8.12-15 — A solo adventure: Climbing Maine's 4,000-footers

I spent the past four days getting an introduction to Maine hiking. It’s funny — nearly every year of my life, I’ve come up to New Hampshire and hiked in the White Mountains. But until this year, I had never ventured north to Maine and its abundance of mountains.

I made the choice to do so this August because of my quest to summit all of New England’s 4,000-footers. I completed New Hampshire’s in 2009 and last year I tackled Vermont’s quintet of big guys during a two-day marathon. Now it was time to at least get a start on Maine’s 14.

Here’s a recap of my four days alone in Maine’s vast wilderness!

Day 1 — Saddleback (4,120 ft) and The Horn (4,041), 14.6 miles hiked

THE NUMBERS

Miles hiked: 14.6

Time on the trail: 6 hours

Summits: 2

Mountains ascended: 3 (Saddleback twice)

Water consumed: 64 ounces

Food: Sunbutter sandwich, 2 Larabars

People seen: 7

I left Sandwich around 8:30 a.m. Sunday morning with a four-hour drive ahead of me followed by a lengthy hike and then a drive to my base campsite. It would be a busy day.

One note about the drive: I love how in Maine there are fun road signs listing foreign countries (ex. — Peru 1,884, Spain 2,510!).

On the way to the trail, which was part of the AT, it rained a bit, so I wasn’t surprised that the trail scattered with roots was slick under my hiking boots. Not only that, but the little man-made bridges of long wood slabs were very slippery and clearly had not been maintained for quite awhile, as many of them deflated under my steps. (This is a stark contrast to the bridges on NH’s trails, almost all of which are in good condition.)

After 1.8 quick miles, I reached the Piazza Rock campsite and a sign that said if it was after 12 p.m., hikers should not attempt to summit Saddleback Mtn., as the trail ahead was very difficult.

The time was 12:42 p.m. Naturally, I continued on.

The trail gained elevation but wasn’t overly steep, and I made good time, reaching the beautiful Eddy Pond (3.7 miles) in less than two hours. I was on moose lookout throughout the hike, as Maine is known for its moose population. I especially had my eyes peeled while pond-side, scanning the far shores.

No moose.

From there, the grade of the trail increased and within a mile I emerged from the tree line and was immediately in awe. What I first noticed were all the lakes below me — to the south, Long Pond stood out. To the west, Rangeley Lake glistened in the early afternoon fog. As I climbed up smooth rock slabs, I was in and out of the clouds. The weather was cool, although still very humid. It didn’t matter, though. When you’re out in the open like that, on top of the world, each step feels easier.

I reached the summit of Saddleback (4,120 feet), allowed myself to rest for the first time after 5.7 miles and down a sunbutter sandwich, and then headed down into the col before ascending The Horn (4,041 feet). The majority of the trail between the two peaks was above the tree line, reminding me of the ridges I so loved in New Hampshire.

I was amazed that during the entire hike after the campsite, I saw one person — one! Here it was, a beautiful Sunday afternoon — it didn’t rain on me, although the clouds were nefarious — and I was alone on the mountains. I soaked in the tranquility.

If not for the clouds, I could have had 360-degree views from Saddleback, but I wasn’t complaining. With the mix of clouds and lakes, there were beautiful photos to be taken and landscapes to be admired. When I had my fill, I skipped, jogged and fast-walked my way down the mountains, soaked my feet in the creek at the base, and was back at the Civic almost exactly six hours after I had started.

I then made the drive to my base camp, Cathedral Pines Campground in Eustis, ME, which was about 45 minutes north of the Day 1 hike and just north of the small town of Stratton, around which my next three hikes would occur.

On the way — heeding the advice of the clerk at the grocery store — I kept a keen eye out for moose crossing ME-16 N. No dodging was needed. As I was setting up my tent, the rain started to come down, and I got it set up just in time. I ate dinner in the Civic and then crawled into the poorly made tent. I didn’t sleep well, with occasional drops of water sneaking through my rain fly and nailing me on the forehead.

I was glad, and still tired, when I saw light outside again. It was time for my longest Maine day on the trail.

Day 2 — Sugarloaf Mtn. (4,250 ft), Spaulding Mtn. (4,010), Mt. Abraham (4,050), 20.6 miles hiked

THE NUMBERS

Miles hiked: 20.6

Time on the trail: 8.5 hours

Summits: 3

Mountains ascended: 4 (Sugarloaf twice)

Water consumed: 80 ounces

Food: 2 Larabars, cheese and crackers, peach

People seen: 20

I awoke to clear skies on Monday morning. After escaping my wet tent, I took my breakfast of rice cereal with raisins down to the campsite beach, which overlooked peaceful, expansive Flagstaff Lake with the Bigelow range of 4,000-footers as a backdrop. I could have sat on the dock and admired the scenery all day. It was that beautiful, that perfect. But I had some hiking to do.

