Colden, Tabletop, and Phelps for Sixth Round. 2015-04-19

Sunday, April 19, 2015

I have about a dozen peaks remaining to complete my seventh round. However, Phelps was still needed to finish my sixth round. A quick check of my peakbagging spreadsheet indicated it was also needed for April's Grid so Sunday's hike to Phelps was a twofer.

I chose to combine Colden, Tabletop, with Phelps to close out my sixth round. I didn't realize it at the time but, by strange coincidence, it was the very same combination of peaks I had climbed to complete my fifth round.

Photogenic spot.

Whereas the trail from the Loj to Marcy Dam felt like spring (dirty ice and mud), the terrain above 3000 feet elevation retained its thick blanket of snow. Lake Arnold was still frozen over but it was evident it was thawing rapidly. I caught up to two hikers also bound for Colden. I would meet them again, late in the afternoon, near Marcy Dam.

Lake Arnold losing its winter blanket.

The L. Morgan Porter trail was in beautiful condition. A deep snowpack smoothed out the irregularities and provided improved views during the ascent. By remaining dead-center on the "monorail" (the central spine of snow compacted by a winter's worth of hikers), I was able to ascend in Trail Crampons without post-holing. My snowshoes enjoyed the piggyback ride to the summit where I was certain I'd need them.

The view from Colden's northern false-summit was spellbinding. The blend of color and texture, white snow, green spruce, and blue sky, was sublime. It was my eighth hike to Colden and yet today it seemed like one of the finest views of the bunch.

Off to Colden.

A few hundred yards below the summit, I found a GPS receiver lying on the trail. It was in good condition and appeared to have been dropped as opposed to thawed out of the snow. I stowed it in my pack and continued to the summit. At the end of my hike I inquired at the Loj if anyone had reported a lost GPS. They indicated their file  contained no such report. The following day I contacted Garmin and supplied them with the device's serial number. They forwarded my email address to the registered owner. They rewarded my honesty with a 20% discount on future purchases from their online store. A day later, the owner contacted me and thanked me for attempting to return the GPS. However, he had already ordered a replacement and suggested I keep the old unit. He also mailed me the device's battery charger and accessories.

Colden's summit remained sheathed in a substantial snowpack that, to my surprise, was very solid. I was able to walk past the cantilevered rock and directly through the stand of trees to the true summit. The tree tops stood a mere 4-5 feet above the dense snowpack and I didn't spring a single 'spruce-trap'. The snowpack had remodeled the summit so it took me a moment to confirm I was standing in the 'right spot'.

Snow, snow everywhere

The trees on Colden's summit normally obscure views to the east but today I had a 360 degree view. I spent a little time roaming around the summit to take photos then began my descent. The conditions were excellent for glissading but, unlike the snowpack on the summit, you had to stay dead-center on the monorail or end up knee-deep off-trail.

I met the two hikers again below the false-summit and wished them well. I glissaded down the trail and met at least ten other hikers ascending to Colden. I'd see no one else until I paused at Indian Falls. The Crossover trail to Indian Falls was in a curious state. Someone wearing snowshoes had created post-holes on both sides of the monorail. I couldn't understand why they had difficulty staying in the center of the trail. It was especially surprising given that today's conditions, despite the warm temperature (in the 40's rising to 50's), made it very difficult to post-hole the monorail in boots.

I paused at Indian Falls for a snack and then pushed on to Tabletop. The trail-signs at the junction didn't survive the winter unscathed. One has fallen and lies propped against a tree and the other has been relocated in a hasty manner. Several hundred yards in on the herd-path, I stopped to stash my snowshoes and the inoperative GPS receiver. Despite having a western exposure, tabletop's herd-path was in excellent condition. The monorail was solid and only one sunlit section had exposed some rock and mud. I tagged the summit sign, now edited to indicate "ABLETOP", and continued to the lookout which was completely barren of snow.

During the descent I met two dogs who couldn't decide if they should stand their ground or return to their owners. Their owners caught up to them and settled the issue. I retrieved my gear and continued on to Phelps. Travel on the Van Hoevenberg trail was easy-breezy.

The trail up Phelps was in the most advanced state of 'spring decay'. The first third was a mix of dirty ice, mud and running water. I found a fallen tree and hid my excess gear. The remainder of the trail still had decent snow cover and I just trudged up along the monorail.

I arrived on the summit shortly after 2:00 PM. The two people on the summit kindly agreed to take my picture. I spent about 20 minutes chatting with them. After they departed, I remained for a few minutes to enjoy the warm sunshine and the great view of the two other peaks I had hiked. It felt good to close out the sixth round on such a spectacular day.

Phelps for my sixth 46er round.

I passed the couple during my descent and then stopped just before the junction to retrieve my hidden gear. The stretch of trail to Marcy Dam was paved in dirty ice and made for easy walking. Although it was running fast, I was still able to cross Phelps Brook by rock-hopping; the few patches of ice did not look solid. I arrived at Marcy Dam where sunlit areas had transformed into runny ice cream with chocolate sauce. The trail next to the trail-register had semi-frozen ground which had been distorted by frost-heave. Post-holes in the soil revealed fascinating columns of ice.

Fascinating frost-heave at Marcy Dam.

