Drew Rozell, Ph.D.

Author and Coach

Lake George, NY Kayak Adventure (Final Part)

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(This is the final installment documenting my recent kayak trip across Lake George, NY. Photos for this post can be seen by visiting www.drewrozell.com. Photos of the whole trip can be seen here.)

I woke to the sound of raindrops hitting the tarp, the sound echoing throughout our small dome. Though it was still before dawn, I suspected that my window for restful sleep had come to a close.

The steady percussion above my head kept from emerging from the tent for the next several hours. But then the need to pee and the desire for coffee took over. Stepping outside confirmed the obvious. Today would be spent outside in the rain. And that was that.

I noticed it right away.

My soft red mini-cooler was resting under a tree, several yards from where it rested hours before. Already knowing his answer, I asked anyway.

Chris, did you happen to throw the cooler over by that tree?

Walking a few steps closer confirmed what I already knew.

We’d been hit!

Cheese? Gone. Bag of trail mix? Gone. Pita bread? Gone. (Mercifully, the pepperoni was left untouched). Other than a few teeth marks in my cooler, this was a one clean B & E job — the critter left no trace, not even a peanut shell. We immediately suspected the mink we saw scurrying on the rocks nearby the night before. In retrospect, clearly his wilderness act had been a ruse. This was a professional, one who made his living canvassing careless campers such as ourselves.

We’d miss the energy food, but we had to admit that our adversary had played the game fairly and beaten us. Well played, Mr. Mink.

After exploding coffee all over our picnic table (Jet-Boils live up to their name) and having some freeze-dried eggs for breakfast (not quite as bad as you would think), we wandered around the campsite, trying to muster some sense of purpose on this gray morning.

Packing the tent, my lower back barked at me, letting me know that I’d spent many hours in a kayak and slept on the ground, but it was nothing a little Biofreeze couldn’t loosen up. Chris has a pesky shoulder from years of spiking a volleyball and making long throws from center field. As we departed our site (leaving it better than we found it, I hope), I reminded him that he was lucky that you don’t need to use your shoulders much when kayaking.

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(Photo caption: The clouds hung low this day, the water calm. We would not see the sun until it set.)

Speaking of kayaking, I’d like to take a moment to encourage you to get out on one. Kayaks are simple to use. Yes, getting in and out of the boat takes a little practice, but the paddling motion is simple, intuitive, and has a real meditative quality. With a lower center of gravity, I find kayaking to be much easier and safer than canoeing, and the boats are often easier to move around and store than canoes.

I’m a big believer in the power of environments and I find my kayak encourages me to get outside and explore. I get to know the rivers and lakes I paddle on, the nooks and crannies, the islands, the wildlife. You feel like a part of the water.

Kayaks are silent, too. This is important to me because I do not believe that my fun should ever encroach on another person’s idea of a good time. I don’t like loud watercraft, ATVs, motorcycles, or bass-heavy car stereos the same way I do not want to see cigarette butts at a campsite or litter on a trail. I can feel a rant coming on here, so it’s probably best that I move along…

Kayaks require no maintenance. They require no fuel. Paddling is wonderful exercise for your upper body and core. You can pop a kayak on top of a car in minutes and be a world away from the rest of your life as soon as you hit the water. You can kayak alone for some solitude, or share the experience with a friend. Either way, the activity is a great way to clear your head. If you’ve not given kayaking a try, I encourage you to rent one or borrow a friend’s. I bet you’ll like it.

Okay, back to the trip…Once we were on the water and wet, the rain became an ally of sorts. First, we found ourselves paddling on a very different lake than the day before. The water was calm and there was little wind. Once our muscles loosened up, we seemed to be making much better time. Second, as a bald Irishman, I welcomed the break from the intense sunshine, and it felt good to let the cool rain fall onto my exposed head. Third, we seemed to have this massive lake to ourselves as other boaters found the conditions less inviting. Finally, the rain and clouds made the lake no less beautiful; all day I took great pleasure in watching the clouds cling onto and slowly slither around the mountain formations.

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(Photo caption: From the silence of our kayaks, we could hear the roar of this waterfall and went exploring to find it. Glad we did.)

We seemed to make twice the miles with half the effort this day and found ourselves pulling into the Hulett’s Landing marina early in the afternoon. We were only a mile from our next campsite, so we filled up our water bottles, bought some Pringles and beer (the essentials) before visiting the nearby ranger station and registering our campsite.

