Adirondack Hikes

Return to Regis

2010-12-16T22:47:00.001-05:00

The tower atop St. Regis

St. Regis Mountain (2865 ft)
Difficulty: Gradual, and fairly steep for the last mile
Date of Summit: 12/15/2010
Trailhead to Summit: 3.4 miles
Trip Time: 4.5 hrs
Ascent: 1266 ft
Temperature: between 5 and 10 degrees F

Last time Martin Heintzelman and I attempted a winter summit of St. Regis Mountain, we had to turn back due to the inability to find the trail and get beyond an area of blowdown. The experience was extremely discouraging, and caused us to keep our distance from that peak for quite some time. Well, on December 15th, 2010 (exactly three years after the first attempt - to the DAY), we decided it was time to give it another try.

The white stuff

The snow levels in the park had not been as typical as usual (not nearly as much accumulation), so we made the decision to skip the snowshoes, as there only appeared to be between 4-5" of powder on the ground at the trailhead. While I used Stabilicers attached to my boots, Martin went sans-spikes, but had the advantage of using the tread of his new L.L. Bean Cresta's for the very first time. Outfitted in full winter gear, we set out to reclaim our pride from our old foe, St. Regis Mountain.

Elevation Profile of St. Regis Hike

GPS track of St. Regis Hike

To get to the trailhead, one parks in a small lot about 2.5 miles down Keese's Mill Rd (which starts near Paul Smith's College). The trail begins about a tenth of a mile down a private gravel road that crosses a stream. As with many of our outings, we had already made a mistake. After walking for about a quarter of a mile, we realized that we had missed the trail and found ourselves at the gates of Camp Topridge. After a bit of backtracking, we found the trail register and sign hidden behind a felled tree that was covered in snow. In addition to that small set-back, we found ourselves struggling to find blazes at certain points on the trail (especially in the first mile). The snow's drifting and falling had covered all evidence of human impact from the last time a hiker had been on the trail, four days before. To make it even more confusing, many of the blazes were older, and were WHITE. White blazes might be a good idea in the summertime, but that white blaze is nearly impossible to spot when 97% of your surroundings are covered in fresh, white snow. Luckily, just as our patience was beginning to grow thin, we came across evidence that others had done construction on the trail and added new red blazes as part of the renovations.

The hike was beautiful. Snow rested on every branch, rock, and needle throughout our trip, dampening the sound all around us to create an experience that felt as if the entire world had been put on "pause" while we hiked up this trail. We passed massive boulders, walked through impressive stands of hemlocks, admired assorted icicle clumps, and relished in the fact that we were the only ones on the trail that day. At about 2.5 miles into the hike, things began to get quite a bit steeper. For nearly the last mile, we steadily climbed up the east face of St. Regis Mountain. With the snow acting as a blanket of padding, it did not feel like the typical, joint-aching "adirondack rock staircase", which caused the ascent to go by much quicker (and less painful). Before we knew it, we were at the top of St. Regis Mountain. Although we didn't have a great view, it felt better to be atop that peak than many of our past victories.

The frostbitten fire tower of St. Regis Mountain

I'm looking forward to returning to this peak again in warmer weather, as an almost completely bare summit is rare to find on a 2800 ft peak. It also has one of the last fire towers in the Adirondacks, and I'm not sure how much longer it will actually even be there. The views from this peak are also supposed to be phenomenal, but the cloud cover severely limited our viewing distance. I was also hoping to use a nifty new booklet that I received as a recent present - Thatcher's Adirondack Peak Finder - which allows one to easily identify what they see from atop a handful of popular peaks in the park. We decided not to eat our lunch on the summit - although a tradition of many a hiker, the windchill was just too much. We trekked back down the trail until we found a sizable boulder that would shelter us from the wind, and enjoyed a lunch of meat and cheese sandwiches, hot tea, and gatorade slushies (again, thanks to the chilly temps!).

Looking down on the frozen St. Regis Pond from the summit

The trip back to the car was uneventful and relatively easy. Almost 4.5 hrs later, we once again stepped onto the snowplowed road and headed for the car. It was a wonderful return to such a great backcountry experience, and actually making it to the top made it all the more sweet. We celebrated our victory at the Riverside Bar in St. Regis Falls, a favorite place of mine to enjoy a can of beer (yep, I said can, so be sure to bring your own koozie) after hiking in the area. With St. Regis Mountain finally checked off the list, there's now only one peak that Martin and I have to return to and settle the score with, as a result of the trail conditions being too icy on our last attempt. Debar Mountain, you're next...

Martin and the great, white, void

Owen & Copperas Ponds - A Winter Wonderland

2010-12-11T21:31:00.001-05:00

Looking across Copperas Pond

Owen & Copperas Ponds
Difficulty: Easygoing
Date of Summit: 12/11/2010
Distance: 3.4 miles (round-trip)
Trip Time: 2 hrs
Ascent: a whopping 174 ft
Temperature: 34 degrees fahrenheit

It felt SO GOOD to be back down in the park. After almost 7 months of no hikes in the Adirondacks, I was beginning to feel ashamed to even still have this blog. This all changed today, thanks to a visit from my in-laws. While the ladies took in all that Lake Placid had to offer (ie: shopped), Byron and I explored a little gem of a trail just a few miles northeast of Lake Placid. I discovered this short hike via Day Hikes for All Seasons by Bruce Wadsworth, my go-to book for whenever guests come to visit the north country and are looking for a relaxing jaunt in the park to fill an afternoon.

Map from "Day Hikes for All Seasons" by Bruce Wadsworth

We chose the Owens & Copperas Ponds hike for a number of reasons. We wanted to relax. We wanted to take some nice photos of winter. We didn't want to get in over our heads (like so many times before). Perhaps most importantly, we wanted to finish in time to enjoy a beer in Lake Placid after the hike. All perfect goals, and all were attainable with this hike. A short 1.75 mile hike in, and the same back, totally about 3.5 miles of hiking. There was barely any climb in altitude, and no tough scrambling.

Snow Collected Around Buds

Such Soft Snow

We were a bit concerned - as we drove down to the park from Potsdam - that we might have made a mistake in not renting snowshoes. The snowcover on the side of the road looked to be 12+ inches. Luckily, our decision was a good one, as the trail contained hardly more than 4-6 inches of the powdery stuff. It was also a beautiful rendition of snowfall in the park, looking more like someone had decided to hose down the forest with shaving cream, instead of snowflakes.

What a beautiful hike this was! The trail was gradual and easy-going and there was hardly a need for more than hiking boots (in fact, snowshoes would have made it harder to hike, but Byron used his new Kahtoola MICROspikes, which definitely helped). Every half-mile, a pond would greet you, sitting at the base of a small peak and crying to have its picture taken. We did just this for the first pond we came across - Owen Pond - which is accompanied by one of the Sentinel Mountains as its backdrop. I thought I'd test the strength of the ice on the pond, only to instantly find my right leg about knee-deep in icy water (thankfully, my gaiters and waterproof boots stopped most of the water from ruining my day).

Panoramic of Owen Pond

We continued on to the next destination - Copperas Pond - where we planned to take a break at the lean-to overlooking the water. On our way, we ran into a hunter and his dog, who had been on the search for snowshoe hare that morning. It felt a bit strange to run into a hunter during the hike, seeing him stand on the trail with his gun, but I quickly realized that he was out there for many of the same reasons we were - to enjoy the wilderness on a beautiful day. After saying goodbye, we continued on to Copperas Pond. It was an equally majestic sight, with a small lean-to tucked into the hillside, across the pond.

Not a bad lean-to site on Copperas Pond...

At this point - 1.3 miles into the hike - we decided to push forward around the perimeter of the pond, to make the lean-to our midway point for the day. It was a short hike of about .4 additional miles, that included traversing a few rocks and boardwalks, to the lean-to. We enjoyed a quick break of trail mix and hot tea in the lean-to, and turned around to backtrack our path to the car. As we neared the end of our journey, we continued to find excuses to stop and snap another picture, as we were both taken aback by the way the snow had decided to collect on the flora of the park. I'm definitely returning to this peaceful part of the park in the summertime, as I'm fairly certain that it will be just as beautiful and relaxing in the warmer months as well.

Walking back to the car, from Copperas Pond

Higley Flow: A Hike for All Ages

2010-09-19T19:53:00.016-04:00

Beaver Pond

Higley Flow State Park (Beaver Pond Trail)

Difficulty: Extremely Easy

Date of Hike: 9/19/10

Length of Hike: .9 miles

Trip Time: 1 hr

Temperature: Mid-60's

One of the informational placards found on the trail

It doesn't get easier than Higley. Set in the village of South Colton, just off Rte 56 (between Potsdam and Cranberry Lake), Higley Flow State Park (Park Website Here) is a place that has everything a family needs: a wonderful beach on the Racquette flow, hundreds of campsites, and a handful of walking (and mountain biking or skiing) trails to choose from.

The Littlest Hiker

GPS plot of our hike, done w/ my phone

Since I'm sure we'll make it back to Higley many times, I'll keep this brief, sticking to just the short jaunt that my wife, daughter, and I took today. We hiked the Beaver Pond Interpretive Trail. It was a rolling trail that took the hiker through a variety of different habitats, including marshlands, ponds, and different forest settings. It was great for kids, as the variety keeps them interested, and the informational placards (w/ illustrations) helps for everyone to learn something new about where they are.

Forest planted by CCC

Looking out over the wetlands

This trail was so well-blazed and easy that my 18-month old daughter hiked about half of it herself. I would say that if you live within a 20-minute drive of this trail, it's worth a visit. With other trails in the area - like the Stone Valley Trail and the Red Sandstone Trail just up the road, Rte. 56 is a wonderful starting point for a great hike in the north country.

Hiking up the hill

Snack break

The Good, The Bad, and The Stupid (not necessarily in that order)

2010-05-19T22:01:00.163-04:00

A view of the MacIntyre Range from atop Street

Nye Mountain (3895 ft) (50th Highest Peak in the ADKs, but one of the "46")

Street Mountain (4166 ft) (31st Highest Peak in the ADKs)
Tabletop Mountain (4427 ft) (19th Highest Peak in the 'ADKs)
Phelps Mountain (4161 ft) (32nd Highest Peak in ADKs)

Total Length of Hike/Trip: 22.5 Miles (see charts & maps below)

Dates of Trip: 5/18 - 5/19, 2010

Trailhead: Heart Lake

"Campsite" Location: Adirondack Loj

Temperature: Day 1: Slightly overcast (60's), Day 2: Overcast, wet, and rainy (high 50's)

Every summer, my good friend Martin Heintzelman and I try to squeeze in at least one overnight trip down to the Adirondacks. These trips are beginning to slowly make a dent into our "46 High Peaks" lifetime goal. This trip in mid-May was no exception - we had our sights set on four different peaks that are part of this collection. Often times, when one thinks of standing atop one of the highest peaks in the State of New York, visions of sublime landscapes and romantic vistas come to mind. Unfortunately, not all of the 46 high peaks possess that "natural charm" like Marcy, Algonquin, or Haystack are famous for having. Martin and I are realists - we know that eventually, we'll have to climb all 46 high peaks, so perhaps it would be a good idea to "spread out the beauty" and not leave the most unpopular peaks until the very end. With this in mind, we chose two pairs of those type of peaks that were relatively equidistant from a potential basecamp, thus - if all went well - we would be adding four new high peaks to our respective lists. This was our plan of attack, and I hope that - over the course of this post - you'll discover why our decision was equally good, bad, and very, very stupid.

The map of our two-day plan to hike Street, Nye, Phelps, & Tabletop

The two pairs of peaks - Street & Nye and Phelps & Tabletop, both shared the same origination point - the Adirondack Loj and Heart Lake Campground area. In looking at the calendar, we realized that our trip would happen to fall smack-dab in the middle of "black fly season", which can have the potential to make a trip extremely miserable. This factor, coupled with both of us just finishing the semester at Clarkson University (where we both teach), led us to the conclusion that it might be a good idea to pamper ourselves - just this once - and stay at the Adirondack Loj. The Loj is a "rustic B&B" set back in the high peaks region of the Adirondacks. It offers clean cots, hot showers, and homemade meals. This "high peaks hotel" would not only remove black flies from being our nighttime guests in a lean-to or tent, but also allow us to devote two full days to strenuous day hikes (we would not need to bring tents, sleeping bags, bear canisters, stoves, or other necessary "backcountry camping" gear). After doing a bit of research on pricing and amenities, we were booked for a night's stay in the Adirondack Loj (more on that later).
The view from Adirondack Loj on Heart Lake (w/ Street looming in the background)

Day One

Attempting to Summit Nye & Street

The first day of our two-day journey found us beginning at a familiar spot. The Heart Lake area of the Adirondacks is one of three well-known starting points for conquering a majority of the high peaks (The Garden in Keene Valley and Upper Works in Tahawus being the other two locations). By 9:00 am, the both of us were on the trail towards Street and Nye, confident that we'd be back to the Loj by 4:30, soaking our feet in Heart Lake's crystal clear water and looking forward to a hearty dinner at 6:15.

The map of our route to Nye and Street
But if you've read any of my posts before, I'm sure you know that nothing seems to go as planned when you're in the Adirondacks. It seemed simple enough - hike roughly 3.2 miles to a col (a saddle point for crossing between two summits), at which we turn right and hike .4 miles to the summit of Nye, then return to the col and go right on another trail for .6 miles to summit Street. All-in-all, we were looking at roughly 8.4 miles of hiking (most of it on "herdpaths" that are not as well maintained or blazed as the main trails) and 2400 feet of climbing between the two peaks. An intense day for sure, but nothing we couldn't handle. The first .5 miles of the hike was a peaceful jaunt around Heart Lake, following the very same path many would take to Mt. Jo or on to Indian Pass. Shortly after the trail registration box, we turned on to the "Old Nye Ski Trail" and began to wander through the foothills of what would eventually turn into Street and Nye. We followed a lively brook for roughly the first third of the journey, which proved both peaceful and slightly annoying, as the population density of various flying critters definitely spiked whenever we found ourselves within proximity to this water source.

An interesting lowlands area
on the Old Nye Ski Trail

At about 1.7 miles into the hike, we happened upon an abandoned lumber camp, of which rusting objects of survival and production littered the landscape. I actually enjoy happening upon artifacts of past human inhabitance whenever I hike, as it reminds me of how ephemeral human occupation can be when up against something as timeless and powerful as nature.

The abandoned lumber camp

After leaving the lumber camp behind us, we continued on a slow but steady climb to the base of the two peaks. At roughly 2.7 miles from the Loj, we came across a large cairn (pile of rocks used to signify a change in direction of a trail). Having read the guidebook and remembering that it described the junction between Street and Nye as being "marked by a cairn" (pg. 138), we knew this point to be the intersection of Nye and Street. We rejoiced at making it this far on the trip and quickly turned west (right, in this case) and began an extremely steep climb up to our first peak - Nye. The next .5 miles was the steepest and most difficult section of the day so far, proving that this was indeed a true Adirondack herdpath. After ducking under and climbing over countless felled trees from recent blowdowns, we finally found ourselves on top of Nye. Although we could not find a sign proclaiming it as the summit, we took the two giant cairns as a positive sign that we indeed had summited the mountain. We took pictures of each other by the cairns, and Martin began to take out his lunch for a feast atop the 50th highest peak in the park.

