Backcountry for Brookies

How far are you willing to go to catch a fish? Yes I know this is a very open-ended question, many of you have hopped on a plane and traveled the globe in pursuit of fish. Yet even after you get off the plane chances are you didn't have to walk much more than a mile to get to your destination. So would you be willing to hike miles into the backcountry right here in the Adirondack Park to catch a fish? A few weeks ago my friend Joe and I did just that. Not a 2-3 mile hike. Much farther than that. I can tell you that every step through the high peaks wilderness was worth it just to see some of the most untouched wilderness this state has to offer.

This trip started in a remote parking lot near what most maps consider the start of the Hudson River. Yes, the same river that is considered a cesspool down near NYC. However at its headwaters, this river is one of the most breathtaking, pristine streams you could hope for. For many fly anglers this is as far as they need to go to fish for trout. But this was just the beginning of our trip. The start to this trail is quite comforting.

The pleasant rolling gravel path gently guides you along the way to peaceful bridges and plank-ways.

It could easily lull you into a false sense of confidence. One could start to believe that the seven mile hike with 60 lbs. of gear on your back will be a pleasure. However things begin to change. When the gravel path runs out, you are quickly reminded that you are on the brink of being in the middle of nowhere. After two miles, you begin to question yourself, a whisper of doubt may even start to fill your head. But the big woods keeps calling to you. Somehow the sound of every deep breath you take seems to be silenced by the vast nothingness that surrounds you. The shiny new trail markers of just a few short hours behind you begin to look the way you feel...faded, rusty, and well aged.

You take a break and remove your pack. Instantly you feel like you could fly. A quick check of the GPS shows how much elevation change you have already contoured and how much is still left to go. You mentaly prepare yourself for the upcoming topo lines that seem to be touching each other in several spots. Water is no longer a luxury, it truly becomes a necessity.

After ten minutes its time to strap the weight of the world back on your shoulders. The mind starts to question every step you take. At the four mile mark you really notice you aren't as young as you once were. The injuries from an era gone past start to creep back to light. Yet you push though because for some crazy reason your brain tells you this is fun. You look up and think my God, this is no longer a trail, just a series of trail markers spread through the glacial formations left behind from 21,000 years ago.

At mile five, the sweat drips from the bill of your hat as your thighs beg you to stop. But you can't because deep down you know there are only two miles left until you make it to base camp. Looking to the sky a touch of anxiety sets in. The sun is starting to hang low and there are still miles to cover. The pack comes off one more time with only a mile left to go. Your body demands you to stop, yet the brain screams "go, you got this". The conversation that had been nonexistant for the last hour now becomes a two man pep talk. "We got this" becomes the chant. Finally, seven miles from the nearest road, camp comes into view. The most luxurious place you could imagine, a lean-to all to yourself.

You contemplate running to take your pack off but your knees and ankles remind you that that is no longer an option. Finally you sit down on the cold, wooden planks and remove your pack. Total exhaustion has set in but the work has only just begun. Before the last rays of daylight are gone, camp needs to be set up, water needs to be filtered, and dinner needs to be made. Water sits just below camp. A very short walk puts life back in to persective. The breath taking view is the reason trips like this are made.

Not everyone will get why we do things like this but thats ok, these trips are for the ones that truly get it. The bear proof canisters are opened and you tear into the MREs like a rabid racoon. They may not be gourmet but my army veteran partner knows how to liven them up a bit.

After a fine backcounty dining experince the world is cloaked in darkness. The air is chilly so you dress in your warmest clothes to sleep in. Just before you crawl into your sleeping bag for a much deserved rest, you celebrate making it this far with a much deserved beer.

The hard wood floor of the lean to feels like heaven as you fall asleep under the full moon light.

The next morning coffee seems to taste different with a view very few people have seen.

Your legs, back, and shoulders ache but you no longer care. After a quck breakfast you begin to focus on the two and a half mile hike to your fishing destination. Backpacks are lightened to the bare necesities and you push on. Along the way you are reminded that you have a better chance of seeing a moose than another person.

An hour later the pond comes into view and now you finally see why you put yourself through such hell.

For several hours, you fish. Soaking up every moment of being 10 miles off the road in one of the most remote places in the Adirondacks. Everything just feels different. The wind feels gentler on your skin, the sun warms you differntly, and the fish, well, the bite feels just a bit more magical. It's a mystical place where you can feel a connection to our planet unlike anything you have ever felt before.

But way too quickly your time on the water comes to an end. It's time to pack up your fishing gear and head back to camp. You take in the view one more time to let the image linger in your mind. Deep down you know you may never see this place again and you don't want to forget it. Back at camp the energy is high. You've completed the most important part of the trip, you caught fish. Now to relax, rehydrate, and eat in preparation of the the hike out the following day. That night, your sleeping bag feels like heaven and you sleep better than you ever have.

Morning comes early in the backcounty, no need for an alarm clock. The sun and the wildlife let you know when its time to awaken. After cleaning up camp, it's time for the long hike back to civiliation. Yet, this time everything just feels lighter. Your muscles don't ache as bad and those poor old knees don't argue as much. Again, in a sick kind of way, it's almost fun.

Finally back at the truck hugs are shared and relief is felt. Yet life feels a bit different. It feels as if something is missing and there is. You have left part of yourself in the mountains in exchange for bring part of the mountains home with you.

I can't begin to thank my dear friend Joe enough for making this trip with me. As soon as I mentioned it to him he immediately said "I'm in." For many people a trip like this isn't logical or phyically possible. But for a couple of trout bums like us it's one of the few things in life that makes sense. Our round trip distance was 20 miles and I couldn't think of another person I would want to grind out a trip like that with more than him.

Thank you Joe from the bottom of my heart. Oh, by the way Joe, I just looked at a map and I found a new place to go, are you in? ;)