Sawteeth and the Lower Great Range. 2014-03-01

Saturday, March 1, 2014

The second day of three days in the Adirondacks.


I saw no one until Upper Wolfjaw. Peace, solitude and a bit of trail-breaking up Pyramid and to Gothics. The stretch between Pyramid and Gothics was other-worldly; the best part of the entire day. Met several folks on Lower Wolfjaw. 7h and done.

Summit of Sawteeth and its million-dollar view.

Photos

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Great Range Traverse 2013-08-05

A pilgrimage to the highest of the High Peaks.

During one's quest to become an Adirondack 46er, it's normal to progress from hiking a single peak to several in a day. Many aspiring 46ers eventually develop the endurance to hike a mountain range, such as the Sewards, Santanonis, and Dixes, in one long day. These extended hikes comprise about 18 miles and 5500 feet of ascent, more or less. A Great Range Traverse (GRT) demands endurance for a 24 mile hike with 10000 feet of ascent.

A GRT asks for a greater investment in preparation and effort but rewards the hiker with some of the best scenery in the High Peaks. I was intrigued by the challenge, namely to traverse all peaks in the Great Range and end at the highest peak, Marcy.  With a bit of whimsy, I framed it as a 'pilgrimage to the highest of the High Peaks'.

I used to think "If you can hike the GRT, you can hike anything in the Adirondacks". Although the statement bears a germ of truth, it's logic is flawed because, of course, you can always find a longer and more challenging combination of peaks. In 1932, Bob Marshall (ADK 46er #3) covered 14 peaks in a day (13 600') and, in 1933, Herbert Malcom (ADK 46er #5) hiked 18 peaks (20 067') {1}. Nowadays, people run the GRT in under six hours and have hiked all 46 peaks in under 4 days! However, in the context of what an average hiker experiences, in the quest to become a 46er, the GRT is a significant step beyond and it captured my imagination.

By March of 2012, I had completed two all-season rounds of the ADK 46 and was working towards a winter round. The journey taught me a great deal about what needed improvement before attempting a GRT. Nuisance issues, like my tender feet, were addressed with better preventive measures and different gear. The key area needing improvement was endurance.

To improve my stamina, I took up running. By early June, of 2012, I was up to 10 kilometers, every other day, and looking forward to attempting the GRT later in the month. Feeling exceptionally strong one day, I ran 17 km, a personal record, and promptly injured my knee. For two weeks I couldn't climb stairs without pain and it took several weeks before I could hike again. 2012's GRT attempt was a no-go.

As a balm for my disappointment, I chose to hike the upper Great Range to get a taste of the GRT. I hiked from the Garden trail-head to Marcy and then over Haystack, Basin, Saddleback, to Gothics. Upon reaching Gothics' summit my legs and knees were sore. Completing the balance of the hike, to the Rooster Comb trail-head, required strength and endurance I did not possess. I was an unworthy pilgrim; had I tried to finish it would not have been in "good style".

The term "good style" has special meaning for rock-climbers. On my little planet, finishing a hike in "good style" means leaving the trail feeling satisfied by the experience (a.k.a. "content") and no worse for wear. I wanted to be a worthy pilgrim. My goal was to prepare myself for a GRT so that I'd take its challenges in stride and finish in "good style". I added stretching and squats to my running routine and focused on staying free of injuries. A full year later, by late July 2013, I felt strong, my right knee was mostly pain-free and, with the days growing shorter, it was time to grab the brass ring.

There are several permutations of the Great Range Traverse and my choice was to follow the route described in the Fastest Known Time, namely to start from the Rooster Comb trail-head, in Keene Valley, and ascend:

• Rooster Comb
• Hedgehog
• Lower Wolfjaw
• Upper Wolfjaw
• Armstrong
• Gothics
• Saddleback
• Basin
• Haystack
• Marcy

I would also include a side-trip to Pyramid and exit at Adirondack Loj, near Lake Placid, as opposed to the Garden trail-head in Keene Valley. Exiting at the Loj is about one and a half miles shorter and 700 feet less descent than the Garden.

The shorter distance and descent didn't play a factor in my choice of exit. My wife would spend her day in Lake Placid so it was more practical to finish at the Loj. Based on measurements found here and the Adirondack Mountain Club's High Peaks guidebook, my chosen route was 24.3 miles (39.1 km) in length and 10120 feet (3085 m) in elevation gain.

On Sunday, August 4th, my wife and I stayed at the Rooster Comb Inn in Keene Valley. We were warmly greeted by its owner Steve and introduced to the resident basset hounds, Rosie and Uncle Joe. Our cozy room was furnished in "Adirondack Rustic" furniture designed and built by Steve. A community kitchen offered all the conveniences of home and was ideal for my pre-dawn breakfast the following morning.

Steve explained I could walk to the Rooster Comb trail by cutting across the adjoining school property. I explored the route and it led to the scenic pond located a few hundred yards from the trail-head. It was a nice short-cut but, this being my first GRT, I decided to start from the 'official' Rooster Comb trail-head.

Sunday's dinner came from an unexpected source, namely the Keene Valley Fire department. They were holding a fund-raising drive and we purchased tickets for the BBQ chicken dinner. Combined with excellent baked beans, macaroni salad, green salad, and brownies with ice-cream, it was a delicious pre-hike meal. By 8:30 PM, I was showered and in bed, awaiting the alarm clock to sound at 4:15 AM.

As usual, the anticipation caused fitful sleep and I awoke shortly before the appointed time. I dressed, ministered to the needs of my feet, and slipped out to the kitchen to devour a large bowl of cereal and blueberries. I kissed my wife good-bye, she wished me good luck, and I was out the door at 4:55 AM. After a short walk along route 73, I arrived at the Rooster Comb trail-head and registered for my hike: "Great Range Traverse, exit at ADK Loj". There it was, written on paper, now all I had to do was make it happen!

With sunrise about 45 minutes away, I followed the excellent path by headlamp. The morning was cool (10 °C, 50 °F) but within a few minutes of ascent I removed my long-sleeve shirt and continued in T-shirt and shorts for the balance of the trip. In the darkness I spooked a deer and the resulting crash in the underbrush got my heart racing as well.

I arrived at the Rooster Comb junction a few minutes past sunrise and extinguished my headlamp. I started up the spur-trail to Rooster Comb's summit. About a hundred yards later I decided I shouldn't expend more energy than necessary, so I hung my pack on a tree branch. I continued to the summit with my camera in expectation of a beautiful sunrise. I wasn't disappointed.

Sunrise over Tripod mountain.