Could it be? The two-cairned summit of Nye?

Then I noticed that there were two other trails diverging in different directions, in addition to the trail we had just come from. We realized that we had made a stupid mistake. We quickly checked the guidebook to see what they had to say about this odd intersection. It turns out that there is some sort of "beautiful, but longer approach" that existed as well (pg. 138), so it was safe to assume that one of the two mystery trails was most likely a different approach and would not lead us to a summit. We started down the trail that would most likely lead to Nye (the trail that headed north, in the direction of Nye) only to find it dipping down into a valley, leading us to believe that it could only be the "longer approach" described in the book. We backtracked and took the other trail leading to the south instead. After walking for a bit under a quarter of a mile, we checked our bearings. To our surprise, this trail was leading AWAY from Nye, and we now deduced that this trail must be the ACTUAL "longer approach", and the previous trail in which we found ourselves descending into the valley must have been the ACTUAL herdpath to Nye! (If you're still following after all of that, congratulations). This now made it official - we made not only a stupid decision, but the series of decisions had now grown to be very stupid. Humbled by our obvious mistake, we backtracked yet again to the junction with two cairns and yet again climbed the northern-leading trail to what we hoped would be Nye.

Martin, sitting under the high-placed summit marker

Finally, after almost half a mile of hiking and climbing, we found ourselves on a peak that had only a small yellow blaze signifying the Nye summit, and hardly a view whatsoever from any direction you looked. With our spirits slightly bruised and definitely humbled, we ate our lunches quickly, as we realized we still had the mighty Street to conquer, which meant descending that perilous half-mile of blowdown, rocks, and mud that we had previously ascended.

I can't describe how satisfying it felt to reach that single cairn at the bottom of the mountain again. It's always an amazing experience to not only climb and descend a stretch of trail that tested your strength and will, but also to know that you will gladly never have to set foot on that perilous trail again. Since we knew that the book stated that the two trails branched off at the single cairn, we began to immediately search for the second trail that would lead us to the summit of Nye. Martin set off in one direction, and I in the other, keeping an eye out for fresh bootprints or broken tree branches. After a few minutes of looking, we were perplexed. Neither of us could find a single signifier of a trail to Street being present. We both began to digest this idea in our minds. Suddenly, Martin exclaimed "What if..." and before he could even finish the sentence, I said "...don't even think about saying what I think you're going to say". We both had realized it at the same time. There was no "longer approach". That trail we had assumed to be the "longer approach" was actually the trail to Street. When the guidebook was last updated (2004), there must have only been one cairn at the top of what we just descended from, and since then someone had the bright idea of building a second cairn next to it (obviously to signify the two separate trails coming together, but inadvertently confusing others who might be following the books directions a bit too closely).

Yes there was still snow. Yes it was late May.

What this meant was that - exhausted and feeling very, very stupid - we had to make a decision. Do we call it quits and return to the luxury of the Adirondack Loj, where hot showers, a dip in the lake, and relaxation by the fireplace await us (only to return another day to conquer Street with fresh legs), or do we man-up and climb all the way back up a stretch of trail that nearly beat everything out of us the first time we went up and back down? I did my usual "trail drama" of hemming and hawing about whether this will take everything out of me tomorrow, how my neck hurt from sleeping on it wrong, and how I was probably too fat and out of shape to make it back down. While this was going on, Martin (thankfully) made the decision for us - we've made it this far, so we're going back up, gosh-darnit. Since it would have probably taken me another 15-20 minutes of resting to make my decision to go back up instead of return to the Loj, I'm glad Martin was there to motivate us immediately. With that, we began again up that treacherous stretch of trail.

Elevation plot of our Street & Nye hike
(w/ area of complete stupidity in red)

While this was only half a mile on the map, this represented roughly 625 feet of vertical climbing (if we had not made this major mistake, the area in red on the plot above would not exist). Anytime one has to climb at a rate of 1,000 vertical feet per mile, it is considered to be some of the steepest grade one would ever find on a trail. We were climbing - for the second time - at a rate of 1,250 vertical feet per mile. By the time we got to the top and saw the two cairns standing there and laughing at us (now for the fifth time), we had lost all pride in any orienteering skills that we ever imagined we had possessed in the first place. How could we be so stupid? Perhaps we were too involved in the conversation we were having to realize how big a mistake we were making. Perhaps we trusted the book too much and should have looked at the map or GPS more carefully. Whatever the reason might be, we were paying for it now. Our joints and muscles ached and we were starting to run out of water, and we hadn't even made it up to Street yet.

Martin, atop Street
(w/ MacIntyre Range in background)

After .6 miles of walking on the trail to Street (which we originally thought was the "longer trail"), we found ourselves on the summit. Just slightly less depressing than Nye, Street had a small view of the MacIntyre Range, which I've hiked on two separate occasions (Wright, Algonquin, Iroquois, and Marshall). We quickly snapped pictures of our accomplishment, drank the last sips of water we had, and descended back to the famous "two-cairns intersection" for a sixth and final time.

Atop Street, angry and tired...

One can only imagine what the second time down that dreadful stretch did to the entire human body. Rather than going into detail about specific joints, tendons, or other parts of the body that were stretched, smashed, or jelly-fied, I'll just say that by the time we saw the Adirondack Loj in the distance, we had hiked an extra 1.5 miles, climbed and extra 700 vertical feet, and descended that same extra 700 vertical feet. Barely walking - more like limping - into the Loj lobby and smelling the Chicken Parmesan coming out of the oven felt like some sort of dream or sudden glimpse of the heavenly afterlife. We barely made it back in time for dinner, as we had been hiking for nearly nine hours straight. My mouth was dry, I smelled like death itself, and my entire body was screaming in pain. It was then I realized that we had to hike eleven miles the next day.

P.S. I noticed the above sign carved into a tree
at the "two-cairn intersection" on our way down
from Street, after our series of stupid mistakes.
All we would have had to do was look around...

Overnight in The Adirondack Loj

Don't get me wrong - I love to "rough it" in the woods. Sleeping under the stars, a tent, or a lean-to is my idea of heaven. But I'm also someone who enjoys being pampered every so often. At first, I was skeptical - pay money to sleep in a cot, while I could sleep for free in a lean-to? But after hiking for over nine miles and making as many stupid mistakes as we made, that idea of "three-hots and a cot" all of the sudden seemed brilliant. The Loj, built by Henry Van Hoevenburg in 1890, was quickly (unfortunately) burned down in 1903. The current structure was rebuilt in 1927 by the Lake Placid Club. It's now owned and operated by the Adirondack Mountain Club, and has been welcoming hikers and backpackers through it's doors for decades since. With a moose head, maps, and old trail signs adorning its walls, the Loj is truly a haven for Adirondack Enthusiasts.

The Adirondack Loj at Heart Lake
(Photo Courtesy Wikipedia)

Since we arrived within minutes of dinner starting, we only had time to check-in, drop our gear at our cots, and head down to dinner. Martin and I were staying in the 12-person loft, located in the attic of the Loj, offering the most affordable rate in the building (there are also 4 and 6-person rooms, as well as private rooms w/ single, queen, and king beds).

The 12-person loft at the Loj

When the dinner bell rang at 6:15, Martin and I were more than ready to eat. We hobbled downstairs from the loft and into the dining room. The Loj's dining room is just as one would imagine it - long dinner tables that encourage conversation and storytelling about the day's hikes and future plans for the 'morrow. Because of the set-up, the extremely hospitable kitchen staff bring out plate after plate of all-you-can-eat family style dining. Since May is still considered the "off-season", we had the pleasure of barely filling one table. It was the two of us, another two men from Virginia, and a family of three from Pennsylvania. We enjoyed hearing about their adventures over the past few days, and we shared ours (embarrassing as it was) as well. The menu consisted of homemade black-bean soup, homemade bread, salad, garlic bread, fettucini with homemade pasta sauce, steamed vegetables, and an entree of chicken parmesan. If that wasn't enough, they then brought out peaches 'n' cream pie for dessert. During the course of that dinner, I went from feeling famished and weak to feeling overstuffed and nearly sick to my stomach on nourishment overload. But I'd do it again in a heartbeat (and did, for breakfast).

The Dining Room at the Loj

After the tables were cleared from dinner, everyone seemed to go their separate ways for a bit. Some went to relax with a cup of coffee or tea in the great room, while others (ie: Martin and I) headed straight for the showers. Because the Loj can hold up to 40 people, they have fairly large bathroom facilities. I must have spent 20 minutes under the shower head, letting the hot water do it's best at loosening up my sore muscles. After the shower, I headed down to the great room, which truly defines the essence of the Loj's facilities. Sitting by the fireplace, Martin and I discussed the next day's schedule and plans, while also getting the chance to meet a late-comer from Delaware who was passing through. Sitting in the rustic furniture and paging through old issues of Adirondac Magazine made me once again realize why I loved this park so much - it wasn't just about "hiking a high peak" or "getting away from it all" - it was a wilderness area that is rich with human and natural history. I can only imagine that many other hikers who have had the pleasure of staying at the Loj have felt at home, just like I did. Earlier than usual, I retired to the loft and fell asleep to a phantom feeling of my legs climbing some infinitely high mountain.

The Loj's Great Room

Day Two
Attempting to Summit Tabletop & Phelps

There is definitely a downside to sleeping in a place like the Loj. After a long day of hiking and a long night of sleep, it's harder than one could ever imagine to get out of bed in the morning. The aches and pains that I thought I had the night before were nothing compared to what I experienced when my feet first hit the floor at 6:15 on Wednesday morning. After some stretching and a cup of coffee, I was feeling a bit better and began to pack for both our checkout and our 11-miler to Tabletop and Phelps. Just as the previous night's meal-bell, I was through those doors before it even stopped clanging. I sat down to a somewhat familiar party of guests and began to chow down on fresh fruit, bacon, and pancakes. After chasing our meals with some OJ and more coffee, we were ready to go and out the door. Believe it or not, but we were more motivated than ever to prove that we could still conquer what we set out to do - climb four high peaks in two days.

Map of our route to Phelps & Tabletop

While the hike to these two peaks was definitely longer (the book said 11 miles, while the final GPS readout actually said 12.6...?), we had the benefit of taking one of the most popular - and "un-adirondack" - trails into near the base of these two peaks. The Van Hoevenburg Trail is extremely well manicured and traveled, due both to the popularity of it serving as an easy route for all types of hikers to Marcy Dam and also it being one of the most direct trails to the summit of Mt. Marcy. Because of this, the first 2.3 miles of the hike are extremely easy. We flew through this section in 45 minutes and arrived at Marcy Dam, ready to push on to the herdpath trailhead of Tabletop. We wanted to climb Tabletop first due to it being further away, as we knew that if we climbed Phelps first (which was closer to the Loj), we would be more likely to "call it a day" by the time we got back down and not give Tabletop a chance. In our minds, there was absolutely nothing that would keep us from summiting both of the peaks that day - we were determined to accomplish what we set out do do. Then it began to rain...

Elevation Plot of Phelps & Tabletop

Rain is never a good thing in the Adirondacks. Obviously, nobody who is hiking in the outdoors ever wants it to rain, but when you're walking on nothing but bare rock and mud puddles, you REALLY don't want it to rain. Despite the precipitation, we continued to move forward towards Tabletop. After only 4.4 miles of hiking from the Loj, we were standing at the beginning of the herdpath up to Tabletop. Stepping off the main trail and onto this less-maintained trail was quite obvious, as the grade became steeper and the rocks and trees closed in on us as we began the .7 mile ascent to the top of the peak. We were once again climbing over 1000 vertical feet per mile, and my legs and lungs began to remember what that felt like from the day before.

Martin, atop the Table

After roughly half a mile of hiking up this path, we reached some sort of summit. No longer were we climbing on all fours, but walking on an almost flat terrain in an interesting high-altitude forest. This makes complete sense, as this fulfills the mountain's namesake of "Tabletop". Finally, after hearing Martin call out "Summit!", we were on the top of our third high peak in two days. Unfortunately, as we were climbing the peak, the rain had picked up and brought bunches of clouds with it. Despite what looked to be a sparse and poor view to begin with through all of the trees, the clouds completely cloaked any potential views of the surrounding peaks. With the fear that the weather might turn for even worse (and knowing that we had to get down this peak and up and down another one, all of which contained various sizes and shapes of already slippery rocks in the trail), we headed back down the peak.

On the Phelps Brook bridge, at our lunch spot

After a somewhat leisurely, but well-deserved break for lunch at Phelps brook, we filtered some more water and made our way to the base of the final peak on our two-day list. While Tabletop was technically taller (by about 266 feet), the ascent to Phelps was both longer and steeper. It was much like the previous day's half-mile ascent that we did twice - we were climbing roughly 1,250 vertical feet per mile - only this time we were actually doing this for an entire mile. This, coupled with the fact that it was raining, began to pull on my morale as well as my energy. In a pathetic attempt to keep the wetness at bay, I threw on my poncho, only to find that it probably did more damage than good, by snagging on branches and getting stuck under my boots when climbing the near cliff-like trail. As always, Martin was in better shape than I was and led the way up the peak to once again call back to me the encouraging words of "Summit!" near the top. Eventually, we both found ourselves atop Phelps, with an extremely bad view. Once again, the clouds kept us from enjoying even a glimpse of any nearby peaks. It was especially anti-climactic because it was apparent that someone had unfortunately stolen the summit sign as a souvenir, forcing us to pose for pictures alone, wet, and cold on the bare rock that was shrouded by fog. Despite all of this, we were also thrilled - Martin and I had just added four more peaks to our running totals. Martin now had 9 peaks, while I had jumped to 14!

??!!!??!

The clouds atop Phelps, swallowing everything

The descent was expectedly painful, yet refreshing, as we realized that the next 4.4 miles was nothing but downhill the entire way back to the car. Our conversation shifted from high peaks to hamburgers, as we began to plan our next conquest: what restaurant we should visit to celebrate our four peaks in two days victory.
All in all, this was just as wonderful as the other overnight trips I've experienced in the Adirondacks. Even though we made some very stupid mistakes on the first day and endured both bad views and weather on the second; the Adirondack Loj was a good experience that I would gladly pay for again. Because of these things, I'll always remember this trip as The Good, The Bad, and The Stupid!

Phelps Brook

Hurricane Mountain: Back in the Swing of Things

2010-05-06T21:54:00.030-04:00

The fire tower of Hurricane, peeking over the summit

Hurricane Mountain (3694 ft)

Difficulty: Moderately Steep

Date of Summit: 5/5/2010

Trailhead to Summit: 2.6 miles

Trip Time: 4 hrs (which included a 30-minute break at top)

Ascent: 2000 ft

Average Walking Speed: 2.1 mph

Temperature: Mid-60's

It had been way too long since I was able to get down to the park and take in the view. It is amazing what an extra-snowy winter and 14-month old daughter will do to your availability and motivation for getting down to the Adirondacks for a hike. Luckily, the stars finally aligned for me to once again visit one of my favorite places on earth.

We had the pleasure of hosting my wife's sister, Molly, and her partner, Paul, for the past week. Molly and Paul live in London, England, so this visit was an extra special one, as it was not only their first experience of the North Country, but also their first official Poutine experience (but I digress...). I like to think that Paul and I agreed to endure a week's worth of shopping, baby oogling, and "sister talk" because we knew that one entire day would be set aside for just "us guys" to take a manly walk in the park.

