Al Dente (To the Tooth) 2014-04-12

Having missed last weekend's fine weather, I was eager to get out and sample a fine spring day before April's showers debuted. Wishing to spend some time above treeline, I decided to visit the MacIntyre Range.

Winter has not been kind to the Adirondack Loj road. Dodging its numerous potholes keeps you alert. Be warned that the road has settled on both sides of the bridge spanning the West Branch Ausable River (1 mile prior to the Loj).

I drove to the Loj's lower parking area and looked for a spot to park on the sunnier side. I paused before pulling in because the unfrozen ground looked treacherously soft. While I was considering my next move, my wife asked "Isn't that Neil?" I reversed, drove closer to the trail-head, and parked next to Neil's car on the icier side of the parking area. It proved to be a lucky break because, moments later, someone drove into the muddy parking spot I had considered and mired their car in deep mud! By day's end, the entrance to the lower parking area was blocked to redirect drivers to the higher, and drier, area.

We greeted Neil and his wife and learned they were heading to Algonquin. I mused we'd probably see one another along the trail because I was off to Iroquois. I met them twice during the day, once in the morning and then in the mid-afternoon shortly before exiting.

My intention was to hike Wright, Algonquin and Iroquois. If the conditions were favorable I would add the following objectives: Shepherd's Tooth, Cold Brook Pass, and Marshall. How many I would achieve depended upon the ease of off-trail travel. My wife drove away to Lake Placid with the understanding I'd call her and let her know if I was returning from Iroquois or continuing on to Marshall.

I left the trail-head at 8:45 AM. The trail to Wright and Algonquin was hard-packed with very few icy spots. Trail Crampons (Microspikes) were more than adequate and the snowpack never softened enough to allow for post-holing the trail. However, if you stepped off the snow-spine, you'd quickly discover the snowpack's true depth.

MacIntyre Falls was mostly frozen except for a patch of running water below its head. It stood in marked contrast to the early spring experienced in 2012!

MacIntyre Falls, April 12th, 2014.

MacIntyre Falls, March 21st, 2012.

Shortly before reaching the rocky promontory humorously known as "Wrong Peak", I passed a group of four young Quebecers plus a group of college students led by their professor. The prof wore beach shorts (Hawaiian floral motif). My long-johns and pants were rolled up to my knees but shorts would have been very welcome! After a long winter of hiking, I was fully acclimatized to cold weather and anything above freezing now felt like the Bahamas!

I stashed my snowshoes shortly after the Wright-Algonquin junction and proceeded to Wright. At treeline, I stopped to remove my Trail Crampons and don a hard-shell. Wright was proving its "windy" reputation was well-deserved. I left my pack alongside the trail and proceeded to the summit in bare-boots. Except for a few short icy patches, the route to the summit was free of snow. Wright's rocky summit was gusty but nowhere as inhospitable as the last time I visited it. The view of Algonquin was excellent!

Algonquin's sunlit "dome".

Summit-seekers on Algonquin.

Back at treeline, I met the college group again. I collected my belongings and quickly glissaded down the trail to the junction where I donned my snowshoes. My boots had been gnawing at my heels all morning and the snowshoe's Televators reduced the irritation.

The clomp-clomp of plastic snowshoes on hard-pack set the beat to the song I stomped out. By treeline, the ice changed the tune to something more percussive and "experimental". To gain more traction, I wandered off the icy path and the surrounding snowpack was firm and supportive. I hoped this would continue to be true for the route over Boundary to Iroquois and beyond.

Only a handful of hikers stood atop Algonquin's wind-blown summit. I paused just long enough to tag it and have a snack. I removed my snowshoes and proceeded to bare-boot down to the col. I encountered more icy patches than expected but was able to find enough exposed rock to keep me upright.

I donned my snowshoes in the col and proceeded to Boundary along an almost unrecognizable stretch of terrain. Gone was the herd-path winding through thickets of tall cripplebrush. In its place was a broad snowy plain peppered with miniature firs. The snowpack was dense and allowed me to eyeball a preferred line and walk it without danger of disappearing in a spruce-trap. It was wonderful to have the option of choosing one's route and I hoped the conditions would persist well beyond Iroquois.

Approaching the summit of Iroquois.

A fine spring day in the High Peaks.

I reached the rocky summit of Iroquois at noon. The solid snowpack had allowed me to take a direct line from Boundary to Iroquois. I stared down into Cold Brook Pass and evaluated the route to Shepherd's Tooth. Everything lying above treeline was now "summer" whereas everything below was still "winter". I called my wife and let her know the conditions seemed right for "exploring beyond Iroquois to Marshall" and she shouldn't expect to hear from me until late in the afternoon.

I descended along exposed rock and quickly learned the few patches of snow offered no traction for bare-boots. Unintentionally sliding down one snowy section made me realize how useful an ice-axe becomes for self-arrest. I avoided the snow and before long reached treeline where I put my snowshoes back on. I couldn't find evidence of the herd-path so I simply eyeballed a route to the Iroquois-Tooth col.

The first few yards below treeline revealed the snowpack was not optimal for easy off-travel travel. One step would be solid and then, two-steps later, the snow would collapse and a leg would disappear up to the thigh. Occasionally it seemed like something took hold of my snowshoe and refused to release it. Sometimes the culprit was a spruce-trap and sometimes it appeared to be due to a weak underlying layer of unconsolidated snow.

In the col, the surface seemed more firm but the change was short-lived. The brief ascent to the Tooth proved the snowpack was far from consolidated. Every other step I took punched through the surface. My poles suffered the same fate so I hauled myself up using nearby trees. Standing on Shepherd's Tooth, I developed a healthy respect for the difficulty of traveling on an unevenly consolidated snowpack.

