture of a cute neighborhood kid that has a reputation for mayhem and destruction.  Like an affable serial killer.  Don’t turn your back on it.

Despite its benign facade on Google Earth, we are well aware that the Lake is a force of nature to be reckoned with.  Paddling the Lake Champlain segment of the NFCT is Option Alpha for our fall canoe excursion.  We may find the Lake to be like the spooky neighbor that turns out to be one helluva good guy.  Or we could find ourselves treated like unwanted guests at a demon costume party.

Its designation as “Option Alpha” would imply that this is not our only option, and such is the case.  If the Lake decides to show us its unfriendly side, we’ll leave it be and proceed to Option Bravo: a trip from Long Lake Village to Saranac Lake Village in the Adirondacks.  This is a segment of the NFCT we have all been looking forward to, and it is certainly a worthy alternative to dancing with Champ, especially this time of year.

We haven’t done a lot of planning for this one.  Usually the e-mails that go flying back and forth while planning a trip could fill volumes worthy of Tolstoy.  But, we’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt…other than trying to work out the logistics of a shuttle, we’ve gotten to the point that we all just need to show up.

So whether we are treated to the chance to paddle across the north section of the sixth largest freshwater lake in the US or whether we paddle along many other smaller lakes and rivers by magnificent fall foliage, it should be a good trip.  Crisp fall air, warm fires, cold beer, good friends.  The NFCT is calling us back one last time for the year.

Day 37: The Portage Gods Find Us Unworthy

I wonder how many people have left the fairgrounds in this manner.

We woke up to cloudy skies, gusty winds, and a forecast from Jim of a long day.  It turned out that Jim was right.  Although only 8 miles  lay between us and Plattsburgh, there were also three portages on the menu, and nasty rumors of a fourth portage for dessert.  We also had some more whitewater to deal with.  It was our last day of the trip, and we went about our preparations in a fairly business-like, no-nonsense manner, using the rope to assist our descent with our gear from the campsite to river level.

Watch out for traffic at the top of the slope!

The rapids downstream of our campsite were easy Class I riffles which petered out a little over a mile downstream as we entered the backwater of Treadwell Mills Dam.  We noticed two or three unmarked campsites at the upper end of the pond on river-left that would have been used in a pinch if our last site had not worked out (and which would have had far easier, less-cliff-like access). The takeout to the right of the bridge at the dam was, of course, steep and inconvenient, but we had gotten used to such conditions at this point.  The carry up to the road was fortunately short, and we set up the canoes on the portage carts on the road shoulder.

Looking upstream from below I-87 at the hill we rolled down

The directions for the portage were easy to follow, and as we rounded the end of the diversion canal (totally off-limits for boating) we found ourselves looking down a very steep (and recently paved) access road down to the powerhouse and our put-in near the bridges for I-87.  Once again, I was thankful for having brought a Royalex canoe that could take the punishment that these put-ins were dishing out to us.  Most of us left small Royalex sacrifices on the sharp rocks to appease the Portage Gods.  We found the rapids under and past I-87 to be straightforward.

If yesterday’s 300-foot paddle under the Kent Falls Road Bridge was the shortest distance between portages on the NFCT, surely the next stretch is the next shortest. After a mere 0.4 miles of river we found ourselves at the carry around the broken Indian Rapids dam.  And evidently the Portage Gods had found our Royalex sacrifices unworthy, as this turned out to be the ugliest portage of the

Indian Rapids Dam (NOT runnable in loaded canoes)

lot.  A real trainwreck of a portage.  Poor Tommy, who had no Royalex whatsoever to sacrifice, paid penance by walking headfirst into one of the fallen trees across our path.  Three times.  The path out to the dam was narrow and heavily patrolled mosquitoes, with at least three fallen trees and some mud to contend with.  The put in, which is in an old tailrace that flows parallel to and then joins the river, is at the bottom of another steep slope. But we sucked it up and toughed out the portage, because the alternative (running the dam) would have been an epic yard sale.

Another Dam Portage. Head left through the marsh.

After the briefest of floats along some riffles, we entered yet another backwater, this one from the Imperial Mills Dam.  Here, again, we saw a couple potentially nice campsites on river-left as we entered the pond. We got to the dam itself a little over a mile later (the third shortest distance between portages on the NFCT? I think that is likely), where we saw a marsh backed by a steep bank (of course), which itself was topped by a chain-link fence that had on it a canoe portage sign with no arrow indicating direction nor any obvious point of exit from the pond.