I drove about 11 miles, through Stratford and to the Sugarloaf Mountain ski resort, which, predictably, was dead in the summer. I parked by the hotel. My plan was to hike up a dirt road — not suitable for vehicles, thankfully — that snaked up the popular ski mountain.

The road was caked with pebbles of all sizes mixed in with dirt. It didn’t take long to become steep. The early morning sun was already in bake mode, and my poly pro shirt was soaked during the first half an hour. I passed by another hiker on the road, a Jon Voit look-alike who wasn’t much of a talker. He grunted at me in response to my cheery, “Good morning!” I continued on.

The grade was tough, but it was made easier by the fact that I could see the top of the mountain for much of the hike. I could see my destination. Knowing that, I tramped on, and was on top of windy Sugarloaf, among its radio towers, after about 90 minutes.

The views from the summit (4,250 feet) were impressive, to say the least. Ahead of me, to the south, I could see my other two summit destinations for the day — Spaulding and Abraham. To the west lay the Crockers, my targets for Day 4. And across the highway rose my Day 3 Bigelow peaks, West and Avery.

I soaked it all in, snapped a few photos — including a self-taken portrait, which would be a theme of the trip — and headed down the 0.6-mile spur path to the Appalachian Trail.

Upon reaching the AT, I met a pair of friendly hikers who told me all about the trail ahead. They also gave me some information about Mt. Reddington, the other 4,000-footer in the area I haven’t mentioned. The problem with Reddington is that there’s no marked trail to its summit, but the guys told me of a not-too-difficult route. I was tempted to give it a try, but it would be difficult to fit into my busy itinerary.

Then it was back on the trail. The mundane trail. The four miles of ridge hiking to the Mt. Abraham Trail were, to put it simply, boring. This wasn’t New Hampshire ridge hiking, where you’re often out in the open. I was in the woods. The walking was mostly flat, with a few ups and down, and I didn’t see a soul.

There were just two interesting things:

1) The summit of Spaulding, which was a short 0.1-mile spur trail up from the ridge — after climbing a few hundred feet, of course, on the AT. There were only very limited views from the peak, however.

1) I passed a sign and a box commemorating the completion of the Appalachian Trail 75 years ago. The section of the trail I was hiking, lo and behold, was the final part of the trail completed on August 14, 1937. I was off by one day.

After what seemed like an endless romp through the dense, green forest, I reached the Mt. Abraham Trail, giving me 1.7 miles to the turnaround/halfway point of my day. Finally. I hiked another bland mile through dense, green foliage, brushing up against plants and ferns as I continued a fast pace. Then, for the first time since Sugarloaf, I emerged into the open.

And it was all, of course, worth it. The rocky, smooth-faced top of Abraham and its mini tower loomed not far from me. The sky was mostly clear, with a bevy of very interesting, huge white clouds (fact: clouds ALWAYS look much cooler in the mountains).

For the next half hour, I scrambled up large granite rocks covered in lichen that reminded me of New Hampshire’s Presidentials. This was my favorite kind of hiking. Upon reaching the top, I found the perfect resting spot — a chair that, it seemed, had been carved out of rocks. I leaned back, cut myself some cheese slices to go with my crackers, sliced up a peach, and had a glorious mountaintop lunch.

While eating, I admired the rocky Abraham ridge to the east, which I, unfortunately, would not be hiking (side note: one issue with hiking by yourself, besides talking to yourself more than any sane person should ever do, is that it stunts your ability to do loop hikes, which are almost always much more enjoyable than out-and-backs). I also had a great view of the mountains that I had already climbed…

Speaking of, I would have to climb one of them again!

An extra challenge of my out-and-back hikes is that they involve going over at least one mountain a second time! On Day 1, it had been Saddleback. On this occasion, it was Sugarloaf. But after enduring the long ridge for a second time, I was energized to make my second ascent of Maine’s second tallest peak, and this time I was really able to soak in the views, as all I had was a 4-mile gander down a road (of course, it was no ordinary waltz, and I almost tripped and fell a dozen times on the loose pebbles … but still).

I was back at the Civic before 5 p.m., ready to return to base camp and jump in the lake.

And how refreshing it was.

