Meals were served at the main lodge; they provided a rather nice breakfast and a four-course dinner each day, as well as a sack lunch for you to take on your day’s adventure.

(You can click any image for a larger version.)

The Main Lodge

The lodge also has several (kind of small) rooms where you can stay if you don’t want to spring for a cabin.

We rented one of the several cabins available. Since there were only three of us we went for one of the smaller ones, that they call “Big Tom.” Here’s how it looks standing with your back to the lake:

Big Tom Cabin

The view from the front porch is simply spectacular:

Lake View from the Cabin

Being among the High Peaks meant the sun peeked late over the mountain tops, and if you were up to see it the first light would illuminate a morning mist that soon burned off:

Morning Mist

Sunset also came early, as the sun dipped back behind the western peaks:

Sunset on the Lake

The lake and its surroundings are, of course, home to an abundance of wildlife, including several loons (our favorite):

Loon on the Lake

They were often difficult to approach but, if you were especially quiet, you could sometimes drift fairly close before they would dive under and vanish.

From a vantage point in one of the many Adirondack chairs near the dock area, again if you were quiet, one of the numerous local chipmunks or red squirrels might come up close to see what’s what.

The Ubiquitous Adirondack Chair

Curious Squirrel

A short walk along the lake shore is certain to turn up other local denizens, like this rather large bullfrog who could always be found somewhere in the reeds not far from the dock area:

Fly's Bane

The private preserve around Elk Lake plays host to many miles of trails, from the easy to the somewhat challenging (I’ll post up a scan of the trail map when I’ve had time to get it ready). On our first half-day there we took a 2.5 mile warm-up down to an area called (for reasons that I’m sure are obvious) Duck Hole, and then back. For our first full day we took on an eight mile jaunt down to a smaller body of water named Clear Pond, then climbed to the summit of Clear Pond Mountain (not terribly steep), and then around the pond before returning.

My brother-in-law & I at the summit of Clear Pond Mountain. I'm wearing green.

Clear Pond, as seen from the summit. That's Elk lake in the background.

On our last full day we decided to try the hike completely around Elk Lake. By adding in side trips to each of the four landings marked around the lake’s perimeter we tallied up ten miles–not bad considering until this trip we’d not hiked all year! With a stop for lunch and several rest breaks (including at the landings) the hike lasted just over seven hours, and was a blast!

Elk Lake is private, completely surrounded by land owned by the interests that also run the lodge. One of the greatest effects of that privacy is a ban on motorized boats; we place a huge premium on peace & quiet, which that ban provides in abundance. Guests are invited to use any of the several canoes and rowboats provided, and we made a point to avail ourselves of a canoe as the mood took us.

Returning to the Landing

All in all it was a wonderful vacation! Again, thanks go out to my brother-in-law for doing such a great job capturing things on “film.”

Afterward his wife hosted us all at a local establishment with a very nice buffet and an open bar. As one might expect from a lifetime where golf played a major role, a large percentage of us represented his golfing mates, especially the “underground league” he and his friend Chris set up and ran every year. It was called “Fleppert,” a contraction of Chris’ and Jerry’s last names.

What prompted me to post this was a photo of our table that Chris sent to me tonight. We represented the hard core of the Fleppert gang, and stayed the longest and probably partied the hardest–Jerry wouldn’t have had it any other way. Here we are, as captured on camera by Jerry’s sister, offering one of many toasts to his memory:

The core of the Fleppert League. The brew is Sam Adams.

I should add a little thumbnail of those present. Paul and Chris were among Jerry’s closest friends, and co-conspirators in creating Fleppert. BJ literally grew up around Jerry, as some of his earliest memories are of Jerry coming over for visits when he was a small child. Mike the Neighbor lived next door to Jerry for the last few years of his life, and was both an ad hoc drinking buddy and the one who stepped up to handle a lot of the physical tasks around the house when Jerry became too weak. When we gathered to decorate the large evergreen tree outside Jerry’s house for Xmas 2009 it was Mike who got us the mobile cherry-picker so we could reach the high spots. Spinny & Anne are, of course, yours truly and my lovely wife (who had no trouble holding her own among this motley group of guys). Joe is my partner in “that other golf league” that Jerry & Chris split from when they formed Fleppert, and a frequent Fleppert attendee. Last, but not least, Jim is Anne’s brother, a solid Fleppert regular and one of Jerry’s long-time friends.

Although we shall always miss Jerry, our gathering that day went a long way toward giving me closure and in helping me let go and move on. He’ll still always be there with us, though, every time we tee one up or hoist one high.

Fare well, Jerry.

It took a friend today, and the hurt’s still raw, and there’s nothing really to do about it but get over it. Eventually.

Jerry was a great guy. The harder you broke his balls the better he liked you for it, and he had a million zany stories that you knew he wasn’t making up. He drank like a sailor–which is appropriate because he was one. I don’t know anyone who was more happily politically incorrect, and you had to love him for it–more so the worse his wisecracks got. I had to make him stop including my work e-mail address on his mailing list, some of the stuff he’d send was definitely not safe for work.

