Sep 7, 20229 min read

Hiking the Cranberry Lake 50 in Upstate New York

With Labor Day weekend on the horizon, we knew an outdoor adventure was required. So, when we were invited to join a hike around Cranberry Lake, we couldn't say no! The Cranberry 50 is a (roughly) 50 mile hike that circumnavigates Cranberry Lake in Upstate New York, just off of route 3 and not too far from the Adirondack High Peak Wilderness. On Komoot, the 50 mile route is here, but if you're strapped for time, there is also a 40 mile route here. We were aiming to do the 50 and chose to hike the route clockwise.

Day 1 Saturday

At 4:50 AM, the alarm started chiming its morning melody, but I had already been awake, excited to get on the road. It's incredible starting an adventure before the sun rises; it makes whatever you are doing feel more epic. The four of us (Uri, Jake, Annika, and myself) loaded up with coffee and hit the road for the ~3 hr drive to Wanakena, NY. I had meticulously packed a snack bag with breakfast goodies (bagels, cream cheese, fresh fruit, jam, peanut butter, eggs), and we shamelessly had another coffee stop at Dunkin'; pumpkin spiced latte fueled my driving while the others went in and out of sleep.

When we arrived at a park on S Shore Road, all the available parking spots were full, so we settled for an open area on the grass where others were leaving their cars. We strapped on our lumbering packs with all the gear and food we would need for the next few days, hopefully with nothing important missing. With my Garmin watch blinking Ready! for the hike, we set off. In total, the 18.4 miles we hiked on Day 1 took us 8 hours, with an elevation gain of 1,302 ft. The Strava map for Day 1 can be found here.

Immediately, we crossed a footbridge to get to the very tiny town of Wanakena. The adorable Otto's Abode was right off Hamele Street which had coffee, general information, charming artwork, and cute gifts, paired with its inviting, cozy porch, books, and big chairs that you could sink into for eternity; we made a mental note to stop back after the hike ended.

In the beginning, we had a short road walk before we plunged into the woods. Throughout the course of the day, there were mild inclines and declines but nothing too intense. The conditions were good: leafy yet dry. At mile 7-8, the vegetation became a little dense as we pushed through some overgrown bushes. Annika, who had shorts on at the time, took a minor hit with the thorns and vines that like to snag at passerby's' legs. Considering it was Labor Day weekend, we were surprised to see very few people out. Briefly, we hiked with two guys in their 30s: one tall and thin with a long, black beard and deep voice and the other more short and squat with dyed blue-ish green hair and gauges in his ears. We chatted with them about awesome hiking opportunities in the region and listened to all the hikes they completed/ were aiming to tackle. We were really vibing with them and had hoped that we would see them again after they stopped to break, but we never did.

At mile 9, we made it to the town of Cranberry where we visited the general store. At this point, our feet and hips were starting to feel the weight of our packs. The hips straps on my backpack were digging into my skin, reminding me that I hadn't carried weight like this in over a year. A small group of shady trees called to us, and we plopped our packs down, ready for some lunch. Hoping to get a fresh sub (as advertised) in the general store since I forgot the snack bag in the car, I was disappointed when the woman pointed out that they hadn't sold subs in years. She then became increasingly unpleasant as we, one by one, asked to refill our water bottles. After the seemingly too-short break, we were back on the road for our ~2 mile cement segment. I could almost hear my feet audibly sigh in relief when we dove back into the trail on the soft, cushy pine needles.

We chugged along through gorgeously shaded paths with leaves littering the forest floor and sunlight filtering through the canopy. Periodically, the habitat would change ever so slightly: a dense section of pines, a collection of dead trees (presumably from insects), or a beaver dam that flooded the area, requiring us to balance on half-sunken, muddy logs.

Just before mile 19, we ended up at the campsites around East Inlet. The first campsite was full, so we pushed on to the next. A beautiful site on the lake had no tents set up, but two backpacks were laying on the ground. A man, ginger bearded and in his mid to late 30s, had taken no time to go swimming in the lake. When we arrived, he was immediately displeased, sending hostile vibes since he clearly didn't want us there. Nonetheless, we politely asked him if we could join him and his friend since there was plenty of room.

"Uhhhh." He paused, annoyed. "I don't know....I guess..."

"We will be good neighbors," Uri offered.

"Do you have any other suggestions?" I asked, confused why he was so opposed to us staying there. It's trail courtesy to share campsites when there is space, especially because sites are limited.

"There's a campsite two miles back," he responded, still defensive. There was no way we were going to hike 2 miles backwards.

His partner who had just come back from the bathroom also became territorial, and I became angry. The two guys were using hammocks and didn't actually need the tent spots. They just didn't want us there. After sharing some looks and taking time alone to discuss, they eventually packed their bags.

"It's all yours," one said as they headed out.