Iroquois from Shepherd's Tooth.

I paused to take a few photos and to consider my next move. Perhaps the conditions I experienced were an anomaly. Maybe the drainage leading to Cold Brook Pass was solid. I knew this was naive but I had to check. I descended the Tooth and proceeded about a hundred feet to the west. I punched through the snow, knee to hip depth, at least six times over the course of the short distance to the drainage. It was discouraging to say the least.

Profile of Shepherd's Tooth.

One half of me wanted to descend to Cold Brook Pass. The other half knew, to reach the Tooth, I had descended 200 easy feet over open rock and only 100 tricky feet in unconsolidated snow. Another 700 tricky feet remained before arriving at Cold Brook Pass. Assuming I opted out of Marshall (highly likely) I had the balance of the Cold Brook Pass trail to cover. Whether I chose to descend east to Lake Colden or west to Scott Clearing, this largely unused trail would be untracked. Clearly, it wasn't going to be as "mellow" as the morning's hike had been.

I concluded the conditions weren't the "perfect crust" I had hoped for and chose to reverse course. The short ascent to treeline proved to be the most challenging part of the entire hike. I can't say I enjoyed having every other footstep swallowed whole but accepting it as being unavoidable made the experience less frustrating. Upon reaching treeline, I looked back at Shepherd's Tooth and marveled at how short a distance I had traveled but how much effort was expended to gain it. To put it in perspective, it took me three and quarter hours to ascend Wright, Algonquin, and Iroquois. The ascent from Shepherd's Tooth to Iroquois, a mere 300 feet and 0.2 miles, took me just shy of a half-hour.

Upon reaching the summit of Iroquois I met two men cheering and exchanging congratulations. The excitement seemed out of proportion to the objective (Iroquois) but then I overheard one of them say he had completed his first 46er round. I congratulated him and he added it was also his 34th birthday. More of his friends began to arrive and it was clear there would be a small celebration. Their whoops and hollars ccould be heard from the col and confirmed the party was in full swing.

46er party on Iroquois.

In marked contrast to my experience at Shepherd's Tooth, I was able to return to Algonquin in bare-boots without post-holing. Glissading down Iroquois and Boundary was great fun and, I suspect, a completely different experience to a trip to Cold Brook Pass. Despite their proximity, the difference in snow conditions, for the two areas, was remarkable.

What a day!

I arrived on Algonquin shortly before 2:00 PM and found it devoid of wind and people. I spent a few minutes enjoying the solitude and then called my wife to let her know of the change in plans. I explained I would be back at the Loj around 3:00 PM.

And then there were none; Algonquin's tranquil summit.

After donning my Trail Crampons I began a very pleasant descent back to the Loj. The corn-snow yielded underfoot and made for effortless glissades. I ceded the trail to several skiers and hikers making an early afternoon ascent. I passed several hikers I recognized including Mr. Hawaii and his students. I also met several people I recognized who were part of a MOAC group-hike. Finally, I met Neil and Sylvie who I joined for the last half-mile to the trail-head.

My wife and I spent an hour window-shopping along Main street and then headed to the Lake Placid Pub for supper. There we met Jeremy (Honey Badger) and friends. He was celebrating the simultaneous completion of the ADK 46 and the Catskill 3500! A skillful bit of planning allowed him to finish the two challenges on the same day. Congratulations, Jeremy!

It was a beautiful day to be in the High Peaks and I had the opportunity to add two more peaks to my Spring 46er round. I'll certainly be back soon in search of "perfect al dente crust".

Photos

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Three Macs and three more. 2014-01-31

A trip to Wright, Algonquin, Iroquois, Colden, Tabletop,and Phelps.

The original plan was to meet Neil, David ("TopoOfGothics") and Brian ("Pathgrinder") at Tmax 'n Topo's Hostel at 6:45 AM. All of us would hike three out of the four peaks in the MacIntyre Range (Wright, Algonquin, and Iroquois) and only Neil, to further his training for Project 46, would continue to Colden, Tabletop, and Phelps. Brian and I planned to visit Allen the following day.

At 6:45 AM I pulled into the hostel's parking lot and simultaneously received a call from Brian. He reported he could not join us. His car developed an electrical problem that left him stranded near Keene. I offered to get him but he didn't want more people affected by the incident and would sort it out by himself. Sadly, Brian's plans for hiking were canceled.

Neil, David, and I left the Loj at 7:30 AM. A light snowfall greeted us and continued throughout the day. The temperature remained a fairly steady -6 °C (22 °F) in the valleys but high winds on the summits added a significant windchill. NOAA predicted winds on the order of 40 to 50 mph but David estimated a constant 35 to 40 mph. Some of the wind gusts interfered with my balance so I'll take the middle and say 40 mph. Anyway, more about that later.

Trail conditions up to the Wright junction were easily negotiated with nothing more than microspikes. We stashed our packs, zipped up in anticipation of the high winds, and started up the short trail to treeline. About a 100 yards out on the open rock, I hunkered down out of the wind to put on my face-mask and goggles. Whereas David and Neil wore neither, I wasn't enjoying the eye-stinging wind. It took me a few minutes to don the gear before I set out again.

The ascent was like nothing I've ever experienced mostly because I've purposely avoided such conditions. I'd say it was an eye-opener (but only if you wore goggles, ha-ha). The wind gusts tested my balance and I freely admit to feeling like a fish out of water. By the time I neared the summit, Neil and David were descending. I recall their faces being quite red but that may have been due to the tint of my goggles. Neil exclaimed "Goggles! Smart man!"