Pretty dam...but we still would have preferred not to have to walk around it!

Mike and Billy, and Jim, and eventually everyone else headed to a point at which the steep embankment was closest to the open water, and climbed it to find a hole in the fence large enough to accommodate people, boats and gear, but which also required a further lift over a gate to get on the portage path.  I decided to follow the directions on the map, which indicating going through the marsh and to the left, and I found the actual path pretty easily.  It runs through the marsh (with pretty solid footing) and then runs left along the base of the embankment, eventually climbing up to the top and reaching a cart path.  A 180-degree turn at the top brought me towards the others, and we met in the middle, where another dirt cart path led downhill towards “Adirondack Circle” and our put-in on the river.  Looking upstream, I thought the Indian Falls Dam was far better looking than it appeared from above, with unique wings jutting out from its face.

Approaching the big island.

Downstream, the rapids began in earnest, with continuous Class II rapids.  These rapids were more ledgy in character.  They calmed a bit as we approached the big island (we went left), but they really picked up again after the river made a sweeping right turn after the island.  I’ve never seen a greater concentration of perfect ledge surf waves!  The water was pretty high, still, so we had no problems finding a route, except to try to avoid the biggest waves.  It was a fine ride, and I felt like whooping it up! Not even the pouring rain, which showed up at the same time, could dampen our parade.

Are you kidding me?! WTF!!

But alas, a little over a mile past the big island, around a curve to the left, we came upon orange booms strung across the river, with signs declaring a mandatory portage to the left.  The fourth portage of the day. The Portage Gods had definitely found us unworthy!

There was nothing for it but to once again hump our gear and boats up a slope (this time with the assistance of stairs) which brought us up to a residential street.  Jeff was off long before the rest of us got our act together, presumably

Broad Street Bridge frames the Champlain Monument

following the directions to get to the Broad  Street Bridge where we could put in again.  We all eventually followed him, keeping to Pine Street past a middle school and a couple repair shops.  As Tommy and I approached Broad Street, Jeff appeared from the left walking along Broad  Street.  He had missed the turn up Pine Street and had bought himself an extra half mile of walking! But he had the  green light at the intersection, so he got ahead of us again anyways.

The bridge was just down the road, and we put in again at the base of a steep slope, watched by a couple homeless denizens of the city from under the bridge as we got under way again.  We had another short stretch of good waves and rapids,

Mike and Billy get an air horn salute.

and the Champlain Monument came into view as we paddled under Bridge Street.  Around the corner, as we approached a train bridge, a freight train rumbled past, its engineer saluting our entrance into Lake Champlain with a mighty blast from his air horn. Tommy and Jim bee-lined for the take-out on the left, but I followed Mike, Billy and Jeff for a short jaunt into the waves of Cumberland Bay on Lake Champlain before ourselves exiting the river and getting our cars loaded.

Jeff, Billy & Mike on Cumberland Bay, Lake Champlain

We were pretty hungry and thirsty at that point, and I vaguely remembered a nice pub from my last and only other visit to Plattsburgh some 5 years or more ago, so we caravanned up and headed south on Route 9 in search of it, unaware that we had passed it immediately u[pon leaving the boat launch area.  Upon realizing that we were headed in the wrong direction, we turned around, and as we got nearly to the point at which we had hopped on Route 9 I recognized the place.  There were no signs at all, but the parking lot was full and the building had a tavern-like aura around it, so we pulled in.  It turned out to be Geoffrey’s Pub, and it came well stocked with beer and real, hydrated food.  We gorged.

Afterwards, we all went our separate ways.  Mike and I decided to get as far south on the Northway as we could before I started getting too tired to drive.  This turned out to be somewhere in the vicinity of Elizabethtown, where we turned east to Westport on Lake Champlain, and then north on Route 22to find a motel. As we turned into the motel parking lot we see a vehicle with a canoe coming our way…it was Tommy, also headed south! That man is everywhere!

So the last night of the trip we spent winding down at a lakeside motel that had barely escaped the record Champlain flooding months ago, eating pizza and drinking some beers.  It was a fine way to close it out.

