On a typical summer evening the Cranberry Lake Biological Station has a quiet hum of activity: ecology students at work, a loon call and perhaps the thwack of volleyball. But tonight it echoes with the sounds of the water drum, the hiss of shakers, the clacking of...
I was swimming north, tracing that line where the cliffs plunge into the green-black depths, imagining mermen. No, not mermen—lakemen, murkmen, rough, gruff freshwater dudes with bits of old rope dangling from their clackety zebra-mussel beards.
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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