Day 3 — West Peak (4,145 ft), Avery Peak. (4,088), 12.7 miles hiked

THE NUMBERS

Miles hiked: 12.7

Time on the trail: 7 hours

Summits: 2

Mountains ascended: 2

Water consumed: 68 ounces

Food: 1 Larabar, handful of gorp, cheese and crackers

People seen: 20

My legs were not in the mood on Day 3. Sure, they had appreciated the dip in Flagstaff Lake Monday night. And the hot shower at the campsite. And, no, they hadn’t dismissed the full night’s sleep they received, a stark difference from Night 1 at the beautiful, peaceful campsite.

They just didn’t want to hike up more mountains after a 20-plus mile day.

Well, too bad.

Much like the middle part of Day 2, the first 5 miles of the next day were all in the woods and a mental test more than anything. I was excited about this hike, as the Maine Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) guide called the ridge covering West and Avery peaks the most appealing in the state outside of world-famous Mt. Katahdin to the north (I’ll see you in a year or two, Knife Edge!). I was also enthused to be able to do a loop hike for the first time during my Maine adventures.

I decided to take the less steep — but longer — grade up and then deal with the quick elevation change on the way down. Even so, my legs weren’t feeling too energized as I sweated my way up the buggy Horns Pond Trail. After 4.1 miles of hiking, I was reunited with the AT, but still had a tough 0.8 miles up to The Horns, a mini summit at 3,805 feet.

It wasn’t a 4,000-footer, but it did offer an open rocky ledge and my first views of the day. I sat down, devoured a Larabar, and stared to the east at West Peak’s pencil-sharp pointy top. I still had 2.1 miles to reach it, but, man, did it look cool!

While resting/reenergizing, a pair of guys came from the east. In chatting with them, I learned that they were hiking the AT from the north — the first southbound hikers I had encountered. There’s something to be said for going in that direction (for one, you avoid the crazy rush of people moving south to north; secondly, you can start much later in the year and, thus, will probably find it easier to get space at lean-tos along the trail). I wished them luck and descended into the saddle.

I had 2.1 miles to West Peak (4,145 ft.), and as I continued to descend, and descend, and descend some more, I knew that meant one thing — a very steep, long ascent. As it turned out, though, it wasn’t too brutal — maybe it was just the adrenaline spike I got from knowing I had almost reached the pointy summit — and I emerged from the trees a couple hundred feet from the top.

The views were spectacular. To the north, Flagstaff Lake (Maine’s fourth largest body of water) spread out before me, almost inviting me to just jump in. It was topped off by a thin layer of mist, giving the whole area a mythical feel. When I swiveled my head to the north, there lay my Day 2 hike — Sugarloaf … Spaulding … Abraham.

On top of West, I chatted with a Bigelow Preserve ranger, who told me that on a perfectly clear day, Katahdin was visible about 115 miles to the north. This was not one of those days. I also listened in on a conversation he had with another man about using hiking poles. The ranger said that using them would probably extend a hiker’s career by five years, saving the knees. My take: I have never used the poles and fear that by going to them, they would get in my way when navigating huge boulders, when I need my hands. Having said that, I could be open to giving them a try, if they do, indeed, reduce the pounding my knees take. We shall see…

From West, I dropped a steep 0.3 miles to the col, then climbed 0.4 up to Avery. Considering all the woods hiking I’d done, this was a breeze. The top of Avery was flatter than West, but no less interesting. It offered a view, to the east, of the descending rocky ridge, part of the AT, to the east. It also provided a cool profile of West. Since I hadn’t done much resting all day and it was early, just a bit after noon, I sat down and took my time downing another phenomenal lunch of cheese and crackers.

I still wasn’t ready to descend, but then I noticed the rain clouds to the north. It clearly was dumping on Flagstaff Lake. As I packed up my Camelback, I expected to start feeling drops. I waited … still nothing. This was an incredible thing. There was a dark, stormy cloud to the west, hovering just north of West Peak. There were clear rain clouds just north of me over the lake. And yet, I wasn’t getting touched!

(Note: This whole scene made for some awesome pictures!.)

I almost wanted to bask in my good fortune, but I figured I shouldn’t test my luck too much. After all, I was alone on an exposed mountain. After another self-taken summit photo, I descended back into the col.

On my way down the steep Fire Warden’s Trail, I finally got dumped on, but only for about 15 minutes. After that, I put the raincoat away, the sun came back out, and I enjoyed the feeling of going down, down, down — all the way to the car.

My legs appreciated it too.

Day 4 — South Crocker (4,050 ft), Crocker (4,228), 7.4 miles hiked

THE NUMBERS

Miles hiked: 7.4

Time on the trail: 3 hours, 40 minutes

Summits: 2

Mountains ascended: 3 (South Crocker twice)

Water consumed: 40 ounces

Food: Nothing

People seen: 22!

