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| Colden's scarred western face. |
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| Near the top of the Airplane Slide. |
Showing posts with label Wright. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wright. Show all posts
Saturday, July 11, 2015
Monday, April 14, 2014
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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".
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!
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| MacIntyre Falls, April 12th, 2014. |
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| MacIntyre Falls, March 21st, 2012. |
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!
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| Algonquin's sunlit "dome". |
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| Summit-seekers on Algonquin. |
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.
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| Approaching the summit of Iroquois. |
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| A fine spring day in the High Peaks. |
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.
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| Iroquois from Shepherd's Tooth. |
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| Profile of Shepherd's Tooth. |
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.
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| 46er party on Iroquois. |
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| What a day! |
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| And then there were none; Algonquin's tranquil summit. |
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
See all photos.Friday, January 31, 2014
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.
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| Frosted goggles on Wright. |
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.
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| Neil and David below Iroquois. |
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| Returning to our packs in the col. |
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| Best glissading conditions of the day! |
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.
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| Gate to Shangri-la. |
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| Windless Lake Arnold. |
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.
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| Fun with crampons. |
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
See all photos.Stats
Elevation Gain: ~8600 feetDistance: ~23 miles.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Wright and Algonquin 2011-03-08
Despite the recent rains and flooding, on Monday (March 7th) nature deposited over two feet of snow and then, on the following day, cleared the skies of all clouds. That was the bluebird day I chose to hike to Wright and Algonquin. I was blissfully unaware of the effort required to break trail after a massive snowfall. However, unlike my last trip, this time I'd get a lucky break.
Half-hour after arriving at the Loj I was ready to begin my day. A pickup truck pulled in next to me and two hikers began their preparations for a hike. Lucky for me, they were also heading to Wright and Algonquin. So Tom from Glens Falls, Pat from Gloversville, and I from Montreal, teamed up with secret visions of Iroquois dancing in our heads. We left at 8:00 AM and quickly covered the broken trail to the Marcy Dam/Algonquin junction. We stopped to shed layers, drink water, and talk a little about ourselves to break the ice. Tom is a 46er, Pat used to compete in triathlons and they recently paired up to work towards their winter 46. What we didn't realize is that, very shortly, we would embark on one of the best team-building exercises ever devised.
It was the morning after a major snowstorm and yet we found ourselves hiking a broken trail. How lucky was that? We made a hard right-turn over a brook and then the free-ride ended. Whoever had broken the trail had turned around and we now faced the daunting challenge of breaking trail through knee-deep snow. The summits now seemed farther away.
To conserve our energy, we formed a three-man 'caterpillar track'. Each man in the lead would complete a 'shift', consisting of stomping out 100-150 steps, fall back to the end of the line, and allow the second man to move to the head of the line. The leader, fatigued from breaking trail, now received the benefit of following in the footsteps of his two buddies. Walking on compacted snow, compared to breaking through knee-deep snow, was a welcome relief. This rotation technique allowed each person two shifts (about 200-300 steps) to recover his strength before his turn 'on point' came again. At the end of each shift, we'd pause briefly to allow the tired leader to catch his breath before we rotated positions.
It was exhausting work and it was our first experience breaking trail through deep snow. It involved raising one's upper legs to hip-level, or higher, and making long strides. If the steps were too close together, the hole created by the new footstep would merge with the previous one and cause you to simply 'churn snow' and make little forward progress. This problem was almost unavoidable on steep sections.
There was no easy way to the top that morning, so we shifted into low gear and plodded upwards. We all agreed that, when on point, the pace seemed mind-numbingly slow, yet when you finished your shift, and rotated to the rear, the pace seemed just fine for recovery. Occasionally we'd looked back, hoping to add more links to our human caterpillar track, but we saw no one. The weather was perfect, we were in good spirits, we got along well, and three hours of high-stepping brought us to the Wright-Algonquin junction. It was tiring work for three people; a solo hiker would have been at a far greater disadvantage. I chose to leave my pack at the junction and we began our ascent of Wright.
There was still no free pass to Wright; the trail was unbroken and steeper. Respite came only after we emerged out of the trees and onto firm, wind-sculpted snow. Our hard work was rewarded by unimpeded views under a clear blue sky. We stopped several times to take photos and admire the distant peaks. Just short of the summit, we saw the first hiker to emerge from the trees and follow in our tracks; many more would follow. We arrived at the summit shortly before noon.
While atop Wright, we were joined by hikers and snowboarders. All appreciated the broken-out trail but, unfortunately for us, none were continuing to Algonquin. We spent a few minutes on the summit, snapping photos, snacking, and enjoying the incredibly good views afforded by a calm and sunny day. There was something else going on, it involved the sun, but I would only discover its consequences later that evening.
