On page 80, Schneider lists the typical items that a trapper might carry when heading off on an excursion chasing the ever dwindling game in the Adirondacks. The items, "gun and ammunition, hatchet, knife, flint, steel, tinder and compass...teapot and tea, frying pan, salt, and cornmeal, " (plus some rum) seem quite limited by modern standards. Despite what the name "trapper" would imply, "each trapper could reasonably carry [only] three beaver traps if on foot or snowshoe." This gear list suggests something about the trappers beyond the brutal and slightly dumb characterization that they are given by Schneider's tall tales regarding their exploits.
For instance, there is no mention of shelter, or any special clothing, in this list, and the only source of warmth is a flint and steel. Perhaps the furs gradually acquired by the trappers would provide some sort of shelter, but they also must have learned how to orient their camps and to make snow caves in order to remain in decent health. There is little food mentioned, so a trapper would have to catch things in order to eat, living off the land just as the farmers who would come later would learn to do. They used what few (and heavy) tools they brought to make their home in the woods, rather than bringing all of the elements of home along with them as is the modern practice. In addition to hunting large game with their guns, they also had to be very good at building snares and traps along the way to catch smaller animals. In brief, they were many of the things that modern woodsmen aspire to be.
Also, anybody who hasn't checked out the picture database from the Adirondack Museum totally should. I'm not sure if we're allowed to post pictures directly from it yet, but the link to the search is right here:
http://adirondack.pastperfect-online.com/31694cgi/mweb.exe?request=ks
and if you type in "bear trap" or just "trap" you will get some cool pictures!
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Tourism: Both Welcomed and Questioned
In Chapter 2 of
Philip Terrie’s Contested Terrain, a
particular passage explaining the early impacts of tourism stood out to me. Terrie
writes:
“While the tourist-based economy became
absolutely essential to the livelihoods of Adirondackers, it necessitated
fundamental change in the way local people related to the Adirondack
landscape….The arrival of tourists was more than just a welcome source of
outside cash; to some Adirondackers it meant the end of an era marked by
self-sufficiency and personal intimacy with the wild country all around them.
As the tourists made their mark on the wilderness, the Adirondacks that the
local residents had known began to disappear. This was a development both
welcomed and questioned” (40-41).
Although there will be separate readings
on tourism in the Adirondacks today, I thought it was interested how the first
traces of tourism had a significant impact on the early settlers. As the locals
finally became both accustomed to working with the land and harmonious with the
land, it is fascinating how tourism altered the relationship with the locals
and their surrounding environment.
Today, it is estimated that over 10
million tourists visit the Adirondacks each year. This generates $1.1 billion
in revenue and creates 20,000 jobs. As the graph below demonstrates, tourism
is an integral part of every region’s economy, generating from 6% to 17% of
employment. However, it is important to note that in New York, tourism is most
important to the Adirondacks, generating 17% of the region’s employment. But do these benefits of tourism outweigh
the huge disruptions to the local people who have established their livelihoods
in the park? It’s hard to say.
Nevertheless, Terrie notes that locals
will always share a special and different kind of relationship with the
wilderness than tourists ever will. For example, he draws a distinction between
the sport hunting conducted by tourists and the hunting of people trying to
feed themselves and their children. While one is solely for recreation
purposes, the other is integral for survival. Terrie suggests that even with
the new development of tourism, locals will always share a special
interdependence with the land. Even if tourism ruined the intimacy between the
local people and the park, Terrie suggests that there is still a sense of
“home” felt among locals with the park that tourism will not ever be able to
take away.
Source: http://www.adirondackbasecamp.com
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
The Adirondack Beaver
It had never occurred to me how important beavers are to the history of the Adirondacks until the Schneider reading. The fur trade shaped the first interactions between Europeans and Native Americans and proved to be extremely significant to the history of the United States. My interest has been sparked, so I decided to look up some information about beavers.