GPS Track of the hike up to Hurricane

Since this was Paul's first official "American Hike", I knew that it had to count. I spent some time researching hikes and asking questions of the helpful members on hikeadks.com and was beginning to realize that - although the recent days had said otherwise - there was a good chance we'd find some stubborn patches of snow and ice still atop the peaks. After much deliberation, I decided to choose Hurricane Mountain as Paul's first peak, as it appeared to not only be a challenging peak, but also a rewarding one - as far as the view is concerned.

Since there had been roughly 13 inches of snow fall in the park only a week before our planned hike (on April 28th), I knew that we had to be prepared. After packing the necessary materials and borrowing an extra pair of gaiters from my friend Josh, I was still short one pair of Stabilicers for Paul, in case we ran into icy conditions in the upper portions of the trail. Per the usual procedure, the men dropped the ladies in downtown Lake Placid for a day of shopping and socializing. This proved to be doubly convenient, as I was able to duck into the EMS Store and purchase their last pair of Kahtoola Microspikes for insurance against any potential ice.

Elevation Profile of ascent and descent of Hurricane Mountain

By the time we got to the Route 9N trailhead outside of Keene (hit the jump for a Google street-view) at around 11:30am, the air was feeling cool (mid-60's) and bunches of unthreatening clouds filled the sky. Knowing that we had a hefty 2,000 ft. to climb in just 2.6 miles, we set out on the trail with our spirits high. Our spirits were quickly humbled by the immediate vertical climb that welcomed us, in which we climbed roughly 450 vertical feet in just under a quarter of a mile.

Hiking through the pines

After this initial altitude jump and a quick stop for water, we enjoyed a brief respite from the vertical climb, by way of a relatively easy stroll through flatlands that were filled with a large pond (caused by beaver dams). Coming across a "mountaintop pond/lake" is always a wonderful surprise, as it combines two of my favorites types of natural views into one convenient package!

Catwalk across a pond created by beaver dams

This oasis was unfortunately the last time I smiled (and maybe breathed properly) until reaching the top, as it was ALL UPHILL FROM THERE. My hamstrings, thighs, knees, and lungs were once again reminded of why Adirondack hikes are some of the most challenging in the world. This trail went straight up the mountain, utilizing various old riverbeds and other rocky-havens for the main trail (in looking at the elevation profile of our hike, it seems that we climbed over 1,000 vertical feet in just under one mile). While my body was screaming "NO!", what I saw on the trail was causing my mind to scream "YES!". There was not a single flake of snow or shard of ice to find anywhere. In fact, the trail - for the most part - was relatively dry. On top of that, I never once had to bring out my bug spray, as I had not seen a single black fly or mosquito. All of this was very peculiar, as this time of year was both Black Fly Season AND Mud Season in the Adirondacks. Those factors, coupled with the previous week's 13 inches of snow, demonstrated to me that, just as I had thought and hoped, all the stars were aligned for this trip.

The abandoned fire tower (notice the steps removed) overlooking

Lake Champlain and Vermont's Green Mountains

Finally, after roughly two-hours from leaving our car by the highway, we set foot on the bald, rocky peak. Having climbed a fair share of peaks in the park by now, I can happily report that Hurricane is one of the best views I've experienced in the park, and DEFINITELY the best view from a peak that is not included in the 46 highest (Hurricane is #72). The 360-degree view (click on panorama below) includes both the high peaks and Vermont (Lake Champlain and the Green Mountains). This, coupled with the abandoned and rusting firetower, make this a day-hike not to be missed. Paul and I enjoyed a lunch of beef jerky and sandwiches from the Big M atop Hurricane, and had it's vast summit all to ourselves that afternoon.

Panorama from atop Hurricane's Summit

Paul, atop Hurricane

Our trip down, although it actually seemed slower-going than the way up (doesn't it always feel like that for some reason?), went a bit faster than we had expected. So, four hours later, with our bones and muscles sore, we drove victoriously back to Lake Placid to meet the ladies for an after-hike-drink at Great Adirondack Steak & Seafood Company (they brew some of the best beer in the North Country). So, while I set out to give Paul a "truly American outdoor experience", I discovered a great peak nestled in the northeastern corner of the park that I would definitely return to again. Maybe next time I'll get a chance to actually use those microspikes ;)

Enjoying a cold one after the hike

View from on top: the slides of Colden in the background

Three Guys, Three Nights, and Three High Peaks

2009-07-13T11:03:00.060-04:00

Atop Mt. Marcy

(L to R: Martin Heintzelman, Dave Beck, Joe Koval)

Cliff Mountain (3960 ft) (46th Highest Peak in the ADKs)

Mt. Marcy (5344 ft) (#1 Highest Peak in the ADKs & NY!)

Mt. Skylight (4924 ft) (4th Highest Peak in the 'ADKs)

Total Length of Hike/Trip: 26.6 Miles (see charts & maps below)

Dates of Trip: 7/8 - 7/11, 2009

Trailhead: Upper Works Parking Lot (near Newcomb, NY)
Campsite Location all three nights: Lake Colden (McMartin Lean-to)
Temperature: Day 1: Rainy & Wet (60's), Day 2: Overcast (high 60's), Day 3: Sunny (70's), Day 4: Overcast (high 60's). Down to around 45-55 at night.

Two years ago my wife and I moved to Potsdam, NY from Madison, WI. Although I was excited about my new job at Clarkson University and getting the opportunity to be new citizens in a North Country village, I was perhaps most excited about Potsdam's proximity to the great Adirondack Park. Now that I have returned from a momentous three-night, four-day experience in the park, I am happy to report that my love of "America's First Wilderness" is stronger than ever before. The overnight backpacking trip, accompanied by Martin Heintzelman and his friend, Joe Koval, was a fitting celebration of my two years in the North Country.

Elevation Diagram of Hike over the course of four days

The goals of the trip were loftier than most of the park's mountains. We had plans to summit five separate peaks, all ranked within the hallowed "46 Highest Peaks" (there are 46 peaks above 4,000 ft. in the park). We had planned it perfectly: Day One: Hike 5.7 miles to a lean-to and set-up "base camp", Day Two: spend entire day hiking two high peaks (Cliff & Redfield), Day Three: spend entire day hiking three more high peaks (Marcy, Skylight, & Gray), Day Four: hike back out to our cars (via the same trail we came in on). But, as Martin said about halfway through our trip, "Sometimes, one's eyes can be bigger than one's leg muscles." Toss in a massive amount of mud, a delayed plane flight from Atlanta, and a lack of detail in our book's trail descriptions, and you're all of the sudden looking at a trip that is a bit different than what was expected.

Day One:

Hiking in from Upper Works Parking Lot

Boarded-up house in Upper Works

Up to this point, I have always entered the park from either the Heart Lake parking area (near Lake Placid) or the Garden (near Keene Valley). Since Martin's friend, Joe, was flying into Rochester airport and we had no interest hiking through Avalanche Pass with our 40 lb packs again, we decided to give Upper Works (near Newcomb, NY) a try. Having read The Adirondacks: A History of America's First Wilderness, by Paul Schneider, I knew that Upper Works was more than just a parking lot - it was the name of a mining town from a bygone era. I had heard that some of the buildings where the miners and their families lived were still standing, so I was eager to discover this possible ghost town before starting on my journey.

Collapsed house in the abandoned

mining town of Upper Works

In Upper Works, circa 1845, nearly 400 people lived and worked in a village centered completely around mining iron. According to Schneider, there was "a large boardinghouse and sixteen other dwellings, a school, a store, a carpenter shop, a blacksmith shop." To my surprise, I discovered a small collection of dilapidated dwellings in the former village of Upper Works. Built along the river, these (what looked to be) tenant buildings sported the traditional cedar-sided shingles and river stone fireplaces that one would find in the area.

Remains of McIntyre Furnace,

near Upper Works

Just down the road a few miles, I found the old McIntyre Furnace, a 50-foot tall chimney, built from massive granite stones ripped out of the sides of the surrounding mountains. Although it was only used for roughly three years in the mid-1800's, its impressive size translates the power it emitted over 150 years ago. The furnace, used to melt and cast the iron-ore into usable material, was powered by immense bellows, which were in turn powered by equally massive waterwheels made of wood, which were powered by the water from the river, which was dammed and directed uphill to this behemoth. I really believe that things such as the old Upper Works village and the McIntyre Furnace are why I'm so passionate about this park - it isn't just a large swatch of "nature" - it's a massive history lesson about our nation's social and economic history, set in one of the most beautiful areas of our country. Now, getting back to the hike...

Map of Day 1 (and Day 4) Hike (in yellow)

between Upper Works parking lot and McMartin Lean-to

(5.6 miles each way)

The three of us concluded that the best approach to this four-day trip would be to obtain and occupy a lean-to in the Lake Colden area. Since Martin & Joe would not be able to make it to the trailhead until around 7pm at the earliest, we all agreed that I would plan to start down the trail by myself, around 11am, in order to (hopefully) claim a lean-to for our use over the next four days. Just before arriving at the Upper Works trailhead, I got a call from Martin (before the bars disappeared from my phone, about 20 miles outside of Newcomb). He told me that Joe's plane was now going to be at least an hour late. This was very bad news for them, as it meant that they would now have to hike for three hours in almost total darkness. Because of this, they decided instead to camp somewhere closer to the trailhead, and hike in to meet me by 10am on the following day.

From the south side of Calamity Pond

After briefly exploring the ghost-town of Upper Works, I signed in at the trailhead and began my journey. It was 10:45am on Wednesday, July 8th. There were nearly 20 people already signed in to the register that day. The weather was overcast, and had been raining off and on throughout the drive, so I was expecting a possibility of a rainy hike that day. I started down the trail with high hopes and excitement, as I had not set foot in the park for nearly three months. The first few miles were relatively "un-Adirondack", with a gravel path and extremely gradual elevation changes. Just when I finally realized that the trail I had been walking on was most likely an old utility road (Martin confirmed later that the region had been heavily logged), the trail evolved into the typical terrain one expects to find in the park - an undulating trail that is heavy on the large rocks and exposed roots.

Typical trail conditions in the park,

due to the excess of rain this summer

An additional obstruction made the trip more slow-going than normal (and would prove to be our party's arch-nemesis throughout the four-day excursion). The North Country had received an extensive amount of rain this summer. I have never seen so much MUD on a trail in my life. For almost the entirety of the 5.6 mile hike on the first day, I was playing hopscotch along the trail, hoping that my boots would safely come to rest on a semi-stable rock or tree-root. Upon guessing wrong, my boot would sometimes plunge shin-deep into the mud (sometimes a watery puddle, sometimes a quicksand-like mess). This, plus the rain that had started to come down, was not the proper beginning to the much-anticipated hiking trip I had expected.

Suspension bridge crossing Calamity Brook,

roughly 1.5 miles into the hike from Upper Works

The trail followed Calamity Brook for the entire 5.6 miles that I hiked the first day, sometimes crossing the brook via a well-engineered suspension or plank bridge. Calamity Brook is fed by a pond of the same name, which is located roughly 4.3 miles down the trail. Calamity Pond actually owes its name to something that happened at a specific spot nearby in 1845. David Henderson was one of the most famous iron-ore prospectors in the Adirondacks (the entire reason the mining village of Upper Works existed in the first place was because Henderson discovered a "mother vein" of ore with the help of an Abnaki guide named Lewis Elijah in 1826). In the fall of 1845, Henderson, accompanied by his son and the famous Adirondack guide, John Cheney, was on a scouting expedition for a stronger source of water to power his Upper Works mining facility. Upon reaching Duck Hole (Calamity Pond's former name), Henderson's pistol accidentally discharged in his belt, killing him almost instantly on the spot (it is said that Cheney had just used the gun and had forgotten to un-cock the pistol before returning it to Henderson). Because of this great "calamity", there now stands an impressive, yet very out-of-place, monument amongst the low waters on the north shore of the aptly renamed Calamity Pond.

Henderson Monument on Calamity Pond,

erected by his children

Henderson Monument and Calamity Pond mark the beginning of a very interesting section of the park, filled with bodies of water (such as Flowed Lands, Lake Colden, and eventually, Avalanche Lake) and numerous lean-tos (such as Calamity, Herbert Brook, and McMartin). I continued to hike along the Calamity Brook Trail, searching for an open lean-to amongst the five different possible locations. As I walked by McMartin for a second time (where Martin & I stayed last year), I noticed that there were a few hikers leaving the lean-to. To my relief, it turned out that the party of six was leaving that day, which meant that I would get the lean-to all for myself! The rest of the evening consisted of me setting up camp - filtering water from the nearby stream, getting a visit from the assistant ranger, hiding the bear-resistant canister in the brush (containing all of my food), attempting to ward off other potential hikers looking for a place to stay (although the lean-to's are spacious, I knew I had to defend this fortress in expectation of Martin and Joe coming the next morning) and hunkering down to an early evening with a newly acquired used book (Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove).

Day Two:

Attempting to Summit Redfield & Cliff

Cascading falls of the Opalescent River

I woke up Thursday, July 9th around 8am, after a semi-uncomfortable night on the hard lean-to floor (I attributed this to "just not being tired enough", something I was sure to experience the next few nights...). After a breakfast of Kashi granola bars, I began to pack for the day's excursion to Cliff and Redfield Mountains. If for some reason Martin and Joe were not able to arrive by 10am, it was understood that I was to attempt these peaks solo, with the expectation that I would eventually run into them on the trail. At around 9:45am, I heard the sound of Martin's voice coming down the trail. He was happy to see that I had acquired a lean-to, while I was happy to have people to talk to after 24 hours of being alone. It was also great to finally meet Joe Koval, who is a meteorologist (and software engineer) who works for the Weather Channel, in Atlanta. Joe and Martin had gone to high school together, and had been on numerous group backpacking trips in the Tetons, Smokies, and White Mountains, to name a few.

Map of Day Two (in Red) from

McMartin Lean-to to Cliff Mountain

(5 miles RT)

After they had a chance to catch their breath and set-up camp for themselves, we were off on the trail again. I was looking at a day hike that would be roughly 5 miles total in length, while they would be adding five more miles to the 5.6 miles they had already hiked that morning. The hike towards the trailhead of Cliff and Redfield Mountains was along the beautiful and energetic Opalescent River. We passed water that was peacefully cascading down the falls in one moment and violently raging through a narrow and deep gully the next. Visually, it was a wonderful warm-up to what we looked forward to as far as views from the high peaks. Upon reaching the Uphill Brook Lean-to at about 1.8 miles into the hike, we found the trailhead to Redfield Mountain. After walking a few hundred yards, we came to a cairn that forked the trail into two distinctly different trails. What we didn't realize was that the cairn marked the trails for both Redfield and Cliff Mountains. Due to a misinterpretation from the trail description in the book, we ended up accidentally taking the path to Cliff Mountain, instead of Redfield. We realized this about 1/3 of the way up the trail, but it did not matter, as we were planning to summit both. At least that was our plan until we hit the cliffs.

It all of the sudden becomes obvious

why they named it “Cliff” Mountain

It didn't take us long to figure out why the peak was named "Cliff Mountain". The second third of the trail was nothing but a vertical rock climb, consisting of a somewhat technical route that would require actual rock climbing gear if the slope had been any steeper. After slowly making our way up this muddy, vertical nightmare, we found ourselves at what we thought was the top of the peak, only to discover that the "true peak" was another quarter-mile, taking us down to a col and back up to another peak. After having lunch amidst an armada of bugs, we took a quick picture and headed back down the mighty cliffs again. It took us over two-hours to summit and descend this surprisingly challenging peak. I can only imagine that there have been multiple accidents when climbing this peak, due to the white-knuckled middle portion of this trail. This is one trail I would never climb alone, nor will I ever attempt it without a very well-stocked first-aid kit!