Through three days of hiking in Maine, I had been on the trail for 21-plus hours and had felt raindrops for about 15 minutes. I considered myself pretty lucky.

So it was only appropriate that I got dumped on during my final day. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

My campsite was packed up. My tent was dry. After my hike, all I faced was a four-hour drive through bucolic, small Maine and New Hampshire villages back to Sandwich.

Bring it on, rain!

And it sure did. After completing my Day 3 hike, I had driven up Caribou Valley Road, a dirt road that would be the base of my Day 4 climb. I wanted to scout it out, assuring myself that the Civic could make it far enough up the road that it would be worth taking this route as opposed to the 12.4-mile out-and-back hike on the AT from ME 27-S. The road was fine, allowing me to drive 3.9 miles up it — within 0.6 of its intersection with the AT.

This made for a shorter hike over the Crockers, 7.4 miles, giving me more time to get back to Center Sandwich for Aunt Sallie’s art exhibition at 5 p.m.

The rain quickened my pace even more. Within about half an hour of my start time, it began to rain, and it only grew heavier as I made the long mile ascent of South Crocker Mountain (4,050 feet). The mile seemed to take forever, including a very brief section of open rock climbing — although the view was very limited, as I was living in a cloud — but my legs felt fresh and the going wasn’t too difficult.

That’s a positive about the rain. It cools the air, scares away the bugs, and, at least in my case, energizes. My tired legs of the previous day? History. Sure, my gore-tex boots were logged with water by the time I reached the summit of South Crocker. Yeah, my raincoat wasn’t keeping me completely dry.

Other than that and: A) There were no views, even from the open clearing on top; and B) There was no way I could take a picture without doing some serious damage to the camera. … I was loving the hike.

The most amazing thing about the hike, I thought as the rain stiffened during my descent-ascent of Crocker Mountain (4,228 ft), was how many people were on the trail. During less than four hours, I passed 22 folks — and they weren’t all through hikers, either. Many had chosen to go hiking despite the iffy weather.

All but one of the hikers, a woman who was moving very slow and looked miserable, gave a cheery “hello” or “hey” or “how you doing??” or “nice day for a hike!” salutations. These were some true outdoorsmen/women.

As was the case on each of my first two days, the hike involved going up a mountain twice — in this case, South Crocker, which I ascended from both sides pre- and post-Crocker (I guess I descended both ways as well!). You really get to know a mountain that way.

Ask me anything about South Crocker, folks, and I got your answer.

From there, it was just a wet 2.7 miles back to the car. As I tramped, I reflected on my first experience in Maine. Among the jumbled thoughts (as my brain tends to dart in all directions when I’m hiking):

1. Maine hiking is mentally challenging because of how much time you spend below tree line. It’s tougher than New Hampshire in this respect.

2. But once you emerge from the forest, the views and landscapes are incredible.

3. The lake views can make it seem like you’re not as high up as you are. Yet, that doesn’t spoil how beautiful they are to breathe in from the summits.

4. I missed moose! Not that I was itching for an encounter. I did see moose droppings every day, but no moose. From my reading, September and October make up the prime season to see them.

5. I’m not done yet! I didn’t get a chance to tackle the Reddington bushwhack; I still have to do Old Speck in southern Maine; and much farther north, Katahdin, its sub-peak Hamlin, and North Brother loom. Nine down, five to go.

As I reached the road, the rain had stopped and I took off my soaking rain jacket to begin the drying/warming up process. As I was getting changed at the car and organized for the trip back, a thru hiker waltzed down the road and I offered him a ride into Stratton.

While I admired his and every ATer’s ability to withstand such cold, rainy days on the trail, I have to admit I was glad I didn’t have to camp in the wetness. For once, I was happy to be down in the valley, heading back to my home base in New Hampshire.

My legs agreed.

FINAL NUMBERS FROM MAINE 2012

Miles hiked: 55.3

4,000-footers: 9

Mountains ascended: 12

Water consumed (at least on the trail): 252 ounces

People seen: 69

Times I muttered things to myself: Too high a number to count

8.9.2012 -- Mt. Moosilauke with Dad

8.9.12 — Mt. Moosilauke
On Thursday, it was time to get back on the hiking trail. I was able to persuade Dad to accompany me on a hike up Mt. Moosilauke (4,802 feet), which would be my second ascent up the beautiful mountain in the southwest corner of the White Mountains range. We planned to tramp up the Benton Trail, which was described as the easiest -- yet very scenic -- route up the mountain. It would be a 3.6-mile climb, gaining 3,100 feet in elevation. A lot of climbing, but steady all the way.

