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)
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