5.10-13, 2014 — Peakbagging in the snowy, icy Adirondacks

(Photo album)

This spring I came to the realization that if I’m going to bag all 46 of the Adirondacks’ 4,000-footers in upstate New York, I can’t just attach a couple days of hiking there to each New Hampshire annual vacation. I need to take separate trips to the mountain range specifically for peakbagging.

Of course, finding a block of days that works with my DC SCORES and basketball-watching schedule is never easy. That’s how came about a mid-May trip up north — by far my earliest hiking trip in this part of the country.

I did my due diligence and prepared for the conditions. About a week before the trip, I called the high peaks center and asked how the weather was at 4,000 feet. The answer? Plenty of snow, ice and mud. I needed to buy spikes. So I navigated to the REI website and ordered a cheap pair of what I thought were spikes — they’re actually “icetrekkers,” I would later find out. Two days before my trip as I packed, I practiced slipping on the apparatus to the bottom of my boots. No problem. I also packed every item I would take for a winter hiking trip.

It was 80 and sunny in Washington, DC. Even the forecast for Keene Valley, at the base of the Adirondacks, was for temperatures in the 70s. But I knew better. Or so I thought. I was ready — kind of.

Day 1

I flew into Albany (side note: I LOVE small airports; I had my rental car and luggage within 16 minutes of landing) and was in my Toyota Camry rental heading north within minutes. After a brief supplies stop at Target, I continued on I-87, futilely trying to find a radio station playing anything half-decent on an otherwise beautiful Saturday afternoon.

I arrived at the trailhead — the parking area is named the “Garden” — for Big Slide Mountain a bit after noon. After paying the woman at the entrance $7, I asked about conditions. She said that just about everyone else hiking was doing Big Slide, too, because it was the lone mountain in the area that was clear of ice and snow.

I don’t remember exactly what her words were, but she did mention, I must admit, that carrying spikes would still be a good precaution. For some inane reason, I ignored that advice and didn’t carry my brand-new hiking item.

The first two miles up the trail, the only remnants of winter were the still-bare trees. As I crossed over “The Brothers” — two really awesome summits with awe-inspiring views of the Great Range to the south that I had survived two years prior; don’t ask me how — the temperature started to cool. Then, slowly, things got snowy … and icy. I was on the trail, in the woods, when it first appeared. Initially I could easily evade the small patches. But not for long. Soon, my pace slowed considerably as I had to navigate endless slippery surfaces with just my boots, grabbing onto trees and bracing myself every few feet. I probably cursed myself about 47 times for not bringing the spikes.

The trail became a river with intermittent patches of slick ice and knee-high snow. In one spot, I took a step and my boot plunged down — way down. My boots were soaked. My socks were soaked. My feet were soaked.

The only solace in all of this wetness? It was still pretty darn warm. I was in my unsoaked polypro shirt.

Upon reaching an intersection with the trail to Johns Brook Lodge, I was 0.29 miles from the summit — a steep, icy and snowy 0.29! I passed a trio of guys coming down … using rope! What was I getting myself into, I thought? By myself. With no winter hiking experience. And no spikes! Who would save me? (OK, that was a bit dramatic, but it was a somewhat serious situation.)

Of course, as you know from reading this, I made it. On the small, rocky summit, I met two guys — one local, one from St. Louis — who also hadn’t brought spikes. That made me feel a bit better, although at least if one of them took a spill, the other could probably save him. I devoured most of my Cracker Barrel cheese and crackers — best lunch on top of a 4,240-foot mountain — and took in the amazing views of all the peaks to the south framed by a cloudy, gray sky. It had taken me three hours to ascend the nearly 4 miles. A little before 4pm, I began the descent.

Luckily, there was a loop option, which was a no-brainer, despite not knowing the conditions of the trail that would take me toward Johns Brook Lodge and the easy path from there back to the Garden that I’d taken at the completion of the Great Range Traverse. After surviving the steep 0.29-mile descent (toughest part of the hike!), the trail was actually a breeze (if a little wet). The snow and ice quickly disappeared only to be replaced by a roaring spring stream. It took me a couple minutes to realize it, but the strong body of water was the trail! Hey, my boots were already drenched anyway!

After walking down the river to the intersection with the trail just east of JBL, it was an easy, dry couple miles back to the car. I arrived at the lot a few minutes before 6pm after a thrilling, hard and tiring 9.7 miles. Whew! I drove north and west to the Hart Lake campground by the Adirondacks Loj — my camping spot of a year ago that I’d grown a strong affinity for. After checking in, setting up my tent, and cooking a meal, I passed out in my tent by 9pm.

The spikes would debut on Day 2.

Miles hiked: 9.7

Peaks bagged: Big Slide (4,240 feet)

Day 2

I didn’t awake from a deep sleep until almost 9am. Apparently that spikes-less hike took a lot out of me! Upon exiting the tent, I trudged over to the high peaks center to ask about conditions on the three summits I was hoping to ascend — Phelps, Table Top and Colden. The woman behind the counter informed me matter-of-factly that there was plenty of snow and ice at higher elevations and they were advising hikers to stay below 3,000 feet.

I appreciated the advice, and it convinced me to stay away from Colden, which would have been the toughest of the three peaks and made the day very, very long. But I couldn’t not go after Phelps and Table Top. The sun was out, temperatures were in the 60s — a beautiful day to go for an adventure! I ate an oatmeal breakfast and was on the trail — located a few throws of a stone from my tent — at 10am.

The first 3.2 miles of the hike were about as easy as you’re going to experience in the Adirondacks. The grade was mellow, and let’s just say that my spikes stayed nestled in the bottom of my Camelback. Upon reaching the 1.2-mile spur trail for Phelps, I braced myself to feel some serious calf-burning. I had a lot of climbing to do.

Sure enough, the grade increased substantially. And after maybe 0.5 to 0.7 of a mile, as promised, the snow and ice appeared. After dodging the first few patches, I came to a spot where it was unavoidable. Spikes time, I told myself (side note: this is a habit of mine; I never do something until the last minute when it absolutely needs to be done. I could have gone to the spikes a tenth of a mile earlier, but I waited).

And what a difference they made. At first, I didn’t really trust myself, still relying on grabbing tree trunks and using my hands with each step. But I slowly gained confidence, taking big steps up the ice and snow and making sure to sink my boots into the trail in front of me. The great thing, too, about the trekkers is that during stretches of trail that were snow- and ice-free, they were still comfortable. It wasn’t a situation where I needed to change in and out of them every 100 yards.

I reached the open summit, where three fellow hikers were basking in the midday sun. The weather was perfect, the views tremendous. To the south stood the Great Range, looking just as impressive — if a little farther away — as the day before. And closer and to the west stood Wright and Algonquin peaks, which I had conquered during August the previous year. Algonquin, like Mt. Marcy — the Adirondacks’ two tallest — was completely snow-capped. I had noticed at the trail registry that a few hikers were attempting Algonquin. I wondered what kind of equipment they were using. Probably more than trekkers.

