Stories of a Dirty Traveler

In the late summer of 2019 I was on my way home after staying the night in my friends’ dorm room at Paul Smith’s College. We passed through the unexpectedly busy (at the time) town of Saranac Lake. As we neared the waterfront of Lake Flower, I asked him what was drawing such a crowd. He told me today was the last day of a 3 day, 90 mile canoe race – The Adirondack Canoe Classic, also know as “The 90-miler”. I replied saying how crazy that was, I would never spend 3 days paddling 90 miles. Well, only a few years later I would prove myself wrong.

The 90-miler begins in Old Forge New York and heads north through a number of lakes, streams and rivers ending at the Lake Flower waterfront park in the town of Saranac Lake. This event draws in paddlers from all over the place, little did I know exactly how big this event was for the paddling culture of the Northern Adirondacks. A fun recreational event for some, and an intense 3 days of hard racing for others.

After finishing my Adirondack 46 High Peaks and becoming a “46er” in the summer of 2021, I decided to turn my adventures towards the lakes and rivers of the incredible Adirondack Park, mostly in the form of day and multi-day wilderness canoe trips. Never once did I consider racing in the 90. That was until I stopped in at an ice cream shop in Ballston Spa, NY the following summer owned and operated by my good friend Mike. He told me of his plans to paddle the race the following September. As I ordered my soft serve, we chatted a bit and he mentioned his need of a new partner as his original teammate had to drop out of the race. Perhaps it was the fact that he did not let me pay for my ice cream, or how excited he was about the race but I accepted. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but any adventure with Mike was sure to be a smile filled sufferfest. I was looking forward to every mile, joke and ounce of pain we would endure.

That summer, we spent our Saturday mornings “training” one lakes and rivers around the greater Saratoga Springs area in my mom’s 16′ Mad River Tahoe. A big heavy boat, not meant for racing and absolutely no keel. It would take ever ounce of our strength to get us to the finish line without missing our time cut-offs. We had lots to learn from this race.

The summer passed quickly, and soon enough the first weekend of September was upon us. I left work early on a Thursday afternoon, loaded up the boat and all my gear and made the 2 hour drive to Old Forge where Mike had booked a campsite for us for the night before the race. I arrived first, setting up camp and fighting off a persistent squirrel that had made its way into my car. As I was cooking up a simple dinner on my Coleman stove, Mike arrived just as night was falling. We set up our tents quick, then pulled out the map to go over day one, the longest mileage day of the race. Approximately 35 miles of mostly open lake paddling, with some stretches passing through winding rivers in between and a few hefty portages. If we could make it through tomorrow without missing cutoffs, we would be in a good position. After pondering over the map for a bit, it was time to get some rest, we had a very long day ahead of us.

We awoke early the next morning, made a quick breakfast, grabbed all out necessary gear for the day and headed to the race start on First Lake in the Fulton Chain of Lakes. The morning was a bit chilly, with a dense blanket of fog making visibility on the lake almost impossible. As the crowds of racers, spectators and vendors waited for the morning sun to burn off the morning fog, the nerves begin to set it. What the hell did I get myself into? The start of the race was delayed about an hour to ensure good visibility and racing conditions.

Soon, it was time for us to load into our boat and paddle to the start. We watched the first few waves depart in a mad dash. Starting as one large group of racers before slowly they began to separate into faster and slower boats. Then, our wave was called to the start and it was time. The race coordinators took role and read off the team names of each boat, there were some rather creative team names. We decided to represent SUNY Adirondack, but they butchered out team name “SUNY AVS”. No worries, we would not be a memorable team.

Then, suddenly came the countdown. 10 ten second count that filled us with excitement with each following number, then GO! We were off, keeping up with the pack for a bit as we tried to find our rhythm but quickly falling towards the back of our wave. We headed across the Fulton Chain as fast as we could, but quite slowly. We did not follow standard race practice at first, sticking to paddling on one side for the first hour or so before noticing the technique of the more experienced racers. We soon decided to give it a shot and began to find more success and comfort. After all, we had 35 miles to go on day one and wearing ourselves out so early would prove to be a big mistake.

