The Mostly bald trek up the last bit of Algonquin. Notice the most-likely ancient trees. 

Me coming down. 

Indian Pass from the front side of the mountain- on our way down. 

Peanut Butter and Blisters. 

and more 

More views. 

Heart Lake near the Loj glows bright blue while Lake Placid sprawls well beyond it. 

Adam, I think, making his way up. Iroquois is in the background with me and the guy on the cell phone near the Cairn way in the back. 

We pull away from Colden as we near the top of Algonquin. (There is still quite a ways to go!) 

Avalanche Pass with Jim and Adam. (Notice the fella swimming behind us) 

Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.- Confucius

ADK High Peaks- Algonquin Mtn. August 6-7, 2005
I have never been here and not been humbled by the sights and the challenges. Hiking the High Peaks region is hard. It's always more than what I expect. This weekend wasn't any different.

The Hike In

The hike in brought back fond memories of my first time in the region- which was both a wonderful and terrible experience. Luckily the memories of misery had worn away with time, and my fondness for this area remained. I was 15 back then, and had no idea where I was going. Just like back then, it was dark. As a teenager, the planners of our trip had not intended to start out this late. This time, it was part of the plan. This trek was the brain child of buddies Adam Archard and Jim Roselle. The night before they hiked in and had set up camp. They summited Phelps Mtn. Friday, and had hiked out, without packs, to join me on my late night hike in.

I was excited. This was the weekend I had been yearning for for months. Besides that, desk work had built up a ton of nervous energy that I was dying to loose. Remembering back to that 15 year old that sulked into a dark and over-crowded leanto with sore shoulders and an aching belly, I was impressed by how well I felt pulling into camp, a side area with a leanto and privies, just short of the dam, this time.

It was a cozy place. Two men from Canada greeted us. Their small pup tent was dwarfed by Jim's cabin tent, about 10 feet away. A rotting log, still solid, provided a bench which we would perch on to cook and eat our meals.
We sat around and chatted for a few minutes, and headed into the tent. I bedded down and slowly fell asleep to the sound of our Quebecois neighbors' unintelligible conversation.

Saturday

As the sun dawned, we drank real coffee from Jim's percolator. Because I left my butter (a key element in several meals planned for the weekend) in Glens Falls, I ate a largely dry cinnamon bagel and a granola bar.
After a long wait at the Dam to fill some water bottles we set off. It was a spectacular day. The humidity Jim and Adam had forged the day before was gone, and we hiked at a brisk pace towards Avalanche Pass. We discussed how a micro-burst had blown down trees from Mt. Colden and filled part of the valley during the 90's and how trail crews had to cut a trail back through the tons of trees and soil to reopen the valley. As the trees parted, Jim said it all: "wow." My third time here and my breath was still taken away. The steep rock walls and the clear lake were quite a sight. Wow.

The first hitch

On the trail to the pass I had felt a chafing under the big toe on my left foot that, if not looked after could have caused a blister. We had a long way to go- over 9 miles round trip- and we had just started. I was relieved to see, after pulling my sock off, that there was no blister under my toe. It was just dry skin. I laced up again and stood up. I took one step up a rock, spring-boarding off my right toes.

Fire filled my foot. "Ow!" I exclaimed, and sat right back down. Instantly, a blister had formed on my right "ring" toe. It must have been right on top of a nerve. Here I was, worried about my left foot, and the right goes out on me. I used Adam's knife to lance the blister and bandaged it with a band-aid borrowed from another group of hikers and gingerly tested the foot. For a minute, I thought I would have to turn around. But the pain subsided, and soon, with some respect to the blister, I was back on my feet.
The band-aid loaning hikers were several generations of the men of a family. They stopped in the same place to rest. A splash echoed down the valley as one of the cannon-balled into the lake. The older of the men took Jim's camera to take what would be the only picture of the three of us. As Adam joined Jim and I on the rock poking up from the lake, a naked man sailed through the air, flashing his rear at Adam before hitting the cool water.
Our moment captured, we set off as the family enjoyed the lake.
Not soon after, another group passed us. 5 or 6 teens and a visibly winded guide passed, but hooked a left at the main fork and headed towards Colden. We went the other way. We were heading up Algonquin.