Before they departed, the trio of hikers walked over to admire my trekkers, letting me know — the truth revealed! — that they actually weren’t microspikes after all. They were so enamored by them that one of the guys asked if he could take a picture of the faint name on the rubber portion of them. I was glad I could do a little marketing for a company’s product at 4,161 feet.

I wanted to take a nap, but I had plenty of hiking left to do and it was after 1. That was my penalty for sleeping in! The descent wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t imagine doing it without spikes, as my three new friends were doing and others whom I encountered hiking up would have to do. I could only silently wish them luck.

Upon returning to the main trail, I took my spikes off, but less than a third of a mile later, I sat down at a creek crossing and put them back on. Before me the trail turned left and up and was completely white. I was leaving the mud — lots of it! — for the snow. The next mile to Table Top and 0.7 up to the peak I couldn’t imagine doing without spikes. I was in the snow the entire time, and there was no way I could have evaded it.

The trail to Table Top isn’t an officially marked trail — there are many of them in the Adirondacks’ high peaks — meaning no markers on trees. It is also single-file skinny. And on this day, it was covered by snow, making it even trickier. I consider myself — 155 to 160 pounds depending on the day — pretty light on my feet, but this was the true test of that as I had to choose each footstep carefully at risk of plunging over a foot down into the mush. I can’t say that I succeeded in this the whole way up, especially as the trail crested and I navigated the narrow snow bridge near the summit — occasionally half-falling — but I reached the top mostly unscathed.

The summit was marked by a small, round sign on a tree in a clearing. A few feet farther, I took in a limited view to the south — nice, but nothing compared to the Big Slide and Phelps perspectives. I sat down, finished off my cheese and crackers (as delectable as the day before!) and checked the time. It was almost 3:30pm! I had more than 5 miles back to the trailhead. I figured I better get going down.

Well, it turns out I probably could have chilled on top of Table Top for a little longer, because the descent was a breeze. I was completely comfortable in my spikes and made great time, passing a few groups of people and arriving back at the trailhead at 5:45pm.

But it wasn’t like I was bored or anything — even having shut off my phone except for time checks and note taking. I grabbed my Harlan Coben novel (side note: These crazy busy days, I rarely get through books when I’m not on hiking vacations) and walked down to Hart Lake, sat down in a chair, and read while simultaneously enjoying the spring/late winter tranquility. Some people were around but the beach dock and swimming area wasn’t set up yet. Yes, the temperatures were climbing, but as I knew from the day’s experience, winter wasn’t going quietly.

Miles hiked: 12.6

Peaks bagged: Phelps, Table Top

Day 3

I got up a bit earlier on Monday morning, rising at 7:20am. After my customary oatmeal breakfast and some reading of my hardback Coben novel — unfortunately the book was huge and didn’t fit in my daypack, especially with all the winter gear I carried — I got in the Camry to drive south to the Zander Scott Trail up Giant Mountain. I arrived at the road-side trail at 9:20am, pulling up just as a group of probably nine or 10 French girls did the same.

They were the only people I’d see on the 3-mile ascent of Giant (4,627 feet), and that was in the first 0.2 miles. It’s funny — I was about 20 feet up the trail when I realized my pack was missing something … the trekkers! I couldn’t believe I had forgotten the one item I knew I would absolutely need to summit Giant then Rocky Peak. Unbelieveable, Jake! I turned around, passing the group of girls and taking a group photo for them before returning to the car and reloading.

The hike was steep from the get-go, reminding me of the Carter Dome trek in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. It was warm outside, and my shirt quickly became drenched in sweat. I pushed on in my customary fashion, refusing to take a break within the initial mile at the first of many incredible rocky outlooks. In the next mile and a half, the trail, to put it simply, was awesome. I emerged from tree cover and hikd up one long, smooth rock slab after another. The going was steep, but you don’t think about that as much when you’re in the open and have views of mountains in all directions. That’s why hiking out west has never seemed as difficult to me. I didn’t stop and sit down during this inspiring stretch of trekking, but I paused on several occasions to put my head on a swivel and gaze all around me in wonderment. Such views never, ever get old. I’m sure I’d experienced similar outlooks hundreds of times, but when you live in the moment, they are as special each time.

Then the trail re-entered the woods. I thought I was close to the summit. I was wrong. When I reached a sign that told me the summit was still 0.7 miles away, I couldn’t believe it! My legs told me I had already walked 3 miles. Sorry, legs. About two tenths of a mile later, the snow and ice appeared. I knew it was coming. The last half mile was no walk in the park, but I managed just fine and finally busted up and through the final green firs to the rocky summit.

It was 11:30am, and the views in all directions were tremendous. I couldn’t see any signs of civilization. It doesn’t get any better than that. Across where I knew Route 73 was below, I gazed at the massive Dix Range — on the to-do list! — and, of course, the Great Range from a different perspective for a third consecutive day. I laid down for awhile, but I knew what was ahead of me. I couldn’t rest for too long.

The descent to the col between Giant and Rocky Peak (4,420) was one of the two hardest portions of a hike I’ve ever done when correctly following a trail. The other was going down the Buttress Trail in New Hampshire on a rainy August day in 2011. Here’s why: A combination of steepness, snow, ice and mud. The trekkers helped, but there was only so much they could do when the grade was 70 degrees of ice and very slippery mud. I grabbed trees, roots, and, when necessary, got on my butt and slid down.

I was by myself. On an extremely difficult trail. And nobody was coming. I wrote this later that evening in my iPhone notes — “snow, ice, mud - fell … Hanging on for dear life.” Yep, that described the descent. But with the exception one minor fall and some muddy elbows, I survived and rejoiced upon reaching the col. From there, the ascent up to Rocky Peak was nothing. I welcomed the chance to go up — always much easier in any conditions than going down!

I thoroughly enjoyed the summit of Rocky Peak, which was large, flat, and offered 360-degree views, including a revealing look at the slides coming down the south side of Giant that summed up the descent I had just survived. To the east I could see, for the first time, Lake Champlain and, beyond it, Vermont’s Green Mountains. A couple miles from me about 1,500 lower sat the appealing and rocky Bald Peak — a popular route for hikers coming up to Rocky Peak (yeah, most probably prefer it to the route I took!). I enjoyed the views and my third cheese-and-crackers lunch, took some pictures using my gorilla pod to shoot my proof-of-summited shots, and then strapped back up for the return journey.

Summiting a 4,627-foot mountain for a second time is never easy, but the hike up Giant didn’t seem too bad probably because I was comparing it to the crazy descent. I didn’t see any people until I was about 0.7 miles down Giant and passed a guy ascending. Later, I walked by a couple also going down. That was it for the day, though.

