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.
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