Today the hub of the park is Lake Placid. Ever since the town hosted the 1980 Winter Olympics (who can forget the U.S. hockey team's surprising victory over the Soviet Union and the broadcaster's famous yell: "Do you believe in miracles? Yes!"), it has been a Mecca for serious athletes. The superlative winter facilities make it an ideal place to train for a variety of intense sports, such as bobsledding, ski jumping and speed skating.
Over the past few years, the town has revved up its summer offerings, too, hosting the ever more popular Lake Placid Horse Show, in late June and early July, and the Ironman USA Lake Placid triathlon, in July. There's also a new cultural addition: the Lake Placid Film Festival. Just six years old, it is already recognized as one of the country's finest film programs; last summer's guests included Martin Scorsese, who presented a restored print of the 1963 Luchino Visconti film The Leopard. "Lake Placid is becoming the Aspen of the East," says the festival's managing director, Nini Hadjis. "It's always been a place for world-class athletes, but now it's a hot spot for the arts as well."
Despite the increase in visitors—a development much lamented by locals—the saving grace of the region is that it remains stubbornly untamable. Civilization never blanketed the Adirondacks; rather, it gathered quietly on the sidelines, where it remains to this day. Even in the toniest enclaves and private clubs, such as the 52,000-acre Adirondack League Club, life revolves around the great outdoors. Two highways cut through the park, but to penetrate much of the surrounding landscape, you must proceed by foot or boat. "Living here, you have access to incredible mountains, lakes and rivers," says fly-fishing guide Steve Reynolds, a lifelong resident of Lake Placid, "and so much care is taken to preserve them. You can't build houses on the sides of mountains here, the way you can out West."
Wherever you are in the park, nature is the boss, and you don't have to go far to appreciate its supremacy. There are lakeside August mornings when the still water looks like mercury and it's heaven just to watch a boat slice through its silvery skin. On fall hikes in the mountains, the air is often so crisp and clear at the summit that whole ranges you've never seen before come into view. But even when all looks bleak, the landscape seems always to deliver something unexpected and extraordinary.
One Christmas it was freezing cold and there was no snow, but the Cascade Lakes froze into two straight miles of black ice. My friends and I spent hours skating across the lollipop-slick, seemingly limitless surface, gazing up at the sheer mountainsides plunging down from a thousand feet above our heads, amazed at the sense of freedom we felt. The ice was so smooth that when the wind blew, we didn't have to move our feet; we just let the breeze shoot us along.
Then there was the summer it was too hot to hike or do much of anything. That's when we rediscovered the water, which is normally too cold to encourage long dips. We swam a mile-long lake from end to end. We explored the Ausable River, drifting down it in rubber tubes, not knowing where we were headed, letting the river lead the way. We plunged into pools right below waterfalls, bobbing madly in the thrilling current, then straining against it to swim back for more. We even found a swimming hole where the granite streambed had worn away to form a perfect waterslide.
You don't have to own a house here to discover such natural delights. Two excellent hotels can show travelers the best of the Adirondacks: the Point and the Lake Placid Lodge. While they have the same owner (the Garrett Hotel Group) and the same rustic but elegant aesthetic, each is distinct. A visit to the Point, the former Great Camp of William Avery Rockefeller, is a singular and special experience. The hotel is reputed to be one of the best hotels in the country (and, at $1,250 or more a night, one of the most expensive), but there's nothing flashy about it. Instead it has a quiet beauty, a serenity and an ineffable charm. Built in the 1930s, the onetime camp sits on the shore of Upper Saranac Lake, but the only structure noticeable from the water is the boathouse; the buildings were designed to blend in with the landscape, not dominate it.
In part because the Point was once a private home, every detail is individual and personal. Each of the eleven rooms, some of which are set apart in cabins, is unique. The bookcases hold books you actually want to read; the walls and floorboards have rich patinas; the furniture was selected by hand; and the art is museum quality, including landscapes by Hudson River School painters. In keeping with the rustic spirit, no televisions or telephones are to be found in the rooms. (There is, however, a phone that connects you to the staff.) Every spot on the property invites lingering, from the incredibly comfortable feather beds to the hammock set in a grove of hundred-foot white pines to the Adirondack chairs overlooking the lake. The Point is a place for relaxing and enjoying the delicious food and gracious atmosphere; there's not a whole lot to do beyond taking walks, going swimming and cruising around the lake in a boat.
Guests dine together in a house-party atmosphere. I've made three visits to the Point now, and each time, I arrived with the same misgivings about sitting at a table of strangers—yet each time, I ended up meeting wonderful people. The other guests are usually down-to-earth, warm and sophisticated. I asked one man, who was on his seventh visit to the Point, what kept bringing him back. His reply was immediate: "There's nothing the staff wouldn't do for you." He's right; the service is extremely thoughtful and caring.
On my most recent visit, the assistant general manager overheard a couple mention how much they loved Cakebread wine, from Napa Valley. The next day he slipped a bottle of it into their picnic basket as a surprise. I was pregnant and had a slew of high-maintenance demands, all of which were met with zeal. Executive chef Kevin McCarthy even designed a special, and sublime, dinner for me because I didn't want the antelope he had prepared for the other guests.
If you would rather be where the action is, choose the Lake Placid Lodge. It's not as historic, sequestered or intimate as the Point, but it has a more fun, youthful spirit. Situated on the shore of Lake Placid, it is close to everything—restaurants, excellent hiking and fishing—but still seems to be in its own private world.
Rooms at the lodge are spacious and have exactly the amenities you require after a long day outdoors: big soaking tubs and stone fireplaces (and, like the Point, no televisions, naturally). All have original rustic furniture and artwork, including pieces made by local artisans. Ask for one of the seventeen cabins down by the lake. Although quite close to one another, they are charming and cozy; two of the best are Owl's Head and Lookout. The service at the lodge has improved markedly over the past two years, and the staff is exceptionally friendly. Best of all, any needs or concerns you may have are addressed immediately. As a local, I can vouch for the fact that both the Lake Placid Lodge and the Point are the real thing: authentic, endearing and very Adirondack-y.
I have often tried to put my finger on what it is about the Adirondacks that is so uniquely enriching, and I always come back to an insight of the American landscape painter Harold Weston. In his 1971 memoir about the region, Freedom in the Wilds, he spoke not only of protecting the fast-diminishing tracts of wilderness throughout the nation but also of preserving the "forever wild and uncontaminated areas of freedom" within ourselves. That is what the Adirondacks does—and does so well.