It was up.

Straight up.

Algonquin is the second highest peak in New York, second (by only a bit) to Marcy, named after the wife of Professor Emmons, the leader of the first recorded summit team in 1837. Algonquin is widely thought to be the hardest of it's 45 other high-peak neighbors. It was hard. The hardest thing I've ever done. It was hampered by dehydration, which happened despite drinking a lot of water. I read on WebMd.com that during dehydration your muscles pump blood back to your heart and then start cramping. That definitely happened. I felt almost drunk going up. My head was in a fog. Even though I kept stopping for breaks, I would just start again and feel like a break.
In the 2.1 miles up, we ascended over 2,000 feet. While I was sweating and swooning my way up, Adam and Jim nimbly climbed on ahead, resting until I caught up. All the while the view at our backs shrunk into the ground and we could see more and more of the primeval beauty that surrounded us.
One saving grace is that the trail we took up followed a rushing stream bead, often crossing it. We refilled our water bottles and treated it with iodine pills. A couple of times I cupped water rushing off the rocks and splashed my head. The ice cold water broke through the fog of my superheated head, baptizing me in cool mountain sweetness, even as I burned in the fire of my aching legs.
The trees got shorter, more rugged as we rose into the delicate alpine climate. The tiny pine trees that brushed against my arms at first and then my knees could very well have been 80-90 years old. They survive the brutal winters and high winds, but one pull or snap could undo decades of growth.
Needless to say, we walked lightly. Soon, we were above the trees, walking on bare rock, peppered with flat sea-green lichen that looked more painted on than anything.

Even now, with the summit in view, cairns passing me on the left and right, I had to stop. The glory of the moment was not lost on me, just dulled by the experience getting there. I slowly made my way up the bald. John Irving's latest work "Until I Find You" whispered in my ear from my MP3 player, distracting me from thinking about stopping. I passed a man, in khaki shorts and a polo shirt talking on a cell phone casually. I was incensed. Listening to a book while you hiked was bad enough, but here- on top of the world- to be talking about your plans for the rest of the weekend as if you were in a cafe was too much. As Irving talked about "scratchers" tattoo artists who are no artists at all and, I wanted to take that phone and hurl it down the mountain. My own hypocrisy self-evident, I was still righteous. Yet I passed him soundlessly, just feet from the top.

It is bizarre being so high up- so close to the sun. On this particularly clear day, the sun beat down incessantly. I sat next to Adam who was peanut buttering a pita and started pulling my boots off of my blistered feet. Jim took our picture. And we sat. Here at the pinnacle of our trip, the acme of our accomplishment. "I'm ready to go," Jim said. "We just got here," I replied. "I get bored quickly," I think he replied, hinting at his short attention span and his propensity to sunburn easily. As I laced my boots back up, the wind whipped across the bald and whipped some poor hikers sock into the air- spinning it like a helicopter out into the wilderness. The 30 or so people around us chuckled. Another gust smacked into a rock and made a bang. Children, still energetic despite the climb, trampled the healthy alpine grass- painstaking planted by the 46'er Club to reclaim the peak. Upset by this, we started down.

Fall from Grace

The descent was not as remarkable at the climb up. No bubbling stream accompanied us, no impressionable view rose or sank before us. Jim and Adam ambled off, while I judiciously stepped, noting my lightheadedness and weak muscles, praying not to roll an ankle or skitter off a cliff. I did fall though. Right near the top. I was noting to Jim that before, while hiking up, I attributed the scratch marks in the rocks to dog's claws- but realized that skidding hikers' ski poles were to blame. Almost on cue, my foot slipped and I landed on my hands crab-soccer like. Jim chuckled and continued on after ensuring that I was fine.