The ranger told me he’d seen 4-foot waves while patrolling this section of the lake, but added that he thought the wind would be at our backs the rest of the way. I hoped he was right as we had 13 miles — our longest stretch –waiting for us tomorrow.

As we pulled up to our site, the rain finally relented. We chalked this up to the Good Lord having our backs and took a celebratory dip in the lake. While setting up camp, it became clear that we would be fireless as there was no dry tinder to be found. Wet to the bone after a day in the drizzle, settling into some warm, dry clothes provided a wonderful feeling of comfort. After working my shoulders and lats for 20-something miles in two days, I joked that I felt like I could carry the world on my back. Maybe for a minute or two. We felt relaxed, strong, and grateful for the late afternoon sun that began playing Hide-and-Seek with us.

After boiling up a hot meal (the Chicken Teriyaki proved the winner), we found another rock perch facing the western sky. As the sun broke free of the clouds as it neared the horizon, we enjoyed a lovely sunset and a clear evening. We went to sleep early, knowing we still had a big day ahead of us.

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(Photo caption: This is one of the images that stays with me from the trip. I’m ready to go back. From Agnes Island.)

We were up early and on the water at 9AM. The clouds were gone and the sunshine would be our constant companion. Checking the map, we covered the first two miles of the day in under 30 minutes — this was going to be an easy day’s paddle. Of course, the ranger was right, a strong wind was at our backs the entire day.

With the new day came a new lake beneath us. The steady current of two-foot waves guiding us north made it feel like we were on the ocean at times. Clearly, we agreed, these favorable conditions were a sign that the Good Lord wanted us to succeed and to reward our efforts. As we drew closer to our destination, I thought of Lance Armstrong in the final miles of winning one of his Tours, hoisting a glass of champagne as he neared the finish line. We were going to do it.

Full of appreciation for life, I started hooting with glee (yes, glee!). I do the same thing when riding up the first chairlift on a powder day, anticipating a day of gliding on the soft snow. (Thinking about it now, most of my hooting and my most powerful feelings of appreciation occur when I’m out of doors.) This feeling did not come from a sense of overcoming some extreme conditions or pushing my body to the brink. No, having come this far, I believed that any reasonably fit person with the desire to complete this trip could do so. For Chris and me, the fun of the trip far outweighed the challenge.

Rather, I felt happy to be me… Happy to be out in the world having this glorious experience. Happy for choosing to make this trip happen… Happy for having something to look forward to for months… Happy to have something to look back upon for a lifetime… Happy to have a friend like Chris to share the experience with me… Happy for being witness once again to life unfolding so perfectly.

The trip re-affirmed one of my core beliefs — that LIFE wants you to have a good time. A great life is yours for the taking. The only requirement is that you must meet life half-way and start LIVING. You must choose to move toward that which fills your spirit with light and energy. At the very least, during this trip on Lake George, I felt like I was holding up my end of the bargain with LIFE…

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(Photo caption: The end of the line. Who’s the big winner? We are!)

We arrived at the most nothern navigable spot on Lake George by 3PM, about 2 hours faster than my best guess. An evening of celebration lay before us. Friends Bob, Mark, Mark (Chris’s brother making the 6-hour drive to surprise him), and Matt would join us. Steaks. Shrimp. Beers. And lots of laughter.

Throughout the evening, I showed some pictures and told some stories of the trip, but I found the limitations in using words and images to capture the essence of the experience. I’ve done my best in these essays to share some thoughts and feelings and to practice my writing.

And now it’s time to look to the next adventure.

Happy trails…

Drew

Lake George, NY Kayak Adventure (Part 3)

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After our brief stay (the spiders and the sound of our boats crashing into the rocky shoreline motivated us to keep moving), we left Dome Island and headed toward the shoreline, just over a mile away. The idea was to hit a marina in Bolton Landing, a popular tourist area and home of the opulent Sagamore Hotel, to see if we could scare up a few beers and ice for an end of the day reward.

Even though we took a short break 30 minutes earlier, our stop came just in time. The workers in the marina cheerfully pulled our boats ashore and the small store appeared to have everything we desired. Cheap domestic beer in cans. And Ice. Having an adventure on a highly populated lake had its perks.

