New Hampshire 2014 — a summer of firsts

As I began my time in New Hampshire this summer, I didn't have any huge hiking goals. I planned to continue to chip away at summiting all 48 of the state's 4,000-footers — for the second time. Besides that, I anticipated some fun family hikes, as my nephew Nathaniel and brother-in-law Andrew were in Center Sandwich at our Red House for the first time.

Hike 1 — baby on back!
On my first full day in New Hampshire, I enjoyed my first new hiking experience of the trip — trekking up a mountain with a baby on my back. That's right. I joined the family — the parents, sister Rose, and the aforementioned Andrew and Nathaniel — for a short but steep hike up East Rattlesnake.

Nathaniel was great. Strapped into my pack, he barely made a peep as we (no, just I) sweated our way up the steep dirt path. Upon reaching the summit outlook with tremendous views of Squam Lake, I gave my back a rest and we enjoyed the scenery to ourselves until we were joined by a couple and their dogs. I posed for a few photos with Nathaniel as well as Charlie the Pomeranian, including my new Facebook profile photo.

MILES: 1.6

Hike 2 — Ladders and cliffs, oh my!
On Andrew's last day in New Hampshire, we decided to give him a little bit more of a hike than Saturday's. After all, we want this guy to come back. We needed to get him hooked on the mountains.

Mission (I think) accomplished.

The Morgan and Percival hike is the perfect four-hour casual hike with great rewards. I've done it dozens of times, but it never gets old. After a relatively easy climb through the woods, we reached the famous two ladders — the step from the top of the first to the bottom rung of the second is the most difficult — just below Morgan's rocky summit.

A couple minutes later, we were enjoying the Squam Lake view and our lunches.

After a 0.8-mile ridge hike, we arrived to another great view atop Percival, including limited outlooks of the bigger peaks to the north and east. We then squeezed our way through the caves just below the summit before what I consider a steeper trail back to the road.

NOTE: The path near the road that connects the Percival and Morgan trails and allows you to avoid road hiking isn't clearly named. But take it.

MILES HIKED: 4.7

Hike 3 — Dragonflies photobomb!
On Tuesday morning, I decided I needed my first 4,000-footers of the year. The smaller mountains are nice, but I live for the big guys. So I headed to the Livermore trailhead to do the 11-mile loop over the Tripyramids. Upon arriving to an empty parking lot, I knew there were issues. A minute later I noticed the sign — the trail was closed because of work being done to repair damage from Hurricane Irene.

I couldn't believe it. But upon reflection, it made sense. I remembered hearing about all the damage the 2011 storm caused in the White Mountains. I just didn't think repair work would still be ongoing three years later.

Still thirsty for a hike but not in the mood to drive much farther than the hour I had already spent in the Civic, I drove to the nearby Sandwich Dome trail. I didn't intend to hike all the way to the wooded summit of the mountain, but rather to the impressive Jennings Peak ledge 2.8 miles up the trail.

The hike, as I expected, was extremely steep and it didn't take me long to sweat through my T-shirt. But as is custom when I'm solo hiking, I powered on until I reached an outlook — Noon Peak at the 1.6-mile mark — and enjoyed the views of the Tripyramids and another 4,000-footer nearby, Tecumseh.

From there, the hike up to Jennings is pretty easy, even the 0.2-mile spur. On top, I sat down and enjoyed the mostly clear views of the dome, Whiteface and Passaconway. I didn't realize it at the time, but a photo I took captured not one, not two, not three, but four dragonflies. Oh, my!

I hadn't seen anybody on the way up, but while laying on the rock reading my book, three middle-aged ladies joined me. They were having trouble figuring out their directions, so I helped a bit (I could have said more) before they departed.

I took the Drakes Brook trail, which is longer but mellower, down to complete my nice loop hike.

MILES HIKED: 6.3

Hike (and bike) 4 — Bondcliff!
For the past couple years, I had mentioned to my Dad — the expert photographer — that he had to summit Bondcliff, one of my absolute favorite peaks in the White Mountains. The long, ridge-like top of Bondcliff (4,265 feet) is completely exposed and offers tremendous views in all directions.

The problem, however, is that it's not easy to reach Bondcliff. The shortest route is 9.1 miles — one way. The Dad is in good shape, but is also 60 and feels that's a bit out of his range. That's what had kept us from doing Bondcliff the past couple years.

