G
Guest
Guest
Prelude:
There was some question about whether this trip was going to happen; the dates changed, the participants changed and the weather forecast (at one point rain, rain, rain, 27f and snow one night) didn’t look promising. Guys had car trouble and the usual aches and pains. I was going tripping somewhere, Adirondacks, eastern shore or Blue Ridge mountains, and had packed four different sleeping bags before a final decision was made.
In the end the forecast began to look more promising, a quorum of gentleman opted in and I packed for an Adirondack trip. On summer Adirondack trips I typically leave home at 4am and arrive at a launch around 1pm. That seemed unwise for several reasons; I needed to find a site that would accommodate a group of six, I didn’t want to be chasing October dusk ISO such a site and the weather forecast was for rain Tuesday night into Wednesday noon. I had no need to drive up and paddle in the rain.
Instead I opted to leave well after rush hour on Tuesday, drive half way and overnight in the back of the tripping truck. Chenango Valley State Park outside Binghamton was perfect, four + hours from home, four hours from my ADK destination. And it had electric sites, which I needed; it was 87f when I arrived at Chenango and didn’t cool off much overnight. Rained like a mother, got more humid, never really cooled off.
I had the truck tarp up and a big 110v fan plugged before the rain hit Tuesday evening. The 10x13 (reflective) tripping truck tarp works perfectly with the canoe on the roof, windows protected open and covered “back porch” for getting in and out.
PA010020 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Luckily a microfiber sheet lives in the tripping truck, it stayed warm and sticky humid all night, and I never unpacked the truck sleeping bag.
Part 1: In order of appearance: Steve, Mike, Conk, Ed, John, Doug (and Conk again)
Wednesday.
I arrived at Little Tupper Lake around 10:30 as planned, even with getting lost trying to find the exit from the State Park in the pre-dawn dark and dense fog. “Is that the same bathhouse I passed 5 minutes ago?”. There was a single car in the Little Tupper parking lot when I arrived; we should have no trouble finding a site that will accommodate 6 tents and a big group tarp.
I was sitting in the truck picking my nose waiting for the drizzle to stop when a knock on the window startled me. The lone car is Steve’s; his canoe was already packed and ready to go and he knew the site number we were aiming for. No sense in waiting for me, I have a mountain of glamping gear (beer, firewood, games and more) to somehow fit in the canoe, and will be a while.
I foolishly put on only the bow portion of the spray covers. The breeze was blowing across the lake on a beam reach, and even though the stern gear load was below the sheerline the wind noticeably caught that uncovered end, wanting to point my bow into the wind. It was but a sideways breeze, and proof that covers help in any wind.
Even using a recently improved portage cart to help tote down half of the load down to the launch in two trip I was an hour behind Steve, and was surprised to see him slowly creeping up the east shoreline. No worries, the sites are clearly numbered, and I didn’t hurry to catch up as he kept disappearing around peninsulas in the distance.
Until he went past site #10 (Bocce Greens), our preferred destination. Well, he can’t miss #11 out on the point. When he went around #11 I put on some speed to catch up.
Steve had already paddled in and set up and was paddling the shoreline with empty canoe, gathering firewood. What the hell, I’m almost to site #12 (Big Haven), might as well have a look and then paddle back to #10. Big Haven is not as big as it once was; there are disks delineating the camping area at each site, and the footprint at Big Haven is no longer big. Still a wonderful site with great views and end of lake privacy, still a haven, just not a big haven,
We were not back at Bocce Greens long before Conk paddled in. I had expected to have Wednesday to myself, but that was fine company for a calm and pleasant evening, and an early to bed with a good book. Love the two Luci-lights angle clipped stadium-lighting style to the head of the tent, aimed at the book, for bedtime reading.
Thursday.
After a dawdling breakfast we paddled back to the launch to meet the rest of the crew, and see if we could help tote some beer and firewood. Ed was already paddling in well loaded before we reached the launch (the canoe was loaded, not Ed, at least not for another couple hours).
John was packing up on the launch beach, with a couple of large bundles of split hardwood which ballasted out my empty canoe nicely, and Doug arrived soon after, with some extra beer to help trim my boat. I grabbed an extra 12 pack of Black & Tan from the truck while I was at it.
Lesson #1: I should have grabbed the other extra 12 pack. “Extra” is a nebulous term on a gentleman’s trip, and it would have been tasty a week later. Never leave a beer behind.
To my immense pleasure we had a tailwind heading back. For once Doug’s presence did not ensure adversarial winds. Just enough breeze to sail, and Conk, Doug and I put up the Spirit sails
Conk cruising along lighting his pipe
PA020023 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Doug kicking back wishing he had brought his two-holer beverage console. It was not meant as a shop pencil holder Doug,
