I visited my grandfather in Warrensburg, one day, many years ago. We looked at an ancient photo album. At the turn of the last century, his parents were caretakers at an Adirondack great camp.
While he couldn’t remember the name of the camp, he recalled a floating, screened gazebo, complete with grand piano.
The lady of the house used it to escape black flies, floating into the middle of the lake. Camp workers would tow her back in to shore, in the evening.
The Adirondacks are unique in many ways. They’re rugged, dismal, rocky, muddy, densely populated with spruce trees, and most are miles away from any trailhead. One thing that I think truly sets them apart from other mountain ranges in the East, or the country at that, would be their magnificent landslides.
While almost completely lacking in Vermont and Maine, New Hampshire has a fair share of slides that are frequently climbed. However, most are very different from the slides we have in New York. They’re usually small, full of rubble and dirt with minimal slab, while the slides of the Adirondacks are beautiful streaks of smooth anorthosite that can rise hundreds of feet wide and long up a mountainside.
Ten years ago I started photographing trail running events, almost by accident.
My respect for these athletes has grown over the years, and it still amazes me to witness the grit and strength of these runners as they traverse trails through the mountains on courses of ranging from 10 to 70 miles in length.
Over the years, I’ve come to know many of the runners with appreciation for their perseverance, but also for their warm sense of community. Trail runners are an incredibly friendly group of athletes.
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