Rooster Comb's rocky outlook was bathed in orange-pink light from the first rays of the rising sun. Peeking over Tripod mountain, the sun's warming light cast a rich glow on the mountains and heralded the start of a glorious day. Owing to the sunlight's low angle, Rooster Comb's distinct profile cast a recognizable shadow on Johns Brook valley. In a moment of child-like whimsy, I hoped my shadow would also be visible, as a tiny stick figure, but optical physics said no.

Posing with Rooster Comb's shadow.

After retrieving my pack I continued with the business of ascending to Hedgehog. The trail-bed was excellent and before long I was at the head-waters of Flume Brook. I had traveled this route several weeks earlier and the brook had been running but today, to my disappointment, it was dry. I followed it downhill for several yards and discovered a tiny pool filled with cold, clear water. Now was the time to take on three liters because the next source, at Deer Brook, might be even drier. Beyond Deer Brook, there was no reliable water source (without descending off-route) until the Basin-Haystack col.

I drew a liter of water, inserted my Steripen, pushed the button, and got a flashing red light. Uh-oh. The Steripen's batteries were dead. I normally carry purification tablets to cover this situation but they infuse the water with a horrible taste. They were the avenue of last resort. I considered the option of drinking nauseous chemical swill for many hours to come and didn't like it one bit. I concluded the water's source was better than average and didn't need purification. If I was wrong, it was unlikely I'd suffer the consequences immediately but days, or weeks, after consuming the tainted water. I filled my hydration bladder with three liters of the Adirondack's finest beverage (fingers crossed) and continued on my way.

Hedgehog's summit is a non-event: a solitary rock lying in a bend of the wooded trail that is passed in a blink of an eye. A more interesting discovery was that my prediction about Deer Brook's condition was totally wrong. It was far from dry and water flowed freely across the trail. I rolled my eyes, made a mental note and pressed on to the Wolf's Chin. Along the way, "Yellow Submarine" invaded my mind and kept it occupied for awhile.

Having ascended Lower Wolfjaw via trails from the east and west, I now feel the trail from the Rooster Comb trail-head, rising and falling over Hedgehog and the Wolf's Chin, is more interesting and demanding. The final view of Lower Wolfjaw from the Chin, dispels the notion that it's a ho-hum peak with limited views. It's northern side rises about 250' above the col and looks quite imposing when viewed from the Chin. The steepest pitch is short but steep enough to make a lasting impression. In some ways, it reminded me of hiking to Rocky Peak Ridge from New Russia. That route makes RPR feel like a full-bodied mountain instead of something you "tag" as a side-trip from Giant. Similarly, hiking to Lower Wolfjaw from Rooster Comb made it feel like the main attraction as opposed to a side-show en route to Upper Wolfjaw.

Three hours from Keene Valley, I stood atop Lower Wolfjaw's wooded summit and relished the notion that the first 3000 feet of ascent were behind me. I was on the first of eight 4K peaks, feeling strong, and looking forward to what lie ahead. The wind was making itself known and the temperature had dropped (6 °C, 43 °F). I wasn't planning to spend more than a minute or three on each summit and the windchill was helping me stick to the plan.

The drop into the Wolfjaws col was uneventful and I began the next leg with a firm grasp of its challenges. The ascent to Upper Wolfjaw's false summit, capped with a glacial erratic, is steep and heavily eroded. The trail to the true summit is a breeze and is followed by a series of challenging scrambles to the summit of Armstrong.

I paused on Upper Wolfjaw's summit for a snack and to remove debris that had entered my shoes and gnawing at my feet. After tightening the laces, my feet felt better than ever and I was eager to get moving again. The rugged scramble up Armstrong was fresh in my mind from a recent trip. The steepest bits are becoming progressively wider as scores of hikers avoid the worst and head for the trees. I popped out on Armstrong at 9:30 AM and was greeted by a stellar view of Gothics and Saddleback. The True North slide on Gothics and the Back-in-the-Saddle slide on Saddleback brought back memories of past trips. The brisk wind urged me on.

The view from Armstrong on a blue-bird day.

I seemed to be eating and drinking less than on past trips. I was sweating, as usual, but less so and I attribute that to the cooling breeze. By hike's end, I was surprised to discover all I ate was one and a half Clif Bars and three packets of Welch's Fruit Snacks!

The moment I reached the summit of Gothics I knew I would complete the entire traverse. It was 10:00 AM and I felt strong, relaxed, and very pleased with my performance. The upper Great Range is my favorite section and I was eager to see it on a spectacular, blue-bird day. In fact, the weather was so fine that it would be a shame to skip the view of the Great Range from the summit of nearby Pyramid. I descended to the trail junction, stashed my pack and descended to the Gothics-Pyramid col.

During the descent, my mind wandered and chose to compose a children's song. "Billy Goat" served to amuse me as I scrambled towards Pyramid's summit. Nimble little Billy Goat could scramble up rocks for hours without fear of gravity or difficulty. I imagined a troop of little hikers voicing the refrain "Baaaa" in response to the group leader's rallying call of "Billy Goat!" Before I could flesh out meaningful lyrics, Billy Goat had done his job and I was standing on Pyramid. Thanks, Billy Goat!

I'm sure I would've kicked myself had I not made the side-trip to Pyramid. I have no religious affiliations but there was something about the GRT that lent itself to be described in spiritual terms. Against the backdrop of a cerulean blue sky, the peaks of the Great Range stood like summit-temples along the pilgrim's route to the highest of the High.

In a universe that is indifferent to everything, where good happens to bad and bad to good with senseless abandon, we struggle to find meaning to our fleeting existence. The universe is deaf to our questions so we are left to our own devices and find meaning in the natural world, science, art, love, and charity. Today, the natural world gave some meaning to my existence.

Gothics and the "summit-temples" of the upper Great Range.

Upon returning to Gothics, I collected my pack and proceeded to descend the cable route to the Gothics-Saddleback col. The kindest way for my knees was to descend backwards using the cable like a rappel rope. It went quickly, so quickly I didn't even bother to take photos of the route.

I made quick work of the ascent and arrived on Saddleback's summit shortly after 11:00 AM. I had no qualms about descending Saddleback's cliff but today it sensed my lack of focus and proceeded to fluster me. Within moments of my descent I managed to go off-route. I looked around and immediately appreciated the grave consequences of being lackadaisical. I worked my way back to the blazed route and descended efficiently. The final drop to terra firma was merely serviceable and not as effortless and graceful as I had imagined it would be. The experience left a bad taste and made me realize I shouldn't get cocky while traipsing through the temples.