This time around, Dad came up with a brilliant idea.

When walking the Lincoln Woods trail with Mom and Charlie the dog the week before I arrived in New Hampshire, Dad noticed how flat and bike-able the 2.9-mile stretch was. Just as important, it was legal to bike because it was outside the protected Pemigewasset Wilderness. So the plan was hatched. We would bike a total of 5.8 miles, leaving us with a doable 12.4 miles on foot.

The Dad was still a bit hesitant, but I pointed out to him how relatively easy the Wilderness and Bondcliff trails are; he verified my opinion with the guidebook (a smart move, considering my take on a hike is often vastly different from others'); and we were ready to go. Although every day's forecast was a bit nebulous, Wednesday, Aug. 6, looked the best for clear skies and great views.

We began the hike at 8am, and the bike ride was an adventure. The path had a very slight incline, but that's not what made it somewhat tough. Rather, the old railroad logs across the path served as obstacles, as I swerved back and forth to mostly avoid them, ocasionally holding on tightly as I bumped over them.

(Note: I didn't feel it while biking, but the next day my left wrist hurt whenever I tried to rotate it in different directions. Even a couple weeks later, it's still not back to normal. Riding a straight-handlebar bike on such a path put a beating on my wrist!)

The 1.8-mile Wilderness trail was a walk in the park. It was completely flat. From there, the Bondcliff trail's 4.4-mile ascent was mostly moderate. We stopped after maybe an hour on it to fuel our bodies with sandwiches. I pointed to a spot on the map where I though we had reached. Turns out, we had gone much farther (I found that out soon based on a water crossing).

As we got higher on the path, the trees began to thin, occasional views opened up through the brush, and then we reached the big rock that I remembered — from my 2009 traverse over the mountain — led to the open. We were there.

"Worth it," Dad smiled, mimicking what cousin Caitlin says every time we emerge from tree cover to reach an open view.

A minute later, we were on top of Bondcliff, and the views were tremendous. We were greeted by a perfect mountain sky, white puffy clouds layered over blue. We were also hit by a wind we hadn't felt in the woods.

We found a perfect flat rock overlooking the wilderness to the west and sat down. I devoured some cheese and crackers — best meal on top of a mountain — while Dad took off his sweaty shirt and wedged it between rocks to dry. As we relaxed, a large group of girls (maybe young college?) scrambled over to get their photos taken at our spot. I understood. It was prime real estate.

We had our jackets on. It was cold. They had T-shirts on and had hiked all the way from Galehead Hut with nothing more than what they wore and some water. I tell you, kids are crazy! That's a 5-mile hike — 10 miles round trip — in a place with unpredictable weather.

Dad didn't have his big, heavy camera, but he had his small one. He took some awesome photos of me sitting on the very edge of the ledge. I love having Dad on my hikes!

The way down was uneventful, except for the bike ride. In the late afternoon, we faced the added obstacle of having to ride around dozens of people who had hiked in to Franconia Falls. We survived. We made it back to the car three minutes later than our 5pm goal and headed to the beach for dinner with family friends.

It had been a new experience for us both. A bike-hike up a mountain!

MILES BIKED: 5.8
MILES HIKED: 12.4

Hike 5 — a day around Sandwich
The day after Bondcliff, I put in some manual labor as Dad and I took on our favorite annual Sandwich activity — cleaning the trenches around the house and barn! I didn't let that happen, though, without first beginning my morning with a climb up Eagle Cliff. The 0.6-mile steep path is the absolute best workout.

I'd love to just hike Eagle Cliff every day as opposed to going to the gym. There's no better way to start your day than hiking up rocks, looking for that next handhold, and then reaching the summit with its commanding views of Squam and mountains to the east.

In the late afternoon, after the trenches had been completed, I joined the family plus Aunt Vicky and her extremely energetic dog Sydney for a walk of the Brook Trail in Wonalancet. It was a fun walk alongside a river, and the bonus was that I got to carry Nathaniel on my back again. He loved it. So did I.

MILES HIKES: 1.2 (up Eagle Cliff)

Hike 6 — to Maine! 
Friday brought the excitement of hiking a 4,000-footer I hadn't summited — Old Speck Mountain (4,170 feet) in Maine. Of course, Maine meant a fairly long drive. But when a new peak beckons, the drive is worth it — especially a drive sans any traffic (oh, how I love being away from the city!). After two and a half hours, I reached the trailhead.