Atop Cliff Mountain

(L to R: Dave Beck, Joe Koval, Martin Heintzelman)

We decided it would be best to skip climbing Redfield. Not only did it appear to be a longer hike than Cliff, but we wanted to be as well-rested as possible for the following day's hike. After arriving back at the lean-to, we changed out of the muddy clothes and enjoyed a dinner consisting of "Darn Good Chili" and leftover cheese, Triscuits, and summer sausage from the day's lunch atop Cliff. Overall, it was an exhausting first full day in the park, which was extremely apparent after discovering that all three of us were asleep by 9pm!

Day Three:

Attempting to Summit Marcy, Skylight, & Gray

I woke up to Martin cooking his hot oatmeal and hot tang (not together, but surprisingly good, nonetheless). The sky looked like it was going to cooperate weather-wise (confirmed by Joe) and I was getting excited about our biggest hike - Mt. Marcy, Mt. Skylight, and Gray Mt. All in all, it would be an 11-mile day, round-trip. With our hopes high and our energy renewed, we hit the trail around 8:45am.

Map of Day Three (in Blue) from

McMartin Lean-to to Mt. Marcy & Skylight

(10 miles RT)

The first portion of the hike was the exact same as the day before - towards Uphill Lean-to along the Opalescent River. After passing the lean-to, we continued on the same trail but followed a new body of water - Feldspar Brook. Following Feldspar, we began to climb at a reasonably quick pace, until we reached Lake Tear of the Clouds, which sits on a relatively large plateau, at the base of Skylight, Gray, and Marcy. Lake Tear of the Clouds has two significant elements to its history. First, this was where, late one night in 1901, Vice President Theodore Roosevelt was camping when he received information that President McKinley's health was taking a turn for the worse (after being shot a week earlier), thus spurring his famous 10-mile hike to Long Lake, followed by a 40-mile, midnight stagecoach ride to the nearest train station. Secondly, this pond is actually the highest originating source of the Hudson River. It was refreshing to look out over this small pond, with Mt. Marcy looming in the background, and realize that the massive and polluted river that New York City comes to depend on for so many things actually begins as such a peaceful and natural body of water, high up in the pristine Adirondacks.

Lake Tear of the Clouds, with Mt. Marcy in the background

Almost immediately after Lake Tear, we came across the Four Corners (four different trails converge there). It was at this point that it started to become obvious that while Joe was in pristine athletic condition, there was something else wrong - his feet were in a great deal of pain. Although he had been wearing the same hiking boots for almost 10 years, with not a single problem, they were all of the sudden causing him to develop a large amount of blisters and bruises. He had hiked nearly 11 miles the day before, and already 4 miles today. We knew he was in a lot of pain.

360 Degree Panoramic View from atop Mt. Marcy

(click for larger view)

The final mile, from Four Corners to the summit of Marcy, was extremely grueling. The first half mile was straight up amongst the last holdouts of vegetation above 4,000 feet, which meant that most of the trail we were walking on was pure granite, with tree roots intermittently clinging to the sides of the rock face. The last half-mile of the hike took us above the tree-line, pushing us to hike at an extremely vertical pitch, up nothing but smooth and continuous rock. Try to imagine the steepest stairs you've ever climbed. Now take those stairs and replace the steps with a ramp of rock, while keeping the same pitch. Then climb that vertical rockface for an entire half mile. Once you're at the top, you've made it to the highest point in the state of New York. Mt. Marcy, originally dubbed "Tahawus" (meaning "Cloudsplitter"), was named after Governor William Marcy, who originally authorized the team to survey that area of the state in 1837. To be on the summit of a peak like Marcy is a special thing - you can see for miles in all directions and you truly feel part of the "community of hikers" who were also victorious in their ascent (30 people kept us company at the top).

Martin (background) and Joe (foreground) atop Marcy

We enjoyed a long and leisurely lunch at the top, dining on sausage, cheese, and Triscuits. Because of its height, I actually had full bars on my phone, so we were able to call our respective spouses and share the good news with them personally. I even went a step further and cheated with technology - I took a picture of the view and sent it to my Twitter feed (don't tell the Luddites). After taking about a dozen pictures for a 360-degree panoramic stitch of the view that I was hoping to do (see above), we posed for a victory shot by the official plaque and made our way down the great beast. By the time we reached the bottom, at the Four Corners, my toes felt as if they were going to burst through my boots from walking down such a steep pitch for so long, but I was ready to summit the next high peak - Mt. Skylight.

Atop Mt. Marcy, by its plaque

(L to R: Dave Beck, Martin Heintzelman, Joe Koval)

In what seemed like a much quicker ascent than it should have been, Martin and I found ourselves at the top of Skylight after only hiking for 20 minutes or so. Because of Joe's blisters, he decided to head back to camp for the evening. In the end, this was a very smart move on his part - he had achieved his goal of climbing the highest peak in the state. He also realized that he had to hike another 4+ miles back to camp, as well as 5.6 miles tomorrow back to the car.

Atop Mt. Skylight, with Mt. Marcy

looming in the background

Skylight had an equally impressive view, which included Mt. Marcy. We found ourselves in a rare moment at the top of Skylight, as we were fortunate to share the peak with another party that had a teenage girl who had just climbed her final of the 46 high peaks. She was now included amongst the brave ranks of the Adirondack 46'rs, a club that both Martin and I have been actively pursuing for two years now. Our descent down the mountain was unmomentous, and as we neared Lake Tear of the Clouds and Gray Peak's herdpath trailhead, we both realized that since we'd need to return for Redfield at a later date, it would make more sense to have two reasons to return. So with that, we tabled Gray Peak for another time.

View of Mt. Colden, from Calamity Brook

Weary and sore, we finally arrived back to our lean-to, soaked our tired feet in the nearby river (with a great view of Mt. Colden), and enjoyed a wonderful meal prepared by Joe, of macaroni and cheese and a side of twice-baked mashed potatoes. Shortly after that, the ranger stopped by to make sure we had bear canisters. Apparently, bears had raided the other four lean-to sites over the past few nights, because the campers had not been following park rules about sealing all food in the canisters. Before getting in our bags for the night, we treated ourselves to a small nightcap of fine tequila Joe had managed to pack along. After that, we all went to sleep with the feeling of great accomplishment and good memories from the days events.

Lean-to, sweet lean-to – the one and only

McMartin Lean-to

Day Four:

Hiking back out to Upper Works Parking Lot

The final day is always the hardest. There isn't a high peak to climb. There isn't a campsite to claim. There isn't an all-you-can-eat buffet at the trail's end. There's just a hot car waiting for you in the parking lot, with a long drive home through the rain. I kept an image of my smiling wife and newborn baby daughter in the front of my mind as I walked that last 5.6 miles, which helped me to ignore a majority of the pain that I was experiencing from being out of shape and extremely sore. So what if I ended up only hiking three of the five peaks that were on the itinerary? So what if my legs ached nearly every step of the trip? So what if, by the end of the trip, my boots had turned from burgundy to dirt brown due to the massive amount of mud they were subjected to? In the end, it was definitely a highlight of my summer and I can't wait to get back into that park again (don't worry honey, I promise I won't do something like this again until next year!).

Three tired, but victorious, warriors

(L to R: Dave Beck, Joe Koval, Martin Heintzelman)

Debar Mountain - So close...

2009-04-11T22:35:00.008-04:00

Debar Mountain in the distance

Debar Mountain (3300 ft)

Difficulty: Gradual, except the final push, which is steep
Date of Summit: 4/11/2009
Trailhead to Summit: 3.7 miles
Trip Time: 4 hrs
Ascent: 1700 ft
Temperature: mid-40's (Snow in mid-April? Why am I not surprised...)

We were so close. We could see the top. We knew that even if we made it past this harrowing final push, we would still have to descend that very same route, and that's what scared us. As my hiking partner, Martin Heintzelman, said more than once (probably hoping to make us both feel better), "discretion is the better part of valor". This proverb could never be more true, especially when you're staring up at a stepped-cliff, covered with a frozen waterfall of sheer ice.

Martin Heintzelman and the deadly ice steps

I'm starting to think that a failed summit attempt must have to occur roughly once a year for me, so that my humility is reset for the following season of hiking (this happened last year, attempting St. Regis). Or perhaps this was karma, for me leaving my wife and 5-week-old baby home alone on a Saturday to hike with a friend! Regardless of why it happened, it was still an extremely enjoyable hike. 90% of the trail is gradual and relaxing, as it utilizes old logging roads, until it arrives at the base of Debar. That's when things get tricky.

Old Logging Road

We shared the trail with a group of 11 students from SUNY-Potsdam, who appeared to be a bit more prepared than us. After a bit of post-holing and slipping on the ice, it quickly became apparent that we just weren't equipped properly for this hike. Since it was mid-April, we didn't expect to see such a presence of snow or ice on the trail, so we didn't have snowshoes or Stabilicers with us. I firmly believe that an ice axe would be almost essential on the final section of the trail at this time of year (this was confirmed when I saw the SUNY student's carrying them). Overall, it was a beatiful hike with great challenges. I KNOW that I will return to this peak in order to properly bag it, but I can guarantee that I'll wait until things are a bit warmer to attempt that!

There's nothing we can do but turn around

Azure Ascent #3

2009-03-08T19:27:00.009-04:00

Wooden steps leading up to Azure's firetower

Azure Mountain (2518 ft)

Difficulty: Steep, slushy, and snowcovered

Date of Summit: 3/8/09

Trailhead to Summit: 1 mile

Trip Time: 2.5 hrs

Ascent: 700 ft

Temperature: High 30's

I know I've said it before, but I never get tired of Mt. Azure. It's a quick hike to the top (1 mile) and the views of the surrounding area rival what one would find in the heart of the Adirondacks. I've found that this hike must be the un-official "Peak of Potsdam", as nearly half of the trail register is composed of people hailing from Potsdam - this is in no doubt thanks to the large college student population (SUNY-Potsdam and Clarkson University) that call Potsdam home.

Byron Bennett, taking some photographs

It must be something about the accompaniment of the Bennett bloodline which draws me back to Azure, time after time. My first two ascents were with my wife, Emily, who was an amazing (and patient!) hiking partner. This time I was accompanied by her father, Byron Bennett (who is now a grandfather to my new baby girl, Eleanor Irene Beck), who I've had the pleasure of hiking (and canoeing) with on previous excursions. I've done this peak before in both the winter and summer months, but this winter/spring ascent was a new experience altogether. The snow was wet and slushy, due to the balmy high-30's temperature for an early March day.

The view, atop Azure

Because of the snow pack being so temperamental (we found that, even though we were wearing crampons, two steps actually equaled about half a step forward in this wet 'n' white mess), our ascent took roughly an hour and a half - about 50% longer than normal (while our descent took roughly 50% less, due to our ability to slide down the trail by using our poles to stabilize while our boots did the "skiing"). Many of you are probably rolling your eyes at this, stating that I must be quite the amateur for not utilizing snowshoes instead of crampons, but I assure you - it unfortunately would not have solved many problems, due to the rapidly-melting and slippery snow.

Me, looking a bit small against the backdrop

Once we made it to the top, it was all worth it, for we had a wonderful, 360-degree view of the surrounding area. Byron was able to take a few good black and white pictures, thanks to the early-afternoon sun light that was casting its rays on the nearby hillsides. After taking a short climb to the top of the fire tower and using the round-table map to pick out distant peaks and ponds, we started back down the mountain. As all Adirondack hikes tend to fare, this was a wonderful experience that provided great exercise, beautiful views, and new memories.

Map roundtable inside the tower

Snowshoes on the Sandstone Trail

2009-01-26T22:46:00.011-05:00

The map of the trail and the two snowshoers (Andy Sewell & myself)

Red Sandstone Trail

Difficulty: Easy
Date of Hike: 1/25/2009
Length: 2.5 miles
Trip Time: 3 hrs
Temperature: 27 Degrees and snowy

I think that I had been putting off hiking the Red Sandstone Trail (which is located in my hometown, Potsdam, NY) because it seemed both a bit too close to home and just not "Adirondacky" enough for my aspirations. While both of these assumptions proved true, that should have by no means been a reason for me to avoid this wonderful trail. Andy Sewell, who was visiting us for the weekend with his wife, Sarah Miller, accompanied me on this Sunday afternoon snowshoe hike. Andy is no stranger to hiking the region, as he was my hiking partner a few months ago, when we hiked Owl's Head, down in the park.

Sunlight peeking through the clouds at Sugar Island Flow (old Clarkson Quarry)

I have both my home chapter of the Adirondack Mountain Club, the Laurentian Chapter, as well as other organizations such as the local boy scout troop and Brascan Power for making this wonderful and relaxing walk through history possible. While it is a short hike overall (the total mileage is listed as 3.5 miles), we only ended up hiking about 2.5 miles of it, due to our schedule. The entire hike follows the Racquette River, which is a historically interesting body of water, due to it's importance throughout the last 200 years in the lumber, sandstone, and now hydro power industries. Over the course of our hike, we encountered two distinct sandstone quarries (one of which was the famous quarry where Thomas S. Clarkson met his tragic death, causing his sisters to found Clarkson University in his name), four powerhouse/dam structures, a half-mile long pipe/aqueduct section, and a beautiful wood-encased cylindrical water tower. Thanks to the many "interpretive plaques" along the way, one could get a sense of the river's powerful and evolving presence in the region throughout the past two centuries.

Broken Ice Exposing the Racquette after the Sugar Island Dam

This was the perfect hike for winter sports, including both snowshoeing and cross country skiing, for much of the terrain (especially up near Sugar Island) is extremely flat while it follows the river. During this hike, more than any other I've been on, I found myself fascinated (and not at all annoyed) by the continuous presence of man-made structures nestled amongst the natural wilderness. Each one was a more amazing engineering feat than the previous, all of which focused on harnessing the Racquette River's power. From the various dams, to the massive pipeline (which measured at least 10 feet in diameter) and it's eventual end in the Sugar Island Powerhouse (which held two house-sized GE generators), I was awestruck by humanity's ability to control such a massive and powerful amount of earth's most abundant natural resource.

Half-mile Long Aqueduct running to Sugar Island Powerhouse

The weather was wonderful as well, with just enough snow to make using snowshoes practical, while not being too deep to make it not worth the effort. Since we were not able to finish the hike completely, I look forward to returning to this trail in the spring, perhaps with a boat, so that I might be able to experience and appreciate the Racquette's power from yet another vantage point as well.

Water Tower Covered with Wood Planks near Sugar Island Powerhouse

Stone Valley Trail

2008-11-26T20:22:00.010-05:00

Byron Bennett at the Racquette River

Stone Valley Trail

Difficulty: Gradual
Date of Hike: 11/26/2008
Loop Distance: 7.5 miles
Trip Time: 4 hrs
Temperature: 30's w/ wintry mix

This trip once again taught me that going "local" is always the best choice - whether it be locally grown food, local businesses with great customer service, or an amazing 7.5 mile just 15 minutes down the road from Potsdam. The Stone Valley Trail takes the hiker along both sides of the of the Racquette River shoreline (3.2 miles on each side with a .9 mile stretch linking them together via a bridge on either end). If you're an amateur geologist, you'll love this hike because of the diversity in the rock types (and informational geology plaques) along the trail. If you're a fan of waterfalls, you'll also love this hike, due to the frequent pockets of cascading water formations that one comes across throughout the hike. If you're a rock lover who enjoys fast moving water, I can't imagine how much this hike would make your day.