After a 90-minute drive, we were slowly navigating the gravelly road to the trailhead in the Prius when we were startled to find a gate blocking our way still 1.6 miles from the trail. As we would later find out, the road had been closed last year after damage caused by Hurricane Irene. We were stuck and not, exactly, in the mood for a bland walk on a dirt road before even reaching the trail.

Our only other option was to drive back down the Kancamagus Highway to the Beaver Brook Trail, which had been my ascent up the mountain three years ago when I'd tackled it with cousin J-bo as part of my epic summer of completing New Hampshire's 4,000-footers. That ascent, of course, had been the second of a traverse day that included four summits and 20 miles of hiking. This time, I felt fresh and had a light pack for the ascent up alongside beautiful waterfalls on the slick rock. I had warned Dad of the steepness, but he was ready for the trail.

The weather was perfect -- maybe in the 60s, although humid. We knew there was a chance of late afternoon thunderstorms, so we kept that in mind as we hiked. Dad didn't have his camera, which made a big difference in our hiking speed. The trail was steep, but we were helped considerably by the wooden blocks drilled into the sloping rock. They made for perfect steps as we climbed. Water is low this year, but there were still several beautiful cascades that ran down the rocks just to the right of the trail. It was a challenge to keep my eyes glued to the difficult steps I had to make and not be distracted.

After 1.9 miles of steepness, we reached a junction, turned right, to the west, and the trail became considerably flatter and easier to walk on. We passed a group of three women, each with a dog; we wondered how the dogs would do on the waterfalls. Later, on our descent, I noticed a dog paw print and figured they had fared just fine. To pass the time, Dad asked me to give him a description of the Harlan Coben mystery I was reading. By the time I had run through all the characters and subplots, we had passed the intersection with our first trail of choice, the Benton, and had emerged from the treeline to make the final ascent, among large, iconic cairns, to the open, widespread summit of Moosilauke.

The weather couldn't have been more ideal. There was little wind even out in the open, and the sun shined, but not strongly, on us as we passed grassy fields in all directions. Near the summit, we passed by several man-made rock shelters that could, potentially, serve as nice, little escapes from the wind. They weren't necessary on this day.

We sat at the top and enjoyed an amazing cheese-and-crackers lunch (my favorite summit meal!). As we ate, we noticed, a few hundred feet down the mountain, a woman running up it without stopping. When she reached the summit, and had time to catch her breath (which she hardly seemed to need to do), we asked her how far she'd run.

"Oh, just about three miles," she said.

Nothing.

She went on to tell us that she lived in Durango, Colorado, and did 15- and 20-mile trail runs on the regular. When I told her I was coming to her home state in a couple weeks, she mistakingly thought I was visiting her city and recommended a 20-mile hike with 7,000 feet in elevation gain. Ambitious! As we descended later, Dad and I surmised about her age. I guessed late 40s. He thought she was younger. Whatever the case, she was probably the most in-shape middle-aged woman I'd ever seen on a mountain.

Yeah, Colorado is a fit state!

As we were making our way down the mountain, we ran into an AT hiker, "Lone Duck," and joined up with him for the final couple miles. He was a heavyset man with a huge beer belly, a far cry from fit Colorado lady. But he was doing the Appalachian Trail. Props to him. He told us that this was his third stint on the trail. The first one had ended in New York when he became very sick. He had returned to the trail this past May only to be dumped on by a week of rain and swarmed by black flies. He returned to his home just outside Milwaukee. With his wife's approval, though, the former firefighter -- tough guy! -- was making a third and final attempt at completing the trail. He wasn't far from doing just that!

But he scared Dad, that's for sure. As we were in the midst of conversation, Lone Duck slipped and fell twice while going down the trail adjacent to the cascades. He was OK both times, saved by the padding provided by his pack, but that didn't ease Dad's anxiety. Lone Duck told some great AT stories, including the one about a mother bear who rushed toward him only to stop when her cubs emerged between her and him. That was a close call, he told us. He had also seen a bobcat and several snakes during his journey.

When we reached the bottom, we gave Lone Duck a ride into the town of Lincoln, where he planned on staying at a hostel for a couple days. I'd say that was a smart call, what with he faced in the upcoming days -- the hardest part of the New Hampshire range. Before we parted ways, he bestowed upon us the moniker tagged to people who help those trekking the AT -- Trail Angels.

It had been a day of changing plans, making the most of a hike, and hearing great stories. Oh, and the summit was incredible.

Not bad for a simple day hike.

