Day 4 -- to Adirondack Mtns

Keith and I kept an eye on the weather yesterday. It had looked like dark clouds were gathering as we approached the state park last night. But the ranger who checked us in seemed to think there was only a slim chance of an isolated thunderstorm, and so we convinced ourselves that he was probably right.

He was wrong. It sprinkled off and on throughout the night. By this morning the rain had let up long enough to let us pack our gear, including the soggy tent, before it started to mist again.

On the road between Rochester and Syracuse, we saw the sun poke through the clouds. It was hot and muggy as we ate our picnic lunch in the parking lot of an I-90 oasis. (Note to self: Don't plan to eat lunch at an I-90 oasis ever again.) We turned north on I-81 toward Watertown and noticed the dark clouds gather again. As we turned east on Route 3 and started climbing into the Adirondacks, we checked the radar map and saw that we were following behind a fairly heavy storm system.

This is truly a wilderness area; we passed through only a few very small towns -- most without services, just clusters of old, weathered homes -- as we drove on toward Cranberry Lake. The low, misty rainclouds hovered over the mountains and wrapped the distant hills in shades of seafoam and gray.

We arrived at Cranberry Lake around 5 p.m. and as we drove through the campground, we noticed that everything was dripping. Every other campsite had some kind of wet, sagging tarp draped over the tent, the trailer, the table.

We found our campsite -- a gorgeous spot that slopes at about 20 degrees right to the water. It was difficult to find a level spot for the tent and the Teardrop. (In fact, at bedtime, Keith and I shoved the picnic table against the back of the Teardrop to prop it up, just in case.)

The kids played on the rocks in the water as we set up our own damp tent, and as I started dinner, a nice breeze came up and the sun broke through the clouds.


Later, a woman from Rhode Island stopped by to look at the Teardrop. She told us that it had started storming at 6 a.m. and then rained all day, stopping only long enough to let her get a tarp (she called it a "tahp") up over their tent. We're so grateful that we missed all that!

And so here I am at the picnic table, beer in-hand, fire blazing next to me, waves lapping at my feet, loon calling from across the lake and sun setting over the mountains. The tent is mostly dry by now, and the kids are asleep inside. Life is good.