Bottle Gentian in the Saddleback-Basin col.

Bulldog, Baseball, Buick, Basin. I recall a comedian professing the inherent humor of "B" words. If you need a punch line make sure it's peppered with "B" words like Emo Philips with "So I backed up the Buick."

Well, Basin is as funny as a heart-attack. By the time I reached it's summit I was beginning to feel fatigued. The view from "Temple Basin" reveals all that lies ahead and it is both inspiring and intimidating. There's about a thousand-foot drop into the "hole" that forms the headwaters of Haystack Brook followed by a 1200-foot ascent to Haystack. Another loss of many hundreds of feet are experienced before the final ascent of 1200 feet to Marcy. Basin proclaims "Here lies what you sought! Still want it, bub?"

The view from Basin in Cinerama.

The descent to Haystack Brook involves several steep drops where one is spanned by a ladder. It was here I passed a couple who were jury-rigging a system to haul their dog up the ladder. It seemed to involve some rope. I didn't stay to see how it was done.

At Haystack Brook, I drew a liter of water from the brook, added it to my hydration bladder, took a swig, and discovered it was now noticeably 'flavored' with tannin. I can't say it tasted great but it sure killed one's thirst! I rationalized the situation by concluding a functional Steripen wouldn't have improved the taste.

The climb out of the col was becoming a bit of a grind when, just below the junction, I met Bib. I had been counting the number of people I met along the route and Bib was the fourteenth. By the time I reached Haystack, I had met 25 people and stopped counting because of the volume of group-hikers.

I knew Bib had plans to hike to Haystack and hoped our paths would cross during the day. It was good to see him and we described our respective days to one another. I admitted I was beginning to feel the accumulated hours of effort and also described the dead Steripen. Bib graciously offered to give me fresh batteries but I declined. It wouldn't mitigate the untreated water I had already ingested. We both remarked what a beautiful day it was and noted the brisk wind. Bib added the wind was "something else" on Haystack! We bid one another good-bye, and good luck, and went our separate ways.

My spirits were lifted by the meeting and the discovery I was a mere two minutes from the trail-junction to Haystack. I climbed up a few yards, put on a shell, and stashed my pack. Freed of my burden, my inner "Billy Goat" was let loose and I dashed up the rock without a care in the world. Twenty-two minutes later, this old goat's shell was flapping wildly atop wind-blown Haystack.

Atop Haystack's wind-blown summit.

Whatever fatigue I felt was left behind with my pack. The brisk wind was like a cold compress for my legs and soothing music to my ears. I was elated to be on Haystack, my favorite peak, and it was barely 1:30 PM. Marcy may be taller but I was on "top o' the world" on Haystack. I probably would've danced a jig if it wasn't for the presence of a couple nestled in the lee of the summit. We chatted briefly, they took my photo, and then I was off to the highest of the High.

I shouldered my pack and began the up-and-over to the junction with the Phelps trail. It's a rough descent down a section I call the "cheese-grater". Upon reaching the junction I paused and prepared myself mentally for the final ascent. This would be the day I would set a personal record for elevation gain and I wanted it to be smooth and memorable. Alan Shepherd's (apocryphal) prayer says it best "Dear Lord, please don't let me f--k up."

Thirty minutes out of the col, I arrived at the Van Hoevenburg trail-junction. It greeted me with the stench of human waste. It appears the pilgrims drawn to Marcy use the surrounding woods as an open-pit toilet. I guess even pilgrims have to "go" somewhere. Sadly they know not of cat-holes.

The final twenty minutes to the top was a lovely walk in the wind. Shortly before 3:00 PM I tagged the summit and retreated to the lee side to don my shell. Months of preparation had allowed me to experience a pleasant journey executed without injury, pain, or undue discomfort. Looking out on the mountains, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment. I had set myself a goal and achieved it in "good style": I was content and no worse for wear.

Looking back at the Great Range.

After a brief chat with the summit steward, I proceeded to the northern end of the summit. The plan was to call my wife, from Marcy, to arrange the pick-up time. Upon hearing the news she congratulated me and offered to treat me to dinner in Lake Placid. Having developed a healthy appetite, I quickly accepted and added that I expected to arrive at the Loj in three hours (6:00 PM).

I managed to shave off a half-hour from my predicted arrival time. In comparison to the rugged route over the Great Range, the Van Hoevenberg trail felt like a paved road. Wherever the trail allowed I increased my pace or broke into a jog. I didn't have an accurate means of measuring my speed so I simply took every advantage to maintain a strong pace to ensure I met my wife at the appointed time.

I arrived at the remains of Marcy Dam and checked my watch. It was just shy of 5:00 PM. I like to challenge myself so I decided to expend whatever energy I had left to exit as quickly as I could. Again, in comparison to what I had traversed earlier in the day, the trail to the Loj felt smooth as silk. The last leg of the journey would no longer be a pilgrimage but a competition with oneself.

Admittedly, the last several hundred yards were a bit of a grunt but I met my goal and arrived at the trail-head at 5:27 PM. My first GRT had come to a successful end. My wife greeted me with congratulations, a hug, kiss, and bottle of chocolate milk. She thought of everything!

My first GRT is a success!

By pure coincidence, Brian (Pathgrinder) and his two hiking companions (Gregory and Gary) emerged from the trail and stopped by to say hello. It was good to see him and, upon learning of my day, I was given a round of congratulations. Receiving "attaboys" from fellow pilgrims was much appreciated. After saying our good-byes, my wife and  I drove to Lake Placid for a celebratory dinner. It was a perfect ending to a spectacular day. The experience has inspired me to seek greater challenges.

Milestones

A breakdown of my itinerary, featuring interval times and charts, can be found in the following spreadsheet.

Photos

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{1} Adirondack Forty-Sixers, Inc. (2011).  Heaven Up-Histed-ness! The History of the Adirondack Forty-Sixers and the High Peaks of the Adirondacks, pg. 17, 55.

Gothics, Armstrong, Upper Wolfjaw and Lower Wolfjaw 2012-10-18

After a hiatus of many years, Robert a.k.a. "Bib" is returning to the Adirondacks to attain 46er status. We were introduced by way of mistaken identity (he thought I was someone else) but it was a fortuitous mix-up. I discovered he lives in Montreal's West Island so, given proximity and a shared interest in hiking, we teamed up to hike the 4K peaks of the lower Great Range.

We left Montreal at 5:00 AM, arrived at St. Huberts at 7:20 AM, and signed in at the AMR trail register at 7:40 AM. Nine hours and four High Peaks later, we were on our way to knock back a few beers.