I walked up the stairs to the store, but Chris did not follow. Waiting inside for a few minutes, he never entered. I went back outside and searched for him.

“Hey… you comin’ in or what?” I asked.

Chris did not offer much of a response, mumbling something about having to make a phone call. Was it work? His wife? As I saw him pull out his cell phone, suddenly we were back in the Real World, that place with responsibility and stuff.

Wanting no part of the Real World, I left Chris alone and bought a turkey sandwich and a Gatorade in the store. I was eating on the deck when Chris joined me.

“Hey, what’s going on, man?” I asked.

“Man, I just didn’t feel so good there,” he said.

I understood where he was coming from. After more than four hours of paddling on the rough water, sitting still, I felt a touch of vertigo as my brain believed that I was still riding the waves. As I sat, it occurred to me that Chris had been halfway across the planet in Cape Town, South Africa just a few days earlier. The fact that he was sitting next to me in upstate New York, having just paddled 10 miles was even more impressive. The man deserved a rest.

After making short work of the food and chugging a couple brightly colored sugary beverages, we filled a spare dry bag with ice and beer and began paddling the final stretch of the day. We still had one more large open stretch of water to cross, right in front of Northwest Bay. After refueling, we were feeling strong again and assumed the worst was over.

We were wrong.

We’d soon learn that the most direct course to our destination was smack dab in the middle of a highly trafficked boating lane. Big boats. Houseboats and such. Again, the captains were friendly, offering us smiles and waves, but the thought of altering their course slightly or slowing down as they passed us did not seem to enter their minds.

The waves came quickly. Ocean-sized. And in a flash, my hull submerged and cool water flooded into my cockpit.

Behind me, I heard Chris yelling — something about his boat taking on water? I made out a note of distress in his tone. Glancing back at him, his boat was still floating. I figured that like me, he’d have to finish the day’s paddle with an inch or two of water sloshing around. No big deal. Let’s keep moving.

“Yeah, me too!” I yelled back to him.

We arrived at the campsite within an hour, around 5:30PM. I got out first and pulled Chris to shore. I couldn’t understand why his kayak was so heavy until he got out of his boat. Since being hit by the wave, Chris had been sitting in a pool of water, just below his waist. He had probably dragged an extra 30 pounds of Lake George with him for that final mile or so. No wonder he sounded a little distressed.

After sharing a laugh and making a mental note to bring a bilge pump the next time, we began unpacking the boats and setting up camp on the private, prime real estate that was ours for the night.

img_2507(Photo caption: Our view for the night. Chris takes a dip with Black Mt. behind him)

Lake George has 170 islands (you can camp on 44 of them) with 387 camping sites. Sites are maintained by the state government and cost $33 for the night. Sites come with a fire pit, a level spot for a tent, a picnic table, and access to an outhouse. To my way of thinking, that’s a pretty sweet deal.

After a lovely swim, we spent the next hour setting up the tent, gathering firewood, and prepping for dinner. I would not allow myself to crack a beer until I was sure I could lay my hand instantly on any item I might need. For me, camping well has two pre-requisites: preparation and organization. I take both seriously. Maybe too seriously sometimes, but that’s just me.

Using my new little backpack stove, I heated up the chili that I’d frozen and sealed earlier and we enjoyed a hot, hearty meal complete with cheese and pita bread. Feeling relaxed and full of accomplishment, we retired to a rock perch overlooking the lake as night fell. Recalling the challenging parts of the day, I mentioned to Chris how I believe that it’s the moments of fear and discomfort that turn a trip into a true adventure.

I thought back to a ski day at Taos in New Mexico with my brother Ned a year earlier. We decided to ski the Highline ridge, requiring us to hike 25 minutes or so in our ski boots to reach the very top of the mountain, 13,000 ft high.

dscn8143(Photo caption. Drew hikes to the summit. Ned Rozell photo.)

Of course, when skiing the backcountry, there are no trails; you just pick a route and make your way down. Not knowing the mountain, at the summit I asked a couple locals for some advice. They said we could follow them, but Ned was busy taking photos and they skied out of view without us. We were on our own.

dscn8153(Photo caption. If you follow the ridge and see a speck, that’s me following the local skier in front of me. Waiting for Ned (who took this shot), I lost the route. We descended to the left, in the heavily forested area.)