Total mileage for the day:  8.4 miles

Total Miles this segment: 58.4

Total NFCT Miles to date: 442.5

Classic Champlain Scenery

Day 36: Portagus interruptus

Skies were still threatening rain, and Jim was threatening a long day, when I woke up, but there was no actual rain, and Jim had already extended his own day a couple hours by being up and about at the ungodly hour of 5:30.  Not that I was complaining…Jim had taken my cart wheel to the convenience store and filled up the tire with air.  This involved a little help from a local to operate the compressor (What ya gotta do is take a pebble from the parking lot, like this one heah, and jam ‘er in the stem, and then latch on the nozzle like so, and Bob’s yer uncle,

Mike and Billy under way on Day 5

there you go.” So he got the tire inflated, walked back, put the cart back together, had some coffee and breakfast while reading half a novel, and packed up.  Then the rest of us woke up and did the same, minus the wheel repair and novel.

We were able to break camp and get on the water fairly efficiently, and were soon headed downstream on slowly moving flatwater with occasional riffles.  We passed a lot of farms and forest and the occasional island or sandy beach.  Every once in a while the river came within eyesight of the road to our left.  Occasionally, rain sprinkled down on us.  Tommy forged on ahead, and we soon lost sight of him.

Approaching the dam in Cadyville

After six miles or so, we entered the backwater of the dam in Cadyville.  The Cadyville Beach was visible from quite a distance before we paddled smoothly past it. The ledges near the Harney Bridge Road overpass, which are all that remain of the former waterfall here, marked a change in the geology we would be traversing.  Soon after, we were jockeying for position at the start of our one and only portage of the day (although some later argued, with some merit,

The Carry to Park Row Road

that it was merely the first of two portages).  This is not an easy landing with a lot of room by easy means…space is limited and the rocks on the bank are slippery and shifty.  Fortunately, the trail out to the road was short and not too steep.

This was one of the oddest portages I have ever had the misfortune to experience.  Now, there are quite a few river segments interrupted by short portages, but seldom are there ever any lengthy portages interrupted by short river segments! This was one of them.  After about a mile and a quarter of walking along various roadways (which provided nice, easy wheeling with my newly repaired cart), one comes to the

The shortest stretch between portages on the whole NFCT

notorious closed bridge that so many paddlers before us had encountered.  It was still closed, with no easy way to get across.  So we took the official route of carrying down to a ledge by the river, loading the boats, paddling less than a hundred yards downstream and across the river, and unloading the boats again so we could hoof all the gear up a couple ugly ledges to the continuation of the portage on the road.  Never had I looked forward less to paddling on the water! Tommy named this carry “Portagus interruptus”.

Walking past the huge hydro penstock pipe

Soon after we resumed our walk down the road we came upon the huge penstock that diverts water from the dam to the turbines. We speculated that this would make a nice alternative flume ride if properly modified.  When we reached the public boat access, the sun started poking out and the humidity really dialed up a notch.  From the parking area, it is a short drag through the woods to reach the rivers edge, where we encountered some nice rapids.  We decided that this spot was as good as any for a lunch break.

According to the map, we were looking at continuous Class I and II rapids that stretched for about six miles.  Somewhere before we reached their end, we were hoping to find a suitable place to camp.  Back at home, as I was preparing the itinerary, I had identified a likely spot near the Clinton County Airport and the nearby Fairgrounds.  I had in fact entered the spot on my GPS as a waypoint. The GPS had high hopes for it.  The spot looked good on Google Earth. But we wouldn’t really know until we got there.

Looking downstream from our lunch spot.

The put in here is, of course, a little tricky, with a steep bank and fast moving water.  I was really starting to believe I had made the right choice in boats…the Royalex took a real pounding at these access spots.  Jeff got in first, saying he would eddy out  downstream somewhere to wait (assuming we had eddies).  Jim was next.  I got in right after Jim, and found the current to be quite quick and exhilarating.  I was looking ahead to spot either Jim or Jeff when I realized I had forgotten to put on my PFD. Yikes! Fortunately it was right in front of me, so I shipped the paddle, got it clipped on, and grabbed the paddle just as I went cruising past Jim and Jeff.

I hollered that I would catch another eddy downstream, and then started looking for one.  There weren’t many, and none of them were in the middle of the river where I was, so I worked my way to river right and finally glided into a small bankside eddy to wait for the others.  And wait, and wait.  Finally I spotted Tommy coming down, with Mike and Billy right on his stern.  I peeled out, and away we went.