It’s funny — when you’re in such precarious spots in the middle of the day, you don’t think about the time and you certainly don’t think about life in the valley. Then when you emerge from the woods, everything seems so still, calm and tame. That’s what it felt like when I completed my hike a few minutes before 4pm. I celebrated my survival with a double-scoop ice cream dish and more reading of my Coben novel in Keene before returning to the campsite and the lake for my final night of tranquility.

Miles hiked: 8.4

Peaks bagged: Giant, Rocky Peak

Day 4

My final half day on this Adirondacks trip didn’t end up like I planned. The goal was to hike Street and Nye mountains, an 8-mile out and back on a non-marked trail west of Hart Lake. But as the person at the high peaks center had informed me two days earlier, a creek crossing about a mile into the hike was not very inviting. The creek was probably 50 feet wide and thigh-high in some parts.

I could have done it. I went back and forth in my mind before deciding to turn around. I HATE turning around. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve done so in my life. But in this instance, I simply wasn’t feeling the hike. I took off my boots and started going across barefoot, but then thought better of it. In retrospect, the best play probably would have been to simply go across in my boots and get wet. After all, temperatures were in the 60s. But the sky was also overcast and I had felt a few drops en route to the crossing.

I’ll be back, I told myself, and begrudginly turned around.

But there was no way I’d not climb a mountain, so on my return I went up Mount Jo (2,876 feet). It was no 4,000-footer, obviously, but the climb up it was steep and had me sweating. It felt good to work to ascend a mountain, even if it wasn’t the day’s goal. The summit offered perfect views of Street and Nye (naturally) as well as Algonquin and Wright — all shrouded in cloud cover — and Hart Lake below. I shared the summit with a girl who had just graduated from school in Albany and had plenty of experience hiking in the region. She told me of climbing an ice wall during the winter in -20-degree temperatures. That was enough to convince me that yeah, I’m really not that hard-core (and don’t want to be).

But, hey, I’ll still take an ounce of pride in surviving my first spring hiking experience in snow and ice. Not to mention, going at it alone.

I survived. And I’ll be back. I still have 28 more 4,000-footers to climb…

Miles hiked (approximate): 4

Peaks bagged: Mount Joe (2,876)

Arizona 2014, Day 5: Tom's Thumb, 11.9 miles hiked

Great view of Four Peaks from Tom's Thumb Trail.

On Thursday, Greg recommended a hike to Tom’s Thub in the City of Scottsdale McDowell Sonoran Preserve just north of Phoenix. He told me it was just enough outside of the city that on a weekday, I should have relative solitude among the cacti. And it wasn’t more than a 45-minute drive from his Tempe apartment. Eager to get to the trail while the morning light was still decent, I got going before 9am.

I reached the “Tom’s Thumb” trailhead around 9:30am, applied some sunscreen, and headed out. Greg was right. The only sounds were occasional birds chirping, and I was surrounded by hills and mountains. To the east, the famous Four Peaks loomed. Distant mountains were visible to the north. And to the south, the trail winded up, down and around large rock piles. I was excited to get going.

As I began walking, I immediately noticed prickly cacti on both sides of the trail. I reminded myself not to stray. A bad step or two could result in a stinging sensation. After climbing switchbacks, I came to flat spot and the trail turned a hard right toward The Thumb, which was very aptly named. Minutes later, I arrived at the trail’s namesake and stared up at it. Seriously — it resembled a (large) thumb. I sat down on a flat rock and admired the view to the north below me.

I had completed the hike Greg recommended, but I wanted more. In looking at the map I had picked up at the trailhead, I had plenty of options. I had thought about seeing a movie during the afternoon, but the itch proved irrisistible. I needed to hike more.

I left The Thumb and hiked 0.5 miles to The Lookout, a perch at 3,858 feet that offered impressive views of Thompson Peak (3,969 feet) and its tower to the south. (Apparently, you can drive up Thompson — yuck!) To my left and right, almost as large cacti-strewn peaks were also beautiful to look at.

I had another decision to make. I could add 6.2 miles to my hike — no short walk — and make it a large loop. Or I could turn around, hiking the 2.7 miles back to the car, and go see a movie before picking Greg up. I debated this for a good two miles, but you know what won out. I took a left to continue on the Tom’s Thumb Trail and immediately began descending.

I kept going down, and down, for what seemed like forever. I know why — I kept thinking about the destination. With this being the first of three legs to get back to the trail I had started on, I was a bit apprehensive hiking in this new territory. And I knew I would have plenty of ascending to do. With not that much water left in my Camelback. Of course, I would be fine. I still took time to admire the looming mountains that now towered above me, their shoulders scattered with saguaro cacti. I passed just two guys on this 2.6-mile portion of trail.

Finally I reached the Windgate Pass Trail, feeling like I was about 10 miles from the car. I swung a left, and the going immediately leveled as I hiked between the peaks on my left and right. I had the desert landscape to myself, and I allowed my pace to slow as I relaxed a bit and took in the scenery. I quickly reached Windgate Pass (3,031 feet), from which I had outstanding views in all directions. From there, it was a short 0.9-mile descent to the East End Trail.

I knew I had some climbing to do. A lot of climbing.

The initial 1,000-plus-foot ascent to Tom’s Thumb in the morning had seemed easy. It was gradual, and my legs were fresh. This wasn’t the case during the 1.4-mile climb up the East End Trail to the junction with the Tom’s Thumb path. It was steep, much of it spent on loose gravel and dirt, and my legs burned. I also was modest with my water consumption, as my Camelback was in its final liter.

Of course, I loved this. Knowing that I wasn’t far from the end of my hike, I relished the challenge. I passed the same guys I had seen during my ascent, then I walked by a shirtless man with two water bottles who looked to be in his 70s. Trail running — what a great way to stay in shape in an inspiring place. That would be a huge benefit of living out here.

After what seemed like endless switchbacks, I reached the trail junction and celebrated. I had conquered the loop. I lessened my pace a bit and enjoyed the return hike to Greg’s Mountaineer, which I reached about five hours after beginning what became an 11.9-mile hike.

I knew it might be my last adventure of this Arizona trip. If so, it certainly qualified as great finisher!

Arizona 2014, Day 4: Piestewa Peak, 2.4 miles hiked

Camelback Mountain in the distance from Piestewa Peak.

A day after reveling in the majestic Grand Canyon, this hike was a bit of a shock to the system. I had stayed up late to watch the Australian Open the night before — an annual test of how much I value sleep — and had followed that up with a morning nap, a luxury of being on vacation during the tennis tournament. But that also left me with just the afternoon to hike before picking up Greg at work, since I was borrowing his car, at 5pm. Since I couldn’t go a day without hiking, I decided on Piestewa Peak, a mountain on the north side of Phoenix neighboring Camelback, which I had ascended two years prior.