About a quarter mile past Marcy Dam, the trail had developed long swaths of chocolate pudding. I paused to remove my Trail Crampons and save their points from needless wear and tear. The balance of the trail was an easy walk through mud and I arrived at the trail-head at 4:00 PM. After a quick change into clean clothes I was off to Stewart's for a snack. It had been a very good day in the mountains.

Photos

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Stats

5300 feet, 17.4 miles, 8h 7m.

Colden, Tabletop, and Phelps for Fifth Round. 2014-11-08

Fully healed and rested since last week's hike, it was time for this recovering couch-potato to return to the High Peaks and chip away at his Autumn round of the ADK 46. I perused my list of 16 remaining peaks and chose Colden, Tabletop, and Phelps. I had never hiked them as a combination and Phelps was the final peak for my 5th round. I guessed it was incrementally more challenging than the previous week's hike, to Street and Nye, and would be ideal for easing back into hiking. Only later did I learn the trio's stats: 5300 feet of ascent and just over 17 miles of distance. Ignorance is not always bliss! By the time I was ascending Phelps, my body's complaints suggested I was gravely mistaken about "incrementally more challenging".

I left the Loj around 7:20 AM and headed to Marcy Dam along the frozen trail. The previous night's snowfall left a dusting on the ground but I expected to encounter more as I gained elevation. It was a cool morning (25 F, -4 C) but I dressed lightly (ball cap, long-sleeve baselayer with T-shirt, long pants, no gaiters) because I knew the day's exertion would keep me comfortable. I came close to putting on a shell atop Colden but simply chose to curtail my stay on the summit. In contrast, many people I met seemed dressed for mid-February, sporting hardshells, hooded down parkas, beanies, etc. I met only one person less dressed than me: he was bare-armed in a T-shirt.

Between the Loj and Lake Arnold, I passed about a half-dozen hikers. The low clouds had not lifted so Lake Arnold's frozen surface was illuminated in cold gray light. The L. Morgan Porter trail crosses seepage from Lake Arnold. Carpeted in snow and protected from freezing, the seepage was notably squishy underfoot. It was one of many other bits of trail that seemed benign but whose snowy-white surface concealed a messy surprise. As I began the ascent, I noticed the temperature had cooled slightly (21 F, -6 C) but the wind remained calm. I hoped the clouds would lift by the time I reached the summit.

I caught up and passed the two hikers whose footprints I had been following since the junction. I emerged on Colden's false summit and was greeted by a cold blast of westerly winds; my T-shirt felt awfully thin. I briefly glanced at the cloud-laced scenery then ducked into the shelter of the col. One or two ledges required a little finesse to descend without bruises or worse. I passed under the cantilevered rock, traversed a sloped icy section (foreshadowing), and turned up a short spur to tag the summit. The clouds had lifted just enough to reveal they continued to favour Marcy.

Clouds breaking over Marcy.

I took time for a small snack and to put on gaiters. I've grown to appreciate the added ventilation of hiking without gaiters. However, snow was getting into my boots and the short, softshell gaiters would add a little extra warmth. By the time I had my fill of taking pictures, my fingers signalled it was time to either put on a shell or get moving; I chose to move.

Just steps beyond the sloped ice, I met the two hikers again. I noticed they weren't wearing microspikes and I asked if they had any. They said they did not. I asked which way they were heading and they replied to Lake Colden. I explained they "Would have 'fun'." because the trail is steeper and may be considerably icier because it faces south. They confirmed they had overlooked to bring traction aids and it had already caused them to shrink their itinerary. As the leader turned he slipped on the sloped ice; a harbinger of things to come. I wished them well and we went in opposite directions. They were far from the only hikers I saw without microspikes.

The descent to the false summit was quick with the only challenge being one particularly icy ledge. I passed several more hikers during the descent to Lake Arnold. One individual was having difficulty ascending a slab of iced rock in bare-boots. His partner stood at the top of the slab calling out instructions. Seeing that he was making little progress, I asked if he'd allow me to descend. He agreed and, with poles and spikes, I was safely down in a blink. I wished them well and continued on to Lake Arnold, now bathed in bright sunshine.

Sunny Lake Arnold.

The western end of the Lake Arnold Crossover, paralleling Arnold Brook, was exceedingly wet. Beyond the hard-right turn, the trail was in better shape. I arrived at Indian Falls and was treated to an excellent view of the MacIntyres. I paused for a snack and realized I had failed to seize the opportunity to bring leftover Halloween candy! Doh!

Grand view at Indian Falls.

The first third of the herd-path to Tabletop's summit was a sloppy mess of ice, snow, water, and mud. I met several descending hikers who I would meet again later in the day. I tagged Tabletop shortly before 12:30 AM. A couple from Quebec were preparing to descend and I noticed they were responsible for the crampon tracks I had seen. Both were outfitted with mountaineering boots and full crampons. I grew weary just looking at the monsters on their feet. I figured they must be in training for something big.

I got to say "Hello again!" several times as I passed people I had met earlier. I arrived at the Phelps junction and, with knees and hips complaining in ways I hadn't experienced in years, began the final ascent of the day. Last year I had hiked Wright, Algonquin, and Iroquois before continuing on to Colden, Tabletop, and Phelps. On this day, that trip felt as if it happened a lifetime ago.