Jeff riding the Liquid Ramp

This section is described as a “liquid ramp”, and I think that is as good a description as any.  The water was high enough that we didn’t scrape too many rocks.  We just cruised past the scenery at a good 7 mph clip without hardly wetting our paddles, other than to sideslip past a rock or two.  We saw a lot of woods and a lot of houses.

After we had travelled about three miles or so, it occurred to me that although our best potential campsite had been marked by my GPS, the only one who knew this factoid was me!  And when I

Jim enjoys some easy paddling

glanced down at the GPS, I saw we were only about a mile away and rapidly approaching it!  Tommy, Mike and Billy were pretty far ahead of me at that point, so I started digging hard to catch up. I caught up to Mike and Billy almost a mile later and let them know that we were getting close to the site I marked, and to keep an eye for it as I tried to catch Tommy.  About a minute later, we all saw the clearing in the trees. “There it is! Head left”, I said, as I gazed far ahead at Tommy way downstream, blissfully unaware that he had some upstream paddling in his immediate future.  We all pulled our whistles and blew the alert while headed for shore.  I saw Tommy acknowledge our signal, and turned my attention to finding a landing spot just downstream from where Mike and Bill had ended up.

Now, to this point we had experienced plenty of campsites with steep access, but this one was clearly the steepest.  Nearly vertical! With no convenient steps and more broken glass in the bank than strictly necessary.  Mike was a bit disappointed.  I think “I’m not climbing that fucking bank” were his exact words.  But climb it he did…once.  As did we all, and up top we found a large flat area  divided between pine forest and an old field, connected by an ATV trail that did not seem to have been used recently.  A little scouting established that the nearest house was about a tenth of a mile away, with nothing else nearby. We also found several  ancient campfire rings that were all but hidden in the forest duff, so we felt comfortable that a precedent for camping use had been established. We decided to call it home.

Billy hauls gear up to camp from Jeff

Tommy had landed a bit downstream of us, and seemingly had found a decent way up the hill.  My spot was quite dicey, with crumbling rocks and no good handholds, but I managed to get my gear up.  This is when I found out that Jeff and Bill had set up a rope and were roping gear up a steep path near a big tree.  Together, they roped everything up from their boats as well as Jim’s.  So far as I know, Mike didn’t tackle that slope again until the next day.

Thanks to the rapid ride we’d had from our lunch spot, it was still fairly early in the afternoon, so once camp was set up, we had a lot of time to kill.  I walked up the trail to where it came out on a cul-de-sac about a quarter mile away, and then walked the other direction through the field to catch a glimpse of the

The Sailor now comes in Nips!

fairgrounds.  The rain was long gone and the sun was peeking intermittently through the clouds.  Back at the site, Jeff set up his tarp, and we all broke out snacks and started into our beer and Sailor Jerry supply.  Besides the bottle or two of Sailor that it seemed everyone had brought,  Jim had also found packs of Sailor in little nip bottles when we had been in Warrensburg days ago.  We probably had enough Sailor to invite the rest of the Town to party with us!

After dinner, a couple of us went out to gather firewood (there was plenty around), and, for the second time during these NFCT adventures, Mike broke out his GMC-hubcap fire pan.  You wouldn’t think that a fire in a hubcap could be anything special, but as far as I am concerned this thing provides the finest social

Mike and his hubcap fire pan

campfire atmosphere I’ve ever experienced.  Jeff and Tommy, who were not on the Missisquoi trip when we first tried this out, were duly impressed.  It was a fine time, drinking and smoking around the  fire, sharing stories and recounting our adventures past and present.

Before we headed off to bed, Jeff came back from a walk to lead me and Tommy back towards the field.  There we witnessed a pretty spectacular display of lightning bugs flashing their way around the tall weeds.  It was an impressive end to the day.

Total mileage for the day: 12.2 miles.

Parallel parking only for the canoes

Day 35: Lady Saranac bites back.

Rolling down Casey Road

We awoke ready to implement the plan for the day: our destination would be Baker’s Acres campground.  This would require three portages for the day, the first and longest of which started right outside my tent door.  I heard Jim predict that it would be a long day, and by the time I was able to extricate myself from the grip of sleep, most of his gear had made it down the trail out to Casey Road.  The rest of us followed suit, and before you could say “looks like rain” we were on Casey Road loading the boats onto the portage carts.

