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)

8.15-16, 2013 — Peak bagging in the Adirondacks

8.15-16 — Hiking the Adirondacks

Day 1 — Cascade and Porter, 6.2 miles

For the second straight year, I made a side trip from my usual New Hampshire vacation to hike in New York’s Adirondacks. Similar to the White Mountains in my every-year summer utopia, the ‘Dacks have a 4,000-footers club comprised of 46 peaks. I had knocked off eight in tackling the Great Range in 2012. My goal was to add five during two days this year.

After a drive that took over 5 hours on back roads in New Hampshire, Vermont then New York, I arrived at the trailhead for Cascade and Porter Mtns. at 3pm on Thursday, Aug. 15. I wasn’t too concerned about the late start because, according to my guidebook, these were two of the easiest 4,000-footers. Still, I slipped into my trail running shoes and took off at a brisk pace. Very quickly, my research was affirmed as I passed dozens of young kids on the trail. Yep, this was the easy one.

The trail was wide almost the entire 2.1 miles to the junction and offered plenty of different routes. Heck, the trickiest part was choosing which rocks or roots to step on (or over). Upon reaching the split — after having passed over 100 people — I decided to do the longer 0.7 miles to Porter first.

And it was MUDDY. Yep, the hardest part of my hike was keeping my shoes from being submerged in the thick, brown stuff (which I only kind of succeeded at). On top of Porter’s small but rocky summit, I was treated to views in all directions. I met a nice couple from Albany who talked briefly about their time living in D.C. I met another older couple with a good sense of humor. When the woman sneezed, she said she did it on every summit. God Bless!

After mostly eluding the mud on the return hike to the junction, the 0.3 miles up Cascade was fun and almost entirely on open rock. It was steep. It was distracting. And I had a fun time searching for each yellow blaze. Once on top, I had the wide-ranging views all to myself. Imagine that. On a summit that had seen probably 500 people during the day, by 5pm, it was EMPTY sans for a swooping raven who I thought was very interested in my gluten-free blueberry muffin. After taking it all in, I headed down, returning to the car around 6:30pm.

I then drove the 8 or so miles to the ADK Loj campground at Heart Lake, which is located where the trailhead to Algonquin Peak (5,114 feet, second highest in the ADK) begins.

The ADK grounds are really cool. Not only are there campgrounds, but there’s a lodge similar to the ones in the White Mountains in terms of services provided (if not elevation). There are also canvas cabins similar, I imagine, to the ones in Yosemite’s Curry Village, lean-tos, and a High Peaks Center with a little store, showers and restrooms.

Oh, and the lake. The small lake sits just below the lodge with great view to the west of a nearby ridge. There’s a dock with four chairs overlooking the water, a swimming area, and for a small fee you can rent kayaks and canoes. It’s a really cool facility.

Day 2 — Wright, Algonquin, Iroquois, 11.7 miles hiked

I was surprised at how deeply I slept Thursday night and didn’t emerge from my tent until 8am on Friday. It was fairly warm outside and I felt overly dressed in my fleece. After buying a new gas canister from the nearby store, I boiled water for oatmeal and had a filling breakfast. I geared up for the hike and was on the trail by 9am.

The first 3.4 miles on the Algonquin Trail to the junction for Wright Peak wasn’t all that different from the 2.1 miles I had hiked past the swarms of kids, dogs, and a blind person the day before — wide, rocky, rooty, not that steep. I was surprised when I came upon the spur for Wright (at 3.4 miles) after an hour and 15 minutes. Wow, I was making good time.

The 0.4 miles up to Wright’s 4,580-foot peak was no joke, with several steep rocky slabs to navigate before the trail completely emerged from the trees. From there, it was more steepness. As I huffed my way up the granite, I was impressed by a unique cairn that looked more like a concrete pillar than a pile of rocks. It had clearly been expertly constructed. On top of Wright, I chatted for awhile with a summit steward in charge of spending most of the day on the summit making sure people stay off the fragile vegetation and answering any questions. The guy told me how Mt. Colden (just to the south) had its northern side stripped of trees by a recent hurricane (he thought Irene) and how it wasn’t that difficult to hike up the slabs. He also identified all the nearby peaks and spoke on the importance of using microspikes on hikes beginning in October (maybe in my future). He then took a few photos of me on top and wished me well.

The 0.9 miles up Algonquin was what I expected — STEEP. But it didn’t seem particularly long. Maybe doing ascents such as the brutal 1,200 feet in 0.8 miles up South Twin has steeled me for such things. In any case, when I reached the summit, I didn’t stay for long, choosing to go ahead and get Iroquois and then relax on my way back.

After a fairly easy 1.1 miles down and up, I came upon the last stretch of hiking to the summit of Iroquois (4,850) and noticed two girls standing in front of a rocky ledge. They offered the challenge to me and, aided by my long legs, I slid my way up it. I didn’t want to interfere with their hike, so I continued the hundred feet or so to the open summit. But after a few minutes of not seeing them, I walked back to the ledge and they were still standing there, smiling, clearly having not figured out a way up. This is not to paint me as a savior by any means, but I offered my hand to one of them, and she grabbed it and climbed up the rock. She then helped her friend up. I’m sure they would have made it without my assistance, but it still felt good to do something for someone else on a mountain (a rare occurrence during my hiking adventures). As we chatted on top, I learned that the girls live in the Keene area where many of the high peaks are located. It was cool to meet some natives. We took our summit photos and then they parted for Algonquin. After knocking out a chapter of my Tony La Russa book, I did the same.

Hiking one 5,114-foot mountain is no joke. Doing it twice in an hour’s span? Very serious stuff. That’s what I did, although the steep ascent over flat rock slabs didn’t seem too bad. Maybe that’s because I knew I could chill on the summit for as long as I wanted, basically, and then it’d be all downhill. I love being on summits, but I’m not one to linger forever (I’ve just got this thing about moving) so after maybe 30 minutes, I was on my way down.

About a half mile from the summit, as I studied a long, steep, and somewhat wet rock slab, an older woman who was letting me pass gave a tip — act like you’re skiing. At first it didn’t register, but then I got it and used the advice the rest of my descent. If you keep your boots sideways as you walk down the steepest rock slabs, you’re much less likely to slip and bite the hard stuff.

Great advice!

I got back to the campground around 4:30pm, giving me a few hours to relax before darkness. I enjoyed the time as much I could, visiting the High Peaks store, going for a refreshing swim in Heart Lake (just a little colder than Squam in New Hampshire), taking a hot shower (a quarter buys you a minute!), then cooking some soup to go with cheese and crackers and finally taking my book to read on the dock.

As the sky darkened, the few clouds over the close western ridge gave the sky an ominous yet comforting look. I don’t know how else to describe it. There weren’t too many stars, but that was OK. I couldn’t think of another spot better to take in my last night away from reality (and before the insane traffic of the next day’s drive!!).

TOTAL MILES HIKED: 17.9 (about 62 total for two-week trip)

Full photo album!

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