Four dorks, a redhead, and a cottage

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August 3, 2008

While I find a way to travel each year, my closest friends are not always able, normally due to financial constraints. With this in mind I put together a short vacation that could get us away for a few days at minimal cost and that would appeal to our appreciation for nature and history. As a child my family had often gone up to Lake George, NY, for summer vacation, home to ideal fresh water beaches, a reconstructed fort, hiking opportunities, downtown shops, and an amusement park. I searched online and found a three-bedroom cottage at an affordable price.

Kristen, Gabe, Nate and I pile into a car and drive for three hours along the largely scenic Route 22 and Interstates 90 and 87. Derek will meet up with us that evening. Shortly before lunch we pull into the town and find our cottage. To check in I ring the owner’s doorbell on an adjacent house and a large man in overalls with a long, grizzled beard greets us. He is friendly and offers us coupons for local businesses. He also shares with us his frustration at having to compete with larger hotel chains, which drive up property taxes, in turn making him increase rates and threaten business. Profits, he says, have been minimal for years. It still being early, our cottage has not yet been cleaned, and so he promises to call my cell phone when we can enter.

We drive down to the waterfront and walk along the boardwalk, watching steam ships jug through the waters while checking out the local shops. We find an overpriced restaurant with outdoor seating and a great view, and decide that the cost is worth enjoying the warm breeze. Of course, we have no plans to be hurried out. Eventually we peel ourselves from the chairs and vantage point and continue along the waterfront docks. Lake George is a long, narrow lake that drains into Lake Champlain, and the town is located at the southernmost end. It is part of the Great Appalachian Valley and borders the southeastern end of the Adirondacks, and so the surrounding geography rises all around the lake with lush green mountains. While the population can boom in the summer months, the area is quiet the rest of the year, and so overdevelopment has not yet spoiled the natural landscape. In the distant north we see a storm moving across the water, from shore to shore, drenching unlucky cruise passengers, but leaves as quickly as it comes.

After receiving the call that our room is ready we check in and then decide to drive up to Prospect Mountain. A road winds its way up, at three points providing turnoffs where people can park and admire the truly breathtaking views. Near the top there is a parking lot where a slow moving shuttle takes passengers to the park-like peak. The mountains stretch to the horizon on all sides. Isolated storms prowl among them, casting shadows and curtains of rain on towns below. A rainbow arched over a valley. It is easy to be awed and inspired by such sights, as it is easy to understand why Hudson River School painters like Thomas Cole romantically captured such scenes in painted posterity nearly two hundred years ago. Historic remains are also found here. In 1877 the Prospect Mountain House Hotel was built, then burned down three years later. It was rebuilt and offered a fresh-air retreat for people suffering from hay fever or tuberculosis. This would also eventually burn down. The great iron gears and cables of the Prospect Mountain Incline Railway are still here, which a hundred years ago was a popular cog rail that brought visitors to the summit.

As the sun goes down we make our back into town and walk the busy main strip, which houses a wax museum, a haunted house, arcades, and countless souvenir shops and eateries. I am not one to spend money or much time in most tourist trap zones, but at night it is easy to get caught up in the people watching and window gazing. When Derek calls our cell phone we walk back up the cottage to meet him.

Our cottage is small and old, but it comes with a fully equipped kitchen and a living room area, and has a covered porch. Gradually we all begin turning in for the night.

August 4, 2008

We roll out of bed and head to the replica Fort William Henry. This area was home to fierce fighting during the French and Indian War, and the British built the fort, commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel George Monroe, as a chain of forts that stretched from New York City to Quebec. In 1757 the French, under General Marquis de Montcalm, and including some 2,000 Native Americans, attacked the structure. After prolonged heavy bombardment and siege, with reinforcements nowhere in sight, the British were forced to surrender under some very generous terms. However, the sad story did not end there. As the column of British troops left the Native Americans began to attack them, butchering and scalping the troops. Montcalm, most likely, tried to stop the incident, but had little power to do so. It has gone down in history as the Fort William Henry massacre. The French would eventually burn the fort. James Fenimore Cooper’s novel The Last of the Mohicans has immortalized the events. The site was largely untouched until the 1950s, when excavation began, unearthing the fort’s foundation and dungeon.

