Last spring, during the Meghan Markle and Prince Harry wedding extravaganza, some media outlets looking to translate the pomp and circumstance relied on the expertise of commentator Thomas J. Mace-Archer-Mills, Esq., chairman and founder of the royal-enthusiast British Monarchist Society.
“Our stomachs live in towns.… That is where the work is. Our stomachs know this. But our hearts are usually somewhere else.” —Alexander McCall Smith
What if a million acres of Adirondack forestland caught fire? That’s about the size of Franklin County and more square miles than three Lake Champlains. Consider the devastation to our landscape and its wild inhabitants, the ashes blanketing our little Adirondack settlements, the thick smoke clogging the sky, settling in a mustard haze as far away as Boston, Washington DC and Philadelphia.
Everyone’s got a smartphone—no status points there. But at least for the moment there’s only one truly smart body of water anywhere on Earth. If you live in Bolton Landing or Hague, if you canoe to Diamond Island or climb the Tongue Mountain Range, if you Jet Ski the Narrows or take the evening cruise on the Minne-Ha-Ha, you should know: Lake George is suddenly wired, stem to stern. It’s the Stephen Hawking of limpid pools, the Einstein of tarns. Its zooplankton and algae are monitored with a zeal that would worry Edward Snowden; its salt levels checked with a precision that puts a nursing-home dietitian to shame.
Anne LaBastille surprised her friends, even years after she stopped trekking through the Adirondacks as a wilderness heroine with a German shepherd in tow. Even after her death.
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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