My cart...often called a Canadien Boat Walker

A word on portage carts:  On previous trips, the only canoe carts we have ever used are the heavy-duty Swedish-style folding canoe carts. Although they are heavy, they make up for their weight in their carrying capacity (easily 150 to 200 lbs.) and ability to traverse stump-and-rock-infested trails.  The large diameter bicycle wheels roll nicely, and the kickstand makes loading a bit easier.

Tommy's smaller version

Three of us had canoe carts of this style again, but Tommy and Jeff added to the mix this time.  Tommy had a cart with similar construction and wheels, but the wheels were of smaller diameter and the carrying capacity was not as high, which was of no concern to him since his boat is much lighter, and he seems to have mastered the skill of packing light.  Jeff had a different type of cart

Jeff's cart

that could be disassembled rather than folded, with plastic wheels and solid rubber treads.  Although I wouldn’t trust it on some of the more rugged portage trails we have encountered in the past, it seemed to do fine on paved and gravel roadways, and at one point Jeff came running by me over gravel and through mud with no problems.

Once loaded, we rolled our

approaching the end of Portage No. 1 of the day

way north along Casey Road, shortly coming to Silver Lake Road.  As we strolled and rolled our way past the occasional house, we could hear the river to our right from time to time, roaring its way through the gorge we were bypassing. The skies were mostly cloudy, but so far the predicted rain was holding off.

Putting in at the North Branch Saranac under Silver Lake Rd.

At the gravel turn-off just before the bridge, we found the trail continuing northerly down the road grade, and put out boats in just below the bridge abutments onto the North Branch Saranac River just above where it flowed into the Saranac.  We were greeted by easy Class I riffles where the river widened over rocky gravel beds.

We rode these riffles all the way to The Separator,

Riding the riffles down the Saranac

passing a few islands on the way, and catching occasional glimpses of Route 3 up to our left.  Although the river is clearly shallow here, we had enough water that finding clear channels required little to no  effort.  Brief periods of inattention might occasionally  hang one up on a pesky rock, but these interruptions to floating bliss were infrequent.  Still no rain, and temperatures were comfortable.  Bugs were non-existent.  Life was good!  And then we came to The Separator.

The ledges of Upper Separator Rapid

Nearly all of us decided to portage around the rapids, but the condition of the portage trail did not make it an easy decision. It was narrow and rocky, with some tricky steep sections and drop offs, and one big ugly tree that had fallen across the trail that required some contortions to get across with canoes and gear. It was bad enough for us to seriously consider running the rapids.  In fact, Tommy carried his gear, but decided to run the first set of ledges in his empty boat, which he did with skill and aplomb, eddying out at a nice little beach with a fire ring located at about the halfway point of the trail out to the road.  From this point, the trail was quite a bit easier, with only one steep section.  At the road, there is a small gravel parking lot, where we had some lunch and licked our wounds from the portage, which was as yet not completed.  This is when the rain finally started.

Looking upstream at Lower Separator Rapid

After our respite, we set the boats up on carts for the short roll down the street and to the bridge that spanned the lower section of The Separator (which Tommy decided not to run).  There were some ugly rocks and holes in there!  At the other end of the bridge, we had to heave the boats over a guardrail and slide them down the road slope, and then along some ledges to put in by a cove below the last rapids.

Tommy and Jeff played for a bit in the fast water here, and then we continued downstream on more of the enjoyable quickwater that this section of the Saranac is chock full of.  At the next bridge, we debated the merits of getting out and hiking to the nearby convenience store for a B double E double R-U-N, but, with an adequate supply for the rest of the day, we decided to wait until we reached Bakers Acres.

Somebody lose their pet rock?

Now, most of the rocks along this stretch of river are small and (at the water level we experienced) covered in water, but a little ways past this bridge we encountered a massive erratic boulder the size of a nice cabin just sitting right in the river, with no clues as to how it got there.  I guess glaciers can have a sense of humor.  As soon as I noticed that the current was dying out, I called a Duckhead Muckle to order, and we all joined up to enjoy a nice float into High Falls Reservoir enjoying some beers and a bit of Sailor.  There is little to no development along this peaceful waterbody.

During my initial planning for the trip, searching for an “unofficial campsite” somewhere along this reservoir had been considered, and as it turned out, there was a nice site on the left just as you get to the warning buoys.  Free of fees! But alas, also free of beer, of which we would be in need considering the drizzle that was still threatening to morph into a respectable rainfall.  So we stuck to our plan to get to Bakers Acres.