The hike up Old Speck involved a short loop over a mini peak called "The Eyebrow." Wanting as many views as possible, of course, I decided I would go over The Eyebrow on the way up. It was extremely steep. Almost near the top, I passed a man and a woman who were not young.

"This trail wasn't made for an 80-year-old," the man said.

All I could respond with: "I cherish my youth."

I continued on, hoping they would survive the descent but also in admiration of them (even if they simply had underestimated the hike). Then I brainfarted (can we make that a verb?). When I reached the fork to go back on the main trail, which was also the AT, I absentmindedly turned left.

The trail was going down. I had figured there would be some descent after the top of The Eyebrow — which had an outlook with great views, by the way — but I hadn't anticipated this. The trail was not going up.

Finally, I stopped in the middle of the trail, really thought about it, and realized my mistake. Thinking more about direction than the map (which I had conveniently left in the car), I had taken the wrong turn. I was en route back to the parking lot. Shit! I turned around and hustled up hill for a good half mile until I reached, again, the intersection. I continued straight, now going up.

The trail from there was no joke. Maine doesn't mess around. It was heavily wooded but steep, with plenty of light green moss making it beautiful, too. Some of the rocks were wet — I believe it had rained the day before — so I took care with each step while trying to maintain a good pace. I wanted that summit.

After what seemed like hours but was actually just two, I emerged from the trees to a a clearing and a fire tower. All that stood between me and the highest point were about 25 ladder rungs to the top of the structure. I took them one by one and reached over the wooden door with one hand while holding on with the other to unlock the hinge. I then climbed onto the wooden platform that maybe had room for three people.

I looked down. I was up a good 30 feet or so. I don't consider myself scared of heights, but I wasn't about to lean over the wooden railing.

It was so worth it. The views in all directions were tremendous. Smaller, sub 4,000-footers and lakes surrounded the peak to the north, east and south. To the west loomed the Presidentials, their tips cloaked in clouds. The sky was simply fantastic. I could have admired that view all afternoon.

But I did want to get back to New Hampshire for my parents' last evening, and I wanted to share the fire tower's views. So I climbed down, and then enjoyed a long but peaceful descent with no wrong turns.

Summiting Old Speck gave me 10 of Maine's 4,000-footers and 63 of New England's 67. My goal is to finish the last four — a bushwhack of Reddington and the three in Baxter State Park far north — in 2015. We shall see.

MILES HIKED: 8.5

Hike 7 — Taking Lee up Mt. Washington!
During my first week in New Hampshire, I learned that I would have the Red House to myself for the majority of my second week in the state. This set off myriad planning, including a trip to Acadia National Park in Maine for my last few days of adventure. It also got me thinking about having a friend visit my utopia, so I wouldn't be relegated completely to solo hiking. The other advantage, of course, would be that I could show someone from the flatland what all this White Mountain stuff I  always hyped up was about.

I knew my DC friend Lee would be in Boston with his parents for a few days, so I asked if he wanted to visit for a day or two. Lee wasn't sure at first, but eventually committed to a night and day in New Hampshire after I pitched a Mt. Washington hike — why not take him up the tallest mountain in New England? Lee was going to come up Saturday evening, the end of a relaxing and working (yes, working!) day for me.

In the mid-morning, Lee asked me if his parents could join him — not for the hike but for the New Hampshire experience. Why not, I thought? Aunt Vicky was accommodating enough to allow it, too. So Saturday evening, Lee and his parents (Mitch and Maria) arrived at the Red House. Lee and I booked it down to the town beach for some swimming as the sun set.

After a late-night game of Stratego (oh, how I love having someone to play board games with!), it was time to crash. We had a big mountain to climb the next day.

Lee was a natural on the trail. We took the pretty standard route from the west, hiking up the steep Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail to Lakes of the Clouds Hut before the final 1.4-mile push to the summit. We then took the Gulfside trail north toward Washington's biggest Presidential neighbors (Clay, Jefferson, Adams and Madison) before heading down the Jewell trail.

I've done this hike many times, so I won't bore you with details, but a few thoughts:

1) As usual, the summit of Washington was unappetizing. We waited in line for about five minutes to get our photo with the peak sign. Yes, stood in line!