From the trailhead, where I saw a shirtless, tattooed man with earbuds preparing to climb, I knew this hike would be an experience. As I hiked up the rough, rocky, unlevel trail in 70-plus degree weather and under a true Phoenix sun, I passed hordes of people. Some walked, some jogged; many had headphones, some had speakers blasting out music; one guy carried a pair of dumbbells, a woman stopped to update her Facebook status. Most people were so zoned in on their “workout,” there was no exchanging of pleasantries. This was quite the change from the serenity of the Grand Canyon a day earlier.

But I got used to the scene and enjoyed the climb, which was no walk in the park. The trail spiraled up the mountain, with the actual summit not coming into view until the last half mile or so. No four-handed rock scrambling was necessary, but it was steep. I worked up a pretty good sweat reaching the top. 

The difficulty of the climb made me appreciate everyone I saw doing it — people clearly way out of shape, guys who looked to be in their 80s, you name it. While the speakers loudly playing music were annoying and the hike lacked the feel of anything in the wilderness, I appreciate it for what it was. To me, the more people who exercise in the outdoors, the better. It might be a process (or a stretch), but I think such progress can and hopefully will lead to more people respecting such beautiful places and treating them better (less trash, more environmental consciousness). 

Of course, this is all very hard to know. Bottom line: I enjoyed another Arizona hike. And got a good workout in, of course.

Arizona 2014, Days 2-3: The Grand Canyon — 15 miles hiked

Greg and I at Plateau Point overlooking the Colorado.

We slept in a bit Monday morning at Greg’s place in Phoenix, and didn’t get on the road until about 10am. This led to us not arriving at the Grand Canyon until almost 2pm. With a 5:37pm sunset looming, Greg and I knew we’d have to limit our afternoon hike. We checked into our room at the Bright Angel Lodge on the south rim and made the drive toward the South Kaibab trailhead east of Grand Canyon Village. The sun was out and the weather was ideal — mid-50s. We knew it would only get warmer, at least during daylight, as we hiked down.

After a few navigational errors by yours truly, we parked on the side of Desert View Drive and began walking on the rim path toward the South Kaibab trailhead. This was my second Grand Canyon experience, but Greg’s first — his initial look into one of the Seven Wonders of the World. As we would discuss several times during our trip, it’s impossible to describe the place or do it justice with photos. You just have to go. Period.

Fifteen minutes into our walk, we reached the South Kaibab trailhead, which sits at 7,200 feet, nearly 5,000 feet above the Colorado River. Not that we were thinking about it, but a hike down to the river would have been 7.1 miles and 4,780 feet of elevation climb. And then, of course, you have to come back up! We were certainly conscious of that as we began down the winding, switchback-heavy trail.

I was surprised that there were but a few little patches of ice underneath the red sand. It was January, but signs of winter were few and far between. I hiked in my Nike sneakers with no issues. The biggest danger, of course, was not looking at the trail. With the gaping canyon and its endless views spread out in front of us, it was a constant battle to keep my eyes on the trail. There was too much to take in — the high-reaching canyon walls on either side of the narrow trail; the multicolored buttes down, down below us in the canyon’s depths; the winding trail laid out before us.

After about 45 minutes of hiking, we came to a flat area with tremendous views in all directions, and decided it was about time we enjoy our packed lunch. We found a rocky ledge and settled in for cheese and crackers, rice cakes and sunflower butter — all staples of trail lunches. The wind picked up as we ate, chilling my bones. I could tell the drastic temperature changes that occur when the Grand Canyon’s sunlight wanes were not far away. We finished eating, packed up, and walked back to the trial. It was a few minutes after 4pm. No sense in pushing things. It was time to ascend.

As it turned out, the ascent was quicker than hiking down. Go figure. If I had checked my journal entry from two years prior, I would have known such a thing. But I hadn’t, and we arrived at the trailhead before 5pm. We walked back toward the Mountaineer on the asphalt path, keeping our eyes on the sky as the colors changed. We drove west on Desert View Drive and stopped at Mather Point, where we joined throngs of people to watch as the sky to the east turned a layered blue below pink. The last rays of sun cast large shadows on the canyon walls. We soaked it all in, trying to stay warm as the temperature plummeted. We also saw our first signs of wildlife by the parking lot — a cast of animals that we thought might be mule or elk (although they lacked horns). The jury is still out on them.

We returned to the room and then walked to the main lodge. At the bar, we enjoyed a couple drinks while chatting with a friendly bartender from Nebraska. He seemed to love his job away from the cornfields, remarking that when he gets tired of the cold and snow — what snow? — of the Grand Canyon, he can always drive a few hours south to Phoenix. Exactly. When we informed him that Nebraska had defeated Ohio State while we sat at the bar, he was stunned. Good night for the Huskers.

Then it was time to grub, and all we had to do was walk down the hall to the Bright Angel Restaurant. Unlike my experience two years ago when there was a wait and the service was slow, the restaurant was pretty empty and we had a great server — his name has slipped my mind — who treated us well. We wined and dined, before heading back out to the rim to brave the temperatures and gaze up at the millions of stars in the pitch-black night. Living in a city, it’s always a luxury when I can see the stars. This was one of those nights.

Day 2!

We arose at 6:30am with sunris on the mind. I was a bit sleepy — probably from all that wine — but it’s a lot easier to wake up when you’re doing it for sunrise at the Grand Canyon as opposed to, say, a work meeting. I layered up — undershirt, longsleeve, fleece, 800-down jacket, rain coat as my outer shell, mittens, hat — and headed outside in the darkness. The temperature was probably in the mid-20s. We drove west on Hermit Road — NOTE: the road is usually only open to the Grand Canyon shuttles, with the exception being December-February — to Hopi Point, the recommended spot for sunrise viewing.

Not surprisingly, a dozen people were already there when we arrived. Sunrise wasn’t until 7:37am, and it wasn’t 7 yet, so we had quite awhile until we’d see the bright yellow sphere. But the sky was already turning interesting colors. We also smartly brought our breakfast, so we sat on some rocks at the guard-railed lookout and munched on gluten-free cereal and keifer. It was good, but I could have used a hot beverage, too. It was cold — especially for sitting on a rock.

The best views were had when the sun eclipsed the east rim of the canyon and splashed light on the walls and buttes to the west. I alternated between snapping photos of the changing landscape and putting my mittens back on to stay warm. In no other place are the sun’s rays so impressively reflected, and with each passing minute, a new rock wall or butte was bathed in light. We took it all in for several minutes before hopping back in the Mountaineer and turning on the seat/butt warmers. It was still frigid out.

But we weren’t going to sit around to wait for warmth. This was our last day at the Grand Canyon, and we were going to make the most of it. After packing up the room and loading the car, we walked over to the rim and the the high point of the Bright Angel Trail at 6,850 feet. I had hiked the trail in 2012, but just 3 miles down. Our plan, as recommended by our Nebraskan bartender the night before, was to tramp 6 miles and 3,105 feet to Plateau Point overlooking the Colorado River — before turning around and hiking up. It was an ambitious hike, which, of course, is my favorite kind of hike.