I slowed my pace to give my body less to complain about. No personal records would be broken today; fifty-five minutes of trudging uphill brought me to the summit and the completion of my fifth round. The sun shone weakly through the overcast sky and imbued the landscape with an ashen pallor. Despite the cadaverous surroundings, I was very happy to have achieved the day's objectives.

Phelps for Round 5.

I spent a few moments appreciating the monochromatic scenery. Gazing at Marcy, I could discern the dark silhouette of hikers on its summit; they had a few miles to cover before day's end. Off to the east I could see the serrations of the Great Range peeking over Tabletop's bulk, Far off to the east, Camel's Hump distinctive snowy profile shone in the sun. The wind picked up, nipped at my exposed ears, and ushered me off the summit.

Ashen landscape from atop Phelps.

The descent to the junction took a half-hour and my hips and knees, perhaps realizing the climbing was over, remained silent throughout. Upon arriving at Marcy Dam I recognized an approaching ranger. I introduced myself and explained we had met in May along the North Fork Boquet. He recalled the day and we proceeded to talk about the Dix Range and today's icy conditions. He noted he had seen hikers in sneakers and many without microspikes. I relayed my story of the Lake Colden-bound duo I had met atop Colden. He replied despite the potential for injury, they get surprisingly few cases. Perhaps only the folks who become truly lame call for help and all others, feeling chastened, limp back to the trail-head. We shook hands and he headed south to continue his patrol.

I arrived at the Loj at 3:45 PM and signed out. It took awhile to find my name in the logbook owing to the number of people who had signed in after me. Summer may be the peak hiking season but autumn is no slouch. The hike had been more challenging than expected but, except for a few aches to be dulled by ibuprofen, I was no worse for wear. A few more hikes to clear out the cobwebs, and finish the autumn round, and I'll be ready for winter.

Stats

5300 feet, 17.4 miles, 8h 24m.

Photos

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Colden and Big Slide for Summer 46. 2014-09-10

July and August had me busy pursuing the completion of the New Hampshire Four Thousand Footers (NH48). However, I had not forgotten my other goal to finish hiking a summer round of the ADK46 as part of a quest to complete the Four Season Grid (hike the ADK46 in each of the four seasons). Winter and spring were done and Colden and Big Slide were the last two peaks on my summer list.  I had considered hiking a single route that included both peaks but it would've required arranging a car spot. With summer drawing to a close, I decided to head out and hike the two peaks separately. It would be a workman-like affair; Colden from Adirondak Loj and Big Slide from the Garden.

I had not bothered to tally the total mileage and ascent but I guessed it would be around 20 miles and over 5000 feet. I later calculated the distance to be 20.6 miles (guidebook data) and the elevation gain to be around 5700 feet (Google Earth data). I estimated a conservative figure of ten hours to complete the two so I left Montreal at 5:00 AM to ensure I had plenty of daylight for the hike.

The pre-dawn drive south along I-87 was relaxing; I was treated to a beautiful sunrise over the Green Mountains of Vermont. I rolled into the Loj's parking area at 7:30 AM and signed the logbook at 7:45 AM. The morning was cool and the peaks were partially shrouded in clouds. However, the forecast called for a warm and partly sunny day so I looked forward to good views from Colden.

Within a minute of leaving the trail-head I met two young women at the Mr. Van trail-junction. They asked which trail led to Marcy and I replied "Straight ahead". I added it would be a nice day for Marcy and wished them well. Unfortunately, the day's weather would prove me wrong and the tallest peaks would be in and out of the clouds (mostly in the clouds).

The trail to Marcy Dam was bone-dry and a brisk pace brought me to the dam in 35 minutes. The breached dam and its mud-flat of a reservoir no longer make for a very picturesque setting. Nevertheless, the view of Colden is still impressive and today it showed clouds scraping their bellies on Colden's summit.

The walk to Avalanche Camp was quiet and uneventful. At the Camp I met a couple toting helmets. I said "I guess those are for something challenging today?" to which they replied "We're climbing the Trap Dike." I explained I had climbed it the previous summer and that led to a brief discussion of the ins and outs of the route. I wished them good luck and we parted at the junction.

Before leaving the junction, I held up a lone Vibram sole and quipped "I'll bet that was inconvenient." I placed it on a rock to be retrieved upon my return. However, I had forgotten about it and later learned that its owner was camped nearby, heard our conversation, and collected the sole before his departure.

The trail to Lake Arnold was marked with wet footprints and I caught up to the authors at the junction with the (Indian Falls) Crossover trail. Several young women wearing bonnets and pioneer dresses were being led by a young man in more contemporary clothing. I greeted them and asked their destination to which the man replied "Marcy". I waved my hand in the direction of the Crossover and said "Well, that'll be the way. Have a good one!" and continued to Lake Arnold. I may be mistaken but I suspect the majority of people who head to Marcy by way of the Lake Arnold and Crossover trails do so out of error. It certainly can't be for the scenery.