PA020024 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
T’was a chilly night in camp, but we had gobs of packed in split (local) firewood, and our resource extraction boys carried in more afar from camp and had a camp saw comparison. I had a saw, never touched it and didn’t feel all that guilty; I hauled in three bundles of spilt stuff and some fatwood starter and paraffin bricks from home.
PA030025 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Yes, that is a Jack O’ lantern in the background. Ed brought in a pumpkin and carved it up in short order to resemble friend Hap and his toothless smile. Ed was quite pleased with his efforts. And for a change no one punted it tumbling down the hill, taking out an unsuspecting gentleman quietly pissing in the woods. Who would do such a thing? (Hint: A running start helps)
PA030027 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
I had an unused saw, what I didn’t bring from the truck was the Boy’s axe that lives in the lock box. I was sure that forester Ed would have an axe, is not a splitting maul. I’m disappointed Ed, but it was amusing to watch you and Steve batton sawed logs using John’s winky six inch hatchet. BTW John, thanks, it was the only splitting tool we had, and it worked.
Friday: A bit grey and rainy in the morning, but we had Ed’s magnificent fire tarp for group shelter and a morning still hot coals warming breakfast burn.
PA040030 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Bocce Greens accommodated the group tarp, 5 tents, a hammock and personal tarp space. There was actually flat tent space for a couple more; good to see group ethics that no early arrival took the best site. It says something about the companion company that the earliest to set up took the sites furthest away, leaving the easier carry in for latter arrivals, and the most delightful lake view site remained unoccupied for the duration, just in case.
PA040029 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
I rarely put a tarp over my tent and prefer to leave it more spaciously open for rainy use with a day hammock spread underneath, but the predicted wind speed, direction and rain made it was wise decision to tarp the tent. It served as an effective wind block and provided good rain drainage away from the tent.
PA060098 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
With some front porch room beside the tent for gear storage and cooking.
PA060097 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
The afternoon weather cleared nicely and Steve and Ed packed up to do some fishing. Love that spacious landing beach with room for a dozen canoes.
PA040032 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Both Steve and Ed have custom DIY fishing platforms in their canoes, outfitting from past BWCA trips. Cool, simple design, cutting board plastic sandwiching the thwart with, rod holder slots for holding the pole while trolling, tool and compass and etc accessory holes.
PA040044 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
We need to make something like that for friend Joel’s square back fishing canoe. At some point Conk vanished and eventually reappeared, a familiar pattern to be repeated.
PA040041 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Friday saw a bit of all-terrain Bocce, and Friday night some rousing games of night horseshoes. Instead of the regulation shoes and stakes I have brought in the past, which can be kneecap and tent dangerous on errant bouncing throws, I brought cheap plastic shoes and stakes, and a bundle of short glow sticks. With color specific glow sticks rubber banded to the shoes and stakes we had at it.
Conk had practiced a bit in the daylight, and proceeded to whip butt. He had developed an effective Frisbee style throw, which no one else quite mastered. There was a pointed comment from one losing pair that “Maybe throwing underhanded should be required”.
Conk responded with the quote of the weekend. “Oh, you want me to throw underhanded?”. Unspoken in the wry deliver was “Oh, you want me to throw underhanded my b*tches?. First ringer of the competition that circled the stake twice before sliding off, followed a leaner.
My b*tches indeed. It ain’t bragging if you can back it up.
Friday night, actually pre-dawn Saturday I got up to hit the thunderbox and Conk was gone again. Hammock and tarp silently down, boat packed and paddled off for another oddball Adirondack adventure.
Saturday. A beautiful warm sunny October day in the Adirondacks. Time for a group paddle up the lake towards Rock Pond.
PA040047 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
It had been too many years since I paddled with Doug, his likeminded company is always a pleasure. At the first beaver dam we chose to break off and noodle slowly back to camp. Floating back down the stream from Rock Pond we encountered more canoes than I had ever seen on the inlet stream; two tandems with camping gear, a day tripper couple in a tandem and one solo paddler who we had met at the launch on the Thursday haul back.
Arriving at camp Doug and I discovered the hemlock and piney woods still damp and chill, but the beachfront warm and sunny. We may not be the sharpest tacks in the box, but we knew enough to move our chairs to the beach, sit in the sun and shed layers.
PA050055 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Yes, that is a bucket of beers between the chairs, sitting and waiting is thirsty work. John eventually eased his way back to camp.
