Algonquin, Iroquois, and Wright

"I do not own an inch of land, but all I see is mine."

                                            - Lucy Larcom

One of the single greatest feelings is having a mountain summit or lake to yourself, or a remote section of stream, knowing the nearest humans are miles away.  It's such a release to have a 360 degree panorama and seeing nothing but a luscious green sea of wilderness, the contours of the hills and valleys like the waves of the open sea.  Hawks and falcons soar below you, you can see the shadows of the clouds; there's not a road or sign of mankind in sight.  And even though I don't own an inch of land, I feel like everything I see is mine, and you begin to get a better understanding of just how special the Adirondacks is.  This is my religion, my spirituality, and I feel a desire obligation to protect and preserve this, one of the last great wildernesses in the lower 48 states.

The MacIntyres Range, composed of Mounts Algonquin, Iroquois, and Wright, are visible and easily defined from much of the High Peaks.  I climbed Algonquin and Iroquois on my second trip into the High Peaks, one day after I summitted Marcy for a second time.  My hiking partner was too worn out from the previous day's adventure to join me, so I left him behind at our leanto at Cedar Point on Lake Colden.  We each had a walkie talkie with a 5-mile radius in order to keep in touch just in case something happened.

No matter which approach you take to Algonquin, either via the Adirondak Loj or Lake Colden, the trail is steep.  I later hiked Algonquin and Wright in the winter as a testament to the fact.  Wright lies just off the shoulder of Algonquin and has it's own stories - on January 17, 1962 a military life was lost when First Lt. Rodney Bloomgren got lost in the infamous Adirondack mountain fog and crashed his B-47E strategic bomber into the mountain during a routine training mission.  Pieces of the plane could still be found near the summit for many years, a delightful scavenger hunt for hikers of many ages.  The route to the summit of Algonquin from Lake Colden, though, departs the main trail just north of the outlet to Lake Colden.  From there, it is consistently VERY steep for only about 2 miles.  Partly way, I became a little confused as to exactly where the trail led, only to find that the route had departed the evergreen wood onto a bare rock slab:

After about 1.8 miles, the trail reaches treeline, emerging from the forest at a col between Algonquin and Boundary Mountain.  Boundary itself would be a High Peak, but it doesn't meet the specific criteria laid out; it does meet the standard of having a 300 foot difference from the nearest promontory, but it lies just 0.3 miles from Algonquin, instead of the required 0.5 miles.  Boundary Peak lies between Algonquin and Iroquois.  Historically, it marked the boundary between the Algonquin and Iroquois nations.  When you reach the col, turn north (to your right) to begin your arduous trek up Algonquin's cap.

Algonquin's summit affords a spectacular view of Mount Colden and it's gnarled slides, while Marcy looms behind it.  You also get great views of the Great Range, and Lake Colden and the Flowed Lands.

There was a "Summit Steward" on Algonquin that day.  These are highly dedicated (and measly paid) men and women who every day hike to the summit and spend the whole day there teaching whoever will listen about the fragile alpine vegetation above treeline, the struggle to preserve and regrow it, and what they can do to help.  As you can see from the picture above, storm clouds began to roll in as I sat on Algonquin.  I strongly considered heading back to camp immediately, but was urged by fellow hikers there to get to Iroquois quickly.  "The only way to get to Iroquois is by going over Algonquin, so it would be a shame to pass up this opportunity" they asserted.  I practically jogged the mile to Iroquois.  It's a roller coaster of a mile, though, since you have to go back down Algonquin's cap, then over the [not so] little bump that is Boundary Peak, through an alpine bog (from Algonquin to Iroquois is all technically trailless, mind you), then scramble up what is basically a 15-foot cliff before reaching Iroquois.

What a great decision it was, though.  A couple hikers were leaving Iroquois just as I arrived.  I asked them to snap my picture with Boundary and Algonquin behind me just before they departed.

Iroquois became, and still is, my favorite High Peak.  After they left, I was alone on the summit.  The mountain was mine.  I could see and hear the last people scurrying down Algonquin's rocky cone, and after they left - nothingness.  I could only hear the wind, MY home base of Lake Colden below, a seemingly never-ending wilderness stretched out before me, and a line from the Matrix came into my mind: "This is my world, my world!!"  It's hard to describe, but that was probably my most spiritual moment in the mountains.  My ethereal stupor was broken by the crackling of the walkie talkie; my hiking partner was warning me of the storm moving in.  I knew I had to get below treeline to be safe from lightning strikes and wind, so I wasted no more time in descending.  As soon as I got back down to Lake Colden, the skies opened up and it rained buckets.


I prefer backpacking to daytrips for the main reason that it allows me more time to relax, take in more of my surroundings, get a full-immersion feeling.  In my opinion, you need one full day to wake up, play, and fall asleep deep in the mountains to really allow yourself to relax; one day where you don't even have to think about packing up, no obligations but to do whatever tickles your fancy that day.  One full day to spend in YOUR own world.