The Raging Racquette River

Byron and Cheryl Bennett were visiting us for Thanksgiving. After the treacherous Mt. Jo hike last year on this very same holiday weekend, I wasn't sure if Byron would ever want to take a walk with me in the outdoors again. Luckily, he was very much up for another challenge, so after assessing the weather forecast and realizing that there was a likely chance that the roads to the Adirondacks would be covered with snow/ice, we thought it would be best to stick closer to home.

Two Falls

After parking near downtown Colton (which consists of a bar, a library, and a hair salon), we started our northbound journey along the Racquette River. The first 1.5 miles was packed with great views of the cascading falls, complimented by a gradual foot trail that was a welcome change to the "straight up the mountain" philosophy of the High Peaks region of the Adirondacks. The sun decided to peek through the clouds for a few minutes, only to leave us in an overcast and desaturated wash for the rest of the hike. The middle 4.5 mile portion of the hike found the river at a more peaceful state, as the intensity of Colton Dam's open floodgates had lost their power this far down the river.

The Colton Water Tower

With the Colton Water Tower serving as our beacon, we crossed the river on Brown's Bridge. After a quick (and light!) lunch of powerbars and tortilla chips, we began to follow the river back to Colton, by way of another trail on the other side of the river. This route turned out to be far superior to the first half, as it provided us with amazing views of the Racquette River. Even though we passed many of the same spots on the first half of the walk, it seemed almost as though the rock outcroppings on the second half of the trip existed specifically for us to walk out on them and catch dramatic glimpses of the river's power.

"The Tub"

We ended the trip with a beer at The Finish Line, which turned out to be the perfect end (title and location) to the trip, perched atop the Colton Bridge, overlooking the distant southern rapids of the Racquette. Overall, this trip was quite a surprise - I didn't realize that something so special and majestic could be so close. Just as with Owls Head in the Adirondacks, this will surely be a hike that I frequent with visitors, due to the accessibility, convenience, and sheer "wow" factor it provides.

Owls Head - Short but Sweet

2008-11-24T23:04:00.007-05:00

Atop Owls Head

Owls Head (2120 ft)

Difficulty: Easy
Date of Summit: 11/22/08
Trailhead to Summit: .6
Trip Time: 2 hrs
Ascent: 460 ft
Temperature: 'teens

Over this past weekend, we were blessed to have two very good friends visit us. Sarah Miller and Andy Sewell, newlyweds and recently installed east-coasters, drove up from Northampton, MA to spend the weekend with us. It was quite a treat for me especially, for I was unfortunately not able to attend their wedding this past summer out in San Francisco, so this was a wonderful opportunity to catch up with them - and of course - do some hiking! After pouring over the map the night before, Andy and I decided to keep our options open with a few different peaks, and wait to make a firmer decision the following day when we arrived in the high peaks area of the Adirondack Park (near Lake Placid).

Chasm near summit of Owls Head

After dropping off the ladies in downtown Lake Placid (Shopping & Starbucks), we quickly realized that the combination of our late arrival to the region and the relatively early sunset time meant that it would be best for us to shoot for a smaller, shorter peak. We decided on Owls Head, which turned out to not only be the perfect size for our small window of free-time, but a wonderful peak to serve as a taste of the Adirondacks for Andy. The trailhead was about 10-15 minutes outside of Lake Placid, towards Keene, and was nestled back off of a private road, with only a small sign that said "trail" to signify it's location. Upon parking, we immediately set foot onto the trail - Andy in my stabilicer cleats and I with my hiking poles - prepared for the worst snow and ice the mountain could throw at us (Andy was so impressed with the Stabilicers that he purchased a pair of his own at the EMS in Lake Placid, immediately after the hike!).

Overcast but still beautiful

It turned out to be an extremely easy hike. After a climb that seemed to consistently reward us with rock outcroppings and miniature views, we found ourselves near the top much faster than we had expected. Due to the cloudy/snowy day, our views weren't superb, but then again I've always been a fan of those overcast days - the trees and landscape seem to evaporate into thin air as they mix with the fog and clouds in the distance. After a bit of snacking and hydration, we set foot back on the trail for our descent, which was equally simple, providing an overall sense of "relaxation" to this hike that one doesn't always find on an Adirondack trail!

Andy Sewell, atop Owls Head

Overall, the hike was wonderful. I can see myself repeating this hike with many different people, thanks to its relatively short length and great view. After completing the hike, Andy and I both agreed that we needed to do this again - perhaps turning a two-hour hike like this one into a multi-day trip, as it appears that we both have a passion for the outdoors, and there's no better place to feed that passion than in the Adirondacks with good friends!

*Special thanks to Andy for providing the camera and taking most of the pictures!

Me, atop Owls Head

Third Time's a Charm on Mt. Jo

2008-11-05T19:27:00.011-05:00

My father, Bill Beck, halfway up Mt. Jo

Mt. Jo (2876 ft)

Difficulty: Moderate
Date of Summit: 10/30/2008
Trailhead to Summit of Jo: 1.2 miles
Trip Time: 2.5 hrs
Ascent: 710 ft

It took me three tries, but I finally took the easy, more enjoyable way up this mountain. Accompanied by my father, Bill Beck, we climbed the back side of Mt. Jo, which was much, MUCH more gradual than the short and steep version that I had experienced in the first and second ascents. After dropping my mother, Kathy Beck, off in the Adirondack Loj for a few hours of serious reading and relaxing in their lounge, my father and I began to tromp through the 6-inch deep snow (that's right - six inches in late October!) towards the trailhead. While we knew that our route would be the longer and more gradual trail, we were still concerned about the snow. As we passed the off-shoot to the short, steep route, we knew that we had made the right decision, for there was not a footprint to be seen on that portion of the trail.

Icicles made of...?

As we slowly climbed around the backside of the mini-mountain, we came across some beautiful icicle formations which appeared, due to their color, to have a substantial amount of iron in them (that's my guess at least). We joked that perhaps this water source was not from a pure mountain spring but perhaps an extremely large animal who just couldn't hold it anymore. We felt lucky to have poles and crampons, for we didn't fall or slip even once on the climb, up or down the mountain. We passed one couple who was resting along the trail, which meant that the duty of blazing the trail through the untouched snow was now our burden, which we gladly accepted. This situation also meant something else - we would be the first people to reach the summit that day, which is always an extra bonus for any hiker.

The clouds rolling over Algonquin

By the time we reached the top, the clouds had left the immediate area, leaving us a nice and open view that could be seen until roughly just before the very top of Algonquin. This allowed for some wonderful pictures (of which we took many, for this was my father's very first Adirondack hike!). As we began to dig into our summit snacks of pretzels and summer sausage, the party we had passed earlier arrived to join us at the top of Mt. Jo. With their help, we snapped a few more pictures and made a call on their cell phone to my mother (we knew that she was worrying about our lives and talking to the ranger about "emergency mountain rescue" at that very moment, just 700 feet below us).

Atop Mt. Jo

Twenty minutes later, we were back on the trail, heading down to my anxiously awaiting mother in the Adirondack Loj. The descent was extremely easy. The six inches of snow made every step feel as if the ground was reaching up with a pillow to cushion your impact, thus easing your joints. Since the temperature wasn't too cold, it was nearly the perfect conditions for a hike in the late (snowy) fall. Having done this mountain three different times now, I can honestly say that it never gets old - the view, the trail, and the company is always changing, which keeps things extremely interesting!

Six inches of snow in October

One Year and Seven High Peaks Later...

2008-10-21T21:14:00.010-04:00

Looking down to Keene Valley

Big Slide Mountain (4240 ft) (27th Highest Peak in ADKs)

Difficulty: Moderately Steep
Date of Summit: 10/18/2008
Total Distance Hiked: 9.5 miles
Trip Time: 7 hrs
Ascent: 2800 ft
Temperature: High 40's to Low 50's

It's officially been one year since my first Adirondack hike. A year ago (almost to the day), Martin Heintzelman and I summitted Moose & McKenzie Mountains, which were covered in snow. While there were bets as to whether we'd find snow atop the mountain on this trip, we only spotted ice in a few of the higher regions of the trail. Snow or no snow, Big Slide Mountain was definitely one of the more majestic climbs I've done to date in the park. The fall weather was perfect, the views numerous and constant throughout the ascent, and the morale of the group was high and hopeful.

Peaceful Brook on the Big Slide/Third Brother col

I was invited to accompany Martin Heintzelman and his friend, Greg Peter (who had flown up from Richmond, VA to speak to Martin's MBA students), on a hike in the park. Martin and Greg have been friends since high school, so their hiking history is as long and full of stories as their friendship. While they've backpacked in numerous parks and trails around the country, this was Greg's very first Adirondack High Peak. We arrived in Keene Valley around 10am, ready to hit the trail. As is custom for hikers in Keene Valley, we had planned to park our vehicle near the trailhead, at a parking lot titled "The Garden", that was managed by the town of Keene. Although I had heard stories about the Garden filling up quickly, we were quite suprised to find that it was completely full upon arrival. We had no choice but to park a few miles away at the Marcy Airfield and pay to take a shuttle bus back to the Garden & trailhead.

Just after the First Brother

By the time we finally signed the trail ledger and set foot on the trail, it was roughly 10:30am. Even though we were already a bit behind schedule, it felt absolutely wonderful to be yet again in the thick of nature, where one's mind could wander at the same pace as one's legs and eyes. The climb through the forest was moderate at first, with it picking up in grade as we neared the first of the three Brothers. The Brothers are a series of "mini-mountains" that lead up to the fourth peak beyond the set, which was our final destination - Big Slide Mountain. This hike will forever stand out in my memory, due to the constant view of the Keene Valley region and the Great Range accompanying my left side as I climbed. (The Great Range is my ultimate dream - You climb SEVEN HIGH PEAKS in a 14.5 mile hike, ending at the highest peak in the park (and in New York State), Mount Marcy. Someday it will happen. Someday...)

Martin & Greg, on the steep trail

Over the course of the next three or four hours, we slowly made our way up the spine of The Brothers, eventually finding ourselves in the col between the Third Brother and Big Slide. Just as with previous hikes in the park, we discovered quickly that although the book states that it is 9.5 miles, it was obvious that the distance is based on the map itself - measured as if the trail was flat. When one adds roughly 6,000 feet of elevation change to that as well, a 9.5 mile walk that takes 7 hours starts to make a bit more sense.

Dave, Martin, & Greg atop Big Slide (end of the Great Range in the bkgd)

When we reached the top of Big Slide, we were greeted by a small party of fellow hikers who also took advantage of the perfect weather for a high peak climb. At any given time, there was roughly 10-15 other hikers atop Big Slides relatively small summit, making it feel a bit cramped (but I must say that I do enjoy chatting up the veteran hikers, as they're able to point and label all of the peaks in the distance for me!). We spent roughly 15 minutes atop Big Slide, and it was off to the races again, for we knew that we were running far behind our schedule already, and we now had to consider how much sunlight was left (which meant warmth) so that we could finish the trip in a relatively comfortable (and safe) manner.

Marcy (#1), Colden (#11), and Algonquin (#2) filling the horizon

The descent was a long one. We decided to take a different and longer route on the way down, which dropped 2,000 feet in just over two miles. We then followed Johns Brook along a ledge for the final 3 miles. This route was well worth it though, as it was an extremely peaceful meander through the woods, where you could hear the water rushing through Johns Brook a few hundred feet below. I'm not sure if it was the sense of peace that this area emitted or our tired bodies rationing their energy reserves, but we walked for a few hours without saying a word to one another - it was quite wonderful to spend the final leg of the hike in self-reflection and silence. This was definitely a hike to remember. It was Greg's first high peak, and it was without a doubt one of the more beautiful and visually rich ascents I've done so far. This is one hike that I would do again in a heartbeat - for if nothing else but to stare at that Great Range, because daydreaming about its conquest will never get old.

A View of Giant Mountain (perhaps the next high peak to tackle?)

Autumn Atop Ampersand

2008-09-28T20:50:00.007-04:00

Nikki & Joe Gerard on the summit

Ampersand Mountain (3352 ft)

Difficulty: Gradual for the 1st half, Steep for the 2nd
Date of Summit: 9/27/08
Trail head to Summit: 2.7 miles
Trip Time: 3 hrs
Ascent: 1775 ft
Temperature: high 50's

I've finally discovered the perfect hike for out of town guests. Ampersand Mountain. Not too short, not too long, and about as close to Potsdam as one can get if you're shooting for a higher peak to climb with a 360 degree view. Emily's childhood friends, Nikki and Joe Gerard, were visiting this past weekend from Duluth, MN. Since Emily's art show is only a few days away, I had the honor of being the Gerard's "Official Adirondack Mountain Guide" for the day. I knew that they were up for nearly anything, as they both had climbed more than their fair share of peaks out west (Joe is an official "Fourteener", which means that he climbed every peak above 14,000 ft in Colorado!).

The Final Push

Although the forecast said rain, rain, and more rain, we decided to laugh in weather.com's face and start driving down to the trail head anyway. Situated just 12 miles after Tupper Lake on Rt. 3, I was looking for the trail sign and packed parking lot I had always noted while driving to Saranac Lake (which is roughly 8 miles further). Unfortunately, due to the sign being completely gone (it looked like someone actually had taken it off the post...), it took us a few extra minutes and drive-by's to find it. Once we finally found the trail head, we parked in the lot with two other cars, and we were on our way! The best part? Once we stepped out of the car, the rain completely stopped.

Atop Ampersand

For late-September in the park, the weather was quite unique. Due to the cloudy day, there was no sun, the air was cool, and just a bit of humidity lingered from the recent rain. Aside from the presence of water - both in the air and in puddles on the trail, it was perfect hiking weather. We made fairly good time, as the first half of the hike was very easy - a well-manicured, rolling trail - nearly the antithesis of typical Adirondack trail conditions. This was of course because Ampersand was saving the best for last. The last mile of the trail was as steep as anything (well, almost anything) in the Adirondacks. My new hiking companions showed no sign of stopping though, as we pushed steadily upward.

The Cloud Shroud

We reached the summit in very good time - about an hour and a half after we left the car. Due to the cloudy day, we were warned by every hiker who passed us that there was nothing to see but clouds from the summit. When we reached the top, we found ourselves immersed in a giant fog, enshrouding us from all sides and restricting our otherwise 360 degree view of the high peaks. As we began to drop our gear and set-up for a typical "trail lunch" of summer sausage, cheese, and Triscuits, something happened. The air became cooler. The humidity dropped. The clouds had parted! The veil on mountain lifted to reveal a beautiful quilt of early fall colors in the valley below! Although we could not see any of the high peaks in the distance, we were able to get short glimpses of the Saranac Lakes spreading out from the base of the mountain. We had the summit to ourselves that day, only sharing it with the remnants of a fire tower, the plaque remembering Walter Rice - the Hermit of Ampersand, and a vicious looking little spider that seemed interested in our presence atop its rock house. After our well-deserved lunch, we departed for our brisk walk down the mountain. In less than an hour, we were back at our car. It's such a great feeling to discover yet another wonderful peak to climb in the park - and there's no better way to do that than with friends!