We selected the best weather day of the week and weren't disappointed. Although equipped for ice and snow we encountered none. In the bright sunshine, the mountains shed their coats of snow and offered us good ol' rock and mud. Traction aids, lulled by constant motion, snoozed all day in our packs.

We made good time and arrived at the dam in just under an hour. Ascending the Weld trail, we topped out on Pyramid around 11:00 AM and were greeted by forecasted winds of 35 mph. The conditions were outside the boundaries of my new lightweight softshell's "design envelope" so I retreated momentarily out of the wind to don a hard shell (and gloves).

Upper Great Range viewed from Pyramid.

The view of the Upper Great Range, and rushing clouds cleaved by Haystack, was spell-binding. The spell was broken after being sufficiently chilled by the constant wind. A quick snack, a few more pictures, and then, still fully-layered for warmth, we descended into the steep col and popped up on Gothics' shoulder fifteen minutes later.

Slightly less breezy than Pyramid, we spent about a half-hour on Gothics enjoying some of the best views around. Despite a recent snowfall, there was no evidence of it; the peaks were dark green tinged with the oxidized palette of post-leaf-peeping season. Shells were stowed and we began our descent to the Gothics/Armstrong col.

Upper Great Range viewed from Gothics.

While descending towards Gothics' northern summit, I remarked to Bib what an amazing place this becomes in winter. The northern ridge can accumulate so much snow that one walks more than 8 feet above the trail! The twisty, rocky descent to the northern summit becomes a smooth highway of snow. However, on this day it was its normal self of rugged trail through stunted trees.

In the col we stopped for a snack and to listen to the symphony of wind through the firs. The growth of young firs among the greying logs of old blowdown brought back a memory of stepping into a spruce trap two winters ago. They appeared to be benign today but their true nature will become evident in a few months.

I had started the hike with an inflamed tendon in my lower left leg and muscle pain in my right shoulder. I wasn't sure if these injuries would prove to be a liability so the Beaver Meadows trail was a potential bail-out route. Both Bib and I felt fine so we continued to Armstrong.

One of the disadvantages of doing this route clockwise is the views become progressively less impressive. Compared to what Pyramid offers, Lower Wolfjaw's views are humdrum. In my opinion, Armstrong offers the last good view before Upper Wolfjaw takes it down a notch and Lower Wolfjaw just pays lip service. We reached Armstrong at 12:30 PM and enjoyed the last good view of the upper Johns Brook valley under a warming sun and mild breezes.

Gothics viewed from Armstrong.

South of Armstrong, the Range trail drops steeply over a series of rock slopes including one spanned by a ladder. Shortly before reaching the ladder, we met our first hiker of the day. I couldn't help but bring attention to the gentleman's fluorescent green trail runners. He mentioned there wasn't too much mud and I indicated his shoes were mute evidence given that they were "still glowing".

Bib en route to Upper Wolfjaw.

Twenty minutes past the ladder we stood on Upper Wolfjaw (1:15 PM) and paused, very briefly, to admire the last good view of our route. I mentioned to Bib that many folks mistake the next summit, with a glacial erratic, for Upper Wolfjaw. A few minutes later we arrived at the erratic and met two more hikers who, mapless, assumed they were atop Upper Wolfjaw. They indicated they were heading to Gothics so, chances are, they will ascend Upper Wolfjaw's true summit. I recounted an example or two of people losing their way due to a lack of a map and navigational skills. I ended my sermon with "Get a map!" We bid them good luck and began our descent into the wolf's mouth.

In the col we paused and, still feeling chipper, agreed to continue to Lower Wolfjaw. The 700' ascent went by quickly and we arrived at 2:20 PM. Referring to a map, we explored our descent options and chose to return by way of the shorter route, namely the Wedge Brook trail. Our descent was at a comfortable pace that permitted us to fully appreciate walking under a canopy of golden trees and enjoy the last bit of fall color. Although by no means a technicolor display, this last vestige of autumn splendor is vibrant compared to what November will offer.

Bridge over Wedge Brook.

We arrived at the AMR trail register at 5:40 PM and then proceeded directly to the Ausable Inn for well-deserved burgers and beer. 

Photos

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Statistics

Ascent: ~5300 feet
Distance: ~16 miles
Time: 9 hours

Marcy, Haystack, Basin, Saddleback, Gothics 2012-07-25

In terms of ideal weather for hiking, the forecast indicated Wednesday would be a day free of clouds, showers, and thunderstorms. The summit forecast for Marcy promised to be sunny, high of 55 F, with winds speeds of 25 to 35 mph. Yes!

I really had high hopes of completing a Great Range Traverse (GRT) this summer and felt all I needed was more stamina. I took up running in the spring and felt the improvements over a two month period. I believed I was on schedule for a successful GRT until my right knee developed a debilitating pain. It took three weeks to recover (i.e. walk without limping). I resumed running and added a lot more stretching before and after each run; however, my knee hasn't felt right since the injury. A recent hike confirmed it was unhappy with the kind of deep knee bends normally required during descents. Fortunately, it had few complaints during ascents and that meant I wasn't doomed to be a flatland hiker.

I decided to hike the upper Great Range, Marcy to Gothics, with the mindset that I was hiking the entire Range; my provisions and pace would be for a full GRT. After completing my 'half GRT' I would assess my performance and determine what improvements were needed to successfully complete the entire route. 

I left Montreal at 4:30 AM. Despite being thwarted by a road closure and a poorly marked detour, I arrived at the Garden at 7:00 AM. The lot was about four cars shy of being full. I remembered to bring exact change for the parking fee, but another arrival, a young woman from Québec, did not. I couldn't make change for her fiver so I simply gave her the extra two dollars she needed for the fee. What goes around, comes around.

I was looking forward to this trip because I'd be hiking the classic "HaBaSa" route, sandwiched between Marcy and Gothics. I've never seen the section from Shorey Shortcut to Little Haystack nor the site of the former Sno-Bird leanto. Thirty years ago, I descended Basin to Shorey Shortcut but it is now a distant memory. Similarly, I've descended the cable-route on Gothics and was now looking forward to ascending it. As always, I enjoy meeting other hikers and the trip would prove to be a success on that front; the trails were alive with people enjoying a spectacular day in the High Peaks.

I left the Garden trailhead at 7:20 AM. Only three groups of hikers had signed in before me but the number of cars in the lot suggested many people were camping in Johns Brook valley. The trail was dry and free of mud and I made good time; I arrived at JBL an hour later. A few folks were socializing on the deck and enjoying the crisp morning air.

