A Day Away: Skiing in solitude to Santanoni

By RICHARD FROST
A Day Away

February 17, 2008 07:03 am

— The trail into Great Camp Santanoni has long been my favorite cross-country ski outing in the Adirondacks. After making the trip again last week, I have no reason to change my mind.
It's a good hour and a half from Plattsburgh to Newcomb, where the trail begins. Much of the ride goes along the beautiful Blue Ridge Road. Just south of that road is pastured a domestic buffalo herd, an regional oddity that spices up the trip.
Clearly marked signs just west of the small village of Newcomb announce the approach to Santanoni. A right turn, a few twists and a bridge across the headwaters of the Hudson bring one to the gatehouse. Parking areas are a few yards farther ahead.
During the summer, a stop inside the gatehouse offers a nice introduction to Santanoni, the complex built by Albany banker Robert Pruyn near the end of the 19th century. This day, co-worker Linda Rivers and I donned our skis, passed by the onetime caretaker's home and came to the trailhead. One pair of skiers had signed in before us. This being a weekday, we had good reason to suspect there wouldn't be many others.
FARM OUTBUILDINGS
Despite the vagaries of recent weather, ski conditions proved excellent. Enough snow had fallen atop the thin crust left by the previous week's sleet to give us a pretty-consistent surface. Waxed for 30 degrees, my skis had no difficulty with the gradual ascent over the first mile of the trek.
At that one-mile point, we reached the farm complex. Many of the Great Camps strived for self-sufficiency. Santanoni's operation supplied the Pruyns and their guests, plus the camp staff; any surplus would have been sold locally. I've never seen a milk bottle labelled Santanoni, but I suspect a few exist somewhere in area attics or basements.
The building with stone columns fronting a large porch area served as a creamery. Beside it stood the Gardener's Dwelling.
Tucked back in the woods was a cozy home called the Herdsman's Dwelling.
There's a big void to the right where the main barn used to stand. Fire consumed the building in 2005, leaving quite a gap, not just physically but psychologically. On this day, snow covered the remaining floor and foundations, but the dairy's stanchions survive to mark the enterprise.
A DOWNY WOODPECKER
Leaving the farm area, we passed a compact fieldstone smoke house built into a gentle hill then continued the remaining 3.9 miles to Newcomb Lake. Generally, the going was easy enough to accommodate even the modest Nordic skier. Rises, when present, remained quite gradual. The trail is uniformly wide enough for two skiers to proceed side by side.
Evergreens dominate the forest, with the occasional regal pine standing as lord of the realm. The farther we went, the more birch trees we saw. There were some shaggy hickory trunks and plenty of aspen, too, their brown leaves still clinging to their branches. Winter-foliage depletion allowed glimpses of mountain contours in the distance -- and of a downy woodpecker plying his skills on a nearby tree.
Nearing our destination, we began to notice more cedar.
We encountered that couple who signed in ahead of us. Joining them was their enthusiastic Spinone, a breed of Italian bird dog. Lots of animal tracks had dotted the snow, but the largest, which we had conjectured might be even those of a small bear, belonged to the dog!
LOG WAINSCOTING
When we came to a couple of stone bridges (one of which we recognized only when we were fully upon it), I knew we were nearing our destination. A glance to the left revealed a first tantalizing glimpse of Newcomb Lake. There was a modestly steep descent, then the final twisting course to our goal.
The Great Camp comprises the only man-made presence on the shores of pristine Newcomb Lake. Even after dozens of visits, I was impressed by the peeled-log construction, the diagonal twig work on the doors and the harmony of the red trim with dark-stained logs. A peek inside the windows of the main lodge revealed birch-bark paneling, log wainscoting and a massive stone fireplace (albeit without the taxidermy heron that stood atop it for many years).
Conservation efforts, spearheaded first by the non-profit group Adirondack Architectural Heritage and now by Friends of Camp Santanoni, in collaboration with the Town of Newcomb, have helped guarantee survival of the long-neglected complex. The excellent condition of broad eaves over the porches is one visible manifestation of their work. Covered walkways connect the main lodge to other nearby buildings.
ABSOLUTE QUIET
Near the water's edge stands Santanoni's boathouse, another beneficiary of extensive preservation efforts. Tucked off to the right and often obscured by foliage during the summer months, there's a small studio. I know I'd find it an idyllic space for writing.
The return ski rewarded us with many long, smooth glides, an indication that we had perhaps done more climbing than we'd appreciated on the way in. At the ends of those descents, I took a minute or two to stop and appreciate the day. Twenty-nine degrees. Not a hint of wind. Absolute quiet. The kind of silence that probably unnerves city dwellers but that we in the mountains live for.
There was no better place in the world to have spent that afternoon.
If you've skied to Santanoni before, you'll want to go again. If you haven't, put it on your list of must-see activities. Sure, it's a long drive for an afternoon of recreation, but it's a special place.
Don't worry about your skill level. Once you're comfortable skiing at, say, Point au Roche State Park, you'll have the ability to navigate Santanoni. It's mainly a matter of stamina and perseverance. (Should you instead choose a summer excursion, you can hike the trail or perhaps take advantage of one of the wagon rides offered periodically.)
The Great Camps built by wealthy industrialists, financiers and others are a unique part of Adirondack heritage. Only a few are open to public viewing on a regular basis. A winter trip to Santanoni offers a rare opportunity to experience such a place in relative solitude.
rbforiole@aol.com

Copyright © 1999-2008 cnhi, inc.