Susan takes a break on one of the new bridges, installed after Irene wrecked a lot of back country infrastructure. Photo: Brian Mann

When she hears the itinerary, my wife Susan laughs and says, "I'm sort of glad it's flat. But we have beautiful weather. We just couldn't ask for better." By mid-afternoon, we've plunged into the deep forest. It's dense country, not many openings or vistas. But the path is criss-crossed with bright mountain streams, deep pools. "Beautiful with deciduous woods," Susan says. "A beautiful trail."

As the day wanes, we reach an extraordinary open bog, one of the first breaks in the tree canopy. The wind is blowing through the autumn grasses. Dragonflies bob over the tassels.

Susan points out great slabs of rock exposed by the low water: "That one looks like a splatter painting, with colors of rust and creamy white and gray. A lovely spot."

There are also spears of color in the trees, the first flashes of autumn color. But we hurry along because the day is waning and we're eager to make camp at duck hole.

Brian Mann measures the miles on the trail to Duck Hole. Photo: Susan Waters

Rain falls through the night, but the clouds part for a view of the full moon over Duck Hole. And the next morning dawns blue and clear.

The ruins of the Duck Hole dam, which state officials say will not be replaced. Photo: Susan Waters

Saturday morning we hike on, passing along the Northville Placid Trail through broad mountain valleys and clambering down through great fern meadows. Near Moose Pond, we find a gorgeous wetland that offers a rare wide view of mountains. One of the glories of this country is that it goes on and on and on. You get a feel of real scale, of wilderness that gives way to more wilderness.

When we reach the trailhead on the outskirts of Lake Placid. We're both weary and sore from schlepping our packs so far. I ask Susan if she wants to do it again next weekend. She laughs and says, "It's a date."