As it turns out, the beaver is the largest rodent in the Adirondacks and populates almost every body of water. The Department of Environmental Conservation estimates that there are anywhere between 50,000 to 75,000 beavers in the present day Adirondack park. This number is shocking if one considers that beavers were seemingly extirpated from the park (and most, if not all, of New York State) by 1670. Even more shockingly, in 1903 the state legislature appropriated only $500 for the reintroduction of less than 50 beavers to the Adirondacks. The original group of 50 was allowed to reproduce unharmed until 1924, when the population of beavers had grown so large that it began causing upset among landowners and trapping was made legal again.
This impressive species has a very significant history in the park and continues to thrive. I am hoping to do the final project on beavers in anyone is interested in teaming up, let me know!
I got most of the info on beavers from: http://www.esf.edu/aec/adks/mammals/beaver.htm
As it turns out, the beaver is the largest rodent in the Adirondacks and populates almost every body of water. The Department of Environmental Conservation estimates that there are anywhere between 50,000 to 75,000 beavers in the present day Adirondack park. This number is shocking if one considers that beavers were seemingly extirpated from the park (and most, if not all, of New York State) by 1670. Even more shockingly, in 1903 the state legislature appropriated only $500 for the reintroduction of less than 50 beavers to the Adirondacks. The original group of 50 was allowed to reproduce unharmed until 1924, when the population of beavers had grown so large that it began causing upset among landowners and trapping was made legal again.
This impressive species has a very significant history in the park and continues to thrive. I am hoping to do the final project on beavers in anyone is interested in teaming up, let me know!
I got most of the info on beavers from: http://www.esf.edu/aec/adks/mammals/beaver.htm
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Forever Wild Post
Elias Clough
“How
much human intervention can a place stand before it loses its essence?” (71)
Bill
McKibben explores the often-uneasy relationship between human beings and the
Adirondack region. With a romanticized view towards the undeveloped, McKibben
laments the negative ways in which mankind has altered the landscape around
him. He explores how the tendencies of foreign settlers in the 1600s to
“reshape the landscape of New England” (97) are continued by private landowners
and ATV drivers today. Although there are still vast expanses of land protected
under state laws, human presence in the parks dilutes what was originally “pure
wilderness” (102). One of the questions that McKibben tries to address in his
book, Wandering Home, is how much of
a presence we can have in the Adirondack region without stripping the land of
its wildness. In his descriptions of the vast, land-consuming vacation homes
and trails destroyed by dirt bike tires, McKibben seems fairly pessimistic
about the possibility of us coexisting peacefully with the wilderness. This mood is short lived, however, for
McKibben also describes Nature’s ability to regenerate itself, which he calls
the “power of renewal” (120). He describes old logging sites that were
abandoned and have since been reclaimed by the wildlife that mankind had
originally driven away. This resurge of wilderness provides hope for the future
of an Adirondack Region, which is currently plagued by private housing and
recreational overuse. Perhaps, McKibben suggests, if we begin to rollback
housing developments and logging grants the Adirondack region will return to
its original wild glory. Abstaining from overusing the Adirondack region,
McKibben continues, is essential not only for the future of the park but also
for our species as a whole; “we need to set aside land from our use simply to
prove to ourselves that we can do it, that we don’t need to be in control of
everything around us” (103). Despite our
tendency to infringe upon the wildlife around us, McKibben seems hopeful that a
future does exist in which mankind and nature can maintain a symbiotic
relationship.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Rewilding
Last week I happened upon an article in Outside Magazine called “We Don’t Need No Education”. It is written
by Ben Hewitt, father of two boys and advocate of a movement called
“unschooling”. According to Hewitt, who
lives with his family in Vermont, unschooling emphasizes self-directed
education with the goal of fostering a child’s creativity and personal growth. Hewitt
writes, “I generally estimate that my boys spend no more than two hours per
month sitting and studying the subjects, such as science and math, that are
universal to mainstream education.” Though our class discussions have not addressed the educational system and the unschooling movement, I found
the article relevant for a few reasons: Geographic region, movement back in
time, and the tension between Vermont and the Adirondacks.