It was a disappointing encounter. Trail manners are important, and no one should be restricted from having a place to sleep. We couldn't be upset for long, though. The place was tranquil with our three tents on a peaceful, private beach, and we had a necessary swim in the brisk, yet invigorating water. The sun had heated the rocks, perfect for basking. In the evening, the sun set with soft pastel colors, more reminiscent of a sun rise, and we cooked dinner (a heaping helping of gooey mac and cheese, a hiking favorite!). The early bedtime was much needed.

Day 2 Sunday

The second day was the hardest of all three days, and the map to our route can be found here. The 19 miles took us close to 8 hours to complete, with an average pace of 24 min 59 sec/ mile.

The morning started in a fog shroud, and the only noise was our rustling packing. Uri and I prepared tea, oatmeal, and ginger snap cookies for breakfast, and I slightly regretted swimming in my shorts the day before; they still hadn't dried! Our feet were still sore from the previous day (some breakfast acetaminophen was helpful), but this morning offered a new challenge for me: chaffing. It hadn't occurred to me to bring Glide for a short weekend backpacking trip, and I regretted it. The first 10 miles were pretty brutal in that regard, but physically they went fast as we were relatively fresh.

After lunch, we were in a mental and physical rut. The mud really slowed us down, especially from mile 14-16 when we routed around Olmstead Pond. The water was overflowing and covering the trail, and we had to do some light bushwacking, following herd paths to navigate the flooded areas. Wet logs were available to balance on, with the help of hiking poles for extra support.

After pushing past Olmstead and feeling rundown emotionally from the painfully slow navigation, the pain in our joints was beginning to peak; we wanted to finish for the day. Fortunately, the trail became drier as we started to ascend onto a ridge-line, and we could feel our destination getting closer. When sleepiness and soreness reaches a certain threshold, silliness starts to kick in, and we began inventing new lyrics to songs to fit our situation which helped pass the time. At mile 19.1, we took the cutoff to Cowhorn lean-to on the side of Cowhorn Pond (just 0.2 miles off-trail), hoping there would be room (and crossing fingers the two guys from yesterday weren't there). Instead, we met a young couple from Syracuse who were happy to share the ample space.

We pitched our tents on the beautifully large, open, forest floor with a soft pine needle bed and tended to our chores: getting the boots off, hanging clothes out to dry, filtering water. On the shore of the pond was a small, beat-up, metal boat with endless dents and black tape patching at least a dozen holes. Naturally, Uri had to take it out onto the water, and we were surprised to see it not sink. After, we gathered to cook dinner (Uri and I shared dehydrated split pea soup and ramen) and play cards, Hearts, which I lost. When it darkened too much to see, we switched on our headlamps to play a few more rounds. Lastly, we loaded all our food/scented items into the bear canisters and stored them away from camp. While we hadn't seen any bears, we saw plenty of bear scat and didn't want to risk losing our food to the hungry scavengers. Being on Wilderness Time, we were all home in our tents by 8 PM, ready for bed.

Day 3 Monday

We had plans to be on the trail again by 7 AM, but only made it out at around 8 AM, c'est la vie. The elevation was much more manageable this day than the previous day. Getting back to Wanakena took 14.6 final miles in 5 hr 7 mins, pacing at 21 min/mile (Strava map here).

This day was the wettest day, both from the sky and ground. It drizzled light rain for much of the morning, and we had to tiptoe across multiple beaver dams, carefully making sure to not slip and fall into the water which was at least a few feet deep in some areas. At this point, blisters were formed, and we were physically ready to be done with the hike. We all agreed that the pain was more in our joints than in our muscles, no doubt due to pack weight, and stretching didn't relieve the tension. Up to mile 10 was a grind. We hiked in silence a lot, hopping over puddles and balancing on logs. Sometimes the forest would open to a large grassy marsh, and other times we had to play "Floor is Lava", trying to not fall into the inky black abyss. Jake was also trail blazing, his pants soaked from being the first to brush against all the wet vegetation, and he and Uri felt like zombies: no thoughts, just walking. For me, when things get challenging, I start humming, singing songs, or talking in my head about random things I see. La dee da. Oooh plants. It helps me stay positive.

After mile 10, our moods were pretty low, and as we sat on a wet, mossy log anticipating the last 4 miles in the mist/drizzle, we decided to switch things up. I don't fully believe that people should play music out loud in the woods, but I support it if it's motivational and if you're not disturbing anyone else. So, Jake, Uri, and I ramped it up, at times going at a 17 min/mile pace while singing music from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Freddie Mercury had nothing on us. Annika was going at a pace that worked best for her to avoid injury and was only ever a few minutes behind, listening to her own music and crushing the final few miles. The end of the trail was flat and easy to breeze through, yet every turn felt like it was the last one.

Eventually, a painted yellow gate was the only thing that separated us from a road that lead us back to the car. We had done it! Pulling off our muddy boots/shoes and heaving our packs into the trunk, we were ready to go home, not without stopping to get heaping amounts of diner food first.

A successful Cranberry 50 hike!