The rest of the way consisted of Jim bouncing back and forth between Adam and myself. We passed a trail crew- the first I'd ever seen. Two steel cables pulled on sturdy trees, holding up a ice-block type claw with a boulder in its teeth. Like all trail crews who pull and push on rocks, shovels and rock bars for days on end, these two guys were svelte. So was their pretty female companion, who wielded a rock pick effortlessly while digging a hole just a bit farther down the trail. We said hello to each of them. NPR bleated from a radio from somewhere in the woods- evidently they camped near their work areas. They also, in jest, hung a "men working" sign lifted from a construction site or paving job. Adk Trail Crew was hand written in black beneath and to the right of the man pushing the shovel.
We stopped into a campsite to look around and to take a pee. It was just a clearing off the side of the trail, nothing special. The sign had made me hopeful that our campground was nearby, but it wasn't. Jim thought ours was another 2 miles away. As the sun sank behind us, I realized that we couldn't have stayed up on the summit any longer than we did. Not without pulling out a flashlight anyway.

The Walking man Walks

Obviously frustrated, tired and hungry, Jim and Adam quickly broke away again. Jim in fact, from some strange reserve of energy, started jogging. Adam chased after him. The entire day I told both friends that I didn't mind them hiking at their own pace. I especially like hiking alone- as dangerous as that can be. Finally, they took me up on it.
It seemed a lot longer that 2.1 miles. It was probably because I was tired and aching, but I walked and walked. Marcy brook bubbling sight-unseen was the only indication that I was near to our campsite. I pulled off onto the side trail and into camp to find a new tent in the place of our male Canadian greeters the night before. Jim and Adam were nowhere in sight. I ponied up to the fallen tree and gulped the last bit of water out of a bottle left at camp that morning. Happy to never move again, I waited for my companions.
"You're here already!" Adam said, emerging from the woods.
I certainly was. He and Jim had gone to get water while I caught up. A bit later Jim mosied in behind a lovely Quebecois woman- our neighbor- who waved shyly and flashed a small smile. Jim said he had headed back down the trail to meet me and accompany me back to camp, but hadn't found me.
Happily, the three of us sat down to cook. The two of them had been kind enough to share a spare MRE- Cajun Chicken. Much better than my soup or butterless Mac and Cheese. As twilight sneaked in on us, I suggested heading to the dam to watch the beginning of the Persied Meteor Shower.

The sky sank into that special darkness and vastness that only can be seen in the wilderness. "This is going to be my favorite part of the trip" I told them. We were not alone. Some stoners and their dog were enjoying the depthness of space, audibly longing for a pipe, at the other side of the dam. We spent the time, on our backs, pointing out satellites to each other. They wizzed by, accompanied by a smattering of shooting stars. We talked about space, NASA, and the Space Shuttle Discovery now zipping around the globe above us. They were supposed to land on Monday. I had my doubts that they were going to make it in one piece. (They did, spectacularly in the desert that Tuesday.)
We stayed until it got too cold. The lows that weekend were supposed to be in the 40's. I had a chill from pumping so hard all day, and was decked out in pants and a fleece zipped up to my neck.

Bumps in the Night

We bedded down shortly thereafter. Coffee after dinner kept me awake, so I laid there and listened to John Irving. I snapped out of a light doze when felt a tug on my sleeping bag. I assumed it was just Adam rolling over, and ignored it. Then he pulled harder.
"Knock it off!" I yelled, probably too loudly.
I ripped the ear buds out, expecting to find Adam still asleep.
"I hear something!" Adam whispered.
I was dubious. The woods make a lot of noises. I heard what I thought was an airplane snoring by overhead, and a breeze tickled the rain-fly.
"It's just the wind," I said.
"No, I think it is a camper setting up," he replied.
I listened harder. A camper would have a light, and no doubt speak. There was no light. Then I heard it. A faint rustling in the trees and... Oh God, grunting.
Scattered at our feet was all of our food. Who knows what a bear can smell- vacuum sealing or no. My heart raced.
"Do we turn on a flashlight or something? Maybe that will scare it away," I whispered.
No response. The tent offered no protection, so staying in my sleeping bag was not going to give me any advantage over whatever it was. I reached for my flashlight. The beam reflected off the screen door and blinded me. After blinking once or twice, I angled the beam and saw our shoes outside the tent. The sound was coming from near the rotting tree.