Could there be a connection here?

Camping at Cranberry Lake

2008-09-17T20:20:00.016-04:00

View from atop Bear Mountain, Overlooking Cranberry Lake

Camping at Cranberry Lake & Climbing Bear Mountain

Difficulty: Easy in camp, but a bit harder hiking the mountain
Date of Trip & Summit: 9/13 - 9/14, 2008
Trailhead to Summit: 1.2 miles
Trip Time: 3 hrs
Ascent: 742 ft
Temperature: Warmer than one would think in mid-September...

The Beck Bivouac next to the Heintzelman Hotel

I can't tell you how nice it is to get away from technology. No computer monitors, keyboards, email, or cell phones. The lack of technology, combined with the beauty of the outdoors and an excuse not to shower, represents a slice of my own personal heaven. Don't get me wrong - I love the email. I love the HDTV. I love the video games. But none of these wonders of the modern world can render the sound of a lapping lake, a hot fire, the taste of marshmallows, or an extremely small tent that causes you to become a claustrophobic insomniac. Ahhh, the joy and wonder of the great outdoors!

Little Martin Heintzelman, Contemplating Life's Great Mysteries...

In all seriousness, Emily and I were extremely fortunate to be invited by the Heintzelman family on their annual fall camping trip to Cranberry Lake. Cranberry Lake campground is located just inside the Adirondack Park, roughly 45 minutes south of Potsdam. It's run by the DEC as a state campground, only one of a few campgrounds like it in the park. Martin Heintzelman had reserved this special campsite (right on the lake, with our own personal beach!) over 9 months ago. The Heintzelman parents, Martin and Louise, brought along their two sons, Martin and Eric. While little Martin has a bit of experience camping and hiking in the great outdoors, this was baby Eric's first overnight outing in the wild!

Baby Eric and his dirty knees!

After arriving at the campsite and setting up our tents (as you can see in the above picture, they were just a teensy bit different in their overall cubic space...), we all decided to take advantage of a lazy, Saturday afternoon. The Martins decided to take the kayak out for a spin around one of the islands on Cranberry Lake. While they were gone, baby Eric got an extra amount of attention from his mom, Emily, and even (surprisingly) me. It wasn't long before he was splashing in the water for his afternoon lake bath. After the Martins arrived back from their boating trip, it was time to head off to the mighty Bear Mountain, our mini-peak to climb for the afternoon.

Coming back from a kayak trip on Cranberry Lake

With little Martin as our guide, we slowly made our way down the trail. All seemed fine, until about 2/3rds the way through the trip - we came to quite a steep pitch in the trail, which appeared to persist until the end of the trail at the top of the mountain. Although it was a struggle for some of us, we all finally made it to the top in one piece, with dad and his "baby backpack" leading the way in the final push.

Heintzelman Family Photo - Before the Big Hike

There was a wonderful view from atop Bear Mountain, as we could see the Adirondack High Peaks in the distance, as well as the expanse of Cranberry Lake, which surprised us with its extensive reach around the many different corners of the park's surrounding topography. After a short rest and photo-op at the top, we quickly made our way back down the mountain, enjoying the views peeking through the trees intermittently throughout our descent.

Emily and me, resting atop Bear Mountain

After a long day of hard work and exercise, it was time for a well-deserved and hearty meal. Thanks to Louise, we had a welcomed surplus of hot chili and cornbread to replenish our energy. The men, having such manly appetites, took advantage of the campfire by cooking some brats and hot dogs as well. Of course, no camping experience is complete without some marshmallows! I actually had the pleasure of being attacked by little Martin and his sticky marshmallow fingers, which made for a good excuse to finally wash some of my clothes!

The Heintzelman Family, saying "Cheeseburger!"

Before bedtime, there were two more activities in which we needed to participate. Little Martin had brought two camping essentials with him on this trip: a deck of (Uno) cards and a book (of Scary Stories). We had a few rousing games of Uno, complete with squeals, screams, and bouts of laughter, all of which successfully (but unfortunately) woke baby Eric, who was sleeping in the tent. After the Uno games, it was time for some scary stories out of Martin's book! We heard "In a Dark, Dark Room" and "The Teeth", both of which we certifiably scary and worthy of being nightmare-inducing for all who were present for the storytime :)

Father and son, taking a load off

Of course, every perfect trip needs to have a rusty lining. That rusty lining came at around midnight, as the rain began to pour down hard, and continued throughout the entire night and into the morning. The rain, combined with the hard ground and the cramped space, did not make for a sound night's sleep for Emily or me. The idea of fitting two people into my tent is practical, but definitely not comfortable. My tent is meant for backpackers, who need the lightest and smallest possible shelter to carry - they are not concerned with space or comfort, because frankly, after a long day of hiking it's easy to fall asleep in a small space. This trip definitely taught me a lesson - if I'm lucky enough to have my wife agree to accompany me on a camping trip (and if you know Emily, that is quite a favor to me...), I should treat her like a queen, pampering her with a spacious abode, much like that of Martin Heintzelman's (for the record, they had two adults, a child, AND a baby in a crib in that freakin' thing - now THAT'S A HUGE TENT!).

Attack of the sticky marshmallow fingers

We woke up early the next morning and broke camp somewhat early as well, due to the rain that was looming in the distance. Overall, it was a wonderful trip - full of laughter, good friends, and great memories, set in a beautiful spot that is probably only one of a handful of ideal settings like it in the world! Thanks for inviting us along, Heintzelmans!

Adirondack Death March

2008-08-15T16:23:00.021-04:00

The view from Algonquin, the second highest peak in the park

Wright Peak (4580 ft) (16th Highest Peak in ADKs)
Algonquin Peak (5114 ft) (2nd Highest Peak in ADKs)
Iroquois Peak (4810 ft) (8th Highest Peak in ADKs)

Difficulty: Steep and Strenuous, both up and down
Date of Summit: 8/14/2008
Total Distance Hiked: 13.6 miles
Trip Time: 10.5 hrs
Total Ascent from hiking 3 peaks: 3753 ft
Temperature: Low 70's

Never again. Don't get me wrong, it was an amazing experience, but I'll never go through agony like that again. The problem wasn't that I was attempting three high peaks in one day. It was attempting the three peaks plus both descending via the steepest trail in the park and conveniently running out of water halfway through the trip.

This guy sat next to me during my morning break

If I had been smart, I would have hiked up to the three peaks and returned back down the same way, thus lowering my total distance to a mere 11.6, two miles less than what I ended up hiking. Instead, I followed the exact route that Martin Heintzelman and I had planned to hike on our overnight trip a few months ago (we ended up hiking just Mt. Marshall, the other peak in the MacIntyre Range - see that post for details). This day hike was a big, grueling loop - I would summit the other three peaks in the MacIntyre Range (Wright, Algonquin, and Iroquois), then take the Algonquin-Lake Colden Trail, which sharply drops 2,000 vertical feet from the col near the backside of Algonquin. After reaching the valley near Lake Colden, I would take Avalanche Pass back to the parking area, via Marcy Dam. In my head it was an achievable goal, but by the end of the trip my legs were telling me otherwise.

The 13.6 Mile Death March

I started out at the trail head at 8am, fresh and ready for adventure. The first leg of the trip went by quickly, and before I knew it, I had reached the intersection of the Wright Peak side trail and the main Algonquin trail. I took the Wright Peak side trail, which proceeded to climb another 500 feet over the next half mile. The summit was well worth the last strenuous half mile, as the bald peak was adorned with large trail cairns and had wonderful views of the surrounding area.

Beautiful six-foot tall Cairns on the approach to Wright's summit

Wright Peak has a bit of history to it as well. It was named after Governor Silas Wright, but is also the site of a memorial to four US Air Force officers, who crashed their B-47 Bomber into the mountain in 1962. Supposedly, there is both a plaque memorializing their lives, as well as artifacts from the plane wreckage still atop the mountain. I was unable to find any evidence, so I guess that gives me a good excuse to return for another look sometime soon.

Atop Wright Peak

I noticed a few things while on Wright Peak. First, Algonquin is HUGE. Even standing atop Wright, it loomed another 1,000 feet higher as its head poked up above the clouds. I also realized how puny and pathetic Mt. Jo is from this peak. It looked like a small anthill from 4580 feet up, which makes sense since Jo is only about 2800 feet. I couldn't help but laugh, since I've made the Mt. Jo hike with family members on two different occasions, both in the summer and late fall. It was also amazing to see how far I had hiked from starting at Heart Lake, in just a couple of hours time.

I think I can see my car from here!

From Wright Peak - the mighty Algonquin waits to be conquered...

After a conversation with a fellow hiker and a quick snack, I was on my way again. I quickly descended the side trail back down to where it meets up with the main Algonquin trail, and promptly rejoined the somewhat steady stream of commuters who were slowly making their way up the mountainside. I hiked for another steep mile, climbing 1,000 feet, and there I was - atop the second highest peak in the park.

Atop Algonquin, Looking down on the Flowed Lands

It was absolutely wonderful. I could see for miles in all directions, wishing that I had the patience to sit down with my map and locate every peak surrounding my position. It was quite chilly on the summit - perhaps high 50's with a decent wind, so one did not sit still for long without having to put on long sleeves. There were probably about 15-20 people on the top of the mountain at any given time, a crowd spanning all ages and hiking abilities.

The Slides of Mt. Colden from Algonquin (Marcy in the distance)

The summit steward was dutifully making his rounds, striking up conversation with as many people he could. Summit stewards are funded by the ADK Mtn Club, Nature Conservancy, and the DEC (Department of Environmental Conservation). The steward hikes up the mountain at sunrise, stays atop all day, and hikes down the mountain at sunset. They stay up there to educate the public on the fragility of the plants in the alpine zone, which is the area above the tree-line.

Atop Algonquin, Iroquois in the distance

I had lunch in my own little quiet corner of Algonquin's summit (it's a tabletop summit almost the size of a football field), with a million dollar view that costs absolutely nothing but a couple hours of exercise. I had already climbed two high peaks today - it was now on to my final peak for the day - Iroquois. I began the descent down the backside of Algonquin, towards Boundary Peak and Iroquois.

The backside of Algonquin, from Boundary Peak

Within 15 minutes of leaving Algonquin's summit, I had already reached Iroquois' summit! I couldn't believe how easy it was to reach this peak! Then I realized something - I was standing on Boundary Peak (this small peak was actually the boundary line between the Iroquois and Algonquin nations, hundreds of years ago) - Iroquois was still a great distance ahead of me! I once again set off for my destination, through a herd trail that was obviously well-used, but extremely narrow and claustrophobic. It was satisfying to reach the summit of Iroquois, because I could finally catch a glimpse of Mt. Marshall, which I climbed a few months earlier. Once again, a peak I had hiked earlier now looked extremely small, looking down from the eighth highest peak in the park.

Atop Iroquois, looking at Mt. Marshall (which Martin Heintzelman and I hiked in June)

After an extremely quick pause atop Iroquois, I backtracked to the col between Boundary and Algonquin. It was the next 1.7 mile stretch that completely broke me. It was 2,000 feet of nothing but vertical drops, consisting of rock face and boulders. Basically, I was hiking in a stream/waterfall bed, and with every step down, my joints and thighs would cringe.

Yep, that's the trail...dropping 2,000 vertical feet over just 1.7 miles

At about 1/3 of the way through this torturous descent, I ran into a couple from Canada. They were having trouble, mainly because the woman's boots had completely fallen apart. The rubber soles had worn away to nothing, exposing the steel shank in each boot as if it were a flapping tongue on its sole. They were planning to hike up to Algonquin and back down to the parking lot, but I convinced them otherwise, as I was really not sure how much further she would make it in those boots and it was starting to get a bit late. That's one thing that I have always taken seriously - your feet should be the one thing that you pamper more than anything else in hiking.

Another trail shot (it doesn't look it, but that is one steep grade...)

It was also about this time that I ran out of water. I had packed two liters of water, but just as I underestimated the size of this hike, I also underestimated my water supply. Luckily, I had potable aqua tablets (iodine tablets) that I used. After dropping one of those tablets into my bottle of fresh stream water, I was once again on my way. When one is that thirsty, they don't mind if the water tastes a bit like a swimming pool.

My emergency water source

I finally got to Avalanche Lake, but I was tired from head to toe and really beginning to worry. My legs (thighs) were so worn out that they would give way with too much weight (so I bore much of that weight on my poles), so I had no choice but to walk straight-legged like a robot for a good portion of the final five miles. To make things worse, I was also once again dehydrated. But this time I was not willing to try the potable aqua, for I just didn't trust the stagnate lake water (I imagined all the Giardia and Cryptosporidium Baddies meeting up down in the lake for a big party, just praying that some stupid hiker with those silly iodine tablets would be desperate enough...).

Beautiful Avalanche Lake (looks much different than two months ago!)

As I stumbled down the trail, weak and cottonmouthy, only one thing could keep me focused on my goal - the drinking water faucet back at the parking lot and the (now necessary) stop I would be making at McDonald's on the way home. I kicked it into high gear and played through the pain (my mom would be proud - I even struck into "I think I can, I think I can..." at one point in my final miles), finally arriving at my car (and that sweet, sweet water) exactly 10.5 hours after I began, at 6:30pm. Exhausted and barely able to walk, I thanked God that I made it back to my car in one piece. My wife thinks I'm crazy for doing that hike, and I'd have to agree with her - it's been over 24 hours since I completed the hike and I'm still barely making it up and down the stairs due to muscle soreness. But I just can't get the mantra out of my head: "6 peaks down, 40 more to go..."

Lampson Falls on the 4th of July

2008-07-05T09:46:00.012-04:00

Emily and Cheryl on top of the falls

Lampson Falls

Difficulty: Extremely Easy!
Date of Summit: 7/4/2008
Trailhead to Falls: .44 miles
Trip Time: 45 min
Ascent: 100 ft
Temperature: 78 and sunny

It was the perfect day to enjoy the 4th of July with family. We were blessed to have Emily's mom, Cheryl Bennett, visiting us from Minneapolis! Knowing that Cheryl was a big fan of waterfalls, we figured that this would be the perfect excursion for the afternoon. Not bug, nor crowd, nor firework was anywhere near Lampson Falls, which is hidden just inside the blue line of the Adirondack Park boundary line. I can't believe it's taken this long to discover such a gem! The less than half-mile walk from one's parked car alongside Route 27 in Clare, NY is extremely easy-going for hikers of any age and skill level. Thanks to the trail blazers covering an old logging road with fine gravel, this hike is accessible for wheelchairs and bikes as well.

A felled tree with it's exposed root system (it grew on the rock!)

After about 10 minutes of hiking, we suddenly heard the muffled roar of the falls that were waiting for us around the next bend (I actually thought it was the engine of a plane or truck at first). Before revealing a final view of the falls, the well-groomed trail took us past a MASSIVE tree that has collapsed, exposing it's root system and demonstrating how it had somehow grown on top of the surface of a large boulder.