The low water-levels of late summer have a way of ripening the odor of stagnant bodies of water, like Lake Arnold. Its outflow seeps across the start of the L. Morgan Porter trail and greets one's nostrils with a pungent perfume (ahem). The trail had been fairly dry up to the junction but was noticeably muddier beyond Lake Arnold. One or two spots required a little dancing across fallen timber but nothing to make me regret eschewing gaiters. I emerged on Colden's northern summit and, looking south, saw clouds grazing its true summit. To the east and west, Algonquin and Marcy were completely engulfed and I hoped, for the sake of the Marcy-bound hikers I had met, conditions would improve.

Clouds breaking over Colden.

Nearing the summit ridge, I passed under the cantilevered rock and kept my eyes open to spot the herd-path to the 1990 Slide (a.k.a. Southeast Slide). Finding this junction proved to be troublesome when Brian (Pathgrinder) and I had ascended Colden via the Trap Dike and elected to descend via the 1990 Slide. A stump approximately ten feet south of a chest-high boulder was what I had recalled and it proved to be correct. A series of bog-bridges spanned the muddiest sections of the ridge (new to me) and, within minutes, I stood astride the drill-hole marking the summit.

Does that say "PEAK" or "DEAK"?

The clouds had lifted higher than Colden but continued to sweep through Avalanche Pass and provide fleeting glimpses of Algonquin. Nothing was visible to the west. I explored the summit and discovered small stones had been used to delineate the boundaries of the alpine flora. A pile of small rocks lay at the head of the spur trail leading to the summit. A sign indicated one should drop one's contribution on the pile (I didn't get the memo so had none to offer).

Misty views of Lake Colden.

At least two of the spurs leading into the woods, including the one directly in front of the large erratic, had been brushed in and posted "Re-vegetation area. Keep out". I recall at least two winter ascents when we sought refuge from the bitter wind in the wooded oasis next to the erratic. I guess it's all for the best.

I spent about fifteen minutes on the summit, watching the clouds part to reveal views of the surrounding peaks and lakes. I peered into Avalanche Pass and wondered how the intrepid climbers were doing. Standing at the head of the Colden Slide, the white stripe of the Trap Dike Slide was clearly visible to the right. Were it not for another peak to hike the same day, a slide-ascent would've certainly made for a more interesting route to Colden.

Looking down the Colden Slide to Avalanche Lake.

Seeing that the clouds stubbornly refused to show me Marcy's summit, I headed north and began my descent to Lake Arnold. Nearing the cantilevered rock, I glimpsed a lone hiker on Colden's northern summit. The advantages of hiking mid-week are crowd-free trails and having a popular summit to yourself.

Colden, the Trap Dike Slide, and the Macs.

Upon reaching Marcy Dam, I chose to cross the brook at the base of the dam. The water level was low enough to expose rocks that permitted me to easily cross without wading. A short distance away, I approached a ranger (J. Giglinto) cutting deadfall with a chainsaw. I paused until he saw me and motioned it was safe to pass. I picked up my pace and arrived at the trail-head at 12:30 PM.

Colden and Avalanche peering over the remains of Marcy Dam.

Hike Stats: 12.6 miles, 2800', 4h 30m.

I stowed my gear and drove to the Garden trail-head in Keene Valley. At the head of the Loj road I paused to call my wife and let her know my status. I arrived at the Garden at 1:15 PM, paid the fee, changed into a fresh set of clothes and topped up my hydration bag (1 liter). The act of driving from one trail-head to another reminded me of hiking the Saranac Lake 6 Ultra. Another reminder was the stiffness in my calves! Sitting in a car between hikes has a way of causing my leg muscles to tighten. I signed in and left the trail-head at 1:25 PM.

The walk to First Brother loosened my calves. Unlike the morning's cloudy hike to Colden, the sun was peaking through and warming me as I wended my way up along the open rock of the Brothers. In other words, it had become rather warm and I grew a little concerned about my stingy water supply. I had also forgotten about the steep rock ledges leading to the two Brothers! My knees were a little achy and I wondered how they'd feel during the descent.

Being so close to one another, the views from Second and First Brother are nearly identical. I was disappointed to see that someone named "Tommy" had chosen to carve his name into the rock along with a tic-tac-toe grid. In the same vein, many hikers still don't know how to bury their toilet paper and feces. I wish I could say that the Brothers attract beginners who don't know better but piles of paper and poop can be found near most summits. Who knew burying your waste is such a big secret?

Along the trail over the Brothers.

Beyond Second Brother, the trail enters the woods and that had me back in the shade. I paused at a lookout which provided a view of Big Slide. I ascended through a birch forest to wooded Third Brother and then descended slightly through a spruce forest. I passed several hikers returning to the trail-head. Upon reaching the col, I found a trickle of water running over a mossy bed. I was no longer concerned about my water supply but made a mental note of its location.

The ascent to the junction with the Slide Brook trail was uneventful except for a strange little detour. I followed a herd-path that ran for about 50 yards and then ended back at the trail. I thought it might avoid some nasty blowdown on the main trail. Upon my return, I purposely avoided the herd-path and discovered the main trail is in fine shape and there's no reason for the herd-path!