We descended Wright and returned to the junction at 12:30 PM. We discussed our next objective, Algonquin. We acknowledged that, from the junction, Algonquin's treeline was twice as high as Wright's and would involve much more trail-breaking. Its eastern face shone in the sun and was probably sheathed in ice. Thinking the summits would be blanketed in snow, we left our crampons in our vehicles. However, Algonquin's western side, a mix of rock, ice and snow, appeared to be navigable in snowshoes. We would have preferred to have had some help to break trail but you can't have everything. We decided we were in good shape to reach the summit.
I can't speak for Tom and Pat but I found my first shift required extra effort. Muscles weren't as quick, nor as free from complaints, as they had been in the morning. The shifts didn't become easier but simply more bearable as Wright's summit appeared through the trees, slowly receding in height.
Before long we saw two young men, toting sleds, and riding our coat-tails. Fresh meat for the grinder! We paused to let them catch up and share in the glory of being the first to break trail. The young man on point quickly conceded that breaking trail was a whole new world of pain compared to hiking a broken trail. Fortunately for him, his shift ended early because we had reached firm, wind-packed snow.
I took point and followed the trail markers until they disappeared. The young men suggested we head left but that eventually proved to lead to Algonquin's steep eastern face. The snowpack was firm so I veered west, through the trees, trying to avoid the tufts of spruce poking through the snow. We arrived at treeline and discovered the western face had some wind-sculpted snow but it was mostly covered in ice. A few cautious steps proved that the ice was soft enough to permit our Evo Ascents to grip its surface. Pat led the way and kept to snow patches where possible but ice was unavoidable.
The crunching of metal and chattering of plastic accompanied the balance of our ascent. We carefully made our way to the summit and arrived at approximately 2:00 PM, about ninety minutes from the junction. We were rewarded by a cold breeze, a weathered brass USGS marker, and unobstructed views of the High Peaks.
About a half-hour later, the first hikers began to appear on the summit. One of them approached us and shook our hands while thanking us for breaking trail. He was one of a group of three hikers who had broken trail but had turned back. The three hikers were college buddies who, for the last four years, have had an annual reunion hike in the Adirondacks. They had spent a lot of time organizing a multi-day, winter traverse of the Great Range. Yesterday, they decided to have Algonquin as an appetizer. They broke trail up to the point we had discovered earlier and then turned around. It was a tough slog and they wisely chose to conserve their energy for their primary goal, the Great Range.
They set out early in the morning only to have a rivet fail (one of the two that hold the crampon to the frame of an Evo Ascent). They performed a field-repair but it failed to hold. Reluctantly, they retreated and purchased a repair kit at the Mountaineer. It looked like they could be back on track but then they discovered the Noon Mark Diner. Something called "breakfast" finally scrubbed the big hike. The rivet's failure had taken its toll and reminded me an old proverb called "For want of a nail" one of many published in Benjamin Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanack.
Not meaning to waste the day, they returned to hike Algonquin and discovered the trail was now broken out to both Algonquin and Wright. The streak of bad luck wasn't completely over because one of them lost his camera and Spot transceiver en route. Nonetheless the broken trail was appreciated. One of the hikers had travelled from Utah to meet his friends. I noticed that while Utah's friend was recounting their misadventure, he smirked and stared at the ground. I nudged him and said "Hey, I'll bet you're real happy about crossing the country just to watch a rivet break!". They were good sports and I give them credit for being in good spirits.
Pat, Tom, and I stared at Iroquois; it was tantalizingly close. It was 2:00 PM and we had four hours of sunlight to bag Iroquois and return to the Loj. We all had headlamps so we could travel past sunset. From a distance, the snow conditions seemed identical to what we had encountered on Algonquin's northern side. It seemed well within our grasp but we had our reservations. We would be the sole group heading to Iroquois. Our progress would be greatly impeded if we encountered hard ice, deep snow, and spruce traps. The fatigue of having broken trail all day could turn to exhaustion. In the event of an emergency, we had an escape route to Lake Colden but it meant a very steep descent through deep, unbroken snow. We concluded success was possible but it wasn't worth turning a good hike into an unpleasant 'epic'. I knew I'd rather return to the Loj feeling like a tired puppy rather than a dead dog. Besides, why deprive ourselves of the opportunity to return to the MacIntyre Range?
After a half-hour on the summit, we chose to end our hike on a positive note and began our descent to the Loj. We had concerns that, due to the ice, the descent would be more difficult than the ascent but they were unfounded. There's always a little sadness to leave the summit on a fine day. We paused to take a few more photos and admire the views.