I spent about two minutes in the lee of the summit. Although I need glasses to see properly, I can get by without them for day-time hiking. I chose not to wear them, to avoid having them fog up, but my poor vision was now doubly impaired by frosted goggles. Not being able to see clearly and being buffeted by wind is quite a disorienting experience.

Frosted goggles on Wright.

Later in the day, I discovered the billed cap I wore was responsible for trapping humid air in my goggles. I had to put the goggles inside my jacket to defrost so I could wipe away the condensation. Without the billed cap, the goggles performed well.

I opened my jacket to retrieve my camera, took a few photos, then bundled up for the descent. With limited vision and a frost-choked face-mask impeding my breathing, I was beginning to understand how claustrophobia felt. In my haste to descend I went in the wrong direction; nothing looked familiar. I lifted my goggles to get a better look at the terrain and quickly concluded I was off-route.

I didn't see any cairns and Algonquin was at eight o'clock. It was almost behind me and that meant I was heading north-west. I moved south-west, into the wind, over terrain that was clearly off-trail, and eventually spotted a cairn. Feeling like my head was in a plastic bag, I hustled down the rocks, embarrased that I was causing my companions to freeze their heinies at the trail-junction.

The moment I returned to treeline, Neil popped up, saw me, and I gave him a thumb's up. We sped down to the junction where I explained my "technical difficulties". Can't see, can't breathe, can't walk, wah-wah-wah. I needed more experience to become comfortable with the nasty conditions and Algonquin was ready to provide it.

Neil set a steady pace and before long we were at treeline again. This time everyone donned goggles and some form of face protection. I accepted not being able to see clearly but the face-mask felt like it was suffocating me. I vowed to punch bigger holes in the mouth area when I returned home. For now, I was "pressure-breathing" like I was ascending an 8000 meter peak!

Algonquin's summit, blasted by horizontal snow, was no place to stop and David, now in the lead, kept walking south. Fortunately, visibility was no worse than about 200 feet so we could see the cairns and some of the grandeur of Algonquin's southern face. There's plenty of exposed rock and patches of ice and snow but nothing that microspikes couldn't handle.

Snow depth increased appreciably along the herd path to Iroquois. Upon reaching the bog, now a field of snow, Neil and I stashed our packs. We had brought snowshoes but the conditions were just this side of favourable for bare-booting. David led the way over Boundary and then, just when we should've zigged when we zagged, we found ourselves off-route. We appeared to be below and west of Iroquois and we all knew that we had overshot the herd path.

In an attempt to find the path I found a spruce-trap instead. Waist deep, I had to use my hiking poles, laid flat on the snow, as a 'flotation device' to extract myself. Meanwhile, David backtracked and found the correct route. Rolling out of the hole, I hurried to the summit to, once again, see them descending. The summit was no place to linger.

Neil and David below Iroquois.

We zipped back along our tracks, collected our packs at the bog, and returned to the junction. David was heading back over Algonquin so we thanked him for his route-finding and bid him good luck for his return trip. Neil and I turned to begin the second leg of our journey.

Returning to our packs in the col.

The descent from the col to Lake Colden was, for me, the most enjoyable part of the trip. A half-foot of powder snow made for the best glissading conditions of the day. Two thousand vertical feet of "boot-skiing", combined with a stunning view of Colden's raked western face, made all the effort worthwhile. On March 21st in 2012, in the midst of unusually warm weather, it took me two hours to descend the trail in full-on spring-thaw conditions. On this gorgeous winter's day, we exited in under an hour and with big smiles.

Best glissading conditions of the day!

We sauntered over to the Interior Outpost and, consulting a map, made a beeline to Lake Colden's eastern shore. Feeling a little 'gun shy' after experiencing an icy foot-bath during my last hike, I moved quickly across the lake and avoided pausing. A bit of a shame really because there were plenty of photo opportunities but I just didn't feel like testing my luck that day. Upon reaching the opposite shore, Neil suggested we stay on the lake and scout its shore for the trail junction. A few hundred yards north, we saw a foot-bridge and what appeared to be a diverging trail. We walked up the bank and quickly spotted the trail junction.

The climb from Lake Colden to the summit of Colden is a "good 'un". It has its fair share of steep sections amply blanketed in ice. Neil used full crampons and I used Trail Crampons, mostly out of necessity because my original plan did not include Colden. Snowshoes were not the best tool for the job and remained slung on our packs for, as Neil puts it, "training weight". A steady pace, some conversation to while the time away, and, before you know it, we found ourselves at the "gate". Knowing treeline was nearby, we stopped out of the wind to don goggles and face-masks.

Gate to Shangri-la.

After climbing the ladder, we found bare rock and patches of ice lining the route to the summit. Near the perched glacial erratic, we ducked out of the wind into the trees for a quick photo and then continued over the summit to Lake Arnold. The descent was nearly as good as from the Algonquin/Boundary col. At Lake Arnold, we found the first evidence of someone's passage. Owing to the snowfall, it was unclear if the tracks were made a few hours ago or the previous day.

Windless Lake Arnold.

The trail from Lake Arnold to Indian Falls passed by uneventfully. The conditions merited nothing more than microspikes. We paused at the head of Indian Falls but its million-dollar view was obscured by dark gray snowclouds. We continued to the Tabletop junction where we dropped our packs, took our headlamps, and began the climb to our fifth peak of the day. The trail was well packed by recent traffic and we managed to tag the summit before sunset.