PA050056 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Followed by Steve, demonstrating his patented choke up and bunt, two-handed bent shaft trolling technique.
PA050060 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Ed soon joined us on the beach, with un-provable tales of bass catch and release. No “heritage strain” trout. And lookee there, dang if Conk isn’t paddling back in to join us for another night of festivities.
PA050065 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Freaking gram-weenie Conk; someone asked why he wore a seemingly heavy watch when the rest of his kit, boat and stove and food and hammock weighed a total of 35 lbs. Conk is the town timekeeper, keeping his local town clock accurate. Being Conk he needs a watch connected to the cold caesium atomic clock in Switzerland, with an uncertainty of one second in 30 million years. Cause, ya know, Conk.
There followed another evening round the fire. Steve largely managed to stay upright in his two-legged butterfly chair, although we had become accustomed to seeing him suddenly resting on his back, legs waving wildly in the air, exclaiming “Hey, this is fun”. More hilarity and night horseshoes ensued, and we got better. Or at least someone did.
PA050076 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
It has been said that “It was sad that McCrrea sucked so bad at playing his game”, and I cannot disagree. I blame the seemingly ever present bane of my gentleman’s camp existence, the fifth of pass-around bourbon. Not Conk’s to the gram weighted collapsible plastic flask of rum, reserved for only the most decadent of trips.
The best shot I made all night was when I whispered to Ed at one throwing end “Screw the stake, I’m gonna aim this one at Doug”. It was the only accurate shoe I threw all night, it hit Doug square in the chest and he never flinched. Try that with steel horseshoes.
Going down to an 11 to 3 beating I had had enough. Ed picked up all four shoes, walked to one end and threw this.
PA050077 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
He didn’t like that most distant shoe (closer than I had come all night), called a mulligan, retrieved that one and threw it again.
PA050078 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
I think Ed was holding back on us. And I am certain there are at least a couple guys will be shopping for cheap plastic horseshoes and glow sticks. BTW, the same Walmart 3” cyalumes were still glowing brightly on the second night, I had spares and never needed them.
Once again Conk packed up and paddled off in the pre-dawn hours. I don’t know how he does it, I got lost in the dark finding my way to the thunderbox with a bright flashlight.
Sunday. The breeze was up a little, blowing inconveniently east across the lake. John and Doug, with the longest drives home, were first packed up and paddled out.
PA050081 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
PA050082 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Followed an hour later by Steve and Ed. Gawd bless Steve for playing garbage scow and hauling out the giant bag of beer cans for recycling, no one else had one-pack and barrel empty canoe space below the gunwales. Maybe he should bring that winky two-legged camp chair next time.
PA050084 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Ed sure didn’t have room, especially with Hap Jack O’ Lantern nestled in his crotch. I really don’t want to know what alternate use Ed found for that gap toothed smile between his legs on the paddle out. I use my bailer.
PA050086 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
As the gents departed the wind kicked up again and rain clouds built. Time to batten down the hatches for an extended stay.
Thus endth Part 1. My friends paddled off and left me all to my lonesome. Boo-effing hoo, whatever will I do with myself for the next four days?
There was some question about whether this trip was going to happen; the dates changed, the participants changed and the weather forecast (at one point rain, rain, rain, 27f and snow one night) didn’t look promising. Guys had car trouble and the usual aches and pains. I was going tripping somewhere, Adirondacks, eastern shore or Blue Ridge mountains, and had packed four different sleeping bags before a final decision was made.
In the end the forecast began to look more promising, a quorum of gentleman opted in and I packed for an Adirondack trip. On summer Adirondack trips I typically leave home at 4am and arrive at a launch around 1pm. That seemed unwise for several reasons; I needed to find a site that would accommodate a group of six, I didn’t want to be chasing October dusk ISO such a site and the weather forecast was for rain Tuesday night into Wednesday noon. I had no need to drive up and paddle in the rain.
Instead I opted to leave well after rush hour on Tuesday, drive half way and overnight in the back of the tripping truck. Chenango Valley State Park outside Binghamton was perfect, four + hours from home, four hours from my ADK destination. And it had electric sites, which I needed; it was 87f when I arrived at Chenango and didn’t cool off much overnight. Rained like a mother, got more humid, never really cooled off.
I had the truck tarp up and a big 110v fan plugged before the rain hit Tuesday evening. The 10x13 (reflective) tripping truck tarp works perfectly with the canoe on the roof, windows protected open and covered “back porch” for getting in and out.