We got on the trail at 8:52am, which was both good and bad. First, the bad: It was still cold; I would later regret only wearing my fleece and gloves. The good: The morning light was fantastic, as the rising sun cast large, impressive shadows across the land below us. I soaked it all in as we descended long switchbacks, stopping occasionally to take photos. Soon, we spotted ahead of us on the trail two five-packs of mules descending. My guess was they were en route to Phantom Ranch, which is just on the north side of the river (and where I plan on staying with the Dad during our planned April 2015 rim-to-rim-to-rim hike). For a few minutes, I thought we might need to try passing the mules, but they sped up — or we slowed down — and it was never an issue.

A great thing about the Bright Angel Trail is how segmented it is. The fact that there are 1.5- and 3-mile “resthouses” that have bathrooms and even a small shelter, if needed, helps break up the hike. When you reach one of them, you feel like you’ve completed the first quarter, or half. The descent is pretty steady during those first 3 miles, but then begins leveling off during the 1.8 miles to the Indian Garden campground — a huge, sprawling complex, I wanted to call it a village, shaded by trees.

Upon reaching the campground, I felt like we were entering a new ecosystem. There was still the occasional cactus, but trees were ubiquitous. And Greg heard running water. Wait … running water in the Grand Canyon?? As we found out a minute later, yes, there was a small stream by the campground, cabins, outhouses, and mule stable tucked 3,050 feet below the rim.

The Bright Angel Trail continued right toward the Colorado River, and we swung a left on the 1.2-mile spur trail to Plateau Point. And once again, in a matter of two minutes, the scenery changed. We emerged from the trees into a flat desert. For the first time all morning, I felt warm. The sun had just risen above the towering walls we had gazed at while descending the canyon, and it now baked us. I couldn’t be happier. Finally, I could unball my hands inside my gloves, which I finally removed. I even shed my fleece layer. As we walked, I quickly noticed the color of the cacti — purple! I couldn’t believe it. Every few feet, I’d spot another purple prickly pear cactus patch. There was also sage brush as far as the eye could see.

The only negative? Telephone lines that I surmised were connected to Phantom Ranch. It seemed surreal to me to be in such an outdoor wonder and mythical place, and see phone lines! But the scenery was too amazing, the thought of being in such a cathedral too grand (pardon the pun) to let such a thing ruin the experience.

Soon we reached Plateau Point, and it didn’t disappoint. The large, multilayered rocky ledge overlooked the Colorado River at 2,480 feet — only some 1,300 feet below us. I had seen the river before, but from almost 5,000 feet above. This was different. I was amazed at just how narrow it was — maybe 50 feet? We found a rocky ledge and settled down for a well-deserved lunch — and fuel for the climb back up! We had to be aware of our surroundings, though, as a trio of ravens eyed our cheese and crackers. Ravens have been known to scoop up food in one smooth swoop, and we weren’t about to get ours snatched.

We ate two lunches in two spots, admiring not only the scenery around us but just where we were — period. I gazed across the river at the northern cliffs, wondering where the heck the trail went. In half an hour of looking, I had no idea. Finally, after about an hour, it was time to head up. We were emboldened by our experience the day before, but also realized a 6-mile ascent was a much more daunting task.

There’s not too much to say about the ascent except that it was steady, we passed a pack of two mules — and beat them to the top! — and we saw five mule deer just off the trail who weren’t at all perturbed by our presence. We stopped and snapped several photos of them. They were the wildlife highlight of our trip. We also talked briefly with a backpacker heading into the canyon for a week who told us he’d spotted a pair of condors while descending. Sadly, the huge birds didn’t show for us.

We reached the rim by about 3:30pm, completing the hike in less than seven hours. It was an impressive accomplishment, but one that also left us tired, a bit sore, and ready for a big meal. We would get that a couple hours later at the Lumberjack in Flagstaff, where we devoured a large meal and watched the Michigan State-Indiana game.

But my mind often wandered back to the incredible place we’d just left, which, really, is indescribable — even if I tried.

Go to the Grand Canyon when you can. It will undoubtedly be a memorable trip.

Arizona 2014, Day 1: Picacho Peak — 4 miles hiked

Greg and I atop Picacho Peak.

On my first full day in Arizona, I joined my host Greg and his friends Todd, Laura and Mike for a drive south on the 10. During my previous two trips to the state, I had driven past the mysterious and appealing pointy mountain just off the highway about an hour south of Phoenix. I had dreamed about scaling its steepness. Now, it was happening. We were on our way to hike Picacho Peak, deemed “one of the more challenging short hikes in Arizona.”

The hike up Picacho is only 2 miles, but it’s made tricky by two things: 1) Very steep pitches that require gripping cables with your hands; 2) A mid-hike descent that takes you back, almost, to the elevation at which you started the hike! The first mile of the hike twisted up a bare, rocky hillside to a saddle in between the peak to the left (which we couldn’t see) and a small stub of a mountain to the right. Then things got interesting. The trail immediately knifed downward — dropping hundreds of feet in just a few minutes of hiking. As we slowly made our way down the smooth, red rock, holding onto a waist-high cable was often necessary. 

We were circling the mountain. Seriously. After the descent, we were on the backside of the side of the peak we had started on. We passed the junction for the Sunset Vista Trail, an easier 3.1-mile ascent of the peak, and started hiking up … again. The trail followed this pattern: A section of moderate hiking over rock and scree, followed by an extremely steep pitch that required holding onto a cable to boost yourself up. I was impressed with the number of people we saw on the trail — even two kids who couldn’t have been older than 6 or 7, and a dog. This was no easy ascent. 

After about the fifth cable climb, we gained a flat section of the trail where we could look down on the side of the mountain where we had started and Greg’s Mercury Mountaineer some 1,000-plus feet below. We had come full circle. Literally. From there, we traversed a few relatively easy switchbacks to the peak, which offered 360-degree views. We could see the Catalina range to the south, large squares of green grass surrounded by a lot of desert, and other random peaks. It was quite the spectacle. 

We made the return trip in less than an hour and were back in Phoenix to watch a little football and attend that evening’s Nuggets-Suns game in downtown. We were warmed up and ready for the Grand Canyon.

9.28-29, 2013 — Utopia on Franconia Ridge, NH

9.28.29, 2013 — Franconia Ridge camp trip

I have done hundreds of hikes in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. I’ve summited Mount Washington seven times, and I’ve made multiple trips up other high peaks in the region. Despite my vast hiking experience, I had never done two things:

·      Hike in New Hampshire during the fall

·      Camp in the White Mountains’ wilderness

That changed in late September when I was joined by my cousin Caitlin, her three friends from St. Lawrence University, and a pair of their friends from New York for a camping adventure in the Whites.

Amazingly, the trip exceeded my sky-high expectations.