Just before treeline we met "Biji" on his way to the summit. He was staying at the Loj for a few days and we had planned to hike something together. I had left him a voicemail the previous evening indicating my arrival the following morning and my plan to hike Algonquin. I forgot there's no cellular reception at the Loj so Biji never got my message. It was great to finally meet him and I hope we get a chance to hike something in the future. He was alone and making slow but steady progress. He'd be the last hiker to summit Algonquin and I hope he had a pleasant and safe return to the Loj.
The descent to the Algonquin-Wright junction took a half hour. Within minutes of our arrival, we watched the two young sledders zip down the trail in their Mad River Rockets. The trail was now groomed and perfect for long strides and glissading. Along our descent we encountered the reunion buddies sawing away at a tree spanning the trail. Ron, a Keene Valley resident, was doing volunteer trailwork and managed to 'volunteer' all six of us into sawing through the ten-inch trunk and hauling its substantial carcass well off trail. It required repeated attempts to meet his exacting requirements but eventually it was positioned to his satisfaction. He indicated the trail used to be a forty-foot wide ski run but, as ski centers became more popular, it fell into disuse. He was trying to make it safe for today's backcountry skiers.
At 5:30 PM, we arrived at the trailhead and signed out at the register. Forty-six people had signed in after us and most had indicated either Wright or Algonquin as their destination. Tom, Pat, and I exchanged farewells; I hope we have the opportunity to hike again in the future. I departed for Tmax and Topos' hostel where David gave me a tour of the facilities. Although the bunkrooms were unoccupied, I chose the expansive comfort of The Dixes room to get a good night's sleep. It was the first time I looked at myself in a mirror and discovered my face was sunburnt. In retrospect, it seemed obvious that I should've used sunscreen on such a beautifully sunny day. A tiny inconvenience in an otherwise perfect day in the High Peaks, perhaps the last one this winter featuring fluffy powder snow.
See Tom's photos.
Half-hour after arriving at the Loj I was ready to begin my day. A pickup truck pulled in next to me and two hikers began their preparations for a hike. Lucky for me, they were also heading to Wright and Algonquin. So Tom from Glens Falls, Pat from Gloversville, and I from Montreal, teamed up with secret visions of Iroquois dancing in our heads. We left at 8:00 AM and quickly covered the broken trail to the Marcy Dam/Algonquin junction. We stopped to shed layers, drink water, and talk a little about ourselves to break the ice. Tom is a 46er, Pat used to compete in triathlons and they recently paired up to work towards their winter 46. What we didn't realize is that, very shortly, we would embark on one of the best team-building exercises ever devised.
It was the morning after a major snowstorm and yet we found ourselves hiking a broken trail. How lucky was that? We made a hard right-turn over a brook and then the free-ride ended. Whoever had broken the trail had turned around and we now faced the daunting challenge of breaking trail through knee-deep snow. The summits now seemed farther away.
To conserve our energy, we formed a three-man 'caterpillar track'. Each man in the lead would complete a 'shift', consisting of stomping out 100-150 steps, fall back to the end of the line, and allow the second man to move to the head of the line. The leader, fatigued from breaking trail, now received the benefit of following in the footsteps of his two buddies. Walking on compacted snow, compared to breaking through knee-deep snow, was a welcome relief. This rotation technique allowed each person two shifts (about 200-300 steps) to recover his strength before his turn 'on point' came again. At the end of each shift, we'd pause briefly to allow the tired leader to catch his breath before we rotated positions.
It was exhausting work and it was our first experience breaking trail through deep snow. It involved raising one's upper legs to hip-level, or higher, and making long strides. If the steps were too close together, the hole created by the new footstep would merge with the previous one and cause you to simply 'churn snow' and make little forward progress. This problem was almost unavoidable on steep sections.
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| Pat working hard in knee-deep snow. |
There was still no free pass to Wright; the trail was unbroken and steeper. Respite came only after we emerged out of the trees and onto firm, wind-sculpted snow. Our hard work was rewarded by unimpeded views under a clear blue sky. We stopped several times to take photos and admire the distant peaks. Just short of the summit, we saw the first hiker to emerge from the trees and follow in our tracks; many more would follow. We arrived at the summit shortly before noon.
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| Wind-sculpted snowscape on Wright's western slope. |
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| Next stop: Algonquin. |
I can't speak for Tom and Pat but I found my first shift required extra effort. Muscles weren't as quick, nor as free from complaints, as they had been in the morning. The shifts didn't become easier but simply more bearable as Wright's summit appeared through the trees, slowly receding in height.
Before long we saw two young men, toting sleds, and riding our coat-tails. Fresh meat for the grinder! We paused to let them catch up and share in the glory of being the first to break trail. The young man on point quickly conceded that breaking trail was a whole new world of pain compared to hiking a broken trail. Fortunately for him, his shift ended early because we had reached firm, wind-packed snow.