The first
parallel that I noticed between Wandering
Home and Hewitt’s article was geographic; Hewitt and his family live on a
farm in Vermont, and Bill McKibben began his long walk in Vermont. Both Wandering Home and “We Don’t Need No
Education” emphasize innovation in a society that has skewed priorities.
McKibben praises Vermonters' innovative spirits, their creative approaches to
protecting their bucolic environment. Specifically, he talks about their
commitment to the local movement in agriculture, wineries, and logging. Hewitt has implemented an alternative approach to education and criticizes the
status quo that many Americans blindly accept. He thinks of the education system as a
relatively modern development, stating that “The first incidence of compulsory
schooling came in 1852, when Massachusetts required communities to offer free
public education and demanded that every child between the ages of 8 and 14
attend school for at least 12 weeks per year.” In the same way, the innovative
Vermonter attitude in Wandering Home is
the result of disenchantment with modern values and lifestyle. They reject the
materialistic attitude that many Americans exhibit, preferring local over
cheap.
Interestingly,
though, I started to draw more parallels between Hewitt’s approach to schooling and
the Adirondack psyche that McKibben describes. In some ways, Hewitt is not creatively working within the constraints of a system to preserve something.
His approach to education is not neat and orderly like a small Vermont town.
Instead he rejects the system entirely (hence the term “unschooling”) and tries
to move back in time. In other articles, I have even seen “unschooling” referred
to as “rewilding”. While “unschooling”
as a term is inherently negative, “rewilding” is positive, suggesting a return
to something more natural. The process that has occurred in the Adirondacks in
the past decade can also be labeled “rewilding,” or a rejection and reversal of
the effects imposed by modern developments.
Therefore, Hewitt’s
approach to education incorporates both Vermont and Adirondack attitudes and
can be seen as representative of the “Adimont” or “Verandacks” region that
McKibbon recognizes.
A Fitting Boundary
Bill McKibben's comparison of the two sides of Lake Champlain demonstrate that Vermont and the Adirondacks are divided by a true boundary: one that is geographic, geologic, and cultural. Although it was drawn arbitrarily during the founding times of the colonies, the two sides The lack of frequent bridges across the lake prevents people from easily passing from one side to another, limiting cultural influence either way. A difference of merely 3 miles can exhibit a change in what city "the city" refers to, a multi-million year age difference of the bedrock one treads over, and a vastly different ideology of land use (or non-use) - the two sides divided by the glacial scar of Lake Champlain. Although these sides are so different, McKibben argues that they belong together.
After spending many years living in New Hampshire, I have found that New England is indeed a "tidy" place filled with small towns centered around a green, a bandstand, and a white church. When journeying from Vermont across the lake back into the Adirondack park last winter with the Nordic team, we noticed a pronounced difference in houses, roads, and terrain. The Vermont side of the Champlain valley is filled with vast farm fields with tree clusters few and far between, allowing the late afternoon sun to reflect off the lake and cast a golden hue across the region, where one can see for miles to the horizon over the rolling hills. Farmhouses tell stories of settlers generations ago, with many direct descendants still inhabiting their families' original homesteads: a friend here at Hamilton recently told me that her family dates back 9 generations to the town she lives in, although they do not live in the same house. Soon after passing through that very town, we crossed over to New York, leaving behind the lakeside mansions and vast open farm fields to an area settled hundreds of years later than Vermont. Suddenly we were in the shadows of the foothills of the Adirondacks winding around blasted cliffs and being rattled by roads long in need of repair. Log cabins with Adirondack chairs on the porches are the most extravagant homes visible on hillsides. It did not feel hostile, it merely felt raw, as McKibben describes it. The steep hillsides and
Although the Adirondacks are culturally hundreds of years younger, the local understanding of land use is much more developed than in Vermont. At the time Vermont was settled, the land was stripped of trees and farmed thoroughly and has been farmed since, with little reversion back to forest. The Adirondacks were thoroughly logged as well, but quickly reverted back to forest once protected as a state park and the residents learned "often against their will" how to leave the land for use only for low-impact recreation. While both areas experienced similar damage after settlement by European-Americans, the Adirondack resdients have learned much more about how to save land than Vermonters have and demonstrate a more mature attitude with respect to the land, when speaking in terms of responsible land use. For example, more mountains in the tiny Green Mountain range are ridden with alpine ski areas than in the whole Adirondack Park. While the two sides of this lake are split by a very fitting boundary, McKibben argues that the two sides have a lot to learn from each other: Vermonters can learn about responsible land use and reversion to wilderness while the Adirondack residents can learn about political and societal organization.