But between us and our intended camp was a big dam.

High Falls Dam

And our third portage of the day.

Mandatory portage? That's a big ten-four!

And almost three miles of river! So after some sightseeing at the dam (which is quite impressive) and once again setting our boats up on the carts, we began the last carry.  This involves carrying the boats and gear up to the top of the dam, and getting everything up on the portage carts.  From there, after a short stretch uphill, the road starts to seriously lose altitude. Hang on to your boat if it is on wheels, because if you let go you’ll never catch it.

When we had almost reached Soper Road, as I was being dragged downhill by my canoe, I started to hear an intermittent “psst…..psst….psst….”  When I could finally get to a point where I could reasonably control my canoe on the slope, I

Putting in at the lower Soper Road access

stopped it and investigated this sound, which turned out to be air escaping from my cart tire, and which seemed to be coming from the valve stem.  Visions of tough portages becoming unbearable swam before my eyes!  I started picking up the pace a bit, and was fortunately able to reach the end of the portage, below the hydro plant, before the tire was completely flat.

The trees start thinning out.

Here, the river resumes its gravel and riffle character, but starts some sweeping turns back and forth.  At the end of the first loop, we paddled under Hardscrabble Road, after which we encountered  occasional islands.  Choosing routes was pretty easy.  After the second loop, we paddled under Bowen Road, where a nice boat launch exists.  Just past that is an island, and we went to its left and found the (of course) steep and muddy take-out for Bakers Acres, marked by a sign.  We hauled up the boats onto the lawn path, and headed up the road past many RV’s and camper trailers in search of the camp office.

A paddle-post porch

This we found pretty easily, and we were greeted by the proprietor, who somehow seemed to be expecting us, and who registered us onto a couple tent campsites through a little window, as if he was selling us tickets to roller coasters and bumper cars, and where he could in fact have also sold us a bucket of balls for his driving range.  We returned and got to work.  Jeff broke out his CCS tarp and we rigged it up with the picnic table, some string and Jim’s kayak paddle.  Tommy set up a tarp over his tent with a couple canoe paddles.  The rest of us just set up the tents and called it good.

A plan was hatched over a beer or two to get cleaned up (hot showers!) and changed up, and to head over to a nearby restaurant called the Rustique (which Jeff was pretty sure had Chicken Parmesan even though he had never been there).  Afterwards, we could walk up the road past Picketts Corners to a convenience store in search of more beer.  Mike, the renegade, decided to cook his own meal, but later joined us at the Rustique anyways.  Probably he couldn’t overcome the Rustique Mystique.

Soaking in a little local culture

Anyways, we executed the plan to perfection.  The Rustique did in fact have a very good chicken parm, and other fine choices.  The walk to the convenience store was totally bearable, even in the pouring rain. We were initially thwarted in our search for decent beer in cans, but Mike found a back room that contained half-cases of Saranac Pale Ale and Summer Ale in cans! We restocked big time.  Jeff got more ice. This store had an inviting porch with rocking chairs to hang out on, so a few of us did. In fact this store had it all, except for a payphone (WTF?), so I ran across the street briefly to a pizza joint, who also had no public phone (wha?) but who let me use a calling card on their business phone to call my wife and let her know I was still alive and mostly sober.

Everything needed for a successful repair...especially in the yellow box.

Back at  camp, Jim helped me to get the tube out of my bum tire, and we located a small pinhole leak, probably caused by a spoke.  Tommy had a patch kit, so we scraped, glued, and got the patch in place.  After slightly inflating the tire tube, we left it aside to set until morning.

At some point the rain subsided a bit, but we pretty much stayed under the tarp, drinking beers and recounting our individual experiences of the day.  Jeff had concluded that he is not a fan of portages. Everyone universally agreed that the portage around the Separator totally sucked; even Tommy, who avoided half of it.  The river, on the other hand, was beautiful, with easy riffles and nice scenery. Looking ahead, we hoped for more of the same, except that instead of three portages, we only expected one. Which would be nice, because today we had basically portaged more mileage than what we had paddled the day before. Lady Saranac had really made us earn our miles today.

Total mileage for the day: 13.2 miles, including a little over 6 miles
of portaging.