Luckily a microfiber sheet lives in the tripping truck, it stayed warm and sticky humid all night, and I never unpacked the truck sleeping bag.
Part 1: In order of appearance: Steve, Mike, Conk, Ed, John, Doug (and Conk again)
Wednesday.
I arrived at Little Tupper Lake around 10:30 as planned, even with getting lost trying to find the exit from the State Park in the pre-dawn dark and dense fog. “Is that the same bathhouse I passed 5 minutes ago?”. There was a single car in the Little Tupper parking lot when I arrived; we should have no trouble finding a site that will accommodate 6 tents and a big group tarp.
I was sitting in the truck picking my nose waiting for the drizzle to stop when a knock on the window startled me. The lone car is Steve’s; his canoe was already packed and ready to go and he knew the site number we were aiming for. No sense in waiting for me, I have a mountain of glamping gear (beer, firewood, games and more) to somehow fit in the canoe, and will be a while.
I foolishly put on only the bow portion of the spray covers. The breeze was blowing across the lake on a beam reach, and even though the stern gear load was below the sheerline the wind noticeably caught that uncovered end, wanting to point my bow into the wind. It was but a sideways breeze, and proof that covers help in any wind.
Even using a recently improved portage cart to help tote down half of the load down to the launch in two trip I was an hour behind Steve, and was surprised to see him slowly creeping up the east shoreline. No worries, the sites are clearly numbered, and I didn’t hurry to catch up as he kept disappearing around peninsulas in the distance.
Until he went past site #10 (Bocce Greens), our preferred destination. Well, he can’t miss #11 out on the point. When he went around #11 I put on some speed to catch up.
Steve had already paddled in and set up and was paddling the shoreline with empty canoe, gathering firewood. What the hell, I’m almost to site #12 (Big Haven), might as well have a look and then paddle back to #10. Big Haven is not as big as it once was; there are disks delineating the camping area at each site, and the footprint at Big Haven is no longer big. Still a wonderful site with great views and end of lake privacy, still a haven, just not a big haven,
We were not back at Bocce Greens long before Conk paddled in. I had expected to have Wednesday to myself, but that was fine company for a calm and pleasant evening, and an early to bed with a good book. Love the two Luci-lights angle clipped stadium-lighting style to the head of the tent, aimed at the book, for bedtime reading.
Thursday.
After a dawdling breakfast we paddled back to the launch to meet the rest of the crew, and see if we could help tote some beer and firewood. Ed was already paddling in well loaded before we reached the launch (the canoe was loaded, not Ed, at least not for another couple hours).
John was packing up on the launch beach, with a couple of large bundles of split hardwood which ballasted out my empty canoe nicely, and Doug arrived soon after, with some extra beer to help trim my boat. I grabbed an extra 12 pack of Black & Tan from the truck while I was at it.
Lesson #1: I should have grabbed the other extra 12 pack. “Extra” is a nebulous term on a gentleman’s trip, and it would have been tasty a week later. Never leave a beer behind.
To my immense pleasure we had a tailwind heading back. For once Doug’s presence did not ensure adversarial winds. Just enough breeze to sail, and Conk, Doug and I put up the Spirit sails
Conk cruising along lighting his pipe