We skied the ridge for about half a mile before heading into the trees to descend. We ended up on top of a narrow chute (less than 20 feet wide), extremely steep, with rock walls on either side. After contemplating this descent, discretion became the better part of valor. If someone fell, or hit the rock wall, we’d be in serious trouble. We were in an unpatrolled area of thousands of acres of wilderness. No one knew where we were and we were likely the only people to visit the spot on the mountain all day.

We’d have to find another way down. The bigger problem was that the only way out was back uphill. We had to remove our skis, carry them, and begin hiking again. Each step sank us hip deep in snow. The work was difficult and sweaty and we’d have to move like this for at least a quarter of a mile. I could feel the panic rising within me. I heard the same voice that came to me earlier today on the lake… What the f*ck did I get myself into?

Sensing my uneasiness, my brother, a veteran of countless adventures in the harsh wilderness of Alaska, offered me some words of encouragement as my ski suit filled with perspiration.

“Drew, one thing I’ve learned from all my trips is that there’s always a way out. Always.”

Soon enough, we had our skis on, picking our between the evergreens, and making our slow descent. Eventually, we found a trail and made it to the chairlift. That one ski run took us over an hour and a half, but riding up the lift, an eye toward the path of our descent, any of the lingering fear I had felt was washed away by the thrill of the adventure.

Whenever I think of skiing at Taos, that one ski run dominates my memory, and in a good way.

img_2517(Photo caption. Our residence for the night.)

Chris and I sat back in our camp chairs, (a must-have piece of camping gear as sitting on rocks gets uncomfortable quickly), and watched Jupiter rise next to the silhouette of Black Mountain to the east. We talked for hours about the things that are important to us.

I took a deep breath of appreciation – appreciation for this lake, appreciation for my friend, appreciation for my body for getting me here. I drank it all in, and appreciated ice cold beer in my hand on a warm summer night.

Lake George, NY Kayak Adventure (Part 2)

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(My next posts will be documenting my recent kayak adventure on Lake George, NY. Photos of the whole trip can be seen here.)

And so at 10:06 AM, we were off.

drewchrislaunch(Photo caption: Looking north. The steamboat beats us to launch).

Paddling away from shore, a shiver went down my spine — the good kind of shiver, like when you hear one of your favorite songs come on the radio. Taking in the miles of lake and mountains before us, the Tom Petty song started playing in my head…

Into the great wide open,
Under the skies of blue
Out in the great wide open,
A rebel without a clue

Indeed, in some ways I was the rebel without the clue. While I knew I wanted to experience the thrill of paddling the length of Lake George, I did not know anyone else who did it. I did not know how long it would take us. I really had no clue what to expect from this massive lake. We weren’t climbing K2, mind you, but adventure is relative.

During the planning stage, the only information I could find was of an outdoor guide who organized kayak Lake George trips. He had a photo of some paddlers on his website from a previous trip. Sizing them up from the snapshot, I assumed that if those guys could do it, Chris and I would be fine. But mostly, we were flying — or rather, paddling — blind.

Speaking of Chris…

Chris and I met in graduate school at Syracuse University over a decade and a half ago. Chris studied Clinical Psychology and I was in the Social Psychology program. We may have shared one class together, but our bond was formed as teammates on our department’s co-ed softball team (back-to-back champions!) and at the numerous parties we attended (grad students threw the best parties).

We became fast friends and through the years, we shared many experiences and covered many miles. Maine to Seattle. Philly to Providence to Puerto Rico. Vermont to DC. And who could forget the three trips to Vegas? Our escapades would conclude with Chris delivering one of his signature lines with Jon Stewart-esque timing,

“Just so you know, we’ll be burning the negatives from this trip…”

As I mentioned in my first post, when I floated the idea of this trip to my friends, Chris did not hesitate. He did not equivocate. He just said yes and bought a plane ticket from his home in D.C. It was not until we were leaving the shore that Chris reminded me that he had been in a kayak only once before, and that was on a slow moving river years earlier. His words did not concern me (Chris is fit and coordinated and the only time I saw out of his element athletically is when I took him skiing), but they surprised me.

Perhaps it spoke some of Chris’s faith in me, but the fact that he would take on a trip of this magnitude with such little experience added to the sense of adventure. While we both expected the trip to be fun, there was no forgetting that this was a trip of purpose: Come hell or choppy water, we were going to paddle this great lake from end to end. I was appreciative to be on the water with someone who respected this goal without either of us ever saying a word about it.