I unzipped the door and poked my head out. The cool air surrounded me. Barely able to move just hours ago, the adrenaline pumping in my body made me nimble, there was no trace of soreness. I looked towards the grunting. The light pushed the darkness back against two beady eyes and a round body. I blinked and looked again.
There were four eyes. Shit.
Wait, I thought, they're too low to the ground.
"Raccoons!" I whispered back to Adam. Fuckers. I climbed out of the tent. The lead thief was deliberately rolling my day pack into the woods. My empty granola wrappers from earlier in the day were scattered, and my can of peanut butter lay discarded on the ground unopened.
"Get out of here!" I shouted.
They paid no attention. I grabbed the lid to my pot and flung it at them. They stopped to watch it fly over their heads, then went back to work.
The bastards seemed appreciative that I was lighting their way.
I grabbed the tin pot and a tin plate and banged them together over and over, walking towards the pair. That got them. They scattered.
The little freaks had unzipped my pack and had got the PB&J. I think they got some pita- but I'm not sure.
I started shivering. I wasn't wearing a shirt and I was barefoot. Adam grabbed some rope and my fleece. We tried to launch a water bottle, tied to the rope, through the crotch of a tree. At the other end of the rope was a bag of what food we had left outside. After several tries, we gave up. It was too late at night, and pointless- all the rest of our food was in the tent anyway. We brought the food, packs and all into the tent. No way the racoons would come near the tent. A Bear, maybe, but we were committed to that risk with all the food already in the tent.
Adam and I, fresh off the fight, settled back down. Jim sleepily asked what had happened. We told him. "Thanks for springing into action, Jim," I jabbed. We laughed. Jim made some bad joke about doing something sexual to a raccoon and we left it at that. Adam and I lay awake for some time, waiting for them to come back. They never returned.

These Boots Were Made For Walking

I had the pathetic Jessica Simpson remake of These Boots Were Made for Walking in my head all weekend. It was appropriate to Sunday morning, however. Despite untouched just-add-water pancakes and enough coffee for a suitable breakfast, the boys, Jim more so, wanted to make a quick break for the parking lot. We packed up. First, I bandaged up my feet. Two of the three blisters on my right foot, one on the big toe, and one underneath it, were lanced, drained and bandaged. The angry blister from Avalanche Pass seemed to be behaving itself, so all it got was a fresh band-aid. The left foot was in better shape. Just one on the side of the big toe to drain.

We headed out again, Jim and Adam pulled away, stopping from time to time to let me catch up. We passed several day hikers on their way in. It was another gloriously clear day. The 2 miles out seemed longer than the 2 in. All the fresh faces zipping by didn't help. I did roll an ankle this time, but not badly. I staggered into the parking lot, drained all over again. I emerged to a round of applause from Adam and Jim. Smiling I shrugged off my pack and stashed it in the back seat of Jim's Civic. "Who's up for ice cream?" I asked. "My treat."

We headed towards the lodge, past a bear-canister educational display.
"Good advice" I thought to myself, even if bears are possibility, our much more likely thieving marauders wouldn't get far with one either. We didn't stop though. Three ice creams and a round of sodas in tow, we walked out of the lodge. I had my Algonquin summit patch, which I also bought, in my pocket. I hadn't even bothered to wait for my change. The nice lady behind the register quickly caught up to us. Guess I still wasn't thinking too straight.
Jim dropped me off at home and I limped up the stairs. I went straight to the bathroom and drew a hot bath. Irving poured from the radio as I sat in the deepening tub. I was cowed and beaten. After the bath I took a shower too, and dozed off on the bed. Soon I met up with Jim and Adam at Adam's parents house for discus- sized burgers-the main course of a feast to celebrate our journey. "This morning we woke up in the woods dirty," Adam said, and now we were lounging, clean and well fed next to a pool.
That's what the weekend was all about. A whirlwind of different environments. Hours brought us from one extreme to another.

