Student becomes teacher on cross-country ski adventure
As a child growing up on Limekiln Lake, I was shuttled to church each Sunday over the summer by two terrific ladies who also lived on the lake.
They would pick me up in their small grey compact car that smelled overwhelmingly of perfume.
Each of them beamed with joy over the prospect of sharing their love of the Presbyterian faith with me.
In the winter months, however, my church ladies—like many other seasonal residents—migrated to Florida.
With barely enough worshippers to fill so much as one pew, our little Church of the Lakes was shuttered and silent during the long month of February.As a result, the small amount of full time residents who remained made a Sunday trek to Old Forge to join friends at Niccolls Church.
One particular winter Pastor Fred, who served as in-season interim pastor at the Church of the Lakes, also offered assistance at Niccolls.
It seemed that his single duty was to get the youth in the area connected to the church through various activities.
Pastor Fred led a youth group at the Church of the Lakes over the summer and we enjoyed such activities as hiking and tubing down the lower Moose River.
He was not a man who was familiar with back country experiences or the lore of the woods, so consequently he would ask questions regarding the types of trees, plants, and animals we would encounter on our outings.
Due to my knowledge of the woods, I was able to answer many of the Pastor’s questions.
It seemed a strange reversal for me to take on the role as educator of this fellow, clad in corduroy pants and shiny shoes, who seemed to find so much joy in learning more about the wilderness.
One cold and snowy day Pastor Fred called and said he would like to give cross-country skiing a try. He asked me if I would like to join him.
After a moment of conjuring up images of face plants and a grown man shrieking down a hill like a school girl, I agreed to go with him.
Within the hour Pastor Fred pulled into the driveway. He had rented skis from Walter Schmid at the Inlet Ski Shop and seemed somewhat uneasy about the trip we were about to embark on.
I assured him that I would stick to the very easy trails that ran through Limekiln Lake Campground.
Once I got him clipped into his bindings and offered a few words of advice, we shoved off.
The snow was good and solid and we were able to stay on top of the three feet of fallen snow without much effort.
Despite the fact that we traveled along the roadways of the snow-covered campground for almost three hours, I wasn’t quite convinced that he truly had the knack for the sport.
However, he certainly seemed to enjoy the experience.
I would have liked to have done a little bushwhacking and exploring outside the well-traveled and familiar trails, but I knew Pastor Fred would not be able to follow along—even with God’s help.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com