At 9:00 AM I arrived at Bushnell Falls leanto which was occupied and featured several tents in the vicinity. Beyond Bushnell Falls, the trail gradually ascends through a beautiful conifer forest. I arrived at Slant Rock (9:45 AM) and stopped to replenish my water supply. At the brook, I met a couple who had camped and were preparing to hike Marcy. I used a SteriPen to sterilize about a liter and a half of water, bringing my supply up to four liters. It was far more than I needed (the next reliable source was at Sno-Bird) but I was simulating the conditions for a full GRT hike. We were joined by a second couple who had hiked Marcy the previous day and were now heading to Haystack. A third couple marched through as well, bound for Haystack. I'd meet all three couples again, later in the day.

I'd forgotten how pretty the trail is between Slant Rock and the Marcy/Haystack col. It ascends steadily, over a fairly good trailbed, through a boreal forest and offers a few glimpses back along John's Brook Valley. I arrived at the trail junction (10:15 AM) and turned right for Marcy. Up to this point I had set myself a hard-charging pace and was feeling no pain. The ascent from the col forced to stop and catch my breath. I had to adjust my pace because my enthusiasm was overreaching my conditioning.

Above treeline, I caught up with two teenagers, a boy and girl, and attempted to match their pace. I marvelled at how swiftly and effortlessly they moved over the rock and easily recovered from slips and missteps. Perhaps feeling that I wished to overtake them, they paused to let me pass. The girl said "We're holding you back" to which I replied "Not at all, I'm barely keeping up with you!" Needless to say, a few hundred yards later this old man had to pause and was immediately overtaken by the boy; the girl dropped back and proceeded at a more relaxed pace. Pausing reminded me that 55 F, with a 25 mph wind, felt great while hiking but very chilly when standing still in a soaking wet T-shirt. I pressed on and arrived on the summit at 11:00 AM.

Marcy: 1 of 5.

I sat on the lee side, not far from the summit steward, and admired the view of Haystack. Within minutes the teenagers, their parents, and other hikers, joined me to get out of the chilly wind. They asked what the steward did and he began his lecture on summit ecology. I had no intention of spending time on Marcy so that was my cue to depart for Haystack. Not wanting to seem rude I sat politely for a minute before leaving (11:05 AM).

During the descent, I met the couple from Slant Rock and an attractive young woman who inquired about the summit weather. I also met the new bane of my hiking life, my right knee. It had been silent since the Gardens but now it found its voice. During a routine step-down, a stabbing pain was accompanied by what I can only describe as "over-stretched rubber bands shifting around in my leg". I stopped dead and wondered if this was the end of my hike. A few tentative steps proved the "rubber-bands" were still intact but, from now on, I'd be favouring my left leg. I reached the col (11:42 AM) where I met a group of weary hikers resting before the final push to Marcy.

The ascent out of the col reminded me, one of many times throughout the hike, the advantages of hiking in winter. A deep snowpack, acting like wrinkle cream, smoothes away clefts, drop-offs, boulders, rocky slopes, and other blemishes. The first section of trail out of the col, that made for an amazing butt-slide in winter, is a crazy-steep jumble of rocks. The "shredder" is mercifully short but does gets your heart pumping. Beyond it, the trail ascends steeply but at a more humane grade. 

At noon I was out of the col and, just above the cripplebrush, had a clear view of the Haystacks, junior and senior. I was thrilled and, to be repeated several times throughout the hike, grinned ear to ear. I'm sure if a kindred spirit saw me, at that moment, they'd think "He's having a great day in the mountains!" Others might think "Who's this lone nut-job?".

I paused at the Range trail junction and spoke briefly to a couple returning from Haystack. There certainly were more than a few husband/wife, boyfriend/girlfriend teams out in the woods today. I continued up Little Haystack and paused to admire Haystack's silhouette; it looks like a child's depiction of a mountain, namely an "inverted vee". While descending Little Haystack's steep southern side, I met the first of the two Haystack-bound couples returning from the summit. A few minutes later I met the second couple and was greeted with "Oh, you're shaming me!" Quips like that are always welcome to boost one's ego but I knew that my fitness level was far from where I wanted it to be.

Haystack viewed from Little Haystack.

Within a few yards of the summit I had the most amusing encounter of the day. Three teenage girls inquired, with crisp British accents, if I had just come from Haystack. Slightly perplexed by the question I said I had arrived from Marcy and we were standing on Haystack. They replied they thought they were on Little Haystack and relayed the good news to several other teenagers on the nearby summit. I smiled and asked if they had a map. They produced a few scribbles on a crumpled bit of brown paper bag. I jokingly suggested they might not want a ranger to see that. I asked if they started from the Loj to which they replied "Upper Ausable Lake". Ah-hah, I indulged in some 'class profiling' and surmised they were privileged guests of the AMR, perhaps from the summer camp. Maybe this was an exercise in self-sufficiency because I didn't see adult supervisors. The girls seemed a wee-bit unprepared but no worse for wear and definitely in good spirits. Who can deny a teenager's sense of resilience and immortality. I stood on Haystack's summit (12:36 AM) and looked northwards to "BaSaGo"; the best was yet to come.

While descending Haystack I passed a female hiker who described her pace as "puttering". She explained she normally listens to books while hiking which I thought was an interesting concept. Personally, I enjoy hearing nature's sounds, as opposed to music, books, or whatever, but to each her own. In the Haystacks col, I caught up with the previous couple; he exclaimed "Hey, you don't waste any time on the summits!" I explained my itinerary and he said they were considering Basin as well. I looked forward to meeting them again but we never did.

I was back at the Range trail junction at 1:00 PM and decided it was time to use my hiking poles for the descent to Sno-Bird. It was only the second time I was hiking with low-cut shoes and, combined with the unpredictable antics of my knee, it made me atypically unsteady on rocky descents. The hiking poles helped me regain my confidence.

Along the descent I met a couple from Québec, who decided to stop for lunch after learning the junction was still a ways off, and, ostensibly, a family headed for Haystack. They had that weary "this is tougher than we thought" look about them. Mom did all the talking, Dad muttered a few words, and the teenage kids were wide-eyed and silent. They stood close together in single profile. Mom was interested in an alternate return path, namely the red trail. I described the upcoming Range trail junction and the descent to the Haystack/Marcy col terminated by the "shredder". I hesitated to ask if they had a map for fear of seeing another bespoke drawing on a grocery bag. I have no idea if they came by way of Shorey's Shortcut or Basin but, aside from smiling Mom, they looked to be in dire need of a rest. I bid them well and pressed on to Sno-Bird where I stopped to top up my water supply.

