New Times in Old Forge

Within an hour after driving into Old Forge, an upstate New York hamlet in the Adirondack Mountains, someone asked us if we’d like to raft a river in the morning. Apparently, the Hudson wasn’t done with Hoyle and I yet. On Friday morning, we were underneath the river riding a subway train from Manhattan into Hoboken. On Saturday morning, we were on a whitewater inflatable raft with the two owners of the ARO River Company paddling Class III and IV rapids in the headwaters of that same river. Welcome to Old Forge. Welcome to good times. In the winter, Old Forge is a quiet blanket of snow-covered trails and a haven for thrill seekers on snowmobiles. In the summer, it’s a lost paradise for seasonal folks looking to get away from the surrounding big cities. Basically, it’s a quintessential summer town. For 3 – 6 months in the middle of the year, the population triples. Still, it never has a feeling of being overcrowded or stuffy. Walking from bar to bar at night, one might encounter a black bear or a startled deer just as likely as one might encounter some tipsy stumbling local. For two nights, Hoyle and I were one of these locals. 

Our sleeping arrangements found us tucked into what was once the town’s icehouse back in the early 1900’s. From there, we ambled with our hosts to the taverns around the corner, wherein two nights we were on a first name basis with half the people there – the bar tender, the owner, our river guides, and several motorcycle bikers passing through, among others. This was small town. This was familiar to us. In a place like this age isn’t the standard for judging demographics of a local haunt. Instead, it’s camaraderie and storytelling, a thirst for whiskey shots or local beer and a mutual enthusiasm for adventure. By the end of the night, everyone knows your story and you know theirs. You’re all friends and you genuinely mean it when you say you’d like to see each other again someday. I guess, in a way, I finally understand that song from the show Cheers.

This country is wild and still loosely untamed and largely overlooked by the rest of the nation. It has a feeling of being tucked away, but unlike some pockets of civilization in the Appalachians for example, these aren’t rednecks or backwards people. They love their country, they attend its top schools, and they love the land – fishing and hiking and boating and sharing a spirit of cleanliness that comes from the fresh breeze that blows in from the high mountains. I don’t think they mind being sort of forgotten. And it feels good to be among them, forgotten along side of them, in a place well worth discovering.

Still, as refreshing and pleasant as it is here, the adventure must continue. This place will be remembered well along this journey. But for now, Hoyle and I are prepping to head back out to the trail. Our plan is to spend a couple of nights in the northern part of the Adirondacks, do a loop trail up to the highest point in New York – Mt. Marcy, and then continue on. It will be time to head west then. Perhaps into Canada. Time will tell. And destiny. And the spirit of adventure. And all that jazz.