After spending many years living in New Hampshire, I have found that New England is indeed a "tidy" place filled with small towns centered around a green, a bandstand, and a white church. When journeying from Vermont across the lake back into the Adirondack park last winter with the Nordic team, we noticed a pronounced difference in houses, roads, and terrain. The Vermont side of the Champlain valley is filled with vast farm fields with tree clusters few and far between, allowing the late afternoon sun to reflect off the lake and cast a golden hue across the region, where one can see for miles to the horizon over the rolling hills. Farmhouses tell stories of settlers generations ago, with many direct descendants still inhabiting their families' original homesteads: a friend here at Hamilton recently told me that her family dates back 9 generations to the town she lives in, although they do not live in the same house. Soon after passing through that very town, we crossed over to New York, leaving behind the lakeside mansions and vast open farm fields to an area settled hundreds of years later than Vermont. Suddenly we were in the shadows of the foothills of the Adirondacks winding around blasted cliffs and being rattled by roads long in need of repair. Log cabins with Adirondack chairs on the porches are the most extravagant homes visible on hillsides. It did not feel hostile, it merely felt raw, as McKibben describes it. The steep hillsides and
Although the Adirondacks are culturally hundreds of years younger, the local understanding of land use is much more developed than in Vermont. At the time Vermont was settled, the land was stripped of trees and farmed thoroughly and has been farmed since, with little reversion back to forest. The Adirondacks were thoroughly logged as well, but quickly reverted back to forest once protected as a state park and the residents learned "often against their will" how to leave the land for use only for low-impact recreation. While both areas experienced similar damage after settlement by European-Americans, the Adirondack resdients have learned much more about how to save land than Vermonters have and demonstrate a more mature attitude with respect to the land, when speaking in terms of responsible land use. For example, more mountains in the tiny Green Mountain range are ridden with alpine ski areas than in the whole Adirondack Park. While the two sides of this lake are split by a very fitting boundary, McKibben argues that the two sides have a lot to learn from each other: Vermonters can learn about responsible land use and reversion to wilderness while the Adirondack residents can learn about political and societal organization.
Another 90 under the belt
Its 7:15 AM as I lie in bed this morning, feeling like I've been hit by a bus - not because of sleep deprivation or school work, but because I paddled 90 miles in a canoe the past three days. Some may call me completely crazy, but this weekend I paddled in and one hundred percent enjoyed my second 90 miler. The Adirondack Canoe Classic "90 Miler" is a three day, 90 mile, relatively flat-water canoe race through the Adirondacks, from Old Forge to Saranac Lake. The course itself is a combination of paddling across lakes, rivers and channels, with the addition of several carries on land on dirt roads and through trails in the woods. The race can accommodate up to 275 boats, ranging from one to eight person canoes, guide boats, kayaks - even paddle boarders! It is the ultimate test of one's physical and mental abilities.
Many friends asked me before I left on Friday, "Sorry, you're doing what?" or after explaining to them how the race worked, they remarked, "...and you think thats fun?" After answering many of these questions and comments, I realized that some people get it - why I put myself through this - and well others, just don't. To those that don't, I challenge you to sign up one year and just do it. Even if once is enough for you, I promise you won't regret it. Even after paddling down the same course for a second time, the surrounding environment continued to amaze me.