He loved golfing, which is how I got to know him. We were league mates and later, when he and his crony Chris broke away from the league and started a group of their own, I showed up to play with them as often as I could. When I missed half a season because of emergency surgery he was the guy I asked to cover for me. He had his great days, and he had his lousy days, and on the latter there was no one more accomplished at sending a duck hook (he was a lefty) farther right than I could send a slice. I can still see him pounding his chest like a drunk Klingon, and threatening to kick his ball’s ass if it didn’t go into the hole.

He was healthy as hell, too, until the cancer took him down. Trim, fit, he used to relax by swimming laps in his pool. He was retired some years back, but still active and vigorous as anyone half his age. Until the cancer got him.

He went peacefully, with his “lovely” beside him. Just closed his eyes and left. Thank goodness for that.

He “may not have been the best, but there ain’t none better!”

I already miss him.

My league partner calls me “golf whore,” but I counter that implies being a paid professional. I’m more like a golf slut.

Do I consider myself a skilled player? Hells, no. I’ve never so much as broken 100, much less risen to the level of play that seems to be the norm among the golf bloggers whose sites I visit—and that brings me to another reason I started this blog. I don’t see much representation from the ranks of the true hacker. Oh, sure, I read posts from guys who call themselves “hacker,” but then they let drop how they can hit a fairway wood 200-plus yards, or are down on themselves because they don’t break 90 often enough, and right away I know they’re not a real “hack.”

A “hack” is a truly struggling high handicapper, the sort of golfer who would top out way over the USGA handicap index limit if they didn’t cap it. My kind of golfer. You who, like me, aspire to being able to play at double bogey consistently and for whom bogey is a good hole and an actual par damn near a life-altering event. Someone for whom a 100-yard carry over a pond is fraught with worry because duffing into the water is a very real possibility.

We true hackers love the game, too. We keep coming back, again and again, despite the proliferation of snowmen on our cards, despite the three- and four-putts, despite the duffed fairway shots and the sculled/fluffed chips. Every now and again a shining moment brings a 240-yard dead straight drive, or a great fairway shot that nearly makes the green, or a chip that leaves an easy putt for bogey (or, dare I say, par). Those moments keep us coming back as they dangle the hope in front of us like a shiny lure: maybe, just maybe, we just might become a golfer some day.

How well do I actually play? My best-ever round of nine was a 49. Lately I’ve been shooting nine on an average of mid-to-low 50s. I recently shot 104 on a round of 18, my best-ever, with a 50 on the front nine (par 35) and a 54 on the back (par 37). My drives are improving somewhat: I can clear 180 reasonably often and sometimes clear 200. I’ve reached 240 a couple of times. I school myself to a very leisurely pace because trying to get faster club head speed just results in over-swinging and a badly sliced drive. My standard 150 club is my 3 wood, though in the past couple of weeks I’ve ended up shooting longer (I’ll get into why in a future post) so I might have to revise that. I struggle mightily with my irons, often as not hitting behind the ball and chunking them. When I make good contact I hit 9 iron about 90 yards, and the rest of the bag varies by 10 or so up and down from that basis. It’s hard to pin down a distance for each club because the quality of my shot can still vary widely from one swing to the next. My chipping is tolerable, though I have trouble with tight/hardpan lies (quite common on the courses I play around here) and bouncing into a thin hit. My putting is actually not half bad, and often a good lag gets me out of trouble after a lousy chip. Three-putts are thankfully rare, except on really tricky greens.

This is going to be a site for people like you and me. When I share a golfing tip, it’s not going to be something alien like how to shape a shot. Shape a shot? How about being able to hit the ball straight (or even hit the ball) in the first place, eh? I’ve had some lessons, and they’re not the “tune up” kind; they’re the kind where you get basic instruction about how to stand and how to start your backswing—the stuff we true hackers need to know so we can start to improve. I’ll do my best to share some of what I’ve picked up at such lessons, as well as from things I’ve read or watched. I’ve amassed a small collection of how-to books and DVDs of varying degrees of usefulness; I’ll talk about the good stuff I come across, and maybe some of the not-so-good. I might even do some bitching about the “Get Way Better Instantly, Without Having to Change a Thing!” ads I tend to get flooded with, not to mention the e-books that turn out just to be rip-offs of classic books you can get from anywhere. I’ll probably also upset some purists, because in my belief a couple of the “faddish” techniques out there actually seem to offer some benefit, even if they’re not the “insta-cure” the marketing hype would have you believe.

I’m going to present some equipment reviews now and then, too. No, you’re not going to see an analysis of how Driver X hits five yards better than Driver Y. In my case I probably can’t hit either one to a consistent enough distance to tell the difference without taking an average across several dozen shots—even if I had access to a facility where I could get accurate distance measurements (I don’t). I do know something about where and how you can get some damned good gear for a lot less than the purists pay, and even when I do pony up for “name brand” stuff I’ve got preferences and experiences to share. At the level you and I play, we just want to know where you can get some decent gear that will do the job well, without sweating dropping hundreds of buckaroos on something that really isn’t going to do you any measureable good. Am I right? Thought so.

Stay tuned.

Cheers!

Spinny