Mountain Men

What a barren wasteland that is down there. But you know what, slogging through an arid ravine in 90 degrees is still an order of magnitude easier than a weekend at home with the kids. Bring on the wilderness boys!

Oh I see, when you said roughing it you actually meant a curated fire pit experience where the ice in the artisanal cocktails is roughly-hewn to accentuate the subtle notes of juniper pine in the micro-batch bourbon.

The hottest trend in hotels right now is, well, motels.  As in take a rundown Motel 6, slap some Brooklyn-white on it, put a giant You've Been Gentrified mural on the outside, polish up some exposed concrete - which conveniently there's a lot of in a Motel 6 - and presto, you've got a hashtag instead of a roach-infested truck stop. You've also got rooms that go for quadruple the price and are booked out a year in advance by by bearded folk with #williamsburgontheprairie on their phones and kayaks on their Subarus.

Digging a hole is going to be a rude shock after enjoying all that civilization can offer, namely some soothing jazz notes delivered courtesy of an actual vinyl record on an actual vintage turntable on an actual, uhm, dwarf.

Allbirds sandals? This is supposed to be a hike not a stroll to Smorgasburg.

The great thing about a wilderness is you can pitch your tents wherever you want. Hey that means we can give up at mile one and set up camp, right?

Snow and ice weren't in the Instagrams, what gives?

So we slogged eight miles up a mountain to discover the long-lost source of the world's mosquito population?

Gentlemen, break out the whiskey flasks. At least then the bloodsuckers will be over the limit if they breach our defenses and get to the bloodstream.

It may be mid-90s in Boise but up here in the Sawtooth Mountains winter never really lets go. Nor do those skeeters.

Hey, I don't recall having to light that fire pit back at the motel? It sort of just happened magically, like the way that cocktail appeared in my hand.

Got the Instagram, can we go home now?

Morning comes early when you're so focused on staying hydrated that... let's just say the tent flat zipper got a lot of use.

Up before the crack of dawn. Not up before the mozzies.

A single-origin pour-over at 8,000 feet? Are you sure the weaker gravitational field won't impact the tasting notes?

Day two requires traversing the high pass between Toxaway Lake and the Twin Lakes that lie on the other side of the glacial valley.

#nofilter. Literally. Just fill up your bottle and drink. Water doesn't come any better than this.

These trees live for thousands of years.  So this one almost survived to see the completion of this blog.

One of the twins...

...And one of the twin lakes.  Looks like the fatter one both times.

Please choose a different direction to mark your territory.

The day two campsite is a beaut, perched on a small peninsula that juts into the magnificent Alice Lake.

It's not shrinkage if there's no one around to see it.

Don't get complacent boys, these Millennial bears will do anything for a bag of organic quinoa.

The problem with a guy's hiking trip is there's nothing to talk about once the whiskey flask is empty. Which is an issue because sunset is still nine hours away.

Day three is hike-out day. It's all downhill and there's burgers and wifi waiting at the end.

Keep that spring in your step lads, just think of how many WhatsApps there are waiting for you at the end.

Out East, For Good

On stifling summer Fridays in Manhattan, when the air itself turns to treacle and oozes out of every subway grate, two magic words promise respite: Out East. Like the code words to an elusive speakeasy they carry the promise of a different world, a world where the sparkle of the pool is matched only by the gleam of champagne flutes; where the lawns are so smooth they look like putting greens, often because they are; where gripes about traffic refer to the helicopter congestion over the East River. Out East. Utter those two words on a cavernous Midtown trading floor, preferably delivered with a calculated nonchalance, and you know you've made it. And they do too.

And then there's Out Northeast. Doesn't quite have the same ring to it does it? The North Fork, or NoFo in these Instagram days, is the other fork, the non-Hamptons fork, the fork for those who took the wrong fork in life. You've heard of the silver spoon? Well this is the plastic takeaway fork.

Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing Big Bay North. Nestled intimately on the water (real estate speak for a tiny lot) this cozy (tiny inside too) cottage (yes, did we say tiny) is the new weekend retreat for Team J00ster.

What she lacks in stature she makes up for in views. With her own dock onto Haywater Creek the beach is only a two minute paddle away.

Closed the deal just in time for the Fourth of July. Raise the Stars and Stripes kid, we're watching the fireworks from dock tonight.

Great Peconic Bay separates the North and South Forks of Long Island. So it's kind of like the proverbial railway tracks, keeps the riffraff in their place.

Still, we've got a playground on the beach, good luck buying the land for that on the South Fork.

How to eat ice cream like a boss.

The pool is open! Or it was, until the chlorinator broke. A hundred and fifty bucks for a five minute fix, what do you think this is, the South Fork?

No glass by the pool please. Ok, in this case we'll make an exception.

No risk of not having room for your towel at the local beach.

Universal sign language for ice cream time.

If the Hamptons is the glamorous Meatpacking District transplanted 90 miles out east then NoFo is Williamsburg on the Bay. The vineyards that dot the North Fork aren't exactly know for their wine, but they make up for it with their food truck program. Burgers and vines anyone?

The NoFoDoCo is a hashtag disguised as a donut shop. North Fork Donut Company is trending, because who doesn't like artisanal salt and vinegar chip crumbs sprinkled on their donut?

Speaking of hashtags, if a leek could ever become an influencer it would be one of these guys.

Who actually goes to a vineyard for the wine these days anyway? It's all about getting the perfect Instagram.

On that note, where are my likes folks?

We may be a bit rustic out here on the North Fork, but Amazon Prime now delivers so we're moving up in the world. Now if we could just get some sewer pipes we'd be all set.

Sailing to Southampton? You may want to consider a bigger boat. Not because of the arduous journey, but so you don't get laughed off the dock.

The Big Pip doesn't know it yet, but they have a great summer Pony Camp five minutes down the road.

Summer in a Can. NoFo's answer to the Montauk Brewing Co.

Korean tacos? Forget Williamsburg, we're striving for Bushwick on the Bay.

See, what did I tell you?

Appropriately the crab cake landed on East Hampton and the nondescript white fish burger landed on NoFo.