Day 1 — The ridge, the Europeans, the dogs and SUNSET (11.9 miles hiked)

I awoke to my alarm at 5:30am, and it took me a few seconds to orient myself. I was on a couch in the basement of Sue’s house. Sue is Caitlin’s Godmother — and a good friend of all the relatives who frequent our “Red House” every summer in New Hampshire. Sue and her husband Woody had generously offered up their house as a basecamp for seven hikers.

As I sat up, so did a man just a few feet in front of me. He introduced himself as Tashi. He and his friend Kyle had arrived late the night before, after I had passed out, exhausted, on the couch. After everyone scarfed down a quick breakfast, we walked outside into the chilly morning air.

We needed to get to the trailhead early so we could make the campsite and secure spots for the night.

After I misdirected us twice, we arrived at the Liberty Spring trailhead a tad after 7am. The sky was clear and the weather quickly warming. As had been forecasted all week, a perfect, clear day seemed to be in the making. That’s not something to take for granted in the Whites.

The 3.4-mile hike up the Liberty Spring trail to the campsite isn’t easy, but it’s not overly strenuous either. We all shed layers within the first mile and then sweated our way up the final, steep mile.  A little after 9am, I came upon the first tent platform where a woman, the caretaker, sat in the sun.

She informed me that there were plenty of platforms available, which was music to my ears. All week I had worried about the possibility of not getting a spot at this coveted campsite just 0.3 miles below Franconia Ridge. After all, with an impeccable forecast, the arrival of fall colors, and it being a Saturday, who wouldn’t want to spend the night here?

We easily beat the crowds.

We chose a pair of adjacent tent platforms and began setting up. The girls (Caitlin, Tori, Taylor and Hannah) had one tent; Kyle and Tashi had a two-person; and I had a single. I shared a spacious wooden platform with the fellas that had plenty of room to lounge on even with both our tents. This was a pretty cool spot.

Upon setting everything up, dropping our food in the campsite’s secure bear boxes, and filtering water at the spring, we headed up the 0.3 miles to Franconia Ridge for the first of three times. Those 0.3 miles, as we would find out, were very legitimate. Caitlin couldn’t believe it was the same distance as a little more than one time around a track. I couldn’t disagree.

From the ridge, it was a fairly easy 1.7 miles through fir trees to Little Haystack and the beginning of arguably the White Mountains’ coolest 1.8 miles of hiking (the Presidentials would have something to say about that). As we climbed up rocks to the summit of the unofficial 4,000-footer, the trees fell off and the views opened up.

We emerged, and the sights were glorious.

In front of us lay the spine that led up Mt. Lincoln (5,080 feet) and then, out of view, Mt. Lafayette (5,260). To the east, the view extended all the way to Mt. Washington (6,288 feet). Across Franconia Notch to the west, we had an up-close perspective of Mt. Cannon, the Kinsmans, and, farther south, massive Moosilauke. You could clearly see Lonesome Lake and the AMC hut tucked into the breast of the Kinsmans. When I turned around, I admired the pointy, razor-sharp peaks of Liberty and Flume on the ridge. Well beyond them stood Carrigain, the Hancocks, the Osceolas, the Tripyramids, and, well, dozens of small peaks.

For the next five hours, I would look up from the trail every few steps to breath it all in. Views like these were not to be taken for granted.

We weren’t the only people who had seen the forecast. As we walked around the rocky ridge, we passed hundreds of hikers. Maybe a thousand. Looking ahead, it was hard to find a spot along the trail not covered by a human or a dog. This was the only negative about the trip — we were far from alone.

I would joke later that half of Europe had made the trip to New Hampshire, considering that every other person we greeted had an accent. On separate occasions, I spotted groups of Europeans sitting on rocks sipping wine from plastic glasses to go with their cheese and bread.

Talk about living luxuriously on a mountain.

Before summiting Lincoln, we stopped at the “Brad Spot,” so aptly named because in 2007 cousin Kristen’s husband jumped onto a skinny rock spire that drops off a good 15 feet on all sides. We couldn’t just pass it. Caitlin, Tori and Kyle took turns stretching to climb the structure. It was fun, and a tad nerve-racking, to watch them.

Then it was on to the summits. Lincoln. Then Lafayette, our turnaround point.

Lafayette was a zoo. Upon following the blazes to the top, dodging people and dogs left and right, I looked around and just shook my head in amazement. There were over 100 people, maybe more, on the rocky summit. I’ve never seen a real summit (meaning one you actually have to hike all the way up to; Mt. Washington is an example of a fake summit because people drive up it…) so crowded.

The congestion detracted a little bit from enjoying the 360-degree views, but not a lot. We found a cool rock facing east, took in the fall colors of the trees in the valley below, and were entertained by a pair of dogs including my favorite kind, a Golden Retriever, just to our left.

(Note: Not only did we see hundreds of people on the trail. We also passed by dozens of dogs of all kinds. Small. Big. Furry. Recent haircut. They all made the hike up to the ridge, which is impressive for a dog. Whichever way you go, you have to climb close to 3,000 feet and over steep rocky sections to reach it.)

Finally, around 2:30pm, we sighed and turned around. The way back was even more beautiful than the way there because of the late-afternoon shadows created by the sun and the puffy, picturesque clouds. I quickly fell behind the rest of the group, stopping frequently to snap photos. Funny enough, this kept me close to a couple and their two dogs, one named Jake.

“Jake, come!” they kept yelling.

I had to remind myself not to turn around and do as told.

We returned to the campsite, visited the secure bear box to replenish our supplies, and then headed back up the 0.3-mile ascent we were becoming very familiar with. Upon reaching the ridge, we turned right (south) and completed a much easier 0.3 up Liberty.

When we first emerged onto open, flat rock, there was no reason to continue to the summit. We were standing on a perfect spot to A) Cook dinner; and B) Watch the sun’s evening rays decorate the sky all kinds of colors.

It’s hard to describe how beautiful and inspiring the next hour was. I’ll try. The Kinsmans-Moosilauke range across the notch was sprayed by the sun. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the colors became a bright, burnt orange. Just as cool, when I turned 180 degrees, the firs on the east side of Liberty’s summit were doused in sunlight with myriad 4,000-foot peaks in the distance.

It didn’t matter which direction you turned your gaze. The sky was aglow. I tried to limit the number of photos I took and give myself time to boil water for my Himalayan rice dehydrated meal, but it was difficult.

We stayed on the summit laughing, taking photos, eating, and doing a lot of smiling until the sky was almost completely dark. Finally, we snapped on our headlamps and headed down. It quickly became clear to me that my lamp batteries were poor, because the beam was extremely weak. So my descent wasn’t the most graceful. But I made it back to camp.

Between littered trees, we could gaze up at a sky dominated by bright stars. It was so warm, we lay on the tent platform looking up at the universe and taking it all in. Eventually, my 15th yawn within an hour told me it was time to retire to the tent. It was 9pm.