The final 0.3 miles to the summit is the steepest stretch and includes a set of stair-like ladders. The topmost ladder is missing a few rungs and could use some maintenance. The summit was deserted which was no surprise being 3:30 PM on a Wednesday afternoon. I snapped a selfie holding up three fingers to indicate the completion of three seasons of the Four Season Grid. The cloud ceiling concealed Marcy's summit but otherwise all of the peaks of the Great Range were clearly visible.

Big Slide's eastern face and the Great Range.

I thought of descending the Slide Brook trail to the valley and following the Phelps trail back to the Garden. However, when it comes to scenic "bang-for-your-buck", returning via The Brothers is hard to beat. My knees were up to the task for the ledges and my descent to the trail-head was a little quicker (~90 minutes). I was back shortly after 5:00 PM. I ran the last third of a mile and passed a bearded hiker wearing an old-fashioned Adirondack packbasket. I imagine we made quite the contrasting pair.

I signed out at the trail-register and noted an entry for "46climbs.com". A young couple were hiking the ADK 46 in seven days to raise awareness and funds for Suicide Prevention Week. I wrote "Good Luck" in the margin and drew an arrow to their entry.

Hike Stats: 8 miles, 2875 feet, 3h 45m.

I stowed my gear, cleaned up a bit, switched into clean clothes, and drove to Stewart's in Keene to down a quart of fatfree milk and a large chili. At Ausable Forks (nearest location with AT&T service), I called my wife to let her know I was safe and my summer round was done. The drive home gave me time to think of the 18 autumn peaks remaining to complete the Four Seasons.

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.

Colden Traverse (Trap Dike and Southeast Slide) 2013-06-20

Imagine two teams leaving Adirondak Loj, one headed for a double traverse of the MacIntyre Range and the other for a slide-traverse of Colden. That's what four of us did on a dry, sunny Thursday, the last day of spring. Neil and Bib tackled the MacIntyres while Brian (Pathgrinder) and I scrambled up the Trap Dike to Colden then descended via the Southeast Slide (more precisely, the "1990 Slide").

Bib, Neil, and I, car-pooling from Montreal, arrived at the Loj's parking lot shortly before 7:30 AM and spotted Brian preparing for the trip. Equipped with two-way radios, to allow our two teams to coordinate an exit time, we selected a channel and tested communications. A-OK.

This would be my first extended hike without coddled feet. Normally my tender feet are taped, greased (with Boudreaux's Butt Paste), swaddled in wool-blend socks, and shod in trail shoes. Today I was, comparatively-speaking, 'going barefoot' because I'd be wearing synthetic socks (DryMax) and trail-runners (La Sportiva Raptor). The experiment would prove to be a success.

Brian and I left the trail-head at 7:40 AM, ambled along a fairly dry Van Hoevenberg trail, and emerged, forty minutes later, at Marcy Dam. We immediately spied Hurricane Irene's gift to hikers, the Trap Dike Slide, high on Colden's western flank. We'd first have to ascend the Trap Dike to reach the slide and that brought back a few memories.

Objective: Highest visible slide on Colden.

My first ascent of the Trap Dike was in the early 80's. Whereas today one can use the Internet to find timely reports, photos, and videos of the Trap Dike, thirty years ago my buddy Bob and I approached it with the sole knowledge it was a cleft in the mountain, with waterfalls, that led to a slide (Colden Slide). We brought a climbing rope and wore heavy leather boots. We were prepared for a grand adventure into the unknown (unknown to us). The rope went unused and the boots weren't ideal but we had a safe and memorable trip as many, undoubtedly, had before us. I was eager to see the Trap Dike again, reshaped by Irene.

Trap Dike from Hitch-up Matilda.

After negotiating the obstacle course around Avalanche Lake, we swung around to the lake's eastern shore and proceeded along a rugged herd-path to the base of the Trap Dike. The broad field of rubble, bathed in morning's sunlight, would have made for a pleasant spot to pause if not for the black flies. In an instant we were transformed into "Joe Btfsplk", the eternally jinxed L'il Abner cartoon character sporting a permanent rain cloud over his head. In our case, the clouds were composed of black flies who actively sought out our eyes, ears, and throats. I buttoned up my shirt, applied DEET, and did my best to ignore the intrusions into my personal space. Fortunately, a bit of forward movement was sufficient to lose the clouds so we began our ascent in earnest.

The sun was positioned at the dike's exit and made it difficult to observe (and photograph) the length of the dike. However, the intense glare of sunshine made for very dramatic lighting. Nearly two years have passed since Irene's devastation and plants have returned to take root within the dike's cracks and sandy soil. The dike's high walls enclose an irregular staircase of rocks that leads one through several cascades to arrive at the base of the Trap Dike Slide. Devoid of trees, nothing obstructed our view of the rocks below us, Avalanche Lake and, as we rose higher, the peaks of the MacIntyre Range.

Heading skyward.

The second waterfall provided the greatest challenge of the ascent and earned its reputation as being a Class4 route. It did not intimidate me but did demand my full attention. Hand and footholds are abundant; one only needs to seek them out and move smoothly and confidently. Looking down from above the second waterfall, one can easily appreciate the consequences of a careless movement or misstep.

Brian at the second waterfall.