A few of the points that Terrie makes in Chapter 1 of Contested Terrain took me back to the race this weekend. Terrie refers to the Adirondacks as a "romantic landscape" (12). For a majority of the race, steering and keeping in time was all I really paid attention to. However, every so often I would take myself out of the race mentality, look up and around me, and realize what I had been missing. The only word I can think of to describe what I saw was majestic. What even struck me more was when I thought about how many of these areas we passed have never been touched or interrupted by human activity. Traveling through small channels and down winding rivers through the woods, you feel as though you're in a place separate from the world around you. Earlier in the chapter, Terrie also talks about the land that hasn't been logged yet as being "virgin" land (7). I believe McKibben also talks about the land as being virgin. Now comes the question of whether we keep this land as it is to preserve its virgin nature, or we let humans explore it and take advantage of their natural surroundings - something I would personally be in favor of.
The 90 Miler: Uniquely Adirondack
When I returned to Old Forge on Friday to begin the Adirondack Canoe Classic ("The 90-Miler"), I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. After racing in a C-2 last year, I was expecting the craze of canoes, kayaks, stand up paddle boards, and racers young and old to feel familiar. In a sense it was--I remembered lots of the rivers and lakes, and I distinctly remember the look of the last few turns before the finish line. What I did not remember was the atmosphere that sets this race apart from any other competitive environment I've been in. Although there were racers from all over the country, there was a solid sense of community between all of the paddlers that was strongly based in the Adirondack Park. Throughout all of the paddlers' meetings and race announcements, the host of the event constantly encouraged attendees to support local Adirondack businesses, to respect the DEC's requests to remove weeds between different waterways, and to maintain a strong connection to the park we were all racing in. The sponsors of the race ranged from PEPSI to the Adirondack Park Invasive Plant Program. The combination of competitive national racers with local Adirondack paddling families mimicked the large corporate sponsors with the local businesses, and reflected the strong community found within such a massive park.
There was even a class for guide boats, a kind of boat that is endemic to the Adirondacks. These boats are neither the fastest nor the lightest, and are clearly a pain to run with on the many carries, but they will be forever a part of the 90-miler as an Adirondack tradition. The race has become a significant event for competitive paddlers all over the country, but it will be forever grounded in Adirondack traditions, leaving room for locals and new racers like Hamilton students to compete and feel welcome. I was more aware of this dynamic this year than the last, and it made me grateful for the opportunities Hamilton students have by living so close to the park.
There was even a class for guide boats, a kind of boat that is endemic to the Adirondacks. These boats are neither the fastest nor the lightest, and are clearly a pain to run with on the many carries, but they will be forever a part of the 90-miler as an Adirondack tradition. The race has become a significant event for competitive paddlers all over the country, but it will be forever grounded in Adirondack traditions, leaving room for locals and new racers like Hamilton students to compete and feel welcome. I was more aware of this dynamic this year than the last, and it made me grateful for the opportunities Hamilton students have by living so close to the park.
90 Miler
When I told my parents that I had decided to compete for the second time in the Adirondack Canoe Classic, a 90 (or 83, depending on who you ask) mile canoe race from Old Forge to Saranac Lake, they asked me if marathon canoe racing was something I that I actually enjoyed. I didn't have a good answer. I can remember how tired, sore, and blistered I had been after my first 90 miler but I did not hesitate when I signed up to do it again.
The race starts in the southwest corner of the park in the town of Old Forge, NY. The first day of the race follows the Fulton Chain lakes, which are referred to as First through Eighth lakes--McKibben was right about the lack of creativity in place names in the Adirondacks. After a couple carries (be careful not to call them portages), the course becomes a bit more technical as you enter a narrow, marshy river called Brown's Tract. Thick vegetation and beaver dams are sure to cause problems for inexperienced paddlers who stray from the center. Brown's Tract opens up into Raquette lake, which is certainly a welcome change of scenery. After crossing the Raquette and paddling the Marion river (upstream!), the only obstacle separating you from the finish is 3 more lakes--a convenient number, as 3 is the highest number you can count to by the end of the first day, as team advisor and 90 miler veteran Andrew Jillings says.