I took point and followed the trail markers until they disappeared. The young men suggested we head left but that eventually proved to lead to Algonquin's steep eastern face. The snowpack was firm so I veered west, through the trees, trying to avoid the tufts of spruce poking through the snow. We arrived at treeline and discovered the western face had some wind-sculpted snow but it was mostly covered in ice. A few cautious steps proved that the ice was soft enough to permit our Evo Ascents to grip its surface. Pat led the way and kept to snow patches where possible but ice was unavoidable.
The crunching of metal and chattering of plastic accompanied the balance of our ascent. We carefully made our way to the summit and arrived at approximately 2:00 PM, about ninety minutes from the junction. We were rewarded by a cold breeze, a weathered brass USGS marker, and unobstructed views of the High Peaks.
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| Snow meets ice and sky. |
About a half-hour later, the first hikers began to appear on the summit. One of them approached us and shook our hands while thanking us for breaking trail. He was one of a group of three hikers who had broken trail but had turned back. The three hikers were college buddies who, for the last four years, have had an annual reunion hike in the Adirondacks. They had spent a lot of time organizing a multi-day, winter traverse of the Great Range. Yesterday, they decided to have Algonquin as an appetizer. They broke trail up to the point we had discovered earlier and then turned around. It was a tough slog and they wisely chose to conserve their energy for their primary goal, the Great Range.
They set out early in the morning only to have a rivet fail (one of the two that hold the crampon to the frame of an Evo Ascent). They performed a field-repair but it failed to hold. Reluctantly, they retreated and purchased a repair kit at the Mountaineer. It looked like they could be back on track but then they discovered the Noon Mark Diner. Something called "breakfast" finally scrubbed the big hike. The rivet's failure had taken its toll and reminded me an old proverb called "For want of a nail" one of many published in Benjamin Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanack.
Not meaning to waste the day, they returned to hike Algonquin and discovered the trail was now broken out to both Algonquin and Wright. The streak of bad luck wasn't completely over because one of them lost his camera and Spot transceiver en route. Nonetheless the broken trail was appreciated. One of the hikers had travelled from Utah to meet his friends. I noticed that while Utah's friend was recounting their misadventure, he smirked and stared at the ground. I nudged him and said "Hey, I'll bet you're real happy about crossing the country just to watch a rivet break!". They were good sports and I give them credit for being in good spirits.
Pat, Tom, and I stared at Iroquois; it was tantalizingly close. It was 2:00 PM and we had four hours of sunlight to bag Iroquois and return to the Loj. We all had headlamps so we could travel past sunset. From a distance, the snow conditions seemed identical to what we had encountered on Algonquin's northern side. It seemed well within our grasp but we had our reservations. We would be the sole group heading to Iroquois. Our progress would be greatly impeded if we encountered hard ice, deep snow, and spruce traps. The fatigue of having broken trail all day could turn to exhaustion. In the event of an emergency, we had an escape route to Lake Colden but it meant a very steep descent through deep, unbroken snow. We concluded success was possible but it wasn't worth turning a good hike into an unpleasant 'epic'. I knew I'd rather return to the Loj feeling like a tired puppy rather than a dead dog. Besides, why deprive ourselves of the opportunity to return to the MacIntyre Range?
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| The Land of Spruce Traps. |
Just before treeline we met "Biji" on his way to the summit. He was staying at the Loj for a few days and we had planned to hike something together. I had left him a voicemail the previous evening indicating my arrival the following morning and my plan to hike Algonquin. I forgot there's no cellular reception at the Loj so Biji never got my message. It was great to finally meet him and I hope we get a chance to hike something in the future. He was alone and making slow but steady progress. He'd be the last hiker to summit Algonquin and I hope he had a pleasant and safe return to the Loj.
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| Difficult to leave all this beauty. |
At 5:30 PM, we arrived at the trailhead and signed out at the register. Forty-six people had signed in after us and most had indicated either Wright or Algonquin as their destination. Tom, Pat, and I exchanged farewells; I hope we have the opportunity to hike again in the future. I departed for Tmax and Topos' hostel where David gave me a tour of the facilities. Although the bunkrooms were unoccupied, I chose the expansive comfort of The Dixes room to get a good night's sleep. It was the first time I looked at myself in a mirror and discovered my face was sunburnt. In retrospect, it seemed obvious that I should've used sunscreen on such a beautifully sunny day. A tiny inconvenience in an otherwise perfect day in the High Peaks, perhaps the last one this winter featuring fluffy powder snow.
Photos
See all photos.See Tom's photos.
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