Saranac Intermission: Of Beer and Duckheads

I’d like to interrupt this account of our Saranac River NFCT trip report to report in on a matter of some concern to wilderness canoeists.  As many of you know (if you have travelled through wilderness by canoe, or even kayak) packing along some beer is not too easy unless you are satisfied with Budweiser, Coors, and other beer-flavored water like that.  I, and many of my companions, prefer craft beers with good flavor.  It is difficult, however, to find decent beer in anything but glass bottles, which are heavy to pack out, even when empty, and are an absolute bitch to clean up if you drop them on rocks.

I am fortunate that a local brewery, Narragansett Beer, brews a decent lager available in cans, and I have taken it along in the past. But I yearned for more variety.  Over the last year, though, there has been an explosion of craft beers being packaged in cans, and we enjoyed an astounding variety on our Saranac trip, including a beer local to the area.

The list consisted of:  Narragansett Lager (the old faithful); Narragansett Summer; Narragansett Boch; Brooklyn Lager; Magic Hat #9; Harpoon IPA; Newport Storm Hurricane Amber; Dale’s Pale Ale; Saranac Pale Ale, and Saranac Summer.

Seriously, how often does one get to drink a beer while paddling down a river that shares its name?

The Newbie, Jeff, received the Beer Hero Award for bringing along most of these varieties.  And a cooler.

He was also, by virtue of spending at least two days and nights on a river trip with the rest of us, was infected (or inducted) (or in-duck-ted) as the newest Menacing Duckhead.  These duckheads are a society dedicated to camping, canoeing and carousing, with members nationwide.  You may have one living in your neighborhood! Don’t worry though…we’re mostly harmless.

No glass bottles or cheap beer were sacrificed for this picture. All trash was properly disposed of.

Day 34: “It’s gonna be a long day”…not!

A beautiful morning on Union Falls Pond

We woke up the next morning to sunny skies and calm conditions on the lake.  Jim, who had developed the habit of periodically announcing “Gonna be a long day today”, and who also continued a habit he has developed on earlier trips of being up, packed and ready to leave before some of us had gotten coffee’d up, decided that he would leave ahead of us so that he didn’t feel obligated to paddle like blazes to keep up with the rest of us.  He decided to meet us at the dam.  After waiting a short bit to determine that everyone else was well on their way to being packed, and having packed my own things uncharacteristically early, I decided to leave on my own as well, about  10 or 15 minutes behind Jim.

Union Falls Pond was practically glass, and I enjoyed the solitude of an easy paddle northeast towards the dam amidst sunny skies and mountain views.  I paused in my paddle for a short bit to chat with a guy and his son, who were

Approaching the dam

camped at the other Bear Point site and who had a nice old-model Old Town canoe as well as a Hornbeck pack canoe.  About a mile later, I paused again to enjoy the quiet morning and to filter some water to refill my water bottles.  The others caught up with me soon after I finished, and we arrived at the take-out for the portage around the dam.  There are several campsites here at the take-out, accessible from the road, and with an outhouse.

Fishing...it just doesn't look as fun without a canoe.

This turned out to be a pretty easy, nearly entirely cartable, carry that followed the road over the river (with an impressive waterfall and some impressive Class III and IV rapids below us), and then briefly along Casey Road to a fisherman’s access that led past a parking area and cable gate to a nice grassy spot just downstream of the hydro plant.  Several fishermen were plying the waters here.

Paddling the flatwater below Union Falls

Knowing that there were a couple sets of Class II rapids a couple miles downriver, we strapped in gear, put on our game faces, and proceeded downstream.  This section of the river is quite nice with a remote feel.  It appears that numerous opportunities for small guerilla campsites are available along this stretch, despite the proximity of Casey Road on the left for a short distance. After a couple miles of flatwater, and following a prominent turn to the right, the river current quickens as it turns again to the left.  Easy quickwater gives way to rocky Class II water as the river rounds the bend to the left. Many of us hung back here, letting Tommy be the one to probe this rapid.  He turned the tables on us, though, grabbing an eddy on river-right just before the gradient dropped off.  Mike, who was right behind him, told Billy, “Looks like we’re probe boat now”, and entered the rapid, with Jim not too far behind, followed by me, Jeff and, finally, Tommy.