If the first day of the race is a physical challenge, the second is more of a mental one. You begin the day by paddling the entire length of Long Lake, which is unique only for being long. After 2 hours with potentially difficult cross winds and little change in scenery, you come to a support boat where race organizers throw Snickers bars at your boat--you'll have to ask my captain, Ally, why we chose to forgo this pit stop. Next you begin paddling down the Raquette River and keep paddling for 3-6 hours, depending on if you're in an 8-person war canoe or a going solo on a paddle board.
The last day of the race is certainly the highlight of the weekend. By the third day, I was nearly too sore to move my arms, but once I got into rhythm of paddling and became absorbed in the scenery, I managed to keep paddling without thinking of the discomfort. After crossing Middle Saranac Lake, you paddle through a network of rivers with magnificent rocky cliffs lining the banks as well what I believe to be the best view in the Adirondacks. You are greeted at the finish in Saranac Lake by enthusiastic crowds as well as quite possibly the worst view in the Adirondacks--two far too tall concrete buildings loom over the town, which is reminiscent of the blend of wilderness and settlement throughout the park.
As I paddled at 72 reps/minute with my $300 carbon fiber paddle and $2000 Kevlar C4, I wondered if this was really the best way to experience the Adirondacks. We certainly experienced the "forever wild" parts of the park that seemed only accessible by canoe and also saw the great camps along Fourth Lake. However, we also seemed to reinforce materialism with all our stuff, which McKibben and the romantic idealists of the 19th century sought to minimize by spending time in the wilderness. One particular carry stands out in my mind. I was walking with the bow of the canoe on top of my head, barely able to see 2 feet in front of myself, surely missing out on a fantastic view. I ripped off an "expresso" [sic] Gu that I had taped to my boat, choked it down, and threw the trash on the ground. I knew that it would be picked up later, but I couldn't help but feel as if I had disrespected the wilderness. I am fortunate to have been able to see so much of the region, but I hope to experience more of it outside of the race. I'll be back next year, without a doubt.
The race starts in the southwest corner of the park in the town of Old Forge, NY. The first day of the race follows the Fulton Chain lakes, which are referred to as First through Eighth lakes--McKibben was right about the lack of creativity in place names in the Adirondacks. After a couple carries (be careful not to call them portages), the course becomes a bit more technical as you enter a narrow, marshy river called Brown's Tract. Thick vegetation and beaver dams are sure to cause problems for inexperienced paddlers who stray from the center. Brown's Tract opens up into Raquette lake, which is certainly a welcome change of scenery. After crossing the Raquette and paddling the Marion river (upstream!), the only obstacle separating you from the finish is 3 more lakes--a convenient number, as 3 is the highest number you can count to by the end of the first day, as team advisor and 90 miler veteran Andrew Jillings says.
If the first day of the race is a physical challenge, the second is more of a mental one. You begin the day by paddling the entire length of Long Lake, which is unique only for being long. After 2 hours with potentially difficult cross winds and little change in scenery, you come to a support boat where race organizers throw Snickers bars at your boat--you'll have to ask my captain, Ally, why we chose to forgo this pit stop. Next you begin paddling down the Raquette River and keep paddling for 3-6 hours, depending on if you're in an 8-person war canoe or a going solo on a paddle board.
The last day of the race is certainly the highlight of the weekend. By the third day, I was nearly too sore to move my arms, but once I got into rhythm of paddling and became absorbed in the scenery, I managed to keep paddling without thinking of the discomfort. After crossing Middle Saranac Lake, you paddle through a network of rivers with magnificent rocky cliffs lining the banks as well what I believe to be the best view in the Adirondacks. You are greeted at the finish in Saranac Lake by enthusiastic crowds as well as quite possibly the worst view in the Adirondacks--two far too tall concrete buildings loom over the town, which is reminiscent of the blend of wilderness and settlement throughout the park.
