Kayaking Lake George end-to-end: A 30-mile adventure to Ticonderoga

An adventure worthy of Tolkien

By Alan Wechsler

Planning a one-day kayak traverse of Lake George brought to mind the famous quote from “Lord of the Rings”: 

“One does not simply walk into Mordor.”

It’s easy to think of author J.R.R. Tolkien when planning crazy adventures. “Lord of the Rings,” after all, is arguably the greatest quest story ever written. While I don’t think my planned kayak trip was equivalent to Frodo’s epic journey to return the One Ring to Mount Doom—for instance, I probably wouldn’t face the all-seeing Eye of Sauron as I rounded Silver Bay—Lake George has risks that a paddler must not take lightly.

For starters, there’s the breeze. The lake is surrounded by mountains, creating a natural wind tunnel that can make the water as rough as an ocean bay. 

There’s also the summer crowds. July and August were out for sure. Kayakers have been run over and killed by powerboats here. 

Finally, it was a long way from Lake George village to Ticonderoga: about 30 miles. I would need an early start, no headwinds, moderate temperatures … and a brisk and continuous pace. 

Still, I was eager to give it a try. I’ve paddled parts of the lake before, and it is worthy of Thomas Jefferson’s moniker, “The Queen of American Lakes.” How better to appreciate its entirety than from a kayak?

Starting out

In late May, a day with perfect conditions was forecast: temps in the low 70s, light winds from the south. At 6:05 a.m., with the sun just peeking up over the eastern mountains, I set off in a 12-foot boat from a sandy bit of shoreline near Charles R. Wood Park, heading north.

In planning my “one does not simply paddle Lake George” trip, I had studied maps to chart the safest and most efficient course. I would travel up the east shore all the way into the narrows, avoiding the long crossing from Bolton Landing to Tongue Mountain. Halfway up the lake, just south of Huletts Landing, I would dart to the west side. From there: hug the shoreline past Sabbath Day Point, Hague, Rogers Rock Campground, then finally into the narrow tip of the lake to Ticonderoga. Piece of cake. 

Of course, I hadn’t counted on developing a hole in my kayak, which brings to mind another quote from Tolkien: “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations.” But more on that later.  With my dawn departure, I was alone on the water as I headed north toward Assembly Point. The lake was as smooth as I’ve ever seen it, the only sounds from birds and the rare, far-off powerboat. 

At 7:40 a.m., I stopped at a campsite on Long Island, the lake’s largest. There are 387 shoreline sites located on 44 state-owned islands, according to LakeGeorge.com, and almost none were occupied. I practically had the lake to myself.

I stopped again two hours later, at the start of the island-choked Narrows. To the west, the jagged ridge of Tongue Mountain loomed. To the east, historic private homes lined the shore; the last signs of development I’d see for a while. By now, a few boats had motored by—a state worker in a buoy tender, several motorboats armed with fishing rods, a dock-builder chugging to his next assignment—but the lake was still largely empty. My biceps were starting to ache, but I felt energetic. That was good, because I still had a long way to go. 

Boat malfunction

At 11:15 a.m., during a rest at Black Mountain Point, I found something shocking: the rear hatch area of my kayak was full of water. I dumped it out and turned the boat over. There was now a small crack in the keel. I must have gouged it during my previous stop, when I slid down a rocky slope at the waterline. 

Although the area was sealed off from the rest of the boat, I didn’t like the idea of paddling another 15-plus miles with a leak. But what else could I do? I was in the most remote spot on the lake, miles from the nearest road. I decided I could just stop every so often to dump out the water. So I kept going. It’s what Frodo would have done. 

When I reached the outskirts of Huletts Landing, I turned to cross the lake. I aimed for Hecker Island, with its prominent red-and-white Chapel of Isaac Jogues visible on the shore. The island was purchased from the state by the Congregation of St. Paul the Apostle in 1871 and the chapel built in 1909. It is one of the most unique landmarks on a lake full of architectural highlights. 

Heading north, Route 9N soon came into view. I was welcomed back to civilization by the roar of motorcycles (it was the start of Americade week). The many homes on shore kept the view interesting. There were some great camps, and some not-so-great camps, and the amazing, century-old YMCA complex at Silver Bay. In one spot, a stone gazebo built to look like a castle tower loomed on the shoreline, like a scene out of Middle Earth. 

About one-quarter mile from the shoreline near Hague, I suddenly realized I had a problem. The rear of the canoe was now quite low, and getting heavier as more water leaked in. I had waited too long to dump the boat. Just a little lower and water would spill into the cockpit. Both figuratively and literally, I had a sinking feeling. 

At this point, the ache in my upper arms was starting to sharpen. But I double-timed it to the shore, pulling out in someone’s yard. Water, protein bar wrappers and a very wet jacket spilled out of the hatch as I emptied it out. Apparently I would have to stop more often if I hoped to make it all the way to Ti. 

I calmed down as I headed into one of my favorite sections of the lake north of Hague. Historic homes line the shoreline, some in authentic Adirondack style—porch railings made of tree limbs, support posts from trunks. And the islands off the shore are not only beautiful, they also have evocative names: Lovers Rock, Flirtation Island, Sunkissed Island. I wished I had time to linger, but leaky boats wait for no man.

I made it to Rogers Rock Campground at 5 p.m. I called my girlfriend, Beth, who was meeting me in Ticonderoga, to let her know where I was. I was going all the way. 

Heading north from the campground, I paddled past Rogers Rock, a 600-foot slabby cliff that’s only accessible by boat. I’ve rock climbed here several times, and it’s always fun, not just for the amazing view, but also for the boaters you’re sure to attract as you clamber with your ropes hundreds of feet above the lake. 

As I reached Ti, the lake narrowed and the houses grew more numerous. At one spot at the tip of a small peninsula, I passed a house with a family eating on the porch. 

“Do you want some pizza?” a woman yelled to me. 

“Sure, if you can throw it to the boat!” I yelled back. They were the first words I had spoken to anyone all day. (I didn’t get the pizza.)

At exactly 6:30 p.m., the Mossy Point boat ramp came into view and I scraped to a stop on the cement ramp, beating Beth by about 10 minutes. It had been, more or less, the perfect day. Mr. Tolkien once wrote: “The greatest adventure is what lies ahead.” After much planning, this one was over. While it would take me a full day to recover, it was worth it.