2) The hike down from Washington looking north on the Gulfside Trail is the best part of this loop. I just love how those Presidentials stack up. It's a view that never has and never will get old.

3) I learned during this experience that when hiking with someone new to the trail, it's important to let them know sort of the etiquette of hiking. Not to be a stickler, but escaping to the wilderness is unique and things like music playing or cellphone use can take away from it. Lee is great and simply didn't know these subtle tenets of the mountains. I'm glad he accepted my awkward suggestions to cut them out.

4) I've always thought that going down the Ammonoosuc would be more difficult than the Jewell. After this hike, I'm not so sure. The Jewell isn't easy because there's so much rock to rock at the top of the trail over sharp and loose granite. Ammonoosuc didn't seem that difficult on this ascent and many of the rocks seemed to have been built into steps.

MILES HIKED: 9.5

Hike 8 — my first shelter! 
For the past few years, I've thought about doing a camping trip during my time in New Hampshire. There's no better way to experience an exquisite sunrise or sunset from a mountain than by sleeping high up, right? But the allure of doing long day hikes and returning to Aunt Sallie's cooking (or Mom's cooking!) at the Red House has deterred me. As crazy and ambitious of a hiker I am and despite my zest for beautiful views, having family in New Hampshire has kept me coming back to the house each evening. I do like the company.

This year, two factors led to my first overnight camping trip by myself in the Whites.

1) Late last September, I did a two-day, one-night camping trip with cousin Caitlin and her college friends on Franconia Ridge. It was an incredible trip. Read about it HERE. The experience gave me confidence that camping at the established sites in the Whites is enjoyable.

2) I knew that the Red House would be empty the second week of my stay. There was no one to cook for me, no company. If I was going to be by myself, why not in the mountains?

Encouraged by these factors, I set out the afternoon of Monday, August 11, with my heavy backpack. I had triple-checked at the house to make sure I had everything I would need for an iffy forecast and new experience (full rain gear, 800-down coat, winter hat, gloves, stove, matches, toilet paper, headlamp, first-aid kit, water bottle, sandals, book, food, and I'm probably forgetting some items). The pack didn't feel light.

(Note: Sometime very soon, I think I will invest in a much lighter pack.)

The going was pretty easy, though, at least initially. The 2.8-mile Zealand trail to the Zealand Hut is for anybody. Until the last 0.2 miles, it's very, very gradual. It's also beautiful, with a handful of bridges through marshes. At each one, I stopped mid-stride and peered around, half-expecting to see a moose, its legs caked with mud. Alas, there was no wildlife. Just a cool trail.

I stopped at the hut, because that's what you do when you're in the Whites. The full-maintenance huts are so nice, it'd be a shame not to take advantage of them. In this case, I actually did a favor for one of the "Croo" members — college students (or at least mostly) who run the huts, serving meals and performing skits for the guests. Have I mentioned how much I love the huts? Anyway, when I was purchasing a pair of shoelaces from the wooden counter, thinking I might be short on string to help tie my tent to the platform, I mentioned that I was going to the Guyot Campground. That got a Croo member's attention, as she asked if I could carry a message to the campground caretaker. Sure thing, I told her. She proceeded to find a piece of cardboard to write on (the fewer supplies they need, the less weight on their backs coming up to the hut, so no paper!) and craft her message. Once I had that, I was ready to move on.

The 1.2 miles from the low-elevation hut going up the Twinway is no joke. It's very steep and pretty rocky. It's not the toughest stretch in the Whites, but I think it seems even more difficult because it follows the easy stroll on the Zealand path. I busted my butt up it to reach a great viewing spot, where a rock overlooks tremendous views to the south, and took a break. While I was snapping photos, a group came up behind me. I could hear them talking about where they had stayed the night before, and a man mentioned Guyot. When I asked him about the campsite and said I planned on staying there this Monday night, he was a bit skeptical I would get one of their eight first-come, first-served tent platforms.

But it's Monday, I thought. And the weather is iffy. It shouldn't be that populated. Right?

It was around 4pm, though, so I knew I would be one of the later arrivals. Before parting ways, the man pointed to a carved out campsite adjacent to the rock we were sitting on. "Well, I could always come back here," I said, even though that would mean retracing the 3.7 miles I was about to hike.