NUMBERS
Miles hiked: 7.6
Summit: Mt. Moosilauke (4,802 feet)
Weather: 60s, partly cloudy, no rain

8.6-7.2012 -- Carter Notch hut hike

8.6-7.12 — AMC hut hike

It was a bit odd that only Aunt Sallie, Dad and I were going on the annual overnight hike at an Appalachian Mountain Club hut. Usually, there are at least four or five of us, if not seven or eight. But none of the Boreyko kids were able to make it up this year — Caitlin in Australia, J-bo just moved to Tennessee, Kristen busy at home and Brad with the Army — and Lou, originally scheduled to join us, was having foot issues. So it was just the three of us.

And I was alone for most of the first day. Yearning to hike new trails and summit Middle Carter and South Carter for the second time as part of my mission, now, to gain the tops of all 48 New Hampshire 4,000-footers twice — I’m about halfway there — I asked Sal and Dad to drop me at the Imp Trailhead, a little bit north of the Nineteen Mile Brook Trail, the most direct route to the Carter Notch hut. My trip to the hut would be 9.5 miles, giving me a nice day of hiking before the always-amazing (and filling) dinner served by the Croo.

Starting from the northern trailhead of the Imp — there are two trails that later intersect, but the southern trail doesn’t go over the Imp — I hiked a somewhat strenuous 2.2 miles to the Imp, an open ledge providing my first excellent views of the Presidential Range just across Route 16 and, um, up a little bit. The sky was clear but also featured an array of interesting clouds, which make photos that much more beautiful. And despite hiking in the Presidentials dozens of times and seeing them on many occasions, that view could never possibly get old. They are so majestic.

I continued on from the Imp, climbing steadily for 0.9 miles to the North Carter Trail and then a long 1.2 miles, still at a steep grade, to the Carter Moriah Trail/Appalachian Trail on the ridge. From there, the ridge was mostly wooded, but did offer a handful of open rocky ledges with breathtaking views not only of the Presidentials to the West, but Maine mountain ranges to the north and east.

I didn’t spent much time stopping, because I knew what was ahead of me — the 360-degree views of Mt. Hight, one of the coolest summits in all of the White Mountains. After fairly easy ascents and descents of the Carters, I made the steep push for half a mile up to Hight, reaching it just before 3 p.m. I plopped my Camelback down, took off my hat, and gazed around.

“Para... Para... Paradise!”

It really was. The wind was gusting up to about 25 mph, making me a bit chilly when stationary, so I donned all my extra clothes, making the carrying of the mesh pants, fleece and rain jacket/windbreaker already worth the trip. I couldn’t believe it, but I had the mountain almost entirely to myself. A guy came over it for a few minutes, and he told me about his experience hiking the Knife’s Edge on Mt. Katahdin in Maine — that, for the most part, it’s 10 to 15 feet wide. As he put it, and I’m paraphrasing, “It would take two or three missteps to fall off.” I’m ready for it.

Otherwise, I had the beautiful mountain to myself. It’s not an official 4,000-footer at 4,675 feet because it doesn’t drop the required 300 feet before climbing its highest neighbor, Carter Dome (4,832 feet). That’s a shame. It should be included.

A tad after 4 p.m. — having almost finished my book, “Three Nights in August,” about Tony La Russa and the mind of a manager during a three-game baseball series; very good, very insightful — I decided to make moves. I quickly hiked the 0.8 miles to the top of the Dome, and its limited views, and then headed down the steep trail to the hut, which sits at just 3,288 feet. I stopped for a few minutes at Pulpit Rock, an awesome ledge overlooking the notch. From it, you get a great view of the huts, the two small lakes and the boulder field, called the “Ramparts,” just north of the huts.

The evening at the hut was, as usual, very enjoyable, with the highlight for me being the introduction to a new traverse/ultra hike. Two of the Croo members spoke about the hut-to-hut traverse, which involved gaining all eight AMC huts, spread throughout the Whites, consecutively without stopping. The hike is approximately 49 miles and, according to the Croo members, takes about 19 or 20 hours. One guy, in fact, was planning on starting it that night at 2 a.m.

I have added it to the list.

Before it got dark, I slipped back on my hiking boots and did a little exploring in the Ramparts, working on my boulder-to-boulder climbing skills and using hand- and footholds. It was fun and adventurous, and had me ready for bed by the time the sun went down.

Day 2 of the hike was much more low key and relaxed. I decided to stick with Dad and Aunt Sal, who were hiking up Carter Dome to Mt. Hight, since they hadn’t seen it on their first day, and then down the Carter Dome Trail to where it connected with the Nineteen Mile Brook Trail. This time when we reached Hight, around lunchtime, it was crowded with a cadre of Appalachian Trail hikers and others out for day hikes. The weather, again, was incredible — a rarity for this section of the Whites — and the picture-taking opportunities were ubiquitous. I enjoyed meeting two people who had brought their dogs up the mountain, including a muscular-looking Doberman Pinscher who, apparently, was hiking the AT with its master. I wouldn’t put the feat past it. The dog wasn’t even breathing hard after the ascent of Hight.