The reconstruction was erected on the same site in that decade. A perusal through the grounds and gift shop make me think of how appealing this place would have been to a child of that era, when stories of frontier battles and Indians reigned supreme. The child brought up on Transformers might now find it underwhelming, however, as a kid the high walls and weapons made a large impact on my imagination, and it still arouses a sense of subdued historical wonder as I walk the battlements and mannequin displays. At regular intervals each day park workers dressed in period clothing (I hesitate to call them re-enactors, as there seemed little concern or practice in keeping in character - sunglasses, for example) will ignite a cannon overlooking the harbor, sending a boom echoing throughout the town. A man in native regalia sat in the courtyard beneath a tent, creating weapons similar to what natives would have used, including war clubs made from knives attached to musket butts. By the back parking lot we find the grave of the unknown soldier of the French and Indian War.

In 2005 the town suffered a terrible accident. The Ethan Allen, a tour boat carrying mostly senior citizens, capsized during favorable weather conditions. Twenty people drowned. Not to be discouraged, we walk down to the Lake George Steamboat Company and climb aboard the Minne-Ha-Ha, a paddle-wheel cruiser that takes passengers along a loop, from shore to shore, around the southern end of Lake George. We are fortunate to have much of the ship to ourselves and enjoy drinks while touring an area called Millionaire’s Row. Pretty self-explanatory - incredible homes and properties that I will never afford but can perhaps at least annoy by snapping pictures as they try to enjoy their private lives. As we move through the water I think of the scuttled British ships that are beneath us.

In the afternoon we drive south of Lake George and come across a large arcade with laser tag and bumper cars and a promising mini-golf course sharing the same parking lot. Again, we are practically alone in these places, and proceed to putt and shoot at each other well into the night.

August 5, 2008

In the morning we decide to try a nearby Germanic-style waffle house, but upon seeing on the menu a fried egg and toast for over $6, we instead head to a chrome, 50s-style diner that we spot from the parking lot. It is filled with lone locals, and not tourist families, and we eat platefuls of breakfast for a fraction of the price. Obviously, it pays to get even a few hundred feet out of the tourist zone.

Childhood memories of The Great Escape amusement park include elements like Storytown, filled with storybook actors and a child-sized village; Ghost Town, a Wild West area reached by a dark tunnel with gun fighters and stage dancers; and finally a recently added water park. Since those years the park has been acquired by Six Flags and I was excited to see the changes that had occurred since then. Disappointingly, very few things have changed or improved. I am not really one for thrill rides, as ass-clenching terror and the taste of my own scrotum has never appealed to me, and therefore much of the time after entering the park is spent waiting with Nate (who likes them only slightly more than me) as the rest go on roller coasters. I don’t mind this, as it gives me an opportunity to explore. However, this soon ends as they find the rides to be too tame and not worth the lines. As expected, food is outrageously priced, though in one snack shop we get to see a woman call security on two adolescents, accusing them of stealing her wallet, though she eventually finds it in her purse. The water park proves more fulfilling, sliding through tubes and drifting around and around a watercourse, trying to tip each other over on our floats. Storytown has not advanced, save for a fresh coat of paint, and few children play in the little houses. Ghost Town has come to live up to its name. I am saddened to see a forgotten and neglected corner of my childhood. The arcade is rundown, the saloon empty, and actors are nowhere in sight. We are the only people wandering the area. Where is the gun fighting sheriff handing out badges to kids? A rickety roller coaster is the only attraction.

For dinner we eat at The Log Jam Restaurant, which is a juxtaposed log structure in the middle of an outlet parking lot, but which holds great atmosphere and excellent, reasonably priced food. We stay for a few hours, eating and drinking, and slowly become aware of the severe sunburns we have acquired while swimming at the water park.

After grabbing some liquor, we again mini-golf and ride on the bumper cars, though the thought of putting on the plastic vest over our lobster-red shoulders makes us forgo another round of laser tag. We return to the cottage after dark, play cards and drink into the night before painfully climbing into our beds, daring not to move against the sheets and trying to sleep. Despite the pain I’m in, it has been great to hang out with my closest friends and revisit destinations that helped to shape my love of history and travel.

Note: Some photos were taken by Gabor J. Szabo

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Photos

Lake George harbor
As seen from Prospect Mt.

Nate, Gabe and I
Gabe's the one flexing.

Comments

[Nathan]

What a great trip! I had completely forgotten about the woman losing her wallet. There is something to be said about a 4-5 Day vacation on a budget. Sometimes having to watch your wallet can force you to find other means of entertaining yourself without breaking the bank, and this trip proved that you can have a lot of fun without having to spend a whole lot.