A while ago, I borrowed the original journal of a vacation trip into the Adirondacks back in the summer of 1909. Charles E. Martin and his two brothers, Norman and Harry, all met in Albany.
They traveled north by train, but like many trips, they encountered unplanned delays. The train at Mechanicsville was late leaving the station. When they arrived at North Creek, they were thankful that they had sent their luggage ahead the day before, because the baggage of most of the passengers had not arrived.
(Now, doesn't that sound familiar?)
The stage coach ride to Indian Village (Indian Lake) was a long but wonderful 18 miles. The heavy, four-horse rig traveled over the mountains and through the woods and swamps. There were log bridges, narrow corners and large, granite boulders along the way.
The men on the coach had to get out and walk up the steepest hills to make it easier on the horses, but it was a relief from the jolting ride.
Upon arriving at Indian Village, they continued on to Sabael on the lake, about five miles to the south.
After spending the night at the hotel, they loaded their gear into guide boats. It was a long paddle up the length of the narrow lake in the wooden crafts. Finally, they crossed through the narrows and on into Lewey Lake. Camp was soon set up on a point, hoping to escape the hordes of the hungry bugs.
The fishing was poor for the first few days. They caught some pickerel and bullheads off a small, rocky island.
Occasionally, the brothers walked up the Jessups River and caught native brook trout, or they took a trail over the ridge to the Miami River. Ten or 12 "small" ones were anything but uncommon.
One day, Charles trolled on the lake for pike with his pants rolled up.
Sure enough, white, untanned legs and a hot blazing sun translated into a nasty sunburn. A paste of salty butter was the only remedy.
He said it stung a lot.
They traded some of their store-bought supplies with some local folks for fresh eggs and dark, maple syrup.
After catching small, red-finned minnows for bait in some the little brooks, they finally got into the good fishing.
Using the live bait off the island, Harry soon hooked into a huge pike. They figured it was at least six pounds when its teeth cut the leader.
To be successful, they wrapped thin, copper wire up the snell of their hooks and started catching fish. The boys landed several in the eight-pound class. One was so big that Harry shot it in the head with his .22 target pistol.
Meals of fish, biscuits, potatoes and beans were common during their stay in the north woods. Breakfasts of pancakes and wild huckleberries hit the spot.
The brothers also had many adventures in wilderness. Harry got lost in the woods off the trail one day but finally followed a creek back down to the lake.
Finally, their vacation was over.
It was a long paddle back down the lake as they headed for home.
Charles' diary didn't say, but I'm sure they all vowed to return to the Adirondacks and do it again some day.
Hopefully they did, because there's something about those mountains that just keeps drawing you back.
Rick Brockway writes a weekly outdoors column for The Daily Star. E-mail him at robrockway@hotmail.com.
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