As I paddled at 72 reps/minute with my $300 carbon fiber paddle and $2000 Kevlar C4, I wondered if this was really the best way to experience the Adirondacks. We certainly experienced the "forever wild" parts of the park that seemed only accessible by canoe and also saw the great camps along Fourth Lake. However, we also seemed to reinforce materialism with all our stuff, which McKibben and the romantic idealists of the 19th century sought to minimize by spending time in the wilderness. One particular carry stands out in my mind. I was walking with the bow of the canoe on top of my head, barely able to see 2 feet in front of myself, surely missing out on a fantastic view. I ripped off an "expresso" [sic] Gu that I had taped to my boat, choked it down, and threw the trash on the ground. I knew that it would be picked up later, but I couldn't help but feel as if I had disrespected the wilderness. I am fortunate to have been able to see so much of the region, but I hope to experience more of it outside of the race. I'll be back next year, without a doubt.
Cross-Course Diversity
The
goal of the lab was most certainly accomplished. This walk opened my eyes to
just how incredibly diverse this region is. It almost seems unreal that we are
fortunate enough to attend a school that is so close to the midst of such an
amazing resource as the Adirondack Park. I like to think of that walk through
the Glen as a preview of some what's to come in this course with our eventual
journey into the park itself, where the real "wild" diversity of things will be all around us. Very much looking forward!
Bald-Faced Hornets nest at Knee Height
Somewhere Between 90 and 2,880 Miles We All Meet
I woke up as the Outing Club van pulled into the parking lot of the Old Forge visitor center, the mist was just beginning to clear off of the lake and I was terrified. Hamilton's Marathon Canoe Racing Team was one of the first groups to arrive. As we took turns registering and jumping around to stay warm I saw more and more people unload boats and start the process of duct taping food for the day within the reach of their canoe seat. The more I watched the other racers, the better I began to understand exactly how big the 90 Mile Canoe Classic Race is to so many people from the Adirondacks, generations of families paddling to win or couples who know the Adirondacks as their home and paddle every year to virtually pay testament to its beauty. I felt separated from many of the other racers, I don't really have any specific connection to the Adirondacks nor have I been paddling since birth, I guessed that this feeling would stay with me even after the race was over since it is really only a weekend.
The 90 Mile Canoe Classic Race, has been held in the Adirondacks ever year for 32 years, it is a massive events with hundreds of racers and many different boat categories. It helps the local businesses to flourish and lets the community of the Adirondacks know that there are paddlers out there who love this place enough to spend three days totaling about 20 hours of paddling pouring their blood, sweat, and tears into it, to put it lightly. Running from Old Forge to Saranac Lake the race is split up into three days, with designated starting and stopping points. It is impossible to truly describe the feeling of paddling in that situation to anyone who wasn't there, but I will say that it felt like a tsunami out on the water sometimes and if you weren't running on the canoe carries you were going to get pushed out of the way.
I won't go into detail about the pain and suffering that went into my boats approximately 17 hours of total paddling, but I will say that I could not have been more wrong about feeling like an outsider by the end. During the last half mile of the last day you come around this bend in the lake, and at that point you can see the buoys marking the finish line, standing on shore are literally hundreds of people cheering and when you pull up and step out of your boat it doesn't matter that you weren't born and raised in the Adirondacks and that you haven't lived and breathed water your entire life, you are a paddler and you finished the 90 Mile Canoe Classic. During the award ceremony the most beautiful part was when they called up the oldest age group of people who paddled the 90 this year, it was two couples who were both in their late seventies, and they were just beaming. Were they the fastest in their categories? No. Were they the best paddlers? No. But they clearly had this passion for the sport and the race and the wilderness that many people may never find in their entire lives. As I watched them stand up there all I had to say to myself was, "I sure know that I am going to be coming back up here next year."