The descent from Hight was slow, but the trail, although wooded was made beautiful by the brook that joined us for the final few miles. And toward the bottom, Dad and I stopped at a pool to jump in and cool off.

It was the perfect ending to another memorable AMC hut overnight hike.

THE NUMBERS
Miles hiked: 15.8
Summits: 6 (South Carter, Middle Carter, Hight (2x), Carter Dome (2x))
Dogs on the trail: 2
Weather: Pretty warm during the day (high 70s, low 80s); low 50s, high 40s at night

The Great Range Traverse, toughest hike of my life

8.5.2012 — The Great Range Traverse

I knew the Great Range Traverse in the Adirondacks would be a difficult hike. After all, it was ranked by Backpacker Magazine as the third most difficult day hike in the United States.

That’s saying something!

However, I felt adequately prepared solely because of my hiking experience in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. I had been traversing the sharply shaped granite rocks of the state’s highest peaks for decades, including a handful of 20-plus-mile hikes.

I had done the Presidential Traverse, a 23-mile hike across 11 of New Hampshire’s peaks. I had completed the “Bond Traverse,” an even longer hike including the extremely difficult Garfield Ridge trail and nine peaks in the Franconia range. Add in a double-ascent traverse up the Kinsmans and Mt. Moosilauke (4,800 feet), and I wasn’t intimidated by this Great Range Traverse.

Well, it surprised me.

The Great Range Traverse — 23.8 miles over eight of the Adirondacks’ 46 4,000-footers — was the most difficult day hike I’ve EVER DONE. Period.

Here’s why: Never before had I done a hike where the ascents were so steep and the descents were so demanding. Never before had I spent so much time sliding down sheer rock faces, as was evidenced by the fact that the back of my shorts were completely ripped after 15 miles. Never before had I run out of a large supply of water so quickly — I packed 120 ounces of water in my Camelback in addition to two 20-ounce water bottles of Gatorade, and I was nearly dry after 13.4 miles with the region’s tallest mountain, Mt. Marcy (5,344 feet), still in front of me.

Never before had I experienced such a grueling, demanding hike.

It probably didn’t help that I failed to get much sleep the night prior. My plan was to pitch my tent at the back of the Rooster Comb trailhead, where I would begin the traverse around 5 a.m. the next morning. After a 10-hour drive from Washington, DC, I arrived at the parking lot around 9 p.m. and set up the tent. Ninety minutes later, I was lying awake, listening to the croaking of the frogs in the nearby pond and the zooming of cars passing by on Route 73, slowly falling asleep. That’s when a car full of young “adults” drove up, aimed their bright lights directly at me, and proceeded to rev the engine and then play some gangster rap. Good stuff. I was wide awake.

Forget it, I thought. I packed up my tent and drove into Keene Valley, looking for a cheap hotel, anywhere with a bed. No luck. Finally, I drove into the parking lot for another trailhead farther from Route 73, leaned back my seat, and crept into my sleeping bag. I managed four hours of fitful sleep. At 4:41 a.m., after waking up for about the 27th time, I called it a night and drove back to the Rooster Comb. It was show time.

5:17 a.m. — I get on the trail in the early morning light. For the first hour or so, I use my headlamp as I head up the consistent grade of the trail. I find myself breaking through hundreds of spider webs as I start to sweat profusely. I skip the side trail for the Rooster Comb because, you know, I have eight bigger mountains ahead of me.

7:03 a.m. — During the early stages of the hike, I had dreamt about reaching the “ridge.” Of course, I should have realized from reading about this hike that there is no real ridge on top of the mountains of the Great Range. Rather, as I drop several hundred feet between Lower and Upper Wolf Jaw, I realize that this traverse is different from any other I’ve ever done. For each summit that I gain, it’ll mean a large dropoff. A slow descent followed by a heart-pumping ascent.

8:04 a.m. — Now this is what I’m talking about! I am on the open ledge of Mt. Armstrong (4,200 feet), the third peak of the traverse. The wind is blowing furiously, helping to dry out — at least a bit — my drenched shirt. Spread out before me is an open view of the challenge ahead — the rock-scarred peak of Gothics (what a name!), and in the distance, still, seemingly a LONG way away, the final peak, Mt. Marcy. I pack up the Camelback and continue on.