Beyond the second waterfall, we encountered a few more short vertical sections, including one that was best ascended via the cascade, and then the grade decreased. The height of the dike's walls diminished and soon we were near to the pre-Irene exit, namely the Colden Slide. It remains a viable option but lichen has mottled its weather-beaten surface whereas the Trap Dike Slide is pristine.

There is a field of debris, mostly twisted timber, demarcating the end of the Trap Dike and the beginning of the Trap Dike Slide. Actually, one could continue following the Trap Dike to it terminus in the col between Colden and its northern sub-summit. However, this portion is wooded and ceases to be a simple stroll over open rock.

The debris field demarcates the slide and dike.

From afar, the base of the Trap Dike Slide appears to be a broad and imposing "footwall" of white rock. Upon closer inspection, one discovers it is a steep slab whose surface is very coarse and pock-marked with golf-ball-sized depressions. Its surface is undulated and so, with a little route-finding, one can find something easy or, if one prefers, something challenging.

The base of the Trap Dike Slide.

Brian scaled the Trap Dike with great confidence and little apparent effort. It was gratifying to know I was with an eager and confident partner. Earlier in the day, he indicated he had never rock-climbed so I took a few moments to study the slab's surface and select a suitable route. While I was occupied, he stepped smartly onto the slab and began ascending directly up the fall-line. Seeing that he had no qualms, I ceased my search for the line-of-least-resistance and joined the fun.

Brian contemplates his next move.

Contemplating my next move.

The base of the slide proved to be, at least to me, the steepest and most interesting portion of the slide. Its coarse dimpled surface provided tremendous friction. My splayed fingers fit neatly into its many dimples. I joked it was like gripping a bowling ball.

Coarse, dimpled rock.

The balance of the slide was less steep and allowed us to walk upright. We paused a  few times to admire the views and to contact our friends on the MacIntyre Range. Although we could see them on the summit of Iroquois, they had difficulty spotting us on the slide.

What a backdrop!

As we neared the slide's head, we approached a stepped section with a horizontal band of loose earth at its base (the "Nitty Gritty Dirt Band"). I tread carefully because the material was treacherous underfoot; it readily gave way and the dislodged bits rolled freely down the slide. Once above the step, it was clear sailing to the end of the slide. The final few yards of rock were wet but not very slippery. The herd-path, through low scrub, led us directly to the trail and within a few yards of the summit. We agreed it was one of the most scenic routes to Colden!

We proceeded to the southern end of Colden and, with a commanding view of Lake Colden, paused for lunch. We hailed Neil and Bib and learned they were on Shepherd's Tooth and preparing for their descent into the Cold Brook Pass. We agreed on an exit time, 6:30 PM, wished each other well, and then turned off our radios.

The view from our "lunch room"!

We met only one other hiker on the summit, accompanied by his amiable dog Dino. After a brief chat, we proceeded to a vantage point with a view of Colden's eastern flank. We could see the old slides, and the brook far below, but the newest addition to the Southeast Slide, the "1990 Slide", was obscured by trees. I knew it started near the northern end of Colden's summit so we returned to the marked trail to explore our options.

Finding the herd-path to the head of the 1990 Slide proved to be a puzzler. Along the summit's trail we found three obvious side-trails, the southernmost one is across from the glacial erratic, the middle one leads to the summit rock, and the northernmost one appears to lead to a tiny clearing with its own herd-path that leads nowhere.

We continued northward, past the two massive boulders forming a tunnel, began losing elevation, and then stopped to check our bearings. I retrieved my camera and examined a photo taken of Colden, the previous week, from the summit of Gray. The 1990 Slide clearly starts at the north end of Colden's summit. We backtracked, confirmed we could identify only three side-trails, and selected the middle one, at the summit rock, for our departure point.

A few steps into the woods confirmed they were very dense. The trees knitted their branches into a barrier that seemed to push back as hard as we pushed forward. We emerged out of the trees and discovered we were above the older sections of the Southeast Slide but not the desired 1990 Slide. Our objective was several yards north of our position. Rather than trample sensitive alpine plants, we ducked back into the woods to regain the trail. We emerged at our starting point, the summit rock, with a greater appreciation of the effort needed to bushwhack through cripplebrush!

We moved north along the trail, ducked into the northernmost of the three side-trails, and started a new bushwhack. After another round of squeezing and pushing we emerged in view of the 1990 Slide. Unfortunately we were still south of it! However, we were tantalizingly close and chose to make a bee-line through more woods. We emerged on the slide about three yards from the established and very obvious herd-path!

Wanting to know where the herd-path intersected the trail, I followed it up the slope to its end. I discovered the intersection is quite subtle and not as obvious as the other three we had found. It lies about five yards south of a waist-high boulder and is marked by a foot-tall stump. I hurried back down the herd-path to rejoin Brian on the slide.



Trail-marker and waist-high boulder on the left; stump for herd-path on the right.

1990 Slide found; the descent begins!

Sections of the 1990 Slide seemed steeper than the Trap Dike Slide but that perception may be due to the fact we were descending it. I did my best to walk upright on the steepest sections (knees deeply bent) but eventually my creaky knees had me "crab-walking" backwards (technically speaking, we were "down-climbing"). I didn't care for crab-walking because it was substantially slower than walking upright but it relieved the stress on my knees.

Brian demonstrates "crab-walking" backwards.

