How to blow a romantic weekend in the Adirondacks

I went up Hurricane on Friday, trudging higher and higher into winter. At the top it was downright lunar.

The fire tower, rimed with ice, looked like something NASA had planted on a distant world.

Just before I reached the summit, two figures emerged from the snow and fog: a young couple from New York City.

He was wearing blue jeans and a puffy windbreaker. She was wearing tennis shoes, a woefully inadequate coat, and a deeply knit brow.

“I don’t have any traction at all,” she complained.

When I asked how her feet were doing, he answered on her behalf: “They’re fine.”

That, I thought, is a statement he will regret.

As I descended, I thought about the weird stuff I’ve seen in the Adirondack back country:

The troupe of middle-aged day-trippers, almost to Marcy Dam, wearing flip-flops and carrying a massive beer cooler.

The guy in his solo canoe on the Oswegatchie, so loaded with gear (including boom-box) that the river was kissing his gunwales.

And then there’s the stupid stuff I’ve pulled, like the time I tried to ski Wright with only one climbing skin. Graceful? Oh, yeah.

(It would have been ugly enough with both skins.)

But the cardinal rule when you plan to do something dopey in the Adirondack woods is don’t bring your spouse. And don’t — trust me on this — do it in the middle of a romantic weekend.

–Brian Mann