Our gear-laden Subaru, canoes atop, rolled onto the ferry. Dazzling sunlight, cool breeze, freshly brewed iced coffee: all good omens for the commencement of "The Great Canoe Adventure 2010." Old pros at packing and paddling, we were secure in our strengths both in and out of the canoes. Within days our swaggering confidence would be reduced to physical and emotional breakdown, but at that moment we were a powerful force on our way to the North Forest Canoe Trail (NFCT).

The official guidebook reveals, "The NFCT is a chain of possibilities as well as of physical places; a string of beautiful waterways extending 740 miles across New England and New York." This was our second summer of paddling the trail. Last year we slid our canoes into the water at the trailhead in Old Forge, N.Y. A delightfully challenging week of paddling ended at Indian Carry, just south of Upper Saranac Lake. This year, the Subaru returned us to Indian Carry where our journey would entail exploring the entire Saranac River, crossing Lake Champlain to Vermont, and working our way up the Missisquoi River outlet to Swanton, the planned terminus of the trip.

Encouraged along by a gentle southern breeze and flowing current, the first two days of our trip were lovely as we followed the watery trail through Upper, Middle, and Lower Saranac Lakes. Refreshing swims, warm slabs of Adirondack rock to lie and dry on, locks connecting lakes, and hermetically sealed guacamole provided all we needed for respite from our physical endeavors. The dock behind the ice cream shop in Saranac Lake provided a convenient parking spot for my teenage paddling partner and myself. We fortified ourselves with enormous milk shakes, sipped slowly, as we floated toward the take-out next to the dam in the middle of town. Our fellow team members were tied up across the street from the gas station, eagerly purchasing duct tape and diet cokes. We were giddy with excitement at all the bounty urban paddling had to offer as we bounded off to the town port-o-let, the U-dig-it shovel buried deeply in a dry bag.

This first portage around Flower Lake Dam marked the end of our idyllic vacation and the beginning of our time of great suffering. During the next few days rife with trials and tribulations, I had many opportunities to engage in deep thoughts. Mostly I was obsessed with the eternal paddling question, "What came first, the noun "dam," or the oath muttered in times of distress?" As most veteran hikers know, descriptors such as gulch, basin, and gap all denote knee wrenching ascents and descents. Similarly, to the through-paddler, falls, dams, and chasms all lead to only one outcome: back breaking portage. The latter half of the great Canoe Adventure 2010 seemed to be spent mostly on land: hauling, lugging, dragging and whining. Many new skills were learned such as paddling in four inches of water, shoving canoes and heavy dry bags through holes in fences, and navigating Rte 3 with a canoe on your shoulders avoiding Class III-IV river rapids, yet facing the wrath of New York truck drivers and cross winds.

For the next two days we traveled 50 miles. The 12-hour days, complete with 15 miles of portaging took their toll on our mighty team. Day three ended in the chilly Adirondack twilight with seven exhausted adventurers attacking everything on the take-out menu at Baker's Acres Campground in Pickett's Corners. Though the driving range went right through the tent site, we slept like the dead. A painful early departure on day four brought more dams, blisters, and seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Highlights would include the round of cheers from the fire department as we navigated the rapids past their barbecue, bald eagles swooping and diving for their meals, and naked hula-hooping hippies on the river's edge.(Actually not a highlight for all members.)

At day's end, though our guidebook stated we had already completed the last portage of the trip, we were shocked to drift upon a river dredging operation and mandatory take out, a mere three miles from Lake Champlain and our campground. In a scene reminiscent of the children's book, "Make Way for Ducklings," we portaged our last load: seven exhausted voyagers carrying three canoes and gear, parading through downtown Plattsburgh. Locals sipped beverages on their porches sporting quizzical looks on their faces as our entourage passed. Our tragedy had finally become a comedy as we reloaded the canoes on the riverbank just down the street from the smoothie shop.

"I see the lake!" squealed the paddlers in the lead canoe as we finally paddled the last of the river. Our euphoria spurned on frenzied paddling the last two miles across the choppy bay. The magnificent orange sun setting in the west and the smell of the barbecue from the campground guided us to the shore.

It would be a great story to report that after a steaming pot of canned chicken and instant stuffing, along with a good night's sleep, we finished our journey frolicking along the coast of the Champlain Islands. Unfortunately this was not the case. To the delight of the skunks at the Cumberland Bay State Campground, a nasty stomach bug overtook several members of our group during the long night. Thankfully, our campground neighbors snug in their RV's were sheltered from the sights and sounds of our group purge. Several escape plans were hatched around the fire in the early morning hours as huge winds and waves blew in from the south prohibiting a lake crossing in a canoe.

Ultimately our adventure ended a few days and a few miles early as we walked on the ferry, canoes and all, haggard yet smiling, and only slightly less cocky as when we started the trip. With a torrent of strength, will, dogged determination, and humor, we had notched another 85 miles of the NFCT on our belt. The islands and rivers of Vermont would have to wait for another trip. As I huddled out of the wind next to the ferry's bulkhead I checked my cell phone messages.

"Maria, this is Jay, I hope you get this message in time because I heard about your trip and your river is basically un-navigable..."

I spent the next day on the couch.