Reunited with our packs we continued along the Van Hoevenberg trail to the Phelps junction. We paused for a snack, I drank the last of my two liters of water, and, once again, we left our packs by the side of the trail. Neil set a comfortable, steady pace, and we settled in for the day's final 1200 feet of ascent. Atop Phelps we were treated to fleeting glimpses of a starry sky and that was sufficient reward for our efforts. The wind was still making its presence known so we didn't spend much time star-gazing.

In the dark we made a left when we should've hung a right and found ourselves looking at an untrodden trail. A little backtracking resolved the error and we were once again on-route and descending quickly. At the junction, Neil replaced his crampons with microspikes and, shouldering our packs for the last time, made tracks for the Loj. All the day's "work" was done and now it was just a long stroll back to the car.

Fun with crampons.

Walking past Marcy Dam, Neil suggested we cross Marcy Brook via the 'squirrel crossing'. Based on the memory of crossing I had made in March, I thought I knew this 'squirrel crossing' but discovered it wasn't the same place where I had crossed. Now that I know where it is, given the right conditions, like a frozen Marcy Brook, it is a nice shortcut that bypasses some of the deeper dips in the trail.

We emerged at the trail-register at 9:00 PM, thirteen and a half hours from our departure. It had been an exciting and rewarding day. I drove Neil back to the hostel. Whereas I was driving back to Montreal, Neil was preparing for another multi-peak hike the following day!

Photos

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Stats

Elevation Gain: ~8600 feet
Distance: ~23 miles.

Aye, Eye, Tooth, and Pass! 2013-07-07

Algonquin, Iroquois, Shepherd's Tooth, and Cold Brook Pass.

Sunday, I joined other members of MOAC (Montreal Outdoors Adventure Club; a Meetup group) for a hike to Algonquin and Iroquois. The trip was well run by its genial organizer, Géraldine. The group was composed of eleven hikers and it was a pleasure to make their acquaintance. My thanks go to: Géraldine, Werner, Kat, Gilbert, Fritz, Renaud, Donny, Robert, Richard, and Marianne. 

For a Sunday morning, the border-crossing was surprisingly busy and we lost a half-hour waiting in the queue. Thereafter things moved along smoothly. The car-trip gave us (Werner, Kat, Gilbert, and I) plenty of time to break the ice. At the Loj, Géraldine gathered the group and explained the ground rules to ensure everyone's safety and comfort. We departed at around 9:30 AM.

Géraldine instructs the group.

Despite the recent rainy weather, the trail was in remarkably good condition. The two-plus hours to the summit gave ample opportunity to chat with others and learn more about them. We paused at trail-intersections, and MacIntyre Falls, to re-group and to ensure no one was struggling. The steep stretch of rock-slab, beyond the Wright junction, took its toll and the group spread out with everyone proceeding at their own comfortable pace. 

Atop Algonquin, we paused for lunch and I chatted with the summit steward, Kevin, who I had seen a few weeks earlier en route to Colden. Despite a 60% chance of showers and thunderstorms, including the possibility of heavy rain, the cloudy skies held back and we had fairly good views of the surrounding mountains. There was also a surprising, and very welcome, lack of bugs! 

Enjoying lunch atop Algonquin.

Richard (a MOAC co-organizer), Marianne, and Gilbert decided that Algonquin's views were sufficient and chose to descend the way they came. The balance of the group continued to Iroquois. At the herd-path junction, Werner, who had already announced his intentions, chose to skip Iroquois and descended directly to Lake Colden (the group would return along the same route and could 'sweep the trail' behind him).  The weather was still good so we continued to Iroquois. 

Off to Iroquois.

The new bog-bridges were a welcome addition and allowed us to make good time through the muddiest sections. Up and over Boundary, it wasn't long before we were scrambling up the northern slope of Iroquois. Atop its summit, capped with an impressive cairn, we saw a wall of rain-showers moving from Wallface to Marshall. The wind increased and we felt a few sprinkles. Unlike Algonquin, there'd be no lingering and Géraldine informed the group that it'd be best to begin their return immediately.

It was at this point that I asked Géraldine if I could continue on alone and catch up with the group somewhere along the planned return-route. I explained I would no longer be her responsibility but let her know that if she was uncomfortable with my request that I would happily continue with the group. She paused, considered it, then agreed saying her decision was based upon my experience. Her valid concern was that I would emerge behind the group and so there'd be no way of knowing my condition until, worst case, they were at the Loj.

With the weather deteriorating, the group did not dawdle on the summit and, after saying our good-byes, left Iroquois to return via the trail to Lake Colden. I donned pants and my hardshell in preparation for a windy and rainy descent to Shepherd's Tooth and Cold Brook Pass. Before departing the summit, a young couple arrived and I was intrigued by a sound I had not heard in years. The young man had a film camera and was manually advancing the film to the next frame. He explained they could still be acquired on eBay and knew where to process the film. The young woman had a DSLR in her pack but said the small film camera was, at times, more convenient. I used their DSLR to immortalize their moment on Iroquois then began my descent to the "Tooth".

As soon as I left the summit, I was sheltered from the wind. The herd-path was easy to follow (although it could be tricky if obscured by fog) and it quickly led me to the treeline where I had to pay more attention. Unlike the well-defined herd-paths found on the so-called "trail-less peaks", the path to "Shepherd's Tooth" requires you to look beneath the branches to follow its course. I had visited Shepherd's Tooth on a previous hike so I did not expect any surprises. Maybe a little over-confidence is what led me 'off-route' and I soon found myself pushing through thick trees. I kept the Tooth in view and, within a few yards, found the herd-path again. After a tiny bit of scrambling, I was on the Tooth's rocky summit and admiring its views.