Our launch point was the southern tip of Lake George, the home of Lake George village, tourists, and powerboats. I’ll extol the virtues of kayaking a bit later, and while very safe, kayaks are simply small crafts that are vulnerable to the wakes from boats with engines.

Inferring from what I saw from power boaters’ behavior, few had any sense of what it’s like to be in a kayak. Many drivers would offer up a friendly way, but plow through the water close enough that we’d have to put all of our attention on navigating their wakes, trying to keep our cockpits from taking on water.

We made it to southern tip of Long Island at 12:05PM. Our pace, about 2 miles an hour, was slower than I expected, but given the lake congestion and the fact that we were just warming up, I thought we were doing fine. Our bodies, still adjusting to being in kayaking position for hours, were ready to be stretched out. With the sun shining, we stopped for a snack and a swim. We both felt good and strong and soon we departed for another 4-mile stretch to Dome Island.

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(Photo caption: Dome Island in the distnace. The waters calmed enough for me to pull out my camera)

Things were about to get interesting.

Boats were out. The wind picked up noticeably, hitting us from the west and pushing us off course as we paddled north. White caps formed on the waves that seemed to hit us from all directions. This was no longer a leisurely paddle; there was a hint of danger in the water.

We were now on the widest part of the lake, close to three miles across. The bottom of the lake lay 150 feet below us. Chris was trailing directly behind me and I yelled over the wind for him to pull up where I could see him.

Dark thoughts popped into my mind.

If one of us broke a paddle right here, we would be totally screwed.
I know I could pull Chris out of the water. Could he pull me out?
What in the f*ck did I get us into here?

I kept these thoughts to myself and yelled to check in on Chris. The waver I heard in the tone of his reply reflected my thoughts. Oh, yes. There was some fear with us now. Not overpowering. But undeniable.

I thought back to an event on Lake George from years past. My friend Mike and I went for a late afternoon canoe paddle to a nearby island in May. A storm moved in quickly, and to borrow a line from George Costanza from Seinfeld, the lake became angry that day, my friends. We were no more than half a mile from shore, but I could feel Mike’s fear in our canoe radiating toward my seat a few feet behind him. I recall watching Mike hit the water in what seemed like slow motion. Like going over your handlebars on a bike, I had just enough time to process my fate. In a flash, I would be join Mike in the frigid water.

I gasped audibly as the cold overpowered my body. I remember seeing my Mike’s eyes. Huge saucers of panic. The short of it is that we ended up being rescued (10 minutes? 20 minutes?) later by a man who scooped us up in his pontoon boat. Luckily, he’d seen us capsize through his telescope from shore. That day was the closest I have ever been to death (though if push came to shove, I know I would have survived), and I carry the memory with me whenever I’m on the water.

Thinking back on that day, I remembered how the fear caused our thinking and our bodies to tighten up. When the wave hit Mike in the front of the canoe, his rigid posture caused him to overcompensate. And over we went.

“Just relax!” I yelled back to Chris, reminding myself at the same time.

“Keep your body loose like a bull rider and let’s ride these bitches!”

Relaxing helped. Dome Island still sat alone and far off in the distance, its too-perfect shape reminding me of one of those monster islands from an old King Kong movie. A lesson in being present, we put our heads down and focused on the only thing of any relevance in our lives — the waves directly in front of us.

Up and down. Up and down. Paddle. Paddle. Paddle.

Despite the rough water, the adrenaline rush propelled us to cover the four miles to Dome Island in less than 90 minutes, significantly faster than the first leg of the day. We needed to get out of our boats and rest, but Dome Island made it clear that she was not interested in entertaining guests. Thickly forested with no signs of man, the island lived up to its name, rising straight out of the water like a fortress with no easy place to dock the boats.

After a struggle to bungee the boats to some low-lying trees, we got on all fours to scale the steep island wall. Because of its height and central location, English scouts reportedly used Dome Island to spy on the Indians during the French and Indian War. The forest appeared eerily unchanged from the time of that war. The only signs of life were the daddy long leg spiders that seemed to cover every inch of ground. Several climbed on me as we sat on the uncomfortable terrain, trying to regroup and plot out our next destination.

We would not stay long.

(End Part 2)