Even the most jaded vacationer will find romance and more at The Sagamore at Lake George, New York.
The drive through upstate New York is, in itself, a worthwhile affair. Glorious views over waves of mountains and valleys defy even the most jaded traveler’s desire to scream, “Are we there yet?” Getting there is only half the pleasure.
But, a pleasure it is. As the car rumbles through the fringes of the Adirondacks, we are watching the exit signs but mesmerized by the flow of the land. One cannot help but begin to mold and form the event into an almost literary frame. Here, in the lush greenery flanking the highway and the oddly-familiar place names—Schroon Lake, Saratoga—a subtle transformation takes place. This is a birthplace, and the sense of potency is impossible to miss.
No historian, I still found myself pulling up from some deep sensory well images and memories that transported me to another place. My experiences with the French and Indian Wars and The Last of the Mohicans are not fresh in my memory but more like a lingering shadow resting squarely beneath a “Grade 8 Social Studies” sign, yet there is an undeniable sense of the ancient that pulses through the whole area.
The approach to Lake George Village and then the lake itself tends to encourage neck-craning, as the mansions, condos and cottages of locals and vacationers seem to sprout before your eyes. The lake—the largest and most historically-important in the Northeast—is spectacular. Fir-crusted mountains rise from its shores like barricades against the attempts of the world to corrupt its breathtaking beauty. The lake—oceanic in size, but still and steady as a reflecting pond—grows in all directions. Mansions huddle on its shores and perch like fabulous birds on private islands, dwarfed by their surroundings.