The 90 Mile Canoe Classic Race, has been held in the Adirondacks ever year for 32 years, it is a massive events with hundreds of racers and many different boat categories. It helps the local businesses to flourish and lets the community of the Adirondacks know that there are paddlers out there who love this place enough to spend three days totaling about 20 hours of paddling pouring their blood, sweat, and tears into it, to put it lightly. Running from Old Forge to Saranac Lake the race is split up into three days, with designated starting and stopping points. It is impossible to truly describe the feeling of paddling in that situation to anyone who wasn't there, but I will say that it felt like a tsunami out on the water sometimes and if you weren't running on the canoe carries you were going to get pushed out of the way.A Divided Life: Why I agree with McKibben's love of the 'Dacks yet disagree with his disdain for New England
I've spent my entire life growing up in the "small New England town" that McKibben refers to in his argument for the wildness of the Adirondacks, but I've also spent every summer in the depths of the wilderness of the Western Adirondacks. I love my town. The stark white steeple of the Protestant Church looms over the Town Hall where our two annual town meetings are held, right next to the town green with its white bandstand that hosts shows every Friday night throughout the summer. By the time I was seven I was allowed to bike across town with my friends to get ice cream without our parents. My school district covered seven towns and there were still only 200 kids in each grade. It was, and still is, a quintessential New England town. We're self-governed, self-sufficient, and frankly rather wary of outsiders - you're not "local" until you've been around for a few generations. But every summer for the last 52 years, my family members have packed up the kids and the dogs and taken off across Vermont for our favorite place in the world, a place only reachable by hours of unmarked pavement and 20 miles of the barely-maintained dirt Big Moose Road. New Hampshire is my home, and always will be. It has shaped who I am and carries a very special place in my heart, but the Stillwater Reservoir is where my heart always longs to be. That is a place where I can always fine pure peace. No matter what is waiting for me on the civilized end of that long dirt road, the Adirondacks are the one place in the world where I can feel truly peaceful, truly rested, and truly connected to the natural world - something I need to remind myself of as often as possible. That is the true value of the Adirondack Wilderness in my opinion. At a time in this country when young adults are ever more quickly turning away from religion, myself included, a deep understanding of wilderness and wildness can give anyone a spiritual moment, no matter what they believe in, and I really do think that that natural connection of spirit is something that everyone should experience, and in the Adirondacks anyone could.
Class Divide in Early Adirondack History
The recent reading from Philip G. Terrie's "Contested
Terrain," describing the early days of European colonizers in the
Adirondacks, explores the idea of romanticism and the part this played in
Emmon's "promotion" of the area. This stuck out to me for several
reasons, namely because people hold a very similar attitude to the Adirondacks
and wilderness today. Terrie writes, “[people] came just to fish, hunt,
and restore body and soul amid the scenic and recreational glories of the
Adirondacks,” (12).
While Terrie initially describes the draw that the Adirondacks had, it became very clear to me that there was a distinct socio-economic class distinction as only the wealthy had the opportunity for retreat. I found this troubling for many reasons, namely because the wilderness is a place for everyone to enjoy and shouldn’t be restricted to just one class. Also, I was so surprised by this fact about the Adirondacks’ early history because it seems that this class divide has greatly dissolved over time to include a wide range of people and financial statuses today. While it is very common to see a huge lake house with speedboats and jet skis, it is just as easy to see small business owners running local shops, who surely face financial struggles from time to time in a country where Walmart is king.
So, while the romantic quality of the Adirondacks has persevered over time, I think that now, part of that charm is from the people who have built their lives in the Park and call it home, while respecting the land for what it has given them. I will be interested to see at what point in time in its history did the Adirondacks became a more inclusive place of retreat and at what time did more lower and middle class people began to settle there.
While Terrie initially describes the draw that the Adirondacks had, it became very clear to me that there was a distinct socio-economic class distinction as only the wealthy had the opportunity for retreat. I found this troubling for many reasons, namely because the wilderness is a place for everyone to enjoy and shouldn’t be restricted to just one class. Also, I was so surprised by this fact about the Adirondacks’ early history because it seems that this class divide has greatly dissolved over time to include a wide range of people and financial statuses today. While it is very common to see a huge lake house with speedboats and jet skis, it is just as easy to see small business owners running local shops, who surely face financial struggles from time to time in a country where Walmart is king.
So, while the romantic quality of the Adirondacks has persevered over time, I think that now, part of that charm is from the people who have built their lives in the Park and call it home, while respecting the land for what it has given them. I will be interested to see at what point in time in its history did the Adirondacks became a more inclusive place of retreat and at what time did more lower and middle class people began to settle there.
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