Before long we were at the base of the open slide and being funneled into the brook. We stopped to draw water and admire the marvelous view of the Opalescent valley with Marcy and Gray towering high above. The brook's banks were speckled with the whites, blues, and pinks of fresh spring flowers. As to be expected, the black flies ensured our pauses remained brief. Before long, we found ourselves on level ground and, following a short bushwhack, back on a marked trail.

Pausing to admire the view of Marcy and Gray.

The route to Lake Arnold was in excellent condition albeit the ascent seemed a little more than anticipated. We emerged on the shore of Lake Arnold and paused for a snack and so did the black flies. I haven't visited Lake Arnold, outside of winter, for many years and it was a surprise to discover the quantity and quality of the bog-bridges in its vicinity.

At the junction with the "crossover trail" to Indian Falls, Brian agreed to extend our hike by visiting the falls. The crossover trail was in excellent condition. Nearing the falls, we followed a herd-path to its base. Rather than backtrack, we scaled the rocks and emerged atop Indian Falls and treated to one of the most memorable views of the MacIntyre Range. I turned on the radio and hailed our MacIntyre team but there was no reply.

The memorable view of the MacIntyres from Indian Falls.

We continued to Marcy Dam and chose to tour its shoreline. We paused at its inlet to photograph Colden and found several moose tracks in the soft earth. At the breached dam, we stopped to take one last look and then proceeded back to the Loj to end our day. At 5:40 PM we signed out and headed to Brian's car to clean up.

Moose tracks at Marcy Dam.

I tried contacting Neil and Bib but it appeared that they had left their radio off. By 6:10 PM I encouraged Brian to leave, since he had a four hour commute and there was no guarantee the others would arrive at 6:30 PM sharp. We said our goodbyes and Brian left, to return two days later for trail-work. I look forward to our next hiking adventure together.

Cleaned up and waiting for my ride home.

The next seventy minutes was spent lounging on the porch of the closed HPIC building. I performed a prolonged set of stretching exercises, helped a hiker rent a bear canister (go to the Loj when the HPIC is closed), and watched about two dozen hikers return from various trips.

Around 7:40 PM my two smiling friends emerged. Bib had overlooked to keep himself properly fueled and had 'bonked' during the ascent of Iroquois from Cold Brook Pass. He recovered sufficiently to complete the ambitious hike, only his second outing after a half-year's hiatus to strengthen his knees. Bib was in good spirits and happy to report his knees felt great.

Reunited, we piled into Neil's car and recounted our day's experiences during the ride home. No better way to spend a day in the mountains than with good friends.

Photos

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Brian's Photos

Chapter 1: The Trap Dike
Chapter 2: Trap Dike Slide
Chapter 3: Colden Southeast Slide

Colden 2013-02-07

Brian (Pathgrinder), Sam, and I achieved a near perfect balance during our hike to Colden:

• 3 hours to Colden.
• 2.75 hours to the Loj.
• 3 hours in the Lake Placid Pub and Brewery.

With just a little less effort on the descent, it would've been a perfect three-way split.

According to the register, "cfraimondo" was heading to Tabletop and Phelps, a fellow countryman left for Redfield, and our band of brothers for Colden. We left at 8:10 AM under a cloudy sky and light snowfall. 

Brian had tweaked his knee two days earlier and was moving a slower pace. In other words, he was moving at a strong and steady pace. Sam moved uphill with no apparent effort. I continued to test the sweat-dispersing performance of my clothing.

Past Marcy Dam, I lost sight of footprints and wondered which direction the Redfield-bound hiker chose for Redfield? He ought to have continued, minimally, to Avalanche Camp. The question was answered at the junction of the Indian Falls/Lake Arnold trails where, by sheer chance, he emerged and admitted to have made a "35 minute mistake".

At Lake Arnold, we found a cluster of tents ensconced in the designated camp site. There were no footprints in the fresh snow thereby suggesting they had left early that morning. Two hours out of the Loj, we stopped for a snack on the windy shore of Lake Arnold (or as I like to call it: Popsicle Pond).

Lake Arnold ("Popsicle Pond").

The trail featured a solid frozen base covered with two to three inches of fresh snow. The falling snow was doing a good job of covering our tracks. There were a few postholes hidden under the fluffy stuff that, when discovered, spiced up our language.

Brian ascending from Lake Arnold.

Short of the false summit, we stopped to add layers in anticipation of the high winds. Once out on the false summit, the snow-laden wind gusts eagerly greeted us. We didn't spend any appreciable time there and quickly descended into the relative calm of the col. 

As we approached the summit, it was clear this was the wind's domain. It didn't force us to crawl but, like an aeolian Medusa, staring at it froze your face. My face began to feel numb and signalled time to face away, draw hood tight, and step carefully along the icy ridge. We topped out on Colden at 11:05 AM. Visibility was less than fifty feet so we chose to take summit photos at the recognizable glacial erratic. Rather than futz with goggles, balaclavas, etc we ducked into the cripplebrush and out of the wind.

My 36th winter peak.

After ten minutes of photos, snacking, and developing painfully cold hands, it was time to leave. I decided it was time to deploy my hiking poles for the descent. Unfortunately, one pole's lock failed completely and rendered it unusable. Bummer. A little more caution and balance would be needed during my descent. 

