The Great Range

"Climbing is the lazy man's way to enlightenment. It forces you to pay attention because if you don't, you won't succeed, which is minor - or you may get hurt, which is major. Instead of years of meditation, you have this activity that forces you to relax and monitor your breathing and tread that line between living and dying. When you climb, you always are confronted with the edge. Hey, if it was just like climbing a ladder, we all would have quit a long time ago."

- Duncan Ferguson

Hiking is a very spiritual sport. In baseball and football, you're facing the other team; in tennis and wrestling, you're trying to defeat another person. But in hiking, there is no one to defeat, and you don't "conquer" the mountains unless they allow you that honor. There's a lot of honor and respect in this noble sport: you honor and respect the mountains, and you thank them for allowing you to share their beauty. Moreover, it's about respecting yourself, knowing your bounds, and pushing yourself - it builds self-discipline so that you don't push your limits to the point of danger. The point of hiking is not to win, it's to grow and experience.

While working at Camp Pack Forest, we hiked almost every day. By the end of the summer, I was in the best shape of my life. I had a short break towards the end of the season, and I wanted to do something memorable. My friend Keith and I had been poring over our High Peaks topographical map and guide book, as well as my favorite go-to book about that area: Exploring the Adirondack High Peaks. We wanted to do Gothics because from everything we had heard while researching, it was a gorgeous hike with one of the best views in the Adirondacks; however, it was in the middle of The Great Range, a mountain range consisting of six High Peaks: Lower and Upper Wolf Jaws, Armstrong, Gothics, Saddleback, and Basin. It did not seem prudent to us to do the middle peak in this range, due to the way the trails were set up around it, without doing the others. So, we decided to be "epic" and "gnar-tastic" (words we actually used haha) and do all six in one day!

We got off work after dinner at Pack Forest, around 6 pm, and headed right up to begin our hike from The Garden trailhead. Our objective for the first night was Wolfjaw Leanto, about 4.5 miles in. Beginning so late, it was not long until we were hiking in darkness, though. This was the first time I had backpacked at night :) Around three miles in, we reached a trail junction just before Johns Brook Lodge and Johns Brook itself. After signing it, we headed left towards our destination, soon crossing a new suspension bridge.

Hiking in at night, after a long day at work, we became pretty tired. We became a little disoriented, due to the darkness and because neither of us had been on this particular trail before, and we thought that we had possibly passed the leanto without noticing it. Rather than exhaust ourselves looking for it, since even then we might not have found it (since we didn't know what it looked like), we decided to make camp in a small clearing off to the right of the trail and start from there the next morning.

From our research, we had gathered that there is no reliable source of water once you enter the Great Range. After breakfast, we filled our bottles at a nearby stream - Keith filtered 3 liters and I brought 3 1/2 liters, or about a gallon, for what should have been about a 17 mile hike from our present location, over the range, and ending at Slant Rock, our destination for the night. Beginning down the trail, we soon encountered Wolfjaw Leanto on the left side and continued past it, soon coming to a trail junction. You head left here to summit Lower Wolfjaw and then have to descend back to this point to journey over the rest of the range; the roundtrip to Lower Wolfjaw is just one mile.

The jaunt up Lower Wolfjaw is steep and sandy. With full packs on, something I was not accustomed to in the High Peaks since I normally set up a base camp and day hike from there, it was somewhat more difficult than I had anticipated, our packs trying to drag us backwards. We reached the wooded summit with some effort and took a short break to down some water and eat a granola bar or two, already wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. Although the summit is wooded, you get a good view out over Johns Brook valley and can see down the length of the Great Range, with Marcy looming over and behind it.

We descended Lower Wolfjaw and began our way up Upper Wolfjaw, knowing that time was one our biggest enemies on this day.  When we neared the summit of Upper Wolfjaw, another "eh" peak, we saw storm clouds skirting us, seemingly over Giant Mountain, and echoing rumbling thunder through the mountains. We had to pause for a short time to try to determine where the storm was moving and if it would be safe to be on an exposed summit. After determining that the storm was actually moving away, we continued onward.

The spine of the Great Range began to show its difficulty between Upper Wolfjaw and Armstrong Mountain. Most trails near summit in the High Peaks have their difficult sections in which you have to scamper up bare rocky outcroppings or somehow finagle your body up an 8-foot boulder. Since much of the range's ridge is above 3,500 feet, most of the ridge was like an extended trail full of these difficult sections, and while wearing a full pack, not only does the weight pulling on you make this harder, but so does the awkwardness of it protruding behind you. Nevertheless, we soon reached Armstrong Peak, which has a very beautiful summit with your first expansive views.

A few minutes after we arrived at Armstrong, it seemed the entire community of hikers descended upon us like horseflies. After getting one to snap the picture above, we gathered our bags and pressed onward, motivated by the knowledge of having already completed three peaks. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all! Wrong.

The High Peaks have a way of making you sorry for even the slightest notions of overconfidence.

From Armstrong: Majestic Gothics, our next objective

Between Armstrong and Gothics is the only trail that bisects the Great Range from Johns Brook valley. Most of the hike between Armstrong and Gothics is not too difficult.  By this part of our journey, we had acquired a walking rhythm that required no thinking - it was as natural as breathing. You dip only slightly until about a half mile from Gothics, then ascend steeply to the summit, as Gothics is slightly more than 400 feet taller than Armstrong. The books don't lie, though: the view from Gothics' summit is spectacular. Only when we paused to take a break on the summit did I start to realize that I was beginning to tire. We took a break to refuel, and Keith examined our map and the progress we were making in relation to the time of day, while I searched for the summit button and one of Verplank Colvin's original copper summit button bolts, which he did long before the USGS Survey (I didn't find them unfortunately. Phooey!), and marveled at the beautiful alpine gardens.