Southern face of Iroquois from Shepherd's Tooth.

The rainshowers never amounted to much so I replaced my hardshell with a long-sleeved shirt. After donning gloves, and taking one last look around, I descended into the tiny col, between Shepherd's Tooth and Iroquois, and headed a few yards west where I easily found the herd-path leading into the western drainage. Once in the drainage, it was only a matter of keeping one's eyes glued to the ground to see evidence of previous foot-traffic.

Herd-path? Keep your eyes on the ground!

Based on information from Neil, I knew the drainage would end at a cliff and I'd need to traverse eastwards, several yards, to a "ramp". The mental image I had of this area was unlike what I discovered. Nearing the cliff, the herd-path descends steeply; I had the sense I was getting close to the end of the drainage. I emerged at the top of the cliff, carefully peered through the trees, and saw the flowing water disappear over the edge. Cold Brook Pass was tantalizingly close, about 40 feet below me.

Definitely not the way down!

I moved eastward and followed a gnarly route in search of a beautiful slope of smooth rock bordered by steep walls. Well, that's what I imagined it would look like but the reality was more of a "dirty gully" or "messy cleft in the cliff". Although I knew the ramp was "no more than 50 yards to the east", anticipation made it feel longer and at one point it seemed like the path began to rise slightly. Maybe it led upwards to join the ramp but I refused to gain even a yard of elevation and chose to continue directly eastward. Besides, I could see something through the trees that suggested a break in the cliff. It wasn't the magical ramp of my imagination but a real-world cleft in the cliff with trees and an easily negotiable slope. Within moments I was at the base of the cliff and within minutes I was standing on the Cold Brook Pass trail (thirty-five minutes from Shepherd's Tooth). I had finally experienced a section of the Adirondacks I had dreamt of for years and I was quite pleased with I had found.

Post-bushwhack smile.

The Cold Brook Pass trail was an interesting mix of rock-hopping through standing water, bog-bridges, garden-path, and a tiny bit of blowdown. It was in much better shape than what I had anticipated. The stretches of mud I encountered were easily avoided. During the descent I found a navy-blue jacket that, from its clean appearance, must have been lost earlier in the day. I stashed it and, upon my return to the Loj, turned it in at the HPIC.

Trail through Cold Brook Pass.

The descent from the top of Cold Brook Pass to the Lake Colden trail took about fifty minutes. It included a brief pause at the final brook crossing where I stopped for water and to remove my sweat-soaked pants and shirt. What a relief it was to be back in a T-shirt and shorts! While walking towards the Caretaker's cabin it dawned on me that it might have been useful if Géraldine and I arranged to leave a signal at the trail-junction. Whoever arrived at the junction first would leave a signal, perhaps a triangle of three stones, to let the other party know they were already on their way back to the Loj. I thought I would eventually catch up to them but had failed to consider the possibility that I might get ahead of them.

I decided to take a short side-trip past the Caretaker's cabin to get a view of Lake Colden. The heavy clouds didn't make for interesting photography of the lake but the flowers, notably Indian Paintbush, were in full bloom. I returned to the main trail, continued northwards, and thanks to an amazing stroke of luck, arrived mere seconds after Géraldine and the others emerged at the junction! Reunited, we continued to Avalanche Lake.

Indian Paintbrush in bloom near the Caretaker's cabin.

A few showers began at the lake and raindrops danced on its mirror-smooth surface. The group was in good spirits and the cooling shower was welcome. We paused at 'Hitchup Matilda' for a group photo and then proceeded along the obstacle course that forms the western side of Avalanche Lake.

Donny and Renaud approaching 'Hitchup Matilda'.

Within Avalanche pass, Donny pointed out an impressively large mushroom and I've yet to identify its type. My best guess is that it's some kind of Amanita.

Fascinating fungus.

At Marcy Dam, the group proceeded to the bridge-crossing whereas I descended to the base of the dam. I hoped to get a good photo of the group passing along the opposite shore but the tree-cover was too dense. Seeing an opportunity to cool my feet, I waded through Marcy Brook and rejoined the group on the opposite side. Nearing the parking area, we were refreshed by a "sun-shower". The combination of sunshine and cooling raindrops was a perfect end to the hike. The 'cherry on top' was a pit-stop at the Stewart's in Ausable Forks where we indulged our appetites. Ice cream was the winning pick!

Géraldine and Renaud enjoying a sun-shower.

It was an enjoyable day with kindred spirits and I hope we get the opportunity to share another day together in the Adirondacks.

Photos

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Algonquin and Iroquois 2012-03-21

There are times in life when you're in the right place at the right time, like the Adirondacks on Wednesday, March 21st. The last day of the 46ers official winter season offered Florida weather with Adirondack views.

I picked through my list of winter peaks and decided Iroquois was the best fit for the day. Algonquin and Wright put up a tough fight last winter. When we reached Algonquin's summit we were running low on time and stamina to visit Iroquois. It now seemed fitting to hike over Algonquin on a freakishly warm "winter" day.

I left the Loj at 6:50 AM. I expected the trail to be spring-like muddy but it still came as a surprise to encounter mud in March. As I ascended the trail, the mud's consistency changed from syrup, to fudge, and finally to cookie dough. I managed to negotiate the first bits of icy spine in bare-boots. The rock hummock, near the campsite, was skinned in ice. After ascending it, with some difficulty, I decided it was time to put on my Trail Crampons. The ice eventually gave way to firm-packed snow that ran unbroken all the way to treeline. Except for its north-eastern face, Algonquin's summit was snow-free.