We made our way across the waters of the Fulton Chain of Lakes to Fourth Lake, tired but in what we thought was good time. Soon it would be time for our first carry over to Sixth Lake. Not a long portage, just under half a mile. Just enough to stretch the legs, grab a bite and sip some water. The entry to Sixth Lake was a mad house of people trying to wiggle their way past other racers to get their boat in the water. We found our window and off we went. From here we would paddle about 4 miles to our next portage through Eight Lake Campground, just under 1 mile. Again, we stretched our legs, rested our arms (sort of, the boat was quite heavy), and used our free hand to get water and have a snack. Little did we realize how hard hydrating and nourishing would be during the paddle sections.

We had a quick 1.5 miles paddle across Eighth Lake before starting the longer portage of the day: The Browns Tract Carry. Another carry over 1 mile. We passed another aid station halfway through this carry and were gifted water, Powerade and candy. A life saver. We darted over to the put in at Browns Tract where we had to wait a bit to put the boat in (a major chokepoint of the race). Upon getting our boat in the water, we realized this section of river would be quite demanding. Very hard to keep speed in such a meandering river, at times it felt like out boat did not quite have the turning radius we needed. We got our first glimpse of Blue Mountain, over 15 miles away. We were absolutely worked, and only about half way through day one.

As always, we smiled and joked through the discomfort and suffering we had chosen for ourselves this weekend. After what felt like an eternity of endless meanders, we we saw our first view of the church tower in Raquette Lake, a sign that the winding yet beautiful river paddling was coming to an end. At this point we began questioning if we would make the last few cutoffs. We kicked it into gear and huffed it across Raquette Lake into the Marion Flow heading toward Utawona Lake and Eagle Lake, the last bodies of water before Blue Mountain Lake, the end of day one.

We may have had a few rather generous race coordinators let us sneak past as we approached the final cutoff point, this gave us the motivation we needed to continue on. We hit our second (or third? fourth? fifth?) wave of energy, knowing we were nearing the end soon. Finally, we got the best view of Blue Mountain of the day, rounded the bend and saw the finish. We had made it to the end of day one, barely making the final cutoffs, but still very much in good spirits. After all, were were paddling what felt like a Lincoln Town car in a race where almost everyone else had Corvettes. It was approaching golden hour as we crossed the finish, and the beach was nearly empty. We were well behind the pack, but we finished, and we didn’t finish last.

We headed over to our camp for the night at Lake Eaton campground, the made our way back to Long Lake to grab some food at The Long View Lodge Restaurant. It was the best burger I had ever had in my life.

Day two would begin at Bissells Landing, a private property along the western shore of Long Lake. We arrived early, feeling sore and haggard from the day before, but relieved that we only had only 30 miles and one portage. Ha ha…only 30 miles. Day two is a mix of open water heading north along Long Lake, then heading into the Raquette River, ending at “The Crusher” with one portage of about 1 mile around Raquette River Falls.

We loaded up our boat, made some adjustments to put ourselves in better position for day 2 and headed into the second day with good spirits and big smiles. After all, it was a privilege to even be apart of such a great canoe race.

We raced north towards Long Lake, as we passed under the bridge I was greeted by my Dad and (then) girlfriend, Jenn. They were rooting us on and holding a sign that said “Paddle Hard Nick and Mike”. That we did. We paddled the length of Long Lake and soon we entered the mouth of The Raquette River. A brilliantly beautiful river to paddle at a leisurely pace, I tried to make time to appreciate the scenery and clear waters that day but at times I had turned off my brain and was solely focused on keeping my rhythm and ignoring the buring in my arms.

Eventually, we made our way to the first and only carry of the day, the Raquette Falls Carry. Despite being the only carry, it definitely is not as straightforward as others. The first half ascends steeply over about half a mile of muddy, uneven terrain. It is quite easy to lose footing through here, we held our own and made it to the high point before beginning to descend towards the put in. We made it past the falls and found ourselves at another aid station right before the put in. We put our boat in the water, dodged a few large rocks then headed up the River.

On a map, it looks like you are close to “The Crusher” from here – and by the way the bird flys, you are. But the Raquette River has one of the highest meander quotients of any river in the Adirondacks, meaning it curves, turns and bends on itself in ways that turns a few map miles into over 20 paddling miles. We were in for another long afternoon.