It would be a couple of days before I could walk comfortably. Sitting at the 4th Lake Campground that following weekend I sewed my patch onto my pack and told some of our stories. I love having those experiences, even if I suffer the whole time. It was a one of those trips I won't forget- just like the first time I hiked in the High Peaks. Even now, the memories of the pain are fading, leaving behind the great stories.

Really cool moss. 

The group shot.  

I love this mountain. 

Windy Kim 

In the cave area. What a beautiful day. 

Headed into the woods. Adam, as a monkey. 

Ampersand Mountain April 24, 2005

It was raining as I sat on the stoop at 8:30, waiting for everybody to show up. More specifically, it had been raining all night. And as I sat there, munching on breakfast, Jim, Kim and Adam rolled up. Josh and Mary followed soon after. Then it really started raining. I didn't think much about it, the weather report said it should end by 10, in Saranac Lake. However, when we got to Tupper Lake and it was still raining, I windered if the trip would be a waste.
We stopped in the parking a lot across from the trailhead. The rain was still pelting down. Jim and Adam jumped out of their car. Mary got out to smoke. Alone, Josh and I expressed our doubt. Our companions in the other car were wearing all cotton. No fun in the rain. Within minutes they would be chilled. Second I didn't want to walk in the rain. If it started raining while we were on the trail and committed, fine. But it seemed silly to start like this.
I suggested going for lunch and seeing if the weather report held true.
It had. After a shared pizza, the clouds parted and the sun burst forth. The air was so clean. Within minutes there was very little indication it had rained at all. I was relieved. We didn't travel 2 hours for nothing. We were all in high spirits. Half way up, a dark cloud moved over us. Then it began to hail. Pea sized frozen bits bounced everywhere. It was awesome. Everyone donned jackets. Except for Mary that is. She was having a hard go of it, but she weathered the pelting well. It really didn't matter, we were all wet anyway. Sloping through all the puddles from the morning rain had left my feet soaked. The accompanying sweat had done the rest. It would threaten the rest of the day, but not rain again. We stopped at the caves. Jim, Adam and Josh scampered around, bouldering.
From that point up, we gingerly dealt with left over winter ice. It got precarious as we neared the top. Much delicate and respectful climbing was needed. Crampons would have been nice.
The top was spectacular. And spectacularly windy. Mary was frightened by the height and by the forceful winds. I took a panoramic shot and sought shelter behind a rock with everyone else. Lunch was forced. The cold and the wind and all the puddles kept anyone from sitting. It had become an expedition, fraught with danger and equal reward.
Going down was worse because of the ice. Mary was limping after we got done with the worst of it and in a terrible mood. I can't blame her. The weather stayed gray, but it got warmed going down and easier going. Definitely not as rocky as last weekend's trip. We collected some Birch bark for Kendall's projects. An obligation had kept her again from hiking with us. She would have loved it. Dinner was at McDonald's. Yum. I was chilled, and without a fleece. The two cars parted ways after dinner and we drove home.

Josh and Greg at the top 

Everyone else and the leanto 

The group shot with the timer on my camera- thanks dad. 

The Wall of Ice (it is much more impressive in person... well it was.) 

Josh and Adam near the falls. 