To date, I've had no issues with my SteriPen mostly because I've drawn water from clear, running streams. Haystack brook presented a challenge because each bottleful came up with suspended debris. I tried pre-filtering the water by covering the bottle's mouth with a clean bandanna but discovered it was surprisingly water-resistant. Refusing to be defeated by a bit of cloth, I tucked the bandanna into the bottle, thereby creating a makeshift funnel, and it allowed the water to flow in quickly. It was a bit of a bother and I concluded a traditional filter-pump is more convenient for handling water with "floaters".

I explored the Sno-Bird area briefly and understood its appeal. Although views are in short supply, it offers several surprisingly clean and level tenting spots in a secluded area where "level" is unexpected. If you're willing to haul overnight gear up Shorey's "Shore Ain't No" Shortcut, then Sno-Bird is a fine base camp for Basin and Haystack. Although the valley was alive with campers, Sno-Bird was deserted. After twenty minutes to rest, snack, and down Nuun-flavoured water (that sounds very odd when read aloud), I departed (1:38 PM) for the eagerly anticipated ascent of Basin.

The trail features several rugged spots and steep pitches, one being notably spanned by a ladder. The hiking poles were appreciated but grabbing tree branches worked better at times. Maybe it was excessive anticipation or a quirk of the terrain but the summit always seemed over the next rise yet always failed to materialize. Finally, at 2:22 PM, I stood atop Basin. I spun around and marvelled at the view of Haystack and Marcy.

Basin: 3 of 5.

Once again I spent little time on the summit, no more than five minutes, and continued on to the next peak. On Basin's northern slope, the trail takes a westward turn and descends a steep, rocky ramp and then makes a hard turn northwards. If you fail to negotiate the turn at the base of the ramp you'll plunge off a thirty foot cliff. I recalled this section from a hike in April when the ramp was a sheet of ice. The trail proceeds along the very edge of the cliff and serves as a test for vertigo. Whoever cut the trail had a love for exposure. All this to say it is a memorable few yards of trail.

View of Saddleback and Gothics.

The descent into the Basin/North Basin col was an eye-opener. Again, I had wintry memories of steep but smooth snow allowing me to ski down on snowshoes. Hah! Outside of winter, there's nothing smooth about this section. It's no worse than other rugged trails in the High Peaks but it's no slouch either. It reminded me of the steep drop off Santanoni when descending via the Express route. The descent from North Basin into the Saddleback col is equally "irregular". All told, it took me about 35 minutes to traverse Basin to the base of Saddleback's cliff followed by another 8 minutes to ascend to the summit.

I have no advice to give anyone who wishes to tackle Saddleback's cliff in the rain (try not to?). I've done it in thick fog, laden with a heavy framepack thirty years ago, but the details are equally foggy. Warm, dry rock is the best surface for a little bit of scrambling fun. I'd say it is a solid Class 3 slope as per the 14ers site: "Scrambling or un-roped climbing. You must use your hands most of the time to hold the terrain or find your route". It was fun and gave my hands something to do instead of clutching hiking poles.

From Saddleback's summit I had a clear view of a new slide on Basin, one of many created by Irene throughout the High Peaks. I knew there was another new one along the Orebed trail and I was eager to see it firsthand. But first I had an appointment with Gothics.

Saddleback: 4 of 5.

I had already stowed my poles prior to the cliff scramble and, being a lazy cuss, I chose to descend without their aid. Twenty minutes later I was in the Gothics/Saddleback col and beginning my ascent of the cable-route. The fifth peak of the day did not come as easily as its predecessors. I took an inventory of what had become unhappy: upper quads were sore, calves were achy, soles were on fire. I also noted that I needed to pause more frequently to slow my breathing and heart-rate. Aside from 'walking on hot coals', the other complaints could be reduced by more conditioning. I had more training to do before attempting a full GRT.

Atop the first knob south of Gothics, I paused to call my wife. Lake Placid was in view and I got three bars via AT&T. I left a message reassuring her I was fine, that I was very near the top of Gothics (Oops! Not listed on the note I left her!) and would be home a little later than planned. At 4:18 PM I completed the day's goals and stood atop Gothics.

View of the Upper Great Range from Gothics.

Gothics: 5 of 5.

I dropped my pack, looked north and the peakbagger in me said "Hey, look! Armstrong and the Wolfjaws are so close. How about doing a 'GRT 4K', you know, just the 4000 footers? C'mon, it's mostly downhill!" I sat down, considered the words of my peakbagging egotist, and decided to return via Orebed Brook as planned. Today was not the day to complete a GRT in good style; know thyself.

I spent about twenty minutes on Gothics, admiring the views, silencing the growling in my stomach with another Clif bar, and tending to the needs of my tender feet. I had no blisters but my soles felt like hot plates. I greased them with Butt Paste, put on fresh socks and it felt like someone turned the burner off. After a few more photos, I left the summit (4:38 PM) eagerly anticipating the descent.

I didn't find the cables to be essential during the ascent. However, they were very handy to accelerate my descent. When using hiking poles I normally wear cycling gloves and they were perfect for gripping the cables. I walked forward downhill while bleeding off energy through the gloves. Twenty minutes later I was back in the col and heading down the Orebed Brook trail. Within five minutes of my descent I encountered a trickle of water which is good to know if your supply is running low during a GRT.

The cable route.

Prior to Irene, the steepest section of the Orebed trail ascended along a small slide. The slide has grown into a spectacular slope of pristine white rock leading to an impressive debris field at its base. A long staircase has been constructed along the slide's northern side but it is no match for the fun of walking on the slide. For the benefit of those who may be unclear of where to walk on the open expanse of rock, a giant Hi-Liter descended from the sky and drew a series of yellow dashes and arrows. They're of dubious value in the debris field where the dashes appear to suggest you head over boulders instead of around them.

In the debris field I noticed a sharp odour that I associated with the water coursing over the rock. Below the field, the rocks are stained a brilliant orangey-rust colour (either iron precipitate or iron-loving bacteria). I believe the slide exposed a vein of iron deposits which are now leaching into the brook. The result is a foul smell and an orange brook bed. It's something to consider if you plan to draw water below the slide.

Iron fortified water. Yum.

The Orebed trail seemed longer than its advertised 3.3 miles (Gothics to JBL). Nearing six o'clock I passed the Orebed leanto and arrived at JBL fifteen minutes later. I didn't feel as chipper as I did in the morning but overall I was fine and looking forward to having a meal at the Noonmark Diner. I arbitrarily set myself a goal to reach the Garden before 7:20 PM (i.e. within twelve hours of my departure). Whatever I had in reserve came to the fore and I jogged most of the trail back to the Garden. I ran by a couple heading in and resisted the urge to shout "Is the bear still behind me?"