I arrived topside at 9:50 AM. The temperature was about 12C (52F), the winds were light, the sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky, and I was the only hiker on the peak; it was wonderful! I called my wife and shared the moment with her.

New boots on Algonquin.

I could've spent the entire afternoon on Algonquin watching the ravens soar overhead and listening to the soothing rush of water in the valleys. However, Iroquois was the day's objective and, after a quick snack and a few photos, I began descending Algonquin's southern face. This section is one of my favourite places; it's a comfortable descent over solid rock amidst alpine sedges and sweeping views.

Fifteen minutes from the summit, I arrived at the junction and strapped on snowshoes. The herd path has a narrow spine that stands about four feet tall. It winds its way through the dense, stunted spruce trees and becomes a knife-edge in a few spots; bare-booting would be a bad idea. Boundary's summit was snow-free and so the snowshoes came off temporarily.

The recent version of MSR's snowshoe binding uses a metal stud, in lieu of a clip, to hold the excess strap. Anyone who has ever tried to push a strap-hole onto the stud, in cold winter weather, will attest to the fact that it is a difficult and frustrating task. I am happy to report that I have discovered how to make it easy. The exterior temperature has to match the interior temperature of the lab where MSR invented this infernal system.

Somewhere between Boundary and Iroquois I noticed that my face was becoming uncomfortably hot. I had forgotten to put on sunscreen before setting out. I usually carry a tiny squeeze-tube of the stuff in my ditty-bag but it was missing. A tube of Dermatone Lip 'n Face Protector is normally tied to my shoulder-strap and so I decided to try out the 'n Face part. It did the trick but it feels like greasing up for a Channel swim.

Iroquois's north-eastern slope was paved in snow and I chose it for my ascent route. At 10:50 AM, I was atop Iroquois, peak number 26; my winter season was officially over. The views were excellent; I could see the Sewards in the west and Allen in the east. Colden was covered in tendrils of snow and ice. Lake Colden retained its winter cover but Flowed Lands was clearly flowing again.

Iroquois's summit cairn.

The return to the junction was uneventful and seemed mostly an exercise in donning and shedding snowshoes. I arrived at the junction at 11:30 AM and realized the day would be over very quickly if I simply reversed course over Algonquin. I chose to return via Avalanche Pass. The descent to Lake Colden would change the hike's tone.

Descent to Lake Colden.

My recollection of the 'yellow trail' to Lake Colden was based on a single hike many summers ago. I recalled it was steep and followed the course of a stream that trickled over exposed rock offering good views. I now have a very different memory of this trail. With spring melt in full swing, this trail is a wild ride.

The upper section was paved in soft yet supportive snow. With my snowshoes in a snowplow stance, I was able to slide down the steeper pitches. All the while I heard the ominous sound of water flowing underfoot. The views of Colden were fantastic and I made excellent progress. I optimistically predicted a one hour descent to Lake Colden. I was wrong by one hour.

I enjoyed M. Night Shyamalan's 'Signs'. One of the film's themes is whether there are coincidences or does everything happen for a reason. In other words, events do not happen by pure chance but serve as signs and are part of a plan. If I believed this theory, I probably would've placed more meaning into discovering a puddle of excrement by the side of the trail.

It was very clear that someone, or something, had severe bowel issues and was forced to evacuate very urgently. It was the most disgusting thing I've ever encountered on a hike and prompted a "What the f__k?" The filth was alongside a steep pitch that descended to the first of several difficult water-crossings; was it a sign?

The first water-crossing made me realize that the so-called 'water hazards' I encountered two days earlier, on the Lillian Brook herd path, were child's play. The yellow trail's steepness ensures plenty of fast water and the early onset of spring eliminated all snow-bridges. I jinxed myself when I hoped it was the worst of the lot. It proved to be one of the easier ones to cross.

At one point, I stood above three raging streams and wondered which one, if any, was the trail. I descended via a narrow finger of land, separating two streams, and eventually caught sight of the trail in the distance. It felt good to get back on 'dry land' but the next water crossing was not far away. The direction of travel was never an issue but finding the path of least resistance kept me busy.

No sign of the trail but the direction is obvious.

After yet another tricky crossing I came to an area covered in earth. I prodded the surface with my trekking pole because I had no idea if the dark earth had caused the underlying snowpack to soften. There were a few ice floes beached on its surface. It was an odd sight and I suspect it is the result of a flash flood because it lay across from a large waterfall. I suspect its sheath of ice burst and released a torrent of water and soil onto the trail. I followed its course and it led to a spot that seemed to be a deadend. It was the first time I felt overwhelmed and that prompted me to stop and rest.

After a few minutes to eat, drink, and clear my mind, the problem seemed solvable. I bushwhacked along the steep shoreline to find a better vantage point. The trees were very closely spaced but at least the snowpack was solid. I spotted the trail and continued to the next crossing.

I had forgotten the yellow trail switches from one bank to another several times over its length. I recall feeling very pleased after successfully crossing a tricky stretch of water. I walked about a hundred yards downstream and discovered, to my disappointment, the trail crossed back over a far more difficult stretch of water. I retraced my steps to the upstream crossing, recrossed it, and bushwhacked a hundred yards to regain the trail. Whoever cut the trail must have done so in August.

The next crossing finally won and I went hip deep through a snow bank and into the underlying water. I probably uttered a few choice words and each squishy step thereafter reminded me of my carelessness. I was heading along the southern bank and came to a very wide crossing to the northern bank. Screw it! Feeling I was close to Lake Colden, I chose to bushwhack the remaining distance.