5 Mi. Pt. Leanto April 20th 2005

This was it, the first hike of spring. It felt more like summer, with temperatures near or over 70.
Josh, Greg, Adam, Kim, Mary (samsonite) and I started around 12:30 at the Clay Meadows trail head. Kim and Mary struggled to keep up with Josh and Adam. Kim gave up after awhile, but Mary burned herself out early, and suffered during the rest of the hike.
I love the waterfall off of this trail. That's probably why I take the same picture of it everything I hike here. Those falls, and a wall of ice clinging to a wall of rock and to memories of winter glory, were the only side trips we took off the main trail. It was bizarre, wonderfully so, to stand next to a 20 foot high wall of ice in shorts.
This hike has to be over 3 miles long. It's 2.7 to the leanto sign, which promises just .5 to the leanto. I know you reading this have done the math, and 2.7+.5 IS over 3 miles. But I mean way over 3 miles. Even thought I settled into my pace and enjoyed the hike, it seemed really long.
Those were the thoughts I penned in my trail journal back in April. Here are some from my perspective several months later.
You never know when they happen until they are gone. Weekends with nothing to do where you don't have to drastically re-arrange your life because you want to spend a day out doors. After this hike, there were promises of many more to come. Everyone seemed happy to be out, exercising. Once the novelty of a warm spring wears off, however, everyone goes back to their life of weekends wasted doing everyday life. If I sound bitter, I am. I probably have more control over my life now than I will until I retire, and I still long for the trail on my weekends while I do other things. They are very useful things, but they are not what I really want to do.
There was one point on this hike where I just wanted to keep going. If I had a tent and someone willing to pick me up after a day or so, I would have. Hanging out on top of this mountain, on a clear, warm day seems like paradise today, and was then. I am desperately in need of something more substantial than a day hike to fill this desire.
Anyway, back to the narrative and our handful of hiking heroes. I wrote nothing about the top in my journal. Given, I've been there several times, but some notes should be penned.
After the sign pointing our way up to the leanto on a spur trail, I found myself in the lead with Adam. This is when I could have gone forever. We slipped our way along some ice, and pushed on, leaving everyone else to their own pace. Greg and Mary slipped behind, but not too far.
The final push was fueled by a desire to be done- I think everyone believed it to be shorter than it was- and an expectation of the view. I am always take with how dry the trail seems. Even after a good winter and spring showers, there is still the overwhelming sense we are in the high desert and water would be more than welcome to the trees and grasses at the top.
It was just nice to be outside. That's how everyone felt at the top. The view taken in at length by all, Mary and Kim headed back down. The fellas seemed to just want to bask in the novel feel of being outside and not freezing. At least that's how I felt. We split into pairs, Adam and I examined the field off to the right of the leanto. As we came back, Greg and Josh headed out there. The leanto, I found, had been adopted by the ADK Mtn. Club. This pleased me enormously. I love these mountains, and I love that someone is taking care of them.
On the way back down, Josh and Adam shot off. Greg and I had a good talk, something we haven't done in a while. After the junction, we started worrying that the girls might have misread the signs. In one direction was the Rt. 9 N trailhead at the top of the trail circuit. The other lead to Clay Meadows. We had reason to worry. After all, both ways lead to Rt. 9N, but one was way, I mean WAY, farther and about 5 miles more north than our cars were. Greg was pretty worried. I was too, because I didn't have the energy to go after them, if it turned out to be true. My legs were shaking as it was.
We caught up with Kim and Mary eventually. The sign had given them pause, but they remembered the Clay Meadow's name and had balked at the mileage to the other trailhead. From here, Kim and I walked together, and Mary and Greg fell behind. We met a strange lady just hitting the trail at near sunset. She asked us if anyone else was on the trail, and how we liked it. She had a walking stick and headphones. At first I thought she might be a ranger or caretaker, and she may well have been. Even so, I thought it was foolish for anyone to just be starting out at that time.
One of my favorite parts of hiking is the dinner afterwards. This one was shockingly expensive, but good nonetheless. We met up with Kendall at the John Barleycorn in Lake George. There was one waitress in the whole place. She was running everything, the bar, the tables, and I dare say cooking too. Given her responsibilities, service was pretty good, but the evening meal was kind of anti-climatic. Next week would more than make up for it.

My panorama 

Me Ash, Jim and Jake. 