I arrived at the Garden at 7:09 PM. I cleaned up, changed into dry clothes and headed to the Diner for a turkey dinner, blackberry pie, and a large glass of cold milk. It was a satisfying end to a great hike. I learned a few things about myself and the full GRT definitely remains on my to-do list. 

Photos

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For number-crunchers:

Total time including rest-stops: 11h 49m

Gardens to JBL, 1h 2m
JBL to Marcy, 2h 36m
Marcy to Haystack, 1h 38m
Haystack to Basin, 1h 26m
Basin to Saddleback, 0h 52m
Saddleback to Gothics, 1h 04m
Gothics to JBL, 1h 38m
JBL to Gardens, 0h 53m

Sawteeth, Gothics, and Armstrong 2011-03-03

The day started well but ended being memorable for all the wrong reasons. I made errors in judgment that, by mid-afternoon, transformed an enjoyable solo hike into a disagreeable retreat accompanied by unwelcome partner, namely dread and anxiety.

I had hiked Gothics, Armstrong, and Upper WolfJaw last November on an exceptionally beautiful day. Given Thursday's beautiful weather, I set out to hike Sawteeth and Gothics. In the back of my mind, I toyed with the idea of repeating November's accomplishment and hiking to Upper Wolfjaw. That was my first mistake: contemplating a change in my plan while hiking alone, mid-week, on unbroken trails.

I registered at the Ausable Club's trailhead at 7:15 AM. I noted one person left before me (on skis) at 6:30 AM and was also heading to Sawteeth and Gothics. I chatted briefly with the caretaker and then headed along the Lake Road in bare-boots. The temperature was -9 F (-23 C) and the road surface was hard-packed and squeaked like trodden styrofoam. I avoided walking in the ski track to preserve it for the skier's return. However, on my return late in the day, I discovered my carefulness was for naught because snowmobiles had erased the ski tracks.

The Lake Road serves as a good warm-up and clears your mind of the morning's cobwebs. I've not grown to enjoy getting out of bed at 3:00 AM and driving in the dark to reach a trailhead, especially in the winter. However, once I'm on the trail, I'm so happy to be there that I wonder what all the fuss was about. It took me ninety minutes to arrive at the dam and that was slower than in November. My level of enthusiasm was high so I paid no mind.

I like the Weld trail at this time of year. It winds its way along the Cascade Brook valley and offers glimpses of the cliffs and slides on Gothics and its shoulders. The snow cover began as a thin ice crust on a dusting of snow and eventually changed to about a foot of powder. The previous hiker had broken the trail but there was still plenty of effort needed to slog through what had been churned up. I reached the col, between Sawteeth and Gothics, in ninety minutes which was only fifteen minutes slower than my time in November. Given the conditions, I thought I was doing fine.

I stashed my pack, donned my hardshell, and zipped up the trail to Sawteeth. Twenty-five minutes later I was on the summit and enjoying the glorious views of Nippletop, Dix, and Giant. The weather forecast, a clear sunny day, was holding true and the temperature had risen. The occasional wind gust was very cold but Sawteeth is wooded and offers some shelter. I knew Gothics would be less kind.

Pyramid from Sawteeth.

I met the first hiker within a few yards of Pyramid's summit. He was descending and remarked his trail-breaking bordered on 'epic'; it was more work than he had anticipated. His day was over; he was headed back to the dam and was looking forward to the long gentle descent, on skis, back to the trailhead.

I reached the summit of Pyramid at 12:15 PM, about seventy-five minutes from the col. The views of the Range, and beyond, were worth every bit of effort including getting out of a warm bed at 3:00 AM. It took me twenty minutes to traverse the col between Pyramid and Gothics. Throughout the ascent, I stopped frequently to catch my breath, but I wasn't feeling tired.

Steep ascent on Gothics' eastern slope.

For the first time, expecting ice, I brought crampons but they weren't needed. Aside from a few patches of exposed rock, Gothics' summit is encased in a very deep layer of firm, wind-packed snow. The wind was light but very cold; my face began to feel numb so I put on a facemask. It was only 1:00 PM and I didn't want to return just yet; I felt ready for a little more challenge. I decided to head into the Gothics-Armstrong col. Something beautiful was beckoning me.

Atop wind-swept Gothics.

The north end of Gothics is a narrow ridge that descends to a minor peak before dropping into the col. I believe the ADK guide book calls it Gothics' eastern peak. The trail winds along the ridge through a narrow corridor of stunted trees and over exposed slabs of rock. However, today it was a broad, beautiful, highway of snow. It was composed of several feet of dense wind-packed snow, decorated with gentle cornices, and topped with fluffy powder. Who could resist?

Highway of wind-packed snow.

Gothics' snow-highway seen from the north.

I did not butt-slide or glissade down the snowy highway. Either side of the highway runs directly down Gothics' flanks and into oblivion. I plodded steadily and carefully down the center, enjoying each soft step and the incredible views. I remained on the windward side of the cornices and before long was at the end of the highway. Now the real work began. I made my way down Gothics' eastern peak and located three trail markers before encountering the first hurdle of the day.

When there's a tremendous amount of snow atop the Range and it makes route-finding challenging. In November, the ridge-line path was self-evident to the extent that trail markers were superfluous. Now I encountered deep, untracked snow and the few visible markers were a mere one to two feet above the snowpack. I underestimated the challenge of locating a marked path in winter.

The trail seemed to contour towards the west and then came to an end. The area was open and offered several possible descent routes. Naturally, only one of them was the path and the rest led down steeply through deep snow. Gothics' side of the col is steep and any descent route will eventually lead to the base of the col. However, I was not ready to blunder through deep snow, spruce traps, and other surprises when a perfectly good path was hiding nearby. I considered aborting the venture and returning via the long, tough slog up the snowy highway. Yet the base of the col was tantalizingly close and it seemed like I was giving up too quickly. Surely I could figure this out. I studied the terrain and, despite there being easier routes, decided the path must lead under a fallen log. This would be the first of many decisions to come.

Within several yards I was rewarded by a trail marker. I continued in this fashion, studying the terrain, looking for straightaways and curves through the trees, telltale hollows and slopes, and fallen logs whose undersides were bare. I backtracked once or twice to confirm my chosen line was the best option. Each discovered trail marker served as affirmation and boosted my confidence. Before long I arrived at the trail junction in the col. Now I was becoming cocky.