Someone else had the same idea because I came across snowshoe tracks several times. The snow was supportive but became patchy as I neared the lake. I learned how awkward it is to step over tangled deadfall while wearing snowshoes. Two hours after leaving the Iroquois/Algonquin col, I exited onto the blue trail within a stone's throw of the footbridge.

I had been looking for something to spice up the hike and I had found it. Amongst the numerous crossings I found many beautiful waterfalls and cascades. The rush of falling water served as background music, thunderous yet soothing. The price of admission was a little steep but the spectacle was memorable. I'm very glad to have experienced everything it had to offer.

I stopped at Lake Colden's northern trail register to put on dry socks. I wondered if I'd be able to cross Avalanche Lake and it wasn't long before that question was answered with a resounding "No". Most of the lake is covered in ice but it is gray and fractured; a moat of open water separates the ice from the shoreline.

Trap Dike purged by Hurricane Irene.

Purged by Irene, water was flowing freely through the Trap Dyke. The two Hitchup Matildas were in good shape and the northern one featured a 'hiker wash' in the form of water dripping from above. In Avalanche Pass I finally met another hiker. He appeared to be descending the slide created by Hurricane Floyd. He was wearing running shoes, T-shirt, and shorts. He zipped past me on the icy spine without the aid of traction devices. He made me wonder what kind of magical soles allowed him stick to ice. A silly thought occurred to me: maybe he was moving so fast that he never touched the ice long enough to slip!

Shortly before reaching Marcy Dam, I experienced the new section of trail. It's a very nice re-route and, to my surprise, has a bed of small river stones! Considering the rugged character of most Adirondack trails, this short stretch feels like a manicured garden path.

Marcy Dam's reservoir is full and a torrent of water gushes from the dam's breach. The dam is in a sorry state; it felt like visiting an old friend who had fallen on hard times. How many wonderful memories have started and finished with a crossing of the dam's bridge? I proceeded down the road to the temporary water crossing.

A sign indicates where the blue trail crosses Marcy Brook. It points to a trail that leads downstream; I didn't follow it. I descended the slope to the brook and crossed it via a plank. Getting to the plank is a little tricky owing to the volume of water.

On the opposite shore I met three hikers who asked me where I had crossed the brook earlier in the day. They had been following the brook's shoreline and discovered the plank. I explained I arrived via a different route, namely by hiking over Algonquin.

I now believe the re-routed trail leads to a water crossing, downstream from the plank, that may be impassable due to the water level. It would explain why they were moving upstream and scouting the shore. I headed directly up the slope and, within a hundred yards, found the original blue trail.

The balance of the hike was uneventful and I arrived at the Loj at 4:20 PM. It was a fine day spent on sun-drenched peaks and along rushing streams and waterfalls; memories to last a lifetime. 

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Algonquin, Iroquois, and Shepherd's Tooth 2011-07-10

It was such a beautiful weekend that it was difficult to pry myself out of our back yard. On Saturday afternoon, my wife and I were stretched out on our outdoor swing-bed, listening to the fountain's patter on the pool's surface, looking out onto out flower gardens, and savouring the warm breezes. Thoughts of finishing my second 46er round were far from my mind. Yet it seemed like a shame to not scratch off another peak from the list.

My wife would be accompanying me to Lake Placid on Sunday but would not be hiking. With the exception of Iroquois and RPR, my remaining peaks are full-day excursions (Sewards, Santanonis, Dixes). So I chose Iroquois with the intent of completing it quickly so that my wife and I could have the balance of the day together. 

My wife would drop me off at the Loj and I'd call her from Algonquin's summit. We fixed a return time based on my estimate of a seven-hour hike. I left the trailhead at 8:35 AM.

About 15 minutes past the trail junction (to Marcy Dam) I discovered a child's running shoe. I picked it up and, within a few yards, found the pant leg of a pair of convertible pants quickly followed by the matching shoe. Several minutes later, my scavenger hunt came to an end . Junior's pack had been left open. Mom took responsibility for the error and junior was happy to be reunited with his shoes. All in a day's hike.

Fifty minutes out from the Loj, I was reunited with a memory from a previous hike to Algonquin. Upon returning from Algonquin last March, our group was volunteered into performing impromptu trailwork. We sawed and removed a snag that had fallen across the trail. I spotted the sawn end, which remained pointing into the air, but was now several feet above the trail's surface. It stood as mute witness to the depth of this past winter's snowpack.

One hour from the Loj, I arrived at MacIntyre Falls where I stopped to get water. I thought about what the falls looked like last March: a wide, featureless gully of snow with no evidence of a waterfall. Now it revealed itself as a wondrous collage of rock, lichen, moss, fallen timber, and cascading water.

Just past the falls, I caught up with the source of fresh tracks I had been following. A husband and wife team had paused for a rest and we discussed hiking poles. He was new to hiking with poles and had encountered difficulty with pole-placement. I explained they were a tremendous aid for my old knees and, with experience, pole-placement becomes second-nature, like driving a car with a stick-shift. We chatted for several minutes and then I pressed on to the summit. We'd meet again later in the day.

Shortly after 10:00 AM, I arrived at the Wright/Algonquin trail junction. It was now clear to me that there had been no need to 'tank up' at MacIntyre Falls. I had passed several water sources and now found it flowing down the Algonquin trail. Water was in abundance on Algonquin's northern slope but, except for soupy mud puddles, it would prove to be absent along the ridge to Iroquois.

At 10:30 AM, I reached a section of trail featuring a long, steep pitch of exposed rock. Recalling last March's hike, it was the long, snow-covered chute that we had slid down on our snowshoes (and butts). Now it was a steep slope of broken rock where any form of sliding would be the result of a mistake.