October 14, 2004 Lyon Mountain

It is well past peak season up here, but no less beautiful. Jim Tourville invited me along with his friend Ashley to summit this foreboding fire tower mountain. The trail is 2.2 miles one way in what was dubbed in two trail guides as a "strenuous" hike.
Luckily for me, Ashley is just like me hiking and we kept a good pace as Jim and his dog Jake seemingly effortlessly breezed up the mountain.
.....
At 1.5 miles we hit the remains of a ranger cabin not unlike the Poko one. We stopped for water and pictures. Despite all our stops, we beat the time in the guide by thirty minutes. We came upon the summit unexpectedly, the tower just popped out of the woods. The view was amazing.
Despite missing steps and creaking boards, Jim and I ascended the rickety tower. The cab, however, was very sturdy. Jim took a digital took a short video with his digital camera and I took pictures.
The wind in the windowless cab sent chills through my sweat soaked body, and I quickly put on my fleece jacket. Ashley, who may be afraid of heights loaned me a neck warmer which looked stupid over just my ears.
...
I only slipped once on the way down, but Ashley took a couple of seaters. THe crunching leaves mased prevarious rocks and pot-holes. I almost rolled an ankle in one of these hidden traps.
Jim's mom (who is magnificent and I adore) had michigans and cold beer ready for us back in Ellenburg. It was a great hike with great company.

See, everyone is dissapointed. Derek (right) Sarah, Kendall, Jessie (back) Josh, Jimmy. 

October 12, 2004 Deer Leap Mountain Tounge Mt. Range

I'm sad to say this is the latest post - the first in my journal since August 2002. I can't buy that it's been a year, but it may have been.
Some actor friends visiting from NYC wanted to go hiking. Since it had rained all summer, they hadn't been able to go. Finally, not two weeks before the left, we made it out onto the trail for a hurried hike. I feel bad, this was my idea and there was no view. I knew that. Kind of disappointing- just like their washed out summer. Jimmy jim went with along, visiting back from Florida.
This short 1.6 mile hike was my third choice for the day's hike. THe first goal was the firetower on Black Mtn. Across the lake. But time restraints changed our destination to Tounge Mountain, then here to Deer Leap. ... Past peak, the leaves are still very beautiful. Derek and Sarah hadn't hiked all summer because of the rain. Everyone was dissapointed because of the lack of view, but everyone enjoyed being outside on a warm fall day.
Being so far north Jim left from there in his car and the remaining six of us piled into Jessie's car. The trip was followed by beer, baseball and wings.

August 9th, 2002 Arab Mountain, Piercefield NY

This was a new mountain for me, but not for Kendall. While living in Tupper Lake, just a few miles away, she had been up it several times. We brought her dogs, Ellie, a Doberman, and Max a mut. They were pretty excited to go somewhere. While I was putting on my boots, Kendall was wrapped up in leashes, the two dogs dragging her backwards.
We let Max off at the begining- he quickly shot off up the mountain and disappeared, leaving a think blanket of dust ot settle back down over us. We stood there, shocked at how fast he took off.
We caught back up with him, just up the trai and leashed him again.
Ellie, the more hyper of the tow, was much better than max. As we ascended through the neat rock formations on the suprisingly tame trail, she would advance past us and then returm, keeping a good eye on us. Max, who we again let off the leash, who blazed his own way through the brush, also got better, though he was a little adventurous.
The tower cab had windows made of plexi glass the first tower we'd been in that had been so fully restored.
Tupper Lake, Racquette Pond and the Racquette River were visible from the tower, as was Route 3 which wound towards Pierecefield. The Oval Wooden Dish factory was the most visible landmark.
Just before I got back to the car, Max emerged from the woods, but he was brown instead of black. He had found a stream and was dripping from iron or clay in the water. No way was he getting in my car. We stuffed him in the trunk (hatch back) and let him pop his head up through the space for the deck lid. He seemed to like it.

Vt from Poko