The Beaver Meadows Falls trail leads out of the col back to the Lake Road. It was untracked and would've made for plenty of adventure had I chosen to hike it (foreshadowing alert). Instead of calling it a day, I felt that Armstrong was much too close to ignore. In fact, Upper Wolfjaw was a mere 1.25 miles away. I'd hike to Armstrong and if I wasn't up to it, return to the col and descend via the Beaver Meadow Falls trail. But if I was feeling good, as I was at the time, I'd press on to Upper Wolfjaw and descend via the Wedge Brook trail. As I write this, it seems all too clear to me that I was making decisions that could put me in a bad situation. Snowshoeing alone on untracked trails, that aren't part of the original itinerary, is ill-advised to say the least.

Unbroken trail to Armstrong.

In the col, I stepped into a spruce trap while taking photos. No big deal; I rolled out of it while keeping the camera dry. I took a brief rest, ate, drank, and then headed up the unbroken trail to Armstrong. Once again, the path was not totally self-evident and a little extra time was needed to pick up the trail. It took me thirty-five minutes to reach Armstrong's rocky shelf where Gothics commanded the view. Interestingly, the half-hour hike felt far longer to me. It was a sign of something brewing yet I didn't pay heed. I chose to continue to Upper Wolfjaw.

About a third of the way down I 'hit the wall'. Something inside just gave way and I was exhausted. It was no longer just a matter of pausing to catch my breath. I wanted to plop down in my tracks and rest. I never do that; short breathers are all I usually need. This was something new and unexpected.

If I was exhausted descending, how would I feel ascending Upper Wolfjaw? The col between Armstrong and Upper Wolfjaw does not offer an escape route to the Lake Road. I'd have to commit to the summit and that was a daunting prospect. I decided to return the way I came and exit the ridge via the Beaver Meadow trail.

It was a difficult decision because I was certain the Wedge Brook trail would be broken out due to the popularity of Upper and Lower Wolfjaw. In contrast, the Beaver Meadow trail was unbroken. The re-ascent of Armstrong was painfully slow and confirmed my loss of energy. I was bitterly disappointed yet buoyed by the prospect that I'd soon be heading down off the ridge.

I was back at the col at 2:45 PM and quickly discovered how little I knew about the upper reaches of the Beaver Meadow trail. For starters, it doesn't descend from the col but climbs slightly as it contours around a small peak then follows the narrow ridge of Armstrong's eastern shoulder. It was clad in many feet of snow and the trail was unbroken with no evidence of past hikers. Had I known this, I would've thought long and hard before descending into the Gothics-Armstrong col.

If you look at the Beaver Meadow trail on a topographic map, there is no indication the upper terminus rises out of the col. The ascent is minimal but its discovery is a source of dismay when you're looking for a quick and easy descent. Worst of all, it was the appetizer and the main course was yet to come.

I slowly made my way through the untracked snow being careful to locate any and all trail markers and, upon ascending a short ladder, I was struck by déja vu. I was on this trail many years ago, in fine weather, and it had some amazing exposure near the top. It skirts cliffs that fall into the Cascade Brook valley. I came to a twenty foot stretch of trail that traversed a steep incline. If you slipped, you'd slide about fifteen feet to the base of the incline and stop at a fence of short trees. Beyond the trees is a void. I planted the uphill edge of my left snowshoe and it slid on the icy rock hidden beneath the snow. I tried again about a foot lower and found deeper snow. I carefully traversed the incline to the safety of the narrow trail. I recall thinking "I'm too tired for this $hit." But the $hit kept coming.

It wasn't long before the trail became very difficult to follow and eventually became a blank slate. Once again, I underestimated how difficult it could be to follow a marked trail in winter. Flanked by cliffs, I was following the course of Armstrong's eastern shoulder. The biggest mistake would be to walk down a slope that led to a cliff. Bushwhacking required energy I didn't have, so it was imperative that I find and follow the trail.

It was at this point that I felt very alone and was gripped by dread and anxiety. I got myself into this mess, through some flawed judgment, now I needed the mental clarity to get out of it. A novel I read a long time ago put it succinctly 'Fear is the mind-killer'. Some people naturally show mental clarity under stress, some through training and experience, others lack it and fall into despair, and some turn to their god, or the memory of their loved ones, for support. Whatever the source, it's a lifeline that helps you to remain calm and see things clearly. Drawing upon that source, I no longer felt alone and concentrated on finding the trail.

Every route-finding trick I had applied in the Gothics-Armstrong col was used to slowly and methodically solve the problem. Each discovered trail marker was a victory that brought me closer to the Lake Road. I hesitated several times but never had to backtrack. At times I couldn't find a trail marker but was certain I was on the proper line; there had to be one nearby.

Most of my hikes allow my mind to drift from one thought to another as my legs mechanically plod along. This hike required my complete and undivided attention. After an hour, at 3:45 PM, the trail became easier to follow and by 4:00 PM I arrived at a set of snowshoe tracks. It appeared that someone either hiked to a nearby slide or simply bailed and backtracked to the Lake Road. The rest of the trail was uneventful. I crossed over Beaver Meadow on a bridge and arrived at the Lake Road shortly before 5:00 PM. I was home-free.

I arrived at the trailhead at 5:35 PM and signed out. I noted that six people signed in after me. Only one person had not signed out yet. The hiker hailed from Québec, signed in around 9:30 AM, and was headed to, you guessed it, Upper and Lower WolfJaw. Yet, eight hours later, he had either not returned or overlooked to sign out. After what I experienced, I couldn't help but think he ran afoul as well. I returned to my car where I performed my usual contortion act getting out of soggy clothes and into dry ones. There was only one car remaining in the lot when I left at 6:15 PM. I didn't bother to check its license plate. I needed to find a phone to let my wife know that I was fine.

There's no cell reception in Keene Valley (at least there's none for me) so I stopped at the Noonmark Diner to use their pay phone. After three unsuccessful attempts to place a call to Montreal, I contacted the operator who instructed me to call the long-distance operator (dial 00). The long-distance operator could not accept my fistful of quarters and I'd need a calling card (don't have one) or make a collect call. I don't remember the last time I made a collect call but it must be creepy receiving one when your waiting for word about your spouse's status. The call went through and I reassured my wife that I was fine, the hike took longer than I expected (full disclosure came later that evening), and I'd be home late because I was having supper at the Diner.

What have I learned?

• Make a plan and stick to it.
• Don't bite off more than you can chew.
• Consider hiking with others.
• Think about getting a GPS.

Photos

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