There were a surprising number of vehicles on the road one bitter Saturday morning last January—if an hour that hasn’t cracked five a.m. can really be called morning. “Fishermen,” my husband said as we passed another set of headlights. Idiots, I thought.
Lost hikers, splintered bones and wildfires—a forest ranger reflects on more than two decades of coming to the rescue. Plus the oldest tavern in the Adirondacks, a trip through James Bond’s Lake George, and new energy in Schroon Lake.
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