View overlooking Lampson Falls from end of accessible trail

The view at the end of the accessible trail was very nice, as it looked over the side of the falls, as they spilled into a small pond below. The proximity of a gradually steep dry rock face (which is the reason for the falls' formation) invited us to take a few steps off of the path and onto the side of the falls to get a closer look. Once we got out onto the rocky surface, we discovered that we actually were experiencing a somewhat mediocre view in comparison to other groups experiencing the falls. There were small clusters of people across and below the falls, both on the pond (in Hornbeck Boats (a cool 10' canoe/kayak hybrid made only in the Adirondacks!)) and across the water on the rock shelf. After spotting these other viewpoints, we quickly descended to the pond shoreline, via a more primitive trail (no gravel or logging road anymore).

Emily and me, at the campground near the base of the falls

Fishing in a Hornbeck Boat below the falls

The view from below the falls was well worth the short hike. It was the perfect picnic spot (if we had a basket), the perfect fishing spot (if we had a pole), and the perfect camping spot (if we had a tent). We had a our cameras, so this trip definitely served as a reconnaissance mission, so that we'll be prepared for our next visit - which will definitely be soon!

Emily and Cheryl up by the accessible trail's end, taken from below

Return to Mt. Azure

2008-06-10T09:19:00.010-04:00

Michelle and Tom Lanz, Atop Mt. Azure

Azure Mountain (2518 ft)

Difficulty: Straight Up and Steep
Date of Summit: 6/9/2008
Trailhead to Summit: 1 mile
Trip Time: 2 hrs
Ascent: 700 ft
Temperature: 85 & Humid

This was our second trip to Mt. Azure, but a first for Tom and Michelle Lanz, friends of ours who were visiting from Minneapolis. Since Mt. Azure is so conveniently close to Potsdam, we saw this as the perfect hike to give them a glimpse of the Adirondacks. The first time Emily and I hiked this trail was in the middle of winter, while the mountain was hibernating under two feet of snow. As I described in my February post, there was little to no visibility from the summit, the entire firetower was entombed in a frosty shell of ice, and while the trail was relatively hard to follow, we found that the switchbacks helped us climb the short yet steep mountain with ease. Returning to the mountain exactly four months later has proven that the changing of the seasons completely alters that experience. The trail we thought we followed in the winter does not exist at all (it turns out that we were bushwhacking our own switchbacks up the mountain). In reality, Azure's official trail is STRAIGHT UP (one would expect nothing less from the Adirondacks).

Mt. Azure Firetower in June (compare to 2/9/08 pic!)

But the real surprise came with our very first encounter with the legendary BLACK FLIES. I had heard the stories from locals, but ignorantly assumed that the warnings were full of hot air rather than the painful truth. The black flies are worse than mosquitoes, for you are unaware of when this insect bites, as they only leave a trickle of blood in their wake. A few hours after the incident the severity of the situation becomes apparent, through swelling, reddening, and itching.

The arm of my wife is proof of the dangerous beasts known as Black Flies

Aside from the swarms of black flies, the hike was fabulous (when moving, the flies have a hard time keeping up with you). The hike up the trail was strenuous but short - we found ourselves atop the mountain about 45 minutes after we signed in at the trailhead. The views from the mountaintop were stunning and unique, for you could get a glimpse of the eastern high peaks off in the distance. The wind atop Azure was quite strong (which really helped keep the black flies under control) while we spent time on the summit and up in the firetower. This will always be a wonderful "out-of-town-visitors" peak, as it's proximity to Potsdam and it's beautiful vistas really help to make the hike a gem in the somewhat sparse northern Adirondacks. We'll definitely be back again!

Me, Cliffside

Michelle, Emily, & Tom

The High Peaks in the Distance

First Overnight Trip in the Adirondacks

2008-06-05T10:58:00.058-04:00

Lake Colden at 8am on June 4th
(Avalanche Pass in the distance, with Mt. Colden on the right)

Total length of hike: 16 miles (about 10 on the first day and 6 on the second)
Dates of trip: 6/3 - 6/4, 2008
Goal: Summit 3 High Peaks: Wright, Algonquin, & Iroquois
Trailhead: Adirondack Loj Parking Lot
Campsite Location: Lake Colden
Temperature & Weather: Drizzles on the first day, clear on the 2nd day, low 60's

It finally happened. After a long dryspell, I've finally made it out into the wilderness again with a pack on my back. In the past five years, I've moved six different times between 3 states, gotten married, received my MFA, and landed a teaching job. Luckily, I think that might be a good enough excuse as to why it's been so long. Another excuse is that I haven't had anyone to accompany me on these trips, so to find Martin Heintzelman (a colleague in the Business school at Clarkson University), was quite the blessing.

Due to this trip being the first in many years for both of us, we decided to take it easy and plan for just two days (and one night) of backpacking in the Adirondacks. We were aiming to bag three of the high peaks (the 46 high peaks of the ADK's are all above 4,000 ft in elevation) on this trip. With our 40 lb. packs strapped to our backs, we would summit Wright, Algonquin, and Iroquois Mountains on the first day, descend to Avalanche Lake to camp overnight, and hike back to the car on the second day, through the famously beautiful Avalanche Pass.

After hiking 10 muddy miles the first day

About a week before we even set foot on the trail, we both realized that fate was trying to tell us something. The original date for this trip was over a week before we actually took it - our bags were packed, food was portioned out, and we both were ready to leave for the park on May 22nd at 6am. At 5:30am that morning, I woke up to find my wife, Emily, extremely sick. Just as I was about to call Martin to postpone the trip, he called me to inform me that his baby son, Erik, was also sick. We took this as a sign, and decided to reschedule the trip (to make matters worse, I became sick with a pretty bad cold myself, which decided to be stubborn and continue to stick around through our rescheduled date. But that's a different story for a different time).

One of the Red Efts that we saw on our hike

About a week and a half later, on June 3rd, we finally arrived in the park. While registering at the trailhead, we started talking with fellow hikers about our plans. After hearing our described route, the faces of nearly every single person we talked to became pallid and serious. They commented that ascent of these peaks was no problem - perhaps a bit hard with 40 extra pounds on your back, but doable. But their description of the backside of Algonquin (our planned descent) sounded like a cross between descending Mount Everest and going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Words and phrases such as "ladders", "cliff-face", and "the trail is actually a waterfall" began to weigh heavily on our worries - perhaps fate was again putting a big kibosh on our ignorant Adirondack aspirations.

Don't Drink and Row...(Photo Courtesy of Martin Heintzelman)

After some careful thinking (about our limbs, our families, and our lives) we decided to re-route our trip, using the Avalanche Pass (which was originally going to be our exit trail) as our entrance route. The new plan was that we would hike fast and furious to our lean-to, drop our stuff, and climb Algonquin from the backside (yes, the treacherous route) with only a small amount of supplies in our fanny packs, thus making it easier to maneuver the challenging trail. This way, we would still fulfill our goal of 3 summits, just from a different approach.

Looking from Marcy Dam to Avalanche Pass and Mt. Colden (left, with bald spots)

At about 2 miles into the easy-going trail, we came across quite a beautiful (and popular) site, called Marcy Dam. Looking out over the lake, we could see Mt. Colden, with it's bald rock faces breaking up the dense tree cover on its mountainside. Those rock faces also marked the beginning of Avalanche Pass, which we were excited to get to, due to it's reputation as such a sublime hiking spot in the Adirondacks (this was a bit over 1 mile from Marcy Dam).

Evidence of past Avalanches down the bald face of Mt. Colden

The beginning of Avalanche Pass was quite obvious. As we left a thick section of the forest, we came upon quite a site - HUNDREDS of trees lay before us, piled up like twigs on the trail. It was quite apparent why Avalanche Pass deserved its name. Mt. Colden's bald faces act as a gigantic slip 'n' slides during the winter months. Trees and other organic debris come tumbling down the cliff after major ice and snow storms, leaving piles of the mountain's forest at its base.

Avalanche Pass & Avalanche Lake, looking south

From there, the view and experience only became more spectacular. The valley opened up into beautiful Avalanche Lake, which was lined on both sides by the vertical cliffs of Mt Colden and Avalanche Mountain. But wait - how does one hike on the side of a cliff? In all of our combined years of hiking experience, neither one of us had ever seen anything like the next mile of trail that lay before us. This trail, which would help us get past Avalanche Lake, was both a backpacker's nightmare (remember, we're carrying 40 lbs on our backs) and a trail blazer's masterpiece. Ladders, stairs, and cantilevered boardwalks allowed us to crawl over giant boulders and walk alongside the edges of Avalanche Mountain's enormous cliffs. The mile-long segment that we expected to breeze through in 20 minutes ended up taking us over an hour to finish. Our hopes of setting up camp by noon and attempting the 3-peak summit was quickly disappearing - as was our energy, from experiencing such a rigorous lesson in what it truly means to backpack in the Adirondacks.

Midway through Avalanche Pass, Martin on a cantilevered boardwalk

Once we conquered Avalanche Pass, we began our search for a lean-to. Lean-To's were first constructed in the Adirondacks during the logging days, serving as simple to build, yet spacious and effective shelters that could sleep 8-12 people. In the primitive and rugged backcountry, staying in a lean-to is like staying in a 5-star hostel (if that exists...). You get the structure (three walls, a floor, and a roof), space (sleeping room for 8), and amenities (outhouse) all taken care of for you. The catch is that you need to be prepared to share it with up to seven other strangers. Even if your gear is sprawled across the empty lean-to floor and you're ready to turn in for a quiet night's sleep, you must be prepared to scoot over for that party of six backpackers that are rolling into camp around 10pm (in total darkness), looking for a place to rest. It's definitely backcountry camping roullete, but a majority of hikers are willing to play this game in order to enjoy the luxuries of the legendary lean-to.

Avalanche Pass , looking north

Lean-To, Sweet Lean-To

After considering the forecast (it was forecast to RAIN RAIN RAIN straight, for both days...), our goal of finding shelter became even more important, as we would be able to keep our gear dry by stashing and hanging everything under a roof. Apparently, everyone else had the same idea as us, as we found that many of the lean-to's were already claimed and occupied. After about an extra mile and a half of hiking, we finally found a lean-to that was available. To once again look to fate's hand, we discovered that the name of this out of the way lean-to was McMartin, a name which only further solidified our belief that this structure must be there for us!

It must be a sign! (plural...)

Inside our Lean-To (the tarps/ponchos helped keep the heat in overnight)

After setting up camp (which consisted of me going horizontal for about 20 minutes) and eating some lunch (summer sausage, cheddar cheese, and crusty rolls!), we took another look at our plan. At this point, it was about two o'clock in the afternoon, and we had a few options. Backtrack to try for Algonquin, attempt to summit Colden (which you saw in a few of the photos above - the one with the SHEER CLIFF), or try for the humble, oft-overlooked Mt. Marshall. We both realized that we would probably never find ourselves so close to Mt. Marshall again (the McMartin lean-to sat somewhat near the foot of Mt. Marshall, overlooking a bog), and it is also one of the famed "herd-trail" 46 high peaks. Herd trails are not official trails - there are no blazes and the trail is often extremely primitive and underused. We saw this as a challenge and immediately decided to ditch our 3-peak weekend for the unloved and unpopular Mt. Marshall.

View from Mt. Marshall Summit, looking south

Mt. Marshall (4368 ft)

Difficulty: Steep
Date of Summit: 6/3/2008
Trail head to Summit: 1.5 miles
Trip Time: 4 hrs
Ascent: 1600 ft
Temperature: low 60's

Yes, this river bed is the trail...

With fanny packs strapped-on, we departed around 2pm for this seemingly short ascent (1.5 miles to the top from our lean-to, climbing 1600 feet). I had not drunk enough water. I had eaten too many salty sausage and cheddar cheese slices. To really make it bad, I was still sick from a week before with a head cold and pretty bad cough. I probably should have acknowledged those signs BEFORE we left, but being 28 and eager, I decided to embrace the "it's only 1.5 miles! c'mon!" attitude. That of course was a terrible decision, as about halfway up the trail, it became extremely steep and very hard for me keep up pace with Martin (he's also quite fit, as he is an avid biker, so that didn't make me look very good either - thanks Martin!). The hike was beautiful though, as it followed a mountain spring/waterfall for nearly the entire ascent.

Example of a trail cairn

Since the trail had no blazes, we had to look out for cairns. A cairn is an artificial (obviously human-made) pile of stones, often in a conical/pyramid form. On the trail, cairns are most commonly found on the summit of a mountain or to mark a change of direction on a trail. The trail blazers of this herd path did a wonderful job of keeping us going in the right direction, as it seemed that every turn was marked by a new cairn. Once at the top, we were treated to a spectacular (yet cropped by trees) southern view of the Adirondacks. We snapped our pictures to document our high peak ascent and started our descent of the mountain (it took us roughly two hours just to summit Marshall, which again was surprisingly slower than we expected). By 6pm, we were back at our campsite. We cooked some dinner (veggie chili with apple pie for dessert!) and turned in for the night (around 8:30pm).

Atop Mt. Marshall at 4368 ft.

Martin Heintzelman on Mt. Marshall (his first high peak ascent!)

We awoke the next day around 7:oo am and after a swig of hot Tang courtesy of chef Martin, we were on the trail a little after 8:00 am. Since we were taking the same trail back as we had taken in, we had a pretty good handle on the amount of time it would take us, as well as what we could expect as far as trail conditions. We were blessed with hardly any rain throughout the first day of hiking, and our second day yielded not a drop from the sky, making the hike out very pleasant (aside from the massive aches and pains both of us had acquired after sleeping for 10 hours). We arrived at the parking lot around 1:30pm, a bit more dirty, a bit more sore, and much wiser.

Example of the type of trail we walked on during this trip

This trip helped us realize that the Adirondacks are a bit more complex than we originally assumed. We've learned that we can't just start climbing the high peaks with our 40 lb packs - we need to approach it more responsibly, so that we can not only achieve our goal, but enjoy doing it as well. Much of this is due to the unique nature of the Adirondacks. Unlike a national park or forest, the ADK's don't waste time with "groomed trails" or "switchbacks". In the eyes of an Adirondack outdoor enthusiast or trail volunteer, these sorts of frills just get in the way of experiencing the true wilderness. You want to go up a mountain? Don't waste time with switchbacks or clearing rocks/boulders from the trail - just draw a straight line from the base of the mountain to the summit, and go up the darned thing! Doing so might mean using a riverbed as a trail or perhaps a tree's exposed root system as a ladder, but you'll still accomplish your goal and have stories to tell because of how you did it. Whatever the case, the philosophy of the Adirondacks is clear: If we can keep the Adirondacks rugged, untouched, and wild, our experience will follow in the same manner. I'll be heading back for another trip, just as soon as I can walk again :)

Return to Mt. Jo

2008-05-30T08:27:00.013-04:00

Mt. Jo from Below

Mt. Jo (2876 ft)

Difficulty: Moderate (the climb was steep, short, and sweet)
Date of Summit: 5/29/2008
Trailhead to Summit of Jo: 1.2 miles
Trip Time: 1.5 hrs
Ascent: 710 ft

On the same day as we stood atop the mighty Mt. Jo, there was an equally impressive feat accomplished 55 years earlier (perhaps a touch more important than our ascent?). In 1953, on the other side of the world and about 26,000 feet higher than we stood, Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzig Norgay were the first humans to summit Mt. Everest, the world's tallest mountain. I like to think that I could hear the spirit of Sir Ed whispering in my ear as I made the final push to the summit while struggling for oxygen through short gasps of air. Although the whispering was probably the wind and the shortness of breath was probably directly related to the head cold I was battling, it was still a great hike on Thursday, May 29th .