The hike on the Twinway wasn't anything to write about, so I'll keep this brief. There was some up. There was some down. And there was a little level. I did pass a few spots where I could see people had carved out camping spots off the trail. But they didn't appeal to me. If a big reason I had chosen this hike was so I could enjoy the sunset and sunrise, what would be the point of camping in the middle of the woods far from those views?

After 2.9 miles plus the 0.1-mile spur to the wooded summit of Zealand Mountain (4,260 ft), I emerged from the trees  and saw nothing but sky. At first, it was surreal because I was in a flat space where the spruces were just high enough to shield my vision from neighboring peaks. All I could see were trees and clouds. A minute later, I reached the junction with the Bondcliff Trail, which would take me over Mt. Guyot, the unofficial 4,000-footer, and to the campsite.

The summit of Guyot, even if unofficial, is pretty nice if you can find a flat rock to sit on (not easy). I stopped for just a minute to admire the views across woods below of the always-intriguing Franconia Ridge and the always-in-the-clouds summit of Lafayatte (5,260). But then it was onward. Ever since the view, I had been nervous about the camping situation.

Sure enough, upon arriving at the site six tenths of a mile later, all the tent platforms were booked. The caretaker was out, too, so I didn't have his assistance. In retrospect, I probably could have asked one of the people who was using half a platform if I could have shared. However, being new to the game, I didn't know how platform-sharing etiquette worked.

The good thing was that the campsite featured a shelter. I had never slept in one of the wooden structures before and wasn't sure what to expect. What I got was a night with an old, grumpy man; a woman and her beautiful Golden Retriever; three guys who stumbled in late after, I'm pretty sure, imbibing some whisky atop the peak of West Bond (about a 1.8-mile roundtrip hike from the site that I also did for sunset); another mid-30s woman; and a father and two boys who came in after 7pm without a tent and were lucky that two women volunteered to remove themselves from the shelter and set up a tent on the edge of the platform I probably should have taken earlier. Otherwise, the man and boys would have been in real trouble.

I say all of that to say that, really, I had no complaints with the shelter. I didn't sleep well, but not because of anyone else. There was no snoring. No mice. I had plenty of room to even roll over.

So all in all, it was a good experience — minus the lack of sleep.

I didn't set an alarm for the morning, because I didn't want to wake anyone. Still, I woke up — probably for about the 16th time of the night — close to 6am and hustled up to Guyot, where I caught the end of the sun rising over the Presidential range as shorter peaks on the horizon were engulfed by the mists of morning. I enjoyed the views, although I was frustrated — and cold — by having a match box that didn't work for striking matches. No oatmeal for me!

(Note: after this experience, I made sure to buy lighters; so much easier!)

After returning to the campsite, packing up, filtering water and eating breakfast under the tarp canopy assembled by the site — a nice touch for those in the shelter, where you weren't supposed to take food; the three fellas definitely did! — I headed back the way I had come. Only difference? When I reached Guyot, everything was clouded over. I could see maybe 50 feet in any direction. Oh, well. I had already experienced the views.

I returned via the Twinway to Zealand Hut, where I bought a bowl of their midday soup (creamy tomato) to fuel up for my final peak of the trip — Mt. Hale (4,054 feet). I took the Lend-A-Hand trail up the mountain, one of the ugliest mountain trails I've been on in New Hampshire, with plenty of steep pitches, too! The summit is a big clearing with no views, but it felt good to bag another peak — as I continue to accumulate all of New Hampshire's 48 4,000-footers for a second time.

I went down the tame Hale Brook Trail 2.2 miles and then walked 0.9 miles on the dirt road — dipping my feet in the river during a break — to complete my trip, and my 2014 New Hampshire hiking experience.

MILES HIKED: 20.8

TOTAL NEW HAMPSHIRE MILES HIKED: 65

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

(Photo album)

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

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

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

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

Day 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The spikes would debut on Day 2.

Miles hiked: 9.7

Peaks bagged: Big Slide (4,240 feet)

Day 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miles hiked: 12.6

Peaks bagged: Phelps, Table Top

Day 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miles hiked: 8.4

Peaks bagged: Giant, Rocky Peak

Day 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miles hiked (approximate): 4

Peaks bagged: Mount Joe (2,876)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Camelback Mountain in the distance from Piestewa Peak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Greg and I at Plateau Point overlooking the Colorado.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 2!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Greg and I atop Picacho Peak.

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

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

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

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

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