We spent the day paddling, chatting with passing racers, admiring the refurbished guide boats and expensive & sleek racing boats. The beauty of the river started to set in as afternoon turned to early evening. We were motivated by spectators who had set up camp at various campsites and lean-tos along the river banks. The support of random strangers was overwhelming, nearly making us forget the fatigue. Soon we saw the famous sign of false hope: “Axton’s Landing”. I checked the map. Still over 10 miles of meanders to go.

I turned my brain off, only acknowledging the cheers from the occasional campsite residents and kept on chugging.

A while later, the meanders started to ease up, showing signs that we were getting closer and closer to The Crusher. Soon after, we began to hear the sound of louder cheers in the distance. That had to be the end, there was no way a group of spectators at a campsite could be making that much noise.

Then, there we were, finally in sight of the takeout along Route 3. Hearing cheers, the announcements over the megaphone and cars driving past the crowded road. I was looking forward to seeing Jenn & my dad, and mostly sitting my ass in a cushiony seat of my car instead of the less than forgiving wicker seat of the Old Town.

Day 2 was over. The two hardest days were done. Tomorrow would be a brisk 25 miles with a few manageable carries. After all, if we made it through the first two days, day 3 should feel like a piece of cake. I jumped in my car, drank some water and headed over to Borracho Taco’s in Saranac Lake with Jenn, a legendary Mexican Spot with infant sized burritos. Sadly, they closed their doors for good just a few years later. I ordered the absurdly large burrito & ate happily. I could have downed 3.

After fueling up, we headed over to our campsite right near the start of day 3: Fish Creek Ponds Campground. A rather rowdy public campgrounds, we set up camp and settled in for the night. I snuck off for a quick shower then headed to sleep. I was woken in the early dawn hours to the close and low hoots of a Barred Owl. Jenn was somewhat frightened as she had never heard such a noice before. “What is that sound!?….I do NOT like that”. But it was music to my ears. Had there been some more light, I would have gone and looked for it. I tried to get some more rest, but once my eyes were open, I was up for the day.

Day 3 stared in reverse wave order than the first two days, allowing the more serious waves of racers the change to finish first for a more exciting finish for spectators along the Lake Flower waterfront. We waited around a little longer than we had the first two days, watching wave after wave head out. Soon, it was our final time to load our boats in the water, line up and start the race. The last count down, the last start.

We were in good spirits still, though our fatigue had compounded from the first two days. We would enjoy mostly open water paddling across Fish Creek Pond, into The Saranac Lakes, across Oseetah Lake then north into Lake Flower. It was a stunningly beautiful morning and afternoon, with some showers expected towards the end of the day. Our only goal was to finish strong, and before the weather turned. Nobody wants to be out on the water when the rain and wind picks up, especially not us in our boat.

We made our way across the lakes, enjoying views of the forests, beautiful waters, tall cliffs and the distance McKenzie Mountain. What a beautiful place to host such a wonderful race.

Although long, day 3 felt much better and was very enjoyable, apart from some deer flies feasting on my ankles throughout the afternoon. In what felt like a fraction of the time, we were entering the final stretch of the race having completed the last of the carries, including The Bartlett Carry, where we were greeted to the famous Bag Pipe Player that blasted his song through the woods to motivate all the racers. The forest in that section was awfully beautiful. The home stretch was incredibly motivating. With each paddle stroke we knew it was just a matter of time before we round the last bend and got our eyes on the finish line.

The cheers were thunderous, thankfully for the race finish celebration and award ceremony we were greeted to a full beach of racers, spectators and the great sight of the beer tent. As we approached the takeout, I saw my Mom and Jenn cheering me on. My Mom seemed to be the loudest of the whole crowd of course, proud of my efforts and reminding me that I was finishing the race exactly one year to the day of finishing my other great accomplishment: becoming a 46er.

We got out of the water, celebrated with high fives, hugs and photos then went to grab a beer while we waited to receive our 90miler pin. We didn’t beat many people, but we sure as heck beat the rain and for us that was more than enough. Mike said he probably wouldn’t do the race again, not due to the challenge, he just didn’t like how “organized” and structured it was. He mentioned wanting to attempt a 90-miler route in a day one day…sign me up!