SUMMERTIME Lake George is busy, very busy. It's busy every weekend
from Memorial Day to Labor Day. In July and August, it's like Coney
Island _every day_, and all night long, too.
And it's every man for himself. You'll be sharing a narrow,
wasp-waisted body of water with wolf-packs of 30'+ cigarette boats
originally designed to run drugs between Caribbean islands. There are
speed limits, of course, and the Lake is patrolled, after a fashion. If
you're run down, someone will be along eventually to bag up the pieces
and notify your next of kin. Don't expect any other help from
authority, however. In fact, don't expect any help from any quarter.
Am I exaggerating? Thirty years ago, more or less, the then outdoor
writer for the Albany Times Union, the late Barney Fowler, announced in
his column that he'd had one too many close calls on Lake George.
Henceforth, he wrote, he was taking a shotgun with him each and every
time he put his canoe into the lake's waters. That was thirty years
ago. I wouldn't go this far, myself, even today -- but I can understand
exactly why Barney felt as he did.
Every year takes its toll. Sometimes the body count makes the news.
This, for example, was the case some ten years back when a ski-boat
powering up for take-off cut a canoe in half, killing a woman and her
young son. Most of the time, however, the dead and injured don't even
warrant two inches in the local paper. Worried? Don't be. Ignorance
is bliss. Laissez le bon temps roulee! Let the good times roll!
THE FALL OF THE LEAF Autumn brings some relief from the crowds. The
cigarette boats head back to the Caribbean to earn their owners'
mortgage payments for next year. This could be the perfect time to do
Lake George. Just don't step on shore. When the boaters leave, the
hunters arrive. I was a hunter, man and boy, for thirty years. Twice
in the 1980s I was threatened by hunting parties on one of the trails on
the eastern shore. Both times, I was hiking, and unarmed. One time, a
group of four drunken thugs waved their muzzles at me and guffawed. The
second time, four bow-hunters drew down on me from trailside. Loud
laughter all round. I didn't see the joke then. I don't see the joke
now. I gave up hunting shortly thereafter.
OK. If you're thinking about visiting Lake George between late
September and late November, you've got three equally bad choices. One:
Stay home, or stay in your boat. Two: Walk unarmed and take your
chances -- you'll most likely survive, but I won't make any guarantees.
Three: Walk alertly and pack a gun. Your life. Your choice. Welcome
to paradise.
# # #
Whew! I could write more -- indeed I have written more -- but this
isn't the time or the place. The full article, of which this is just an
early and incomplete draft, should see the light of day sometime in May
or June. Until then, if you want more information, I'm only a keystroke
away.
Forrest Brownell
Chef d'Escadre, No-Octane Boat Squadron (NOBS)
South Colton NY
forrest@slic.com