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
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