The fresh snow made the descent to Lake Arnold quick and fun. Brian's knee held up initially but deteriorated quickly thereafter. We arrived at the Loj at 1:50 PM, stowed our gear and made a beeline for the Lake Placid Pub and Brewery to numb Brian's knee.

The final third of our trip involved burgers, beers, and many laughs. At 5:30 PM, the skies had cleared and we stepped out in the cold, cobalt dusk and began our journey home.

Photos

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Colden 2011-03-31

Early in the week, Thursday promised to be a beautiful day and the plan was to hike to Skylight and bushwhack to Redfield. Unfortunately, by Wednesday, Thursday's weather forecast soured. I had considered cancelling but, given I'd issued a 'come one, come all' invitation, I thought it'd be poor form to be a no-show.

I left Montreal on Wednesday afternoon, had supper at the Lake Placid Pub and Brewery, and spent an enjoyable evening talking with David, the genial host of Tmax and Topo's hostel. Given the strong possibility of a lousy day, and combined with a 4 hour drive, my hiking partner opted out late Wednesday evening. 

I arrived at the Loj at 7:15 AM. My cattle-call failed to produce any recruits, the weather was unstable (a winter storm watch had been issued for Thursday evening through Friday), so I decided against an ambitious solo bushwhack and chose to hike Colden. 

Colden and Algonquin.

It was a quiet morning at Adirondack Loj. I was the first to sign in at the (Van Hoevenberg) trail register; I left at 7:35 AM.

About a quarter-mile out of the Loj, the trail crosses a boggy area on wooden walkways. The walkways are mostly snow-free and in danger of being inundated due to beaver activity. Just south of the bog, the trail has a very thin cover of snow and will probably become the first stretch of mud before long.

The trails are covered in hard-packed snow with a few slick sections owing to the 'ironing' effect caused by skis. I bare-booted all the way to Lake Arnold and then switched to snowshoes.

Someone recently remarked that, with all the hiking I've done, I must be in pretty good shape. I replied I was mostly sore all the time. True to form, all sorts of aches and pains developed during the ascent to Lake Arnold. Despite their protests, I arrived on Colden's summit at 10:50 AM (3h 15m).

VIDEO: Colden's summit. Western panorama.

Snow showers threatened to spoil the views but they came and went. The sun even peeked through the clouds a few times. Overall, the weather was much better than expected but I was still satisfied with my decision to skip the Skylight/Redfield bushwhack.

I considered bushwhacking down Colden's eastern slide and spent some time viewing a suitable route. Ultimately, I chose to descend to Lake Colden via the red trail. I hadn't hiked though Avalanche Pass this season and I figured I'd best cross Avalanche Lake now, before it begins to thaw.

The upper portion of the red trail, on Colden's southern face, has lost its snow cover. The exposed rock, displaying its yellow paint-markers, presents a hazard for snowshoes. Fortunately, the rock can be avoided by detouring through the cripplebrush over an ample snowpack.

The red trail descends steeply and allowed me to do some butt-sliding. It took less than 45 minutes to descend to Lake Colden. I continued northwards and stopped at the Lake Colden/Avalanche Pass trail register and put on dry socks.

It was a unique experience to cross Avalanche Lake's frozen surface. What a pleasure compared to the ups and downs of the summer route skirting the lake. I followed next to the existing ski tracks and stayed away from the lake's edges. I probed the surface for weaknesses, looking for slush and listening for tell-tale cracking, but the ice was bomb-proof.

It was a great opportunity to photograph the western side of Avalanche Pass, including Hitchup Matilda and the wooden staircase. While photographing the Trap Dike I saw four hikers, making their way up, just before they exited the top of the Dike. The route had a few exposed rocky patches but, overall, it seemed like crampons would be the right tool for the ascent.

Four hardy hikers ascending the Trap Dike.

After crossing the lake, I continued on through Avalanche Pass and saw something completely unexpected: a mosquito! Dodging the falling snowflakes was a hardy little harbinger of itching and scratching to come. I dismissed it as an anomaly until I saw another one followed later by yet another. It was a strange experience to see snowflakes and mosquitoes! Who'd believe that I'd seen mosquitoes in March? With a clap of my hands, I dispatched one and then took a photo of the snow-hardy mosquito.

March 31st: Dispatched my first mosquito of the season.

Before long, I arrived at Avalanche Camp where, many years ago, I had slept in one of its lean-to's (now gone). It's a pretty spot, a clearing nestled amidst paper birches and conifers, and as I looked back at Colden the sun peeked through the clouds and illuminated the glade. Farewell Colden!

The remainder of the hike was a leisurely walk with plenty of pauses to observe the handiwork of early spring, especially the thawing brooks and streams. Before reaching Marcy Dam I met Ranger Joe Giglinto skiing up the trail. Aside from the four hikers high atop the trap Dike, he was the first and only person I met all day. 

Rorschach test! Fried eggs? Oysters on the half shell?

I arrived at the Loj's parking lot, now a sodden mess of melting ice and muddy soil, at 2:40 PM. Five hikers signed in after me plus Ranger Giglinto. Effectively, I had the place to myself!

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