At 11:00 AM, I stood on Algonquin's USGS summit marker and called my wife. I reported my progress and explained I'd check in again upon returning from Iroquois. Only a few High Peaks stand at the fringe of Lake Placid's cell range so it's a rare treat to call someone. I suspect that the current generation, so eager to share every moment of their lives, will demand better cellular coverage. Before long, hikers will stream video from summits, tweet at trail junctions, and text in tents.

Summit steward educating first-time visitors to Algonquin.

The summit steward, a petite young lady, explained how a significant amount of the summit's greenery had been restored. She showed me photos, taken in the mid 70's and early 80's, illustrating how the summits of Algonquin and Marcy had been despoiled by hikers. I laughed upon seeing a photo of an orange tent pitched in front of Marcy's memorial plaque. It was dated 1981 and I commented that the early 80's were 'my time' and I certainly knew you weren't permitted to camp there; the photo exaggerated the abuses of the time. Although not as catchy as today's 'Do the Rock Walk', 'Keep off the grass' was a concept promoted 30 years ago. Having said that, it is clear that there had been progress because Algonquin's summit is no longer mangy.

The descent from Algonquin summit to Iroquois's herd-path took me about 5 minutes. Twenty-five minutes later, at 11:45 AM, I was standing atop Iroquois. The herd-path is as evident, and mucky, as a marked trail. Its rocky pitches are marked with yellow paint blazes. It has one significant wet area but I had no trouble traversing it. The path is a highway compared to when I hiked it 30 years ago. Nevertheless, it makes it that much easier to visit Iroquois and experience its charm.

Atop Iroquois.

I had time to spare so I decided to visit Shepherd's Tooth. There are several cairns that point the way down to treeline. The route through the cripplebrush reminds me of the herd paths of yore. Combine trodden fir needles and a few tell-tale patches of exposed earth, shrouded beneath a canopy of abbreviated cripplebrush branches and you have a herd-path circa 1979. It is evident but you must pay attention, especially if it veers off the straight and narrow. To put it into perspective, descending Algonquin took 5 minutes whereas Shepherd's Tooth took 18. It's not a long time in itself, but significant for the distance travelled. I did it in convertible pants and regret that I was too lazy to attach the pant legs. Some of those 'abbreviated branches' are stickers waiting for a fleshy target.

Shepherd's Tooth and Marshall.

The view south from Shepherd's Tooth isn't much different than from atop Iroquois. However, there is a heightened sense of being off the beaten-path. When viewed from Iroquois, the Tooth seems like a short distance below. When viewed from the Tooth, Iroquois looms high above. I admire the folks who've made the trek from Cold Brook Pass. I hope to do that bushwhack in cooler weather. I spent a few minutes taking photos and then descended into the col, where I lost and found the herd-path, and then began the 300 foot ascent to Iroquois. After a 20 minute hike, involving the reconstruction of a few cairns, I arrived on Iroquois's summit at 12:40 PM.

The hike back to the Boundary/Algonquin col was uneventful except for finding a cellphone case, which I dropped it off at the HPIC, and passing a solitary hiker and his dog. The climb back up Algonquin took 15 minutes and I arrived at 1:20 PM. Algonquin was now populated by at least a dozen hikers. Looking at its northern slope, several more acolytes were making the pilgrimage to the summit. The devout were attired in all manner of dress (and undress): short-shorts, shirtless, and one in pantyhose. Most were young but one or two gray-hairs, like myself, dotted the throng.

Colden, mountain and lake.

Despite the 50 minute side-trip to Shepherd's Tooth, I was ahead of schedule so I called my wife to alter the pick-up time. My cellphone indicated there was no signal. I tried moving around the summit, and momentarily picked up a signal, but was unable to place a call. I decided to try later after I had descended a hundred feet or so.

I began my descent at around 1:45 PM. After dropping in elevation, I checked my cellphone and it indicated a strong signal. I called my wife and reported that I was fine, Iroquois was great, and the pick-up time was now 3:00 PM. After hanging up it dawned on me that I may have been overly optimistic about the 75 minute descent time. A ranger, who had been on the summit, was now making his descent and he was moving at a fast clip. I figured if I could keep up with him, I might just exit at 3:00 PM.

I matched the ranger's pace for awhile but lost ground wherever the trail dropped steeply. His iron legs allowed him to jump and land with a thud. I needed to use hiking poles, to soften the landing, and they effectively slowed my descent. I eventually lost sight of him, regained it at the rocky chute, and then he disappeared down the trail.

Along the way I yielded to ascending hikers. At the base of the rocky chute I overheard a heavily-laden backpacker quip to his buddies, "Oh no! Just look down, don't look up!". I passed five nubile young women who appeared to be in training for the Swedish Bikini team. I passed two young men slowly making their way up. I offered them encouragement by reporting the presence of five attractive females farther up the trail. I passed the husband and wife team I had met earlier in the day. Descending, they were now using and appreciating their hiking poles. By the time I passed the Whale's Tail junction I realized I'd be a few minutes late. At 3:10 PM I exited the trail and was greeted by my wife's radiant smile and a big kiss.

I was a sopping mess and opted for a side-trip to Tmax and Topo's for a hot shower. I was greeted by Terri and David, furnished with soap, shampoo, and a towel. It was money well spent as I emerged clean and refreshed. We bade them farewell and then departed for Lake Placid to spend a lazy afternoon capped by a substantial meal, and cold beer, at the Lake Placid Pub and Brewery. A perfect ending to a beautiful summer's day.

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