Doug kicking back wishing he had brought his two-holer beverage console. It was not meant as a shop pencil holder Doug,

T’was a chilly night in camp, but we had gobs of packed in split (local) firewood, and our resource extraction boys carried in more afar from camp and had a camp saw comparison. I had a saw, never touched it and didn’t feel all that guilty; I hauled in three bundles of spilt stuff and some fatwood starter and paraffin bricks from home.

Yes, that is a Jack O’ lantern in the background. Ed brought in a pumpkin and carved it up in short order to resemble friend Hap and his toothless smile. Ed was quite pleased with his efforts. And for a change no one punted it tumbling down the hill, taking out an unsuspecting gentleman quietly pissing in the woods. Who would do such a thing? (Hint: A running start helps)

I had an unused saw, what I didn’t bring from the truck was the Boy’s axe that lives in the lock box. I was sure that forester Ed would have an axe, is not a splitting maul. I’m disappointed Ed, but it was amusing to watch you and Steve batton sawed logs using John’s winky six inch hatchet. BTW John, thanks, it was the only splitting tool we had, and it worked.
Friday: A bit grey and rainy in the morning, but we had Ed’s magnificent fire tarp for group shelter and a morning still hot coals warming breakfast burn.

Bocce Greens accommodated the group tarp, 5 tents, a hammock and personal tarp space. There was actually flat tent space for a couple more; good to see group ethics that no early arrival took the best site. It says something about the companion company that the earliest to set up took the sites furthest away, leaving the easier carry in for latter arrivals, and the most delightful lake view site remained unoccupied for the duration, just in case.

I rarely put a tarp over my tent and prefer to leave it more spaciously open for rainy use with a day hammock spread underneath, but the predicted wind speed, direction and rain made it was wise decision to tarp the tent. It served as an effective wind block and provided good rain drainage away from the tent.

With some front porch room beside the tent for gear storage and cooking.

The afternoon weather cleared nicely and Steve and Ed packed up to do some fishing. Love that spacious landing beach with room for a dozen canoes.

Both Steve and Ed have custom DIY fishing platforms in their canoes, outfitting from past BWCA trips. Cool, simple design, cutting board plastic sandwiching the thwart with, rod holder slots for holding the pole while trolling, tool and compass and etc accessory holes.

We need to make something like that for friend Joel’s square back fishing canoe. At some point Conk vanished and eventually reappeared, a familiar pattern to be repeated.

Friday saw a bit of all-terrain Bocce, and Friday night some rousing games of night horseshoes. Instead of the regulation shoes and stakes I have brought in the past, which can be kneecap and tent dangerous on errant bouncing throws, I brought cheap plastic shoes and stakes, and a bundle of short glow sticks. With color specific glow sticks rubber banded to the shoes and stakes we had at it.
Conk had practiced a bit in the daylight, and proceeded to whip butt. He had developed an effective Frisbee style throw, which no one else quite mastered. There was a pointed comment from one losing pair that “Maybe throwing underhanded should be required”.
Conk responded with the quote of the weekend. “Oh, you want me to throw underhanded?”. Unspoken in the wry deliver was “Oh, you want me to throw underhanded my b*tches?. First ringer of the competition that circled the stake twice before sliding off, followed a leaner.
My b*tches indeed. It ain’t bragging if you can back it up.
Friday night, actually pre-dawn Saturday I got up to hit the thunderbox and Conk was gone again. Hammock and tarp silently down, boat packed and paddled off for another oddball Adirondack adventure.
Saturday. A beautiful warm sunny October day in the Adirondacks. Time for a group paddle up the lake towards Rock Pond.