NOTE: In between our hikes during the day, we chatted with the caretaker Kate. It was her last full day at the site. She said that after Saturday, Liberty Spring would only be cared for on weekends. The campsite is open year-round, she said, and some people choose to visit it in the winter snow and search for the buried platforms. She said that during the summer, caretakers stay at the site for 11 to 12 days at a time. That’s an impressive chunk of alone time! She also mentioned that recently the site had dealt with bear trouble. As if we needed a reminder, we all made sure to use the bear box. I love black bears, but I’m not keen on seeing one at my tent door in the middle of the night (like happened to Kate when camping at the Guyot site awhile back).

Day 2 — Sunrise, the Flume, and the finish (7 miles hiked)

For the second consecutive morning, the wakeup call was at 5:30am. This one was more exciting, though. We were getting up at this ridiculous hour to experience sunrise from the top of a mountain.

Headlamp on, I stumbled to the bear box to collect breakfast supplies. I then stumbled to the spring to treat drinking water. With light beginning to creep through the trees, I followed Kyle up the 0.3-mile trail (again). We were getting used to this routine.

About 20 minutes later, we joined the girls back at our spot near Liberty’s summit. As we boiled water for breakfast, we watched as the sky lit up. We were hoping the sun would rise right over Mt. Washington’s peak, but it was a little south of there. Not that it wasn’t still spectacular.

In looking at sheets of fog down in the valleys, I felt lucky to be above it all, to have a bird’s eye view in all directions. I looked to the north at Cannon’s iconic rock face. For the 16th time, my eyes scoured the landscape to the south, identifying the 4,000-footers spread out over dozens of miles.

My spinach and cheese dehydrated omelet was a disappointment, but it couldn’t ruin the splendor.

Our appetites satiated, we continued about 100 feet to the top of Liberty and then headed down into the woods for the 1.2-mile romp to Flume. The hike was entirely wooded and had a lot more down than up, meaning, of course, that we’d have quite the ascent coming back. But as we emerged on Flume’s craggy, spikey-rock summit, we weren’t thinking about that.

Rather, it was time to enjoy our final (new) summit of the trip. As I looked down Flume’s ridiculously steep western side dominated by a rock slide, I thought back to 2008 when cousin J-bo, Brad and I were motivated to descend the Flume Slide Trail after reading about its dangers. That was an adventurous, butt-sliding trip.

We wouldn’t be doing such a thing this time around, which was perfectly fine.

After about half an hour, we took a last look and turned around, headed back into the woods. We sweated our way up Mt. Liberty and then chose flat rocks to lie on and almost nap in the still, warm morning air. Sunday was going to be just as beautiful, just as perfect of a day as Saturday. I wondered how many people would be on the ridge’s most popular section again.

I wouldn’t find out, because it was all downhill from there for us. Back to the campsite, where we packed up our things. And then down the Liberty Spring trail to the parking lot. The descent seemed quick (a rare thing on these trips), even if my backpack didn’t feel any lighter. As we got lower, I noticed more and more leaves of all colors on the ground. What the lower elevations couldn’t offer, they made up for with fall colors.

I didn’t want to leave the woods. I didn’t want the weekend to end. But it had to.

At least we finished in style, with high fives and then a hand bridge created by Kyle and Taylor for Tashi to duck through.

In thinking back on this trip, I’ll shake my head in wonder at how perfectly the weather set up. I’ll smile at the companionship on the trail and off. And I’ll enjoy the hundreds of pictures that document as well as they can an absolutely beautiful fall weekend in New Hampshire.

Here’s to many more!

Peace and love,

Jake 

PS — Full photo album here. 

9.21-23 — Hiking in the Smokey Mountains

9.21-23, Knoxville, TN

For the fourth weekend of my six-weekends-in-a-row traveling extravaganza, I hopped on a plane bound for Knoxville, TN, to visit my cousin and former roommate J-bo and a stranger I was very much looking forward to meeting.

The Smokey Mountains.

Despite being an avid, peak-bagging vagabond, I had never stepped foot in the Smokeys. To my knowledge, I had never been in the great state of Tennessee, either, unless passing through on a trip to North Carolina (I’ll have to confirm that one with the parents).  So I was unaware of the beauty of the mountains, or the omnipresence of country music star Dolly Parton, or how much Tennesseans love to smoke (and study science).

This was both an educational and fun, adventurous trip. Not to mention, I got to catch up with J-bo and his wife Shanda. I hadn’t spent more than half a night with them (when J-bo had a conference in Baltimore) in over a year.

Saturday, Sept. 21

As the plane taxied across the tarmac, I looked out from my window seat and saw nothing but rain — constant, steady, showing zero signs of waning.

We weren’t gonna hike.

A minute later, J-bo confirmed this in a text. Driving 90 minutes to the mountains and hiking with zero visibility — as much as I love the trail — simply wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, I’d get to know J-bo’s ‘hood and rest up for perfect weather, according to the forecasts, Sunday.

The day was fun. We got takeout Thai food from one of the few good-food options near J-bo’s $700-per-month HUGE apartment (oh, how I could go for cheap rent!). Then I napped for an hour. I’m not sure why, but I was exhausted. Maybe all these trips are catching up to me.

We then strapped on our gym gear and drove across the main road to the athletic center of the apartment complex, where J-bo crushed me in his go-to sport, racquetball, in four consecutive games. After that beatdown, I needed the soothing relief provided by jumping in the swimming pool, even if the water temperature probably equaled what we’d feel at 6,000 feet the next day.

The afternoon was fun and typical of us. When we lived together for 18 months, we were active all the time. Working out, tennis, basketball, you name it. And we always jumped in the pool at 500 Ivy Meadow Lane in Durham, NC, after. I’ll never forget those times.

But none of those experiences or Saturday’s racquetball-pool combination will compare to what we experienced on the disc golf course Saturday evening. We had the 18-hole course all to ourselves as a light rain fell throughout our round. During the final holes — as I struggled to keep up with J-bo, my shots falling woefully short and off target — the rain picked up.

And then we saw it. With the sun glowing in one corner of the sky, in the other appeared a brilliant full-arch rainbow. We stopped and stared. The rain continued to fall steadily. This wasn’t a post-shower ‘bow. I’d never seen one like this.

But that was just the beginning. A few poor disc golf throws later, I looked back to that section of the sky and saw a double rainbow — a full-arched double rainbow. I don’t know what to say other than it was incredibly glorious. In describing many sights from Dad’s and my Washington trip a few weeks earlier I used the word “otherworldly.” That seems appropriate for this gift, too. I’m still busy kicking myself for not having my camera or phone with me to capture the brilliance.

Oh, well. It’s a memory I’ll have to hold onto.

Saturday, Sept. 22

Unfortunately, the double rainbow was by far the highlight of the trip. The hiking didn’t quite live up to expectations. On Sunday, J-bo and I made the 90-minute drive through Dolly Parton land, past billboards for redneck comedy shows, pancake houses, and “dig for your gem” sites, to Smokey Mountain National Park.