Suzy Murr, Me, Greg Murr, and Jim Murr atop Mt. Jo

The main reason for its greatness was due to the company I was in. My wife, cousin, aunt, and uncle all were along on this hike with me, making it a truly special experience. Suzy and Jim Murr, my aunt and uncle, had come from Ohio to pick up their son (Greg, my cousin) in New York. Greg had just flown in from Berlin, Germany, where he is currently living. The Murrs were nice enough to "stop by" and visit us on their way back to Ohio ("stop by" means driving SIX HOURS OUT OF THE WAY TO SEE US - now THAT'S what I call family!).

View of Heart Lake below

Once we were on the trail, the Murr Party had the choice between the short/steep/brutal trail or the long/gradual/easier trail for the ascent. Being extremely fit and optimistic, there was a unanimous decision for the short 'n' brutal trail. With only one or two stops to catch our breath on the way up, we had ascended the peak like champions! It was a beautiful day with beautiful trail conditions - the hordes of black flies were the only problem on this hike, and even they weren't that much trouble. What really surprised me was that we didn't see another person the entire time we were on the trail!

Emily Bennett Beck, Suzy Murr, Greg Murr, and Jim Murr atop Mt. Jo

After multiple photo ops and a nice water and snack break at the top (Thank the Lord for Newman O's!), we promptly began our descent down the more gradual trail. All in all, our hike was short and sweet, resulting in a great cardiac challenge and fantastic views. Upon reaching the finish line, my cousin Greg immediately shed his shoes and took advantage of the cool water of Heart Lake. This was definitely one of the more enjoyable hikes that I've been on in the ADK's, and much of that was due to the company I was with!

My cousin, Greg, cooling off in Heart Lake after the hike

Arab Mountain

2008-04-20T22:39:00.009-04:00

The Martins at the Trailhead

Arab Mountain (2545 ft)

Difficulty: Gradual
Date of Summit: 4/19/2008
Trailhead to Summit: 3.4 miles
Trip Time: 3 hrs
Ascent: 760 ft
Temperature: 75 degrees with snow!

This was a hike of firsts.
The first time I've hiked in shorts through a few feet of snow (it was that warm!)
The first time I've hiked with a 3-year old (Martin)
Most importantly, this was Martin's first official SUMMIT!

It was a beautiful day, with the temps clocking in around 75 degrees. We had our official hiking shorts ready, only to find that the trail was either underwater or under two feet of snow almost the entire time. To make things worse, the snow appeared to be firm, yet collapsed under our weight more often than not.

While Martin H. and I have hiked a few different ADK trails together, we had a new hiker join our team for this trip. He's a hearty young chap who doesn't mind getting dirty, has unbelievable stamina, and apparently is driven almost completely by the hope of eating M&M's upon reaching the summit. The kicker? He's only 3-years old! Little Martin (son of big Martin) did an amazing job on his first summit, helping us keep on track by spotting the red trailblazes all along the trail.

Arab Mountain Firetower (w/ Martin inside)

The Martins (taken from the firetower)

The Firewatcher's Cabin on the Summit

After hiking through mud and snow, the summit was definitely worth it, as we were welcomed with a 360 degree view, accessible firetower, and even the old cabin of the firewatcher. I could have spent all day up there. Absolutely beautiful. We came upon 4 Clarkson University students that were camping on the summit all weekend, which has now sparked my desire to get back up there ASAP for an overnight camping trip (complete with outhouse, surprisingly enough!).

Our descent took about 1/8 the time of our ascent. This was thanks to Big Martin, as he pulled a move only a father could, confidently carrying our little hiking partner down the mountain on his shoulders! After a short drive to Lake Placid, we met up with Emily, Louise, and baby Erik, for a much needed lunch at Charlie's.

It was a great trip of firsts, and hopefully the snow thaws soon so the three hiking-musketeers can get back out on the trail!

Little Martin Enjoying his M&M's on the Summit!

Azure Mountain

2008-02-09T21:59:00.002-05:00

Azure Mountain Fire Tower, Completely Frozen

Azure Mountain (2518 ft)

Difficulty: Steep
Date of Summit: 2/9/2008
Trailhead to Summit: 1 mile
Trip Time: 2 hrs
Ascent: 700 ft

This might be my favorite hike to date. Perhaps because of who I was able to drag along (my wife, Emily), or perhaps because of the amazing sight I found atop the mountain. Yet another snow -filled hike, which only multiplies the surrounding beauty (I just realized that I haven't had a hike WITHOUT any snow yet!). The trail was a bit hard to follow, but we kept a steady focus on the various ski and snowboard paths that had been carved in recent days, and it eventually led us to the top. The firetower that sits atop Azure Mountain is unbelievable. As you leave the forest, you're welcomed by this tall, majestic structure that feels both like a tomb and a monument (it probably helped the experience a great deal by it being covered in snow and ice). Just as my hike up McKenzie and Moose with Martin Heintzelman, there was little to no visibility to be experienced from the summit of Azure. But that tower is worth a summit 5 times this length and elevation. I can only imagine how peaceful it must have been for the firetower agents, spending hours atop the mountain with nothing but nature to keep them company. I'm really excited to return to this mountain again, so I can properly follow the trail, get the view the so many people talk about, and perhaps even have lunch up in the tower.

View from the Tower

Atop Azure

Click the pic & check out the frost...

My Hiking Partner, My Em
(frozen waterfall in bkgd)

The tree has almost completely swallowed the trail blaze - what an image...

Up in the tower

The bark has been eaten? clawed?
Probably by some animal (or person...or both...)

St. Regis Mountain

2008-02-09T21:41:00.002-05:00

Martin and Me, halfway up St. Regis

St. Regis Mountain (2865 ft)

Difficulty: Gradual, (but read on...)
Date of Summit: 12/15/2007
Trailhead to Summit: 3.4 miles
Trip Time: 4 hrs
Ascent: 1266 ft
Temperature: negative something something

My first time on snowshoes. Quite the experience. Martin Heintzelman and I decided to do a bit of winter hiking before the holidays. Wear on Earth (the Potsdam, NY Outfitter) had only two pairs of snowshoes for rental. Small and BIG. I figured that the bigger the snowshoe, the better. Actually, the bigger the snowshoe, the more snow you're shoveling with your feet with every step. Regardless, it was beautiful. Completely untouched snow the entire hike, which was both good and bad. Unfortunately, the blazes seemed to either be covered with snow or non-existent, leading us to wander through the woods looking for the areas that look the most like they could actually be a path. Did I mention how cold it was? We stopped once for an extended "lunch-break", and after 10 minutes, my leather work gloves that I had taken off had frozen rock-solid, not allowing me to put them back on my hands. (those gloves have been retired for some fleece/wool ones now)

The saddest part of all is that we never actually summited this mountain. We were within 1/2 mile of the summit when the trail completely disappeared. Even if the trail had disappeared, we were prepared to bushwack (snowack?) our way to the summit. But the only problem was that there had been what looked like a freak ice-storm that only had affected areas near the summit. Every single tree had been blown upside down and frozen, creating a field of giant frozen brooms, that were completely and utterly impassable. I can't tell you how angry I was. The first time snowshoeing AND the first time I have not summited an intended peak. Blech.

SNOW

MORE SNOW

Mt. Jo

2008-02-09T21:13:00.002-05:00

Atop Mt. Jo

Mt. Jo (2876 ft)

Difficulty: Moderate (but difficult without crampons!)
Date of Summit: 11/25/2007
Trailhead to Summit of Jo: 1.2 miles
Trip Time: 2 hrs
Ascent: 710 ft

I hiked this short but sweet trip with my father-in-law, Byron Bennett. With a considerable amount of outdoors experience under his belt, we were both excited to get to the trailhead. We parked in the ADK Loj parking lot and began our ascent. Unfortunately, the entire trail was covered with a few inches of ice. This made the summit a bit...frustrating. But we did it! After breaking our hiking poles and slipping a couple dozen times, we were standing on top of Mt. Jo, with a beautiful view of Heart Lake below. It's a flexible hike, with two different ways to summit/descend. You can take a trail straight up the mountain, finishing quickly without your breath, or you can meander in a somewhat more gradual progression around the side of the mountain.

Mt. Jo was named after Josephine Scofield, who was to be engaged to Henry Van Hoevenburg. They picked out this specific mountain because of its view of Heart Lake (you guessed it - shaped like a heart - see below pic). No great story of the ADK's would go without a bit of tragedy, and unfortunately the famous "Jo" died before their dream home on Heart Lake was even completed. Henry persisted in finishing the home, and it became the Adirondack Lodge (which later was burned down, and it has been reconstructed and named the Adirondack "Loj" now).

This is the trip that made me realize that I just wasn't prepared (concerning gear) for an ADK winter hike. Or any hike for that matter. Until this point, I had been hiking with old/used ski poles, a messenger bag, and 89% of my clothing was made of cotton. Although I have a great deal of hiking/backpacking/camping experience under my belt, my passion for the outdoors went dormant for nearly 10 years, between high school and now. As any poor, starving artist would do, I sold much of my gear so that the ramen bowl could stay filled. Over the course of this hike, we managed to break my ski poles in half, like toothpicks, and slip on the icy trail every few feet in elevation change. Passing hikers who were wearing crampons and using $150 hiking poles made me feel guilty and excited at the idea of crafting my Christmas list around new-fangled hiking gear.

(UPDATE: Thanks to Byron, I now have a new pair of hiking poles AND some heavy duty crampons. I guess I just need to take this guy on more trips and have my things "conveniently break" :)

Unfortunately Undrinkable

Thanksgiving Ice

Byron enjoying the view

Heart Lake below, atop Mt. Jo

Porter Mountain

2008-02-09T20:56:00.001-05:00

Sign at the Cascade & Porter Trailhead

Atop Porter Mountain

Porter Mountain (4059 ft)
(#38 in 46 Highest ADK Peaks)

Difficulty: Steep, straight up the mountain, and overcrowded trail
Date of Summit: 10/30/2007
Trailhead to Summit of Porter: 2.8 miles (.7 miles from near the top of Cascade)
Trip Time: 4 hrs (Cascade & Porter Summit Combined)
Ascent: 1901 ft

This was the second peak we (Nate Meunier and I) bagged in one day, as the trail shoots off at 2 miles into the Cascade trail (then it's another .7 miles to Porter's summit). This is definitely the less-popular peak between the two, but still very worth the climb. The 1.4 mile round trip side summit actually extended our trip a great deal, since it dips a bit in elevation before ascending to the peak. This peak was actually named after Noah Porter, the Yale University President, as he made the first recorded ascent of this peak in 1875. While the summit is no "bald beauty" like that of Cascade, it was a relaxing break from the busy trail leading up to Cascade.

Nate Meunier Enjoying the vista atop Porter

Probably not the fastest way to get to the airport...

Cascade Mountain

2008-02-09T20:27:00.003-05:00

Almost there...

Cascade Mountain (4o98 ft)
#36 of 46 ADK High Peaks

Difficulty: Steep, straight up the mountain, and overcrowded trail
Date of Summit: 10/30/2007
Trailhead to Summit of Cascade: 2.4 miles
Trip Time: 4 hrs (Cascade & Porter Combined)
Ascent: 1990 ft

This was the first peak we bagged in one day. Although the view from Cascade was beautiful, we shared it with many other hikers, from international hiking professionals to 15-person church youth groups. I summited this peak with my friend, Nathan Meunier, who was visiting from Durham, NC. Since I had hiked McKenzie & Moose just a few weeks earlier, and found a foot of snow on the ground, we both came prepared for some winter trekking (Nate was especially ready - since his fingers and toes go numb at 55 degrees F, his preparedness caused me to mistake him for someone ready to summit Everest). But to our surprise, the fall that turned to winter a few weeks ago had now turned to spring, effectively drowning the entire trail in about 5-10 inches of water and mud. About half the people we passed were hiking in tennis shoes, and I'm ashamed to say I couldn't help but laugh at them (under my breath) for not being prepared. The hike up the mountain was intense and crowded full of people, but relatively short, nonetheless. The last 200 yards before the summit open up to a beautiful bald spot, and the final push reveals the 360 degree view of the ADK's. While I'm aware that this is one of the most popular hikes, I can't blame people for their attraction to this short and beautiful climb. I would do this 10 times again (in off-peak hours to avoid the crowds, that is!).

Nate, hanging on for dear life

View from Cascade Summit

Proof

McKenzie & Moose Mountains

2008-02-09T19:23:00.002-05:00

View from McKenzie's Summit

McKenzie Mountain (3861 ft)
(#55 Highest ADK Peak)

Moose Mountain (3899 ft)
(#50 Highest ADK Peak)

Difficulty: Moderate - Steep (not an ADK trail, but an Shore Owners Association (SOA) trail)
Total trip time (in snow): 6 hrs
(1978 ft ascent)
3.6 miles from trailhead to Summit of McKenzie
3 miles from McKenzie to Moose
3.4 miles from Moose summit to trailhead
(10 mile round-trip hike)

This was my very first hike in the Adirondack Park. I hiked this saddleback pair in October of 2007 with Martin Heintzelman. At the trailhead, it was warm and there wasn't a flake of snow anywhere. By the time we summited the peaks, which lie just outside Lake Placid, there was a sizable amount of snow everywhere! Altitude definitely does make a difference in this case. McKenzie was the first of two peaks we would summit on this day, followed by Moose. Both oare accessed by trails maintained by the Lake Placid Shore Owners Association. Walking by the giant "camps" of the shore owners on the lake near the beginning of the trail provided an interesting counterbalance to what would be the primitive and desolate summit on both McKenzie & Moose. Despite the overcast weather, it was still a beautiful view as the view of the trees quickly succumbed to the fog.

Wind Sculpting the Snow on McKenzie

Martin Heintzelman atop McKenzie

Me, pre-daypack Acquisition

Along the trail on Moose Mtn.

View from Moose Summit

Paul Smiths VIC

2008-02-01T21:43:00.003-05:00

Emily, in her Adirondack Lean-To

Paul Smiths VIC

Difficulty: EXTREMELY EASY
Date of Hike: 9/15/2007
Multiple Trails, each with a different length
Trip Time: 1 hr

I've actually visited the Paul Smiths VIC (Visitor Interpretive Center) a few different times. This center is located right next to Paul Smiths College, in the northwestern part of the ADK's. I've taken both sets of parents there, as well as Emily. It's the perfect destination for people that either don't want to do much extreme hiking, or need to be introduced to the outdoors for the first time. There are about half a dozen different trails that all begin from the VIC, including one that is wheelchair accessible. A caveat to hardcore hikers - every single trail is COMPLETELY MULCHED (as in, they've dumped tons of mulch on the trail, for easy hiking), so it felt a bit weird to be walking down trails that seemed like they belonged in some suburban setting. The multiple Adirondack Lean-To's scattered along the trail made up for the mulch, by perfectly capturing the essence of Adirondack hiking history (built by Paul Smith's College students a bit ago). The main visitor-center building itself is well designed, and serves as a nice, free mini-museum about the natural history of the ADK's. The 20-minute video that they show is very helpful for those who want a crash course on the region's history (human and natural). This is the IDEAL place to bring beginners, children, and anyone else that just wants a small taste of the Adirondack region.

View from near the VIC

Up on one of the observation decks