It had been too many years since I paddled with Doug, his likeminded company is always a pleasure. At the first beaver dam we chose to break off and noodle slowly back to camp. Floating back down the stream from Rock Pond we encountered more canoes than I had ever seen on the inlet stream; two tandems with camping gear, a day tripper couple in a tandem and one solo paddler who we had met at the launch on the Thursday haul back.
Arriving at camp Doug and I discovered the hemlock and piney woods still damp and chill, but the beachfront warm and sunny. We may not be the sharpest tacks in the box, but we knew enough to move our chairs to the beach, sit in the sun and shed layers.

Yes, that is a bucket of beers between the chairs, sitting and waiting is thirsty work. John eventually eased his way back to camp.

Followed by Steve, demonstrating his patented choke up and bunt, two-handed bent shaft trolling technique.

Ed soon joined us on the beach, with un-provable tales of bass catch and release. No “heritage strain” trout. And lookee there, dang if Conk isn’t paddling back in to join us for another night of festivities.

Freaking gram-weenie Conk; someone asked why he wore a seemingly heavy watch when the rest of his kit, boat and stove and food and hammock weighed a total of 35 lbs. Conk is the town timekeeper, keeping his local town clock accurate. Being Conk he needs a watch connected to the cold caesium atomic clock in Switzerland, with an uncertainty of one second in 30 million years. Cause, ya know, Conk.
There followed another evening round the fire. Steve largely managed to stay upright in his two-legged butterfly chair, although we had become accustomed to seeing him suddenly resting on his back, legs waving wildly in the air, exclaiming “Hey, this is fun”. More hilarity and night horseshoes ensued, and we got better. Or at least someone did.

It has been said that “It was sad that McCrrea sucked so bad at playing his game”, and I cannot disagree. I blame the seemingly ever present bane of my gentleman’s camp existence, the fifth of pass-around bourbon. Not Conk’s to the gram weighted collapsible plastic flask of rum, reserved for only the most decadent of trips.
The best shot I made all night was when I whispered to Ed at one throwing end “Screw the stake, I’m gonna aim this one at Doug”. It was the only accurate shoe I threw all night, it hit Doug square in the chest and he never flinched. Try that with steel horseshoes.
Going down to an 11 to 3 beating I had had enough. Ed picked up all four shoes, walked to one end and threw this.

He didn’t like that most distant shoe (closer than I had come all night), called a mulligan, retrieved that one and threw it again.

I think Ed was holding back on us. And I am certain there are at least a couple guys will be shopping for cheap plastic horseshoes and glow sticks. BTW, the same Walmart 3” cyalumes were still glowing brightly on the second night, I had spares and never needed them.
Once again Conk packed up and paddled off in the pre-dawn hours. I don’t know how he does it, I got lost in the dark finding my way to the thunderbox with a bright flashlight.
Sunday. The breeze was up a little, blowing inconveniently east across the lake. John and Doug, with the longest drives home, were first packed up and paddled out.


Followed an hour later by Steve and Ed. Gawd bless Steve for playing garbage scow and hauling out the giant bag of beer cans for recycling, no one else had one-pack and barrel empty canoe space below the gunwales. Maybe he should bring that winky two-legged camp chair next time.

Ed sure didn’t have room, especially with Hap Jack O’ Lantern nestled in his crotch. I really don’t want to know what alternate use Ed found for that gap toothed smile between his legs on the paddle out. I use my bailer.

As the gents departed the wind kicked up again and rain clouds built. Time to batten down the hatches for an extended stay.
Thus endth Part 1. My friends paddled off and left me all to my lonesome. Boo-effing hoo, whatever will I do with myself for the next four days?