The most popular national park in the United States. No joke.

Little did I know before researching this trip that there are dozens of 6,000-foot peaks in the Smokeys, spanning North Carolina and Tennessee. Our hiking during two days would include trails in both states. Many hikes in the park start at a high elevation, including a 0.5-mile hike up to Clingmans Dome, the park’s highest point at 6,644 feet.

Our Sunday hike involved 5 miles up the Alum Cave trail to Mount LeConte or Le Conte (depends which site you’re reading), which rises 6,593 feet on the Tennessee side of the border, followed by 5.4 miles on The Boulevard ridge trail, then a few miles down the Appalachian Trail to Newfound Gap, where we’d catch a ride hitchhiking back to the trailhead.

In other words, a pretty action-packed day.

The hike up was pretty darn cool. We walked alongside a stream that had all kinds of life after the previous day’s monsoon. The trail featured a couple single-plank wooden bridge suspended 3 to 4 feet above the water, bridges where you really needed to focus on each step. One misstep and you’d be wet! One such bridge led under and through a rocky cave.

After 2 miles, we reached the trail’s namesake, as the path emerged under an enormous rock overhang — an open cave. We marveled at the spectacle and then hoofed on. Several switchbacks later, cloud-specked views began to open up nearby peaks. White, puffy clouds dotted the sky, creating a cool composition with the peaks.

And then, sooner than I had anticipated, we reached LeConte Lodge, a tiny village of huts nestled just below the mountain’s three summits and Cliff Tops. In researching the area, I had learned of the lodge, which is similar to the Appalachian Mountain Club huts in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. It’s extremely popular, with booking recommended a year in advance. There’s a dining hall where guests are served heaping breakfasts and dinners, and trail lunches can also be purchased.

Most importantly in my opinion, it’s also just 0.2 miles from the views atop the Cliff Tops. After a brief rest, that’s where we headed, excited about the potential views awaiting us.

Well, they were interesting. We can say that.

If not expansive.

A thick sheet of white clouds blanketed the sky to the south from the pointy rocks atop Cliff Tops. At the end of the white carpet, one could see the very top of a mountain peaking out. But that was it for the view. White dominated the horizon.

We only stayed for a few minutes before beginning the second leg of our journey. About half a mile later, we reached the mountain’s official summit, a huge rock pile in a clearing surrounded by trees. I had a helluva time setting up the camera on timer to snap our photo, getting my knees all muddy in the process. But I got it. I documented it.

Then it was onto the boulevard, which, unfortunately, was not much more interesting than your typical boulevard. The going was easy, but views were few and far between and the foliage was stuff you can usually see at sea level. J-bo and I passed the time with an array of conversations.

Just as J-bo predicted we’d reached The Boulevard’s end, we did. Well done, sir. We took a left on a spur trail up Mt. Kephart to “The Jumpoff,” which we’d been highly anticipating all day. The guidebook referred to it as a narrow ridge trail above treeline — my favorite kind of path in the mountains. The map also made us believe the path connected with the AT, which would allow us to loop back to our descending route.

The ridge part of the trail was short and completely clouded in. We couldn’t see a thing. Just white. As we continued, the “trail” became extremely overgrown and we found ourselves bushwhacking, getting scraped by trees left and right. After a couple minutes, we turned around. This wasn’t a trail. On the way down, we learned from an older couple that our map had it wrong — the spur trail didn’t actually connect to the AT. We had reached the end of the spur and truly been bushwhacking off trail.

Whoops.

The lack of a trail and view was disappointing. I’d been looking forward to that section of the hike being the most exciting part of our afternoon. It let us down. The descent on the AT was uneventful except for one thing — we were talking about basketball, one of my favorite subjects obviously, and J-bo was having a helluva time guessing the team name Grantland columnist Zach Lowe had named the best in the NBA.

For a good hour, J-bo was stymied. As we took our final steps down to Newfound Gap, I chucked and finally revealed to him that he’d forgotten about the Portland Trail Blazers. He agreed with me that his lack of geography knowledge had let him down. If he had known Portland was in Oregon, he would have gotten it. Only telling him that Rasheed Wallace, the former UNC star, had played for the team gave it away.

After a few futile minutes, we successfully asked for a ride from a pair of Kentucky basketball fans. During the 4.5-mile drive down the winding road back to the trailhead, we talked more basketball with the clearly passionate Wildcats fan. I didn’t bring up John Calipari’s perceived sleaziness.

We headed back to Knoxville.

On Monday, our hope was to hike The Chimneys, the most popular day hike in the Smokeys. The Chimneys is a 2-mile hike (one way) that leads to two really cool rock structures you can climb up, one easier than the other. J-bo had done the hike with his wife Shanda, but hadn’t taken on the more difficult rock climb. We were up for an adventure.

But when we arrived at the trailhead on the same road we had driven up the previous day, we noticed a conspicuous lack of cars — it was closed! I wasn’t used to trails being shut down for maintenance, but that was exactly the case. During the week, a trail association was apparently doing a lot of work on the very popular route.

Damn. Shit. Fuck.

We were disappointed, but what’s a man to do? We certainly wouldn’t let the setback stop us from hiking.

We drove on and took the Clingmans Dome road toward the peak. I wasn’t too happy about driving a road that got so close to a mountain’s summit, but it was our best hiking option for the three or four hours we had before we needed to head back toward the airport.

The parking lot was packed with licenses plates from at least 20 states. I was amazed by the array of states represented from the Midwest, to the South, to the West. People were all there to take in the summit (and do a little bit of hiking, not that they wanted to). We quickly left the crowds behind, heading toward Andrew’s Bald. J-bo was excited about the idea of ascending a “bald,” a flat, grassy mountain summit. I concurred. I’d never been on a bald before, either.

The 1.8-mile hike was mostly a descent, with a short ascent at the end. When we emerged onto the bald, which, sure enough, was grassy and open, we saw a lot of fog and not much in the way of views. Oh, well. We found some flat rocks, took out our trail food, and spent a good half hour there.

We then hiked back up to Clingmans, where we joined the masses to walk up the winding concrete tower that marked the summit’s peak. As informational signs at the top mentioned, on a clear day we would be able to see hundreds of peaks as far away as 100 miles — even Mount Mitchell in North Carolina’s Black Mountains, which we had hiked in 2008.

Of course, this was not, at least at 6,000-plus feet, a clear day. We could see squat. We lingered for a minute before heading down the popular 0.5-mile asphalt path (not concrete, J-bo made sure to point out to me) to the crowded parking lot.

The hiking hadn’t been spectacular. The views left a lot to be desired.

But as I’ve said hundreds of times over, I’m incapable of leaving a hiking trip disappointed. I never have. My first Tennessee trip was fun, entertaining, unpredictable, and stimulating.

I’m sure I’ll be back. After all, there’s a Southern 6,000-footers club. I’ve got more work to do.

Peace and love,

Jake