9:12 a.m. — I am descending the steep, sheer western slope of Gothics. There are black cables drilled into the ledge for people to use as they descend. I kind of use them, but am not comfortable without sliding down on my butt as well. I do this for about 10 consecutive minutes. Slow going. I see the first people of my day, two guys hiking up the Gothics.

11:36 a.m. — No, not this way. And, no, not this way either. I glance around, looking for another route up the steep, sheer rock face on Basin Mountain. I am ascending my sixth peak of the day, and this is not a rare occurrence. Several times throughout the morning, I have come to a rock slab where I have had to scout out the best route up it, using handholds and footholds. It’s not extreme rock climbing, don’t get me wrong, but it’s more technical climbing than I’ve ever done before. … I finally locate a more comfortable route on the left edge of the rock and boost myself up, using a tree limb as a handhold and a slit in the rock as a foothold. Onward!

12:44 p.m. — I am in the open, ascending a summit for the first time today. This feels more like New Hampshire! As I climb the rock face of Mt. Haystack (4,960 feet), I breathe hard and feel the burn in my legs for the first time. To this point, I have traversed about 12 miles and ascended — truly ascended — six summits. Now, for the first time, I see droves of people. This is a popular peak. I exchange pleasantries whenever passing people, and some of them ask me what I’m doing. Most of them are shocked by or have a hard time comprehending my mission for the day. However, I did pass a couple in the col between Saddleback Mountain and Basin who were doing the traverse in the opposite direction. We wished each other luck.

1:38 p.m. — Well, that’s not good. As I descended Haystack after a nice, 10-minute rest on its summit — a customary top-of-the-mountain break for me on this trip — I sucked on my Camelback for a drink and it croaked. It was empty! I had no idea I had consumed 120 ounces of water, but now I’m left with about seven ounces of Gatorade. And as I stand at the junction of the Phelps Trail, which is my descent for the trip, the sign for Mt. Marcy reads “1.3 miles, 1,244 feet.” I have a long ascent without much hydration. Here goes!

2:23 p.m. — I made it! I am standing on top of the Adirondacks’ tallest peak, my eighth mountain of the day. The summit is crowded, with a group of Army guys in fatigues soaking in the sun; several French folks speaking their native tongue; and other groups basking in the brilliant 360-degree views. I, on the other hand, plop down for a few minutes; inhale some more trail mix, my snack of the day; ask a nice, pretty French girl to take my picture on the summit; and then begin my descent. The hike would be all easy from here on out … if I had a decent water supply.

2:42 p.m. — “Thank you so, so much!” I didn’t explicitly ask him, but in talking to me about my traverse, a really nice man out for a hike with his family, has plenty of water and Gatorade to spare and has filled up one of my 20-ounce bottles to the brim. This should make my 5 miles to the John Brooks Lodge (JBL — my initials!) and the next reliable water supply much easier!

3:51 p.m. — … but still difficult. Never before have I rationed water like this, just taking a couple sips every hour. To add to the difficulty, I’m hiking right beside a stream with crystal-clear, cold water. If only I had a way to treat the water! I dunk my head in, but am able to hold off on drinking the water. At least the trail is pretty easy — just a steady descent over rocks and dirt.

4:43 p.m. — And there it is! I have reached the lodge and my sure water supply. I quickly find the water spout, down a full bottle of the glorious hydrator, and realize that this, really, was my last obstacle of the day. From here, it’s an easy 3.5 miles to the finish. Piece of cake!

6:20 p.m. — The finish line! I emerge in the parking lot of The Garden, the trailhead of the Phelps Trail. My hiking day is over. I won’t have to trek anymore in my two-weeks-old boots that felt a big throughout the day, my toes nudging forward a bit on the descents, of which there were many. There will be no more ascents. No more rocks to scale.

My last job is to find a ride into Keene Valley and the Rooster Comb trailhead. It’s an easy one. The first group of guys I ask tell me, “No problem!” When I inform them of my day’s work, they’re a bit impressed. When I tell them this is my first visit to the Adirondacks, they chuckle that I chose to do this doozey of a hike first. Minutes later, I am back at my Honda Civic and my starting point of 13 hours prior. My legs throb, my feet are a bit sore, and did I mention the ripped shorts?

Otherwise, I’m feeling good. It’s time to make the drive to New Hampshire for some mellower hiking.

THE NUMBERS

Miles hiked: 23.8

Summits reached: 8

Highest summit: Mt. Marcy (5,344 feet)

Lowest summit: Lower Wolf Jaw (4,175 feet)

Total ascent: Approximately 9,000 feet

Liquids consumed: Approximately 220 ounces

Food consumed: 4 sandwiches, tons of gorp, and half a bag of Swedish Fish gummies

Weather: Low 80s for the most part, sunny, windy on some of the summits