After that initiation, which we ran on the right, the river becomes very busy with rocks, and the rapid takes on more of a Class III look to it.  But Mike and Bill, both of whom have many years river-running experience, saw a clear route down the left side, so we all followed their line down to the bottom of the rapid, which seemed quite a bit longer than I had anticipated, but which turned out to be pretty straightforward once we made that shift from river-right to a left-of-center line.

Jeff reaches the bottom of Trail Rapids

We then had a half-mile break of moving flatwater before coming up on the second rapid, known as “Trail Rapid”.  This rapid is also pretty infested with rocks and waves, but is pretty straightforward, with several lines that work.  Most of us generally again started right-of-center, with a quick adjustment to the left near the bottom of the rapid.  A couple osprey observed our run from their nest in a dead pine on river-right halfway down the rapids.

Looking from the "scenic cove" to the river

At the bottom of this second rapid the river widens considerably, and we initially confused this for the “scenic cove” that several guidebooks mention is just upstream of the carry trail to Casey Road.  But after a quick scout (me by land, and Tommy by water), we confirmed that the actual cove was just past where the river narrowed again through some easy quickwater, appearing just as the top of the next rapid comes into view.  It is an abrupt cove that has the appearance of an old river channel, and which is marked by a prominent ledge at river’s edge on its downstream side.

We all pulled into the cove, and Mike, Billy and Tommy got out to scout ahead to determine the actual take-out for the trail so that we didn’t all end up trying to pile five boats into an eddy that would only fit three boats and playing bumper-

Blue Flag Iris

boats while simultaneously trying to avoid running the next rapid.  As it turned out, although five boats could not fit into the eddy (which was just past a boulder on the left and marked by orange tape in the trees when we got there) the current is not so strong that one couldn’t paddle in-place at several spots while others beached and unloaded.  Nevertheless, we each paddled the boats down generally one-by-one and got situated on the riverbank.  So long as one hugs the left shore past the cove and pays attention, you can’t miss this take-out.

By this time, it was still only around lunchtime, and we had a decision to make.  Would we camp here at the campsite? Or would we continue, with the hopes that we could find suitable camping downstream, say near The Separator or at the

Trail Camp

High Falls dam?  Staying at the trail site, which turned out  to be a real nice site and the only one we had encountered so far with a generally gradual slope to hump up gear, would put us back on the original schedule.  Continuing would involve at least two, possibly three more carries with no guarantee of any suitable camping site until we reached Baker’s Acres, but would put us nearly a whole day ahead of schedule and possibly avoid one day of rain that was forecast later in the week.  A poll was taken, and on a 4-2 vote we decided to call it an early day and stay at the trail campsite.

Mike & Bill head down the carry trail

After some lunch, and owing to having plenty of extra time on our hands, we elected to carry our canoes and any other unneeded gear down the roughly quarter mile of trail to Casey Road and conceal it all in the woods out of sight of the road, saving the need of doing so the following morning.  Although the beginning of the trail is a bit tricky to discern (look for the yellow canoe-carry discs on the trees), it is easy to follow once you’re on it and not too difficult gradient-wise.  A couple sets of trees are positioned only a canoe-width across the trail from each other, but even the widest of our canoes was able to squeeze by.  And none of the three trees that had fallen across the trail were difficult to step over with a canoe on your shoulders.

We all hoped Jim wouldn't roll over too violently

This carry being done, and after the tents were set up (we were all able to find fairly level sites, although Jim’s tent was rather precariously perched along the trail on a two-foot high ledge), the rest of the afternoon was devoted to hanging around the campfire pit, drinking, napping, snacking, or what-have-you.  Tommy took a short paddle down the next set of rapids, and returned (having to line back up) to report a stairway downstream that seemed to lead to some private property.  Many of us made multiple visits to enjoy the vista looking upstream from the ledge at the entrance of the cove.

Relaxin' away the afternoon

When I first had planned the itinerary for this trip, I anticipated that this segment might be the most difficult day of the trip, especially if we had serious wind on the big ponds or if we encountered any difficulty on the rapids.  As it turned out, though, thanks to our completing all of Franklin Falls Pond and half of Union Falls Pond the day before, and the ease of paddling conditions today, it ended up being the easiest.  A nice short day.  So far, Lady Saranac had been going pretty easy on us, with the exception of the difficult campsites.  She would change her tune starting the next day, though.

Total mileage for the day: 6.o miles.

Our view upstream from the ledge at the cove