Notice how much more tired I look in this summit pic than on Armstrong's?

As we were leaving Gothics, we met a man coming from the other direction. He was incredibly unprepared for where he was; I was surprised that he had made it this far, even. He wore blue jeans, a simple white undershirt, and flat-soled sneakers. He had a walking stick, but no backpack, no map, and only one bottle of water, which was dry by this point. He had no idea where he was going. I was legitimately concerned that he was going to hurt himself. Though I myself was running low on the water I had carefully rationed, we could not let this man pass without trying to help. So, I poured half a liter of my water into his bottle (wincing inside as I did so) and Keith gave him a few iodine tablets (for purifying water), and we directed him to the trail junction down to Johns Brook, the nearest source of water, a well traveled route, and there is a ranger station close by.  The trail junction was not far, but the actual distance to Johns Brook would take him at least an hour to travel.

It's at this point that the journey enters the realm of epic stories.

The descent down the back side of Gothics is incredibly steep; so steep, in fact, that there are steel rods pounded into the rock face and a steel cable running through their eyeholes, so that you may lower yourself with the cable, as a spelunker might rappel down into a cave. This part would have been scary had I been dayhiking with suction cups attached to my appendages; while carrying a pack that weighed around 40 pounds, it was terrifying. I can't even begin to fathom doing this in the winter.

Most of it is a lot steeper than this. However, this is the beginning, the only place I could stand and take a picture.

After lowering yourself down off the bare rock using the cable, you continue to descend steeply.  The area between Gothics and Saddleback is a deep col, which is disheartening to a tired hiker who knows he must then ascend that same distance to reach the next summit. Nevertheless, we pushed onward. Our time was growing short since the descent of Gothics was slow and took up more time than we had planned. You can have as many plans as you want in the High Peaks, but sticking to them is nearly impossible. After a while, you just kind of say "Screw the plans" and keep putting one foot in front of the other...

We climbed steeply to the next mountain, Saddleback, and were on the summit before I knew it. I had thought Gothics would be the highlight of the range, but Saddleback was actually my favorite. It's a jewel, a diamond in the rough. Being situated between Basin and Gothics, with no direct trail access, to only way to reach it is to go over one of the two mountains. The view from Saddleback is astounding, though. You can see the entire Johns Brook valley, like you can in the rest of the Great Range. However, your views of Armstrong and the Wolfjaws is now obscured by Gothics. Looking Southwest, you get a great view of Lower and Upper Ausable Lakes. My favorite view was North, however, where you are confronted with the epic facade of Basin and monumental Marcy peeking over the top, appearing ominous and intimidating. The view simply took my breath away. In fact, it's the picture I use as this blog's header! :)

I had thought the descent of Gothics was rough, but the descent of Saddleback is even tougher. I had heard about the steel cable on Gothics, but had heard nothing about the difficulty of Saddleback, so while I was able to mentally prepare for the former, the latter took me completely off guard. There is no steel cable to grab in case you begin to fall, and for several hundred feet of descent it is bare rock, completely exposed. It's so steep it required mild rock climbing (you simply can't descend with just your feet, you will have to use your hands); if you were to fall, I'm not sure when you would stop...

After completing this treacherous section of trail, we quickened our pace, since we were noticably slowing due to fatigue. Spurred on by the fact we had but one more mountain to complete, we soon reached Basin Mountain, which at 4,827 feet is the ninth tallest mountain in the state. While it is indeed taller than both Gothics and Saddleback, and though we were pretty tired by this point, in terms of difficulty it doesn't hold a candle to those two mountains. It has a large summit and since it was getting late in the day and the mountain is so remote (one of the most remote trailed peaks), we had the summit to ourselves. While usually I am ecstatic to have a peak to myself, the feeling I had this time was different. I don't recall actually directly thinking anything bad, I think deep down inside I felt "I am really tired, it's getting late, and this mountain is very remote. If something happens to me, I am up excrement creep without a paddle." It is an interesting experience being on a summit that late in the day, though. The color of the sunlight in the waning afternoon shining on the mountains was realy gorgeous and welcome deviation from my usual view of them. The sunlight was much more orange than usual and cast different shadows, exposed different textures in the topography - it's a difficult moment to describe.

I stumbled down the descent of Basin. My legs were close to giving way and I ran out of water before reaching the base of the mountain. I started dragging my feet, causing me to kick rocks and roots, tripping myself, and actually fell once. We reached the trail junction with the Haystack Trail and the Shorey Shortcut; head straight here for one mile to reach Haystack or right for a little over a mile to reach Slant Rock. It was the most difficult mile of my life. I became dizzy and fell a couple more times. My pace was dramatically decreased and I thought I would never reach Slant Rock. It took almost an hour and a half or grit and determination, but we finally reached Johns Brook and Slant Rock. When we got to the water, I plunged my face in and gulped directly out of the stream. I knew it was wrong to, that drinking without filtering the water exposes you to Giardia. Keith even scolded me and asked me to stop, but I didn't care. I was so thirsty I was willing to take the risk. After satiating myself somewhat, we both filtered two bottles of water and claimed a camping spot.

We dropped our packs just outside out tent after setting up, and took our bear canister to a small clearing next to Slant Rock itself, in order to eat dinner away from your campsite, as it is recommended in order to make sure bears don't come scoping out your bivuoac later. We were eager to get some dinner in us before darkness fell. Not long after sitting down on our log bench and putting on a pot of water to boil, a woman briskly walked down the trail from the direction of our tent and asked "Does any one here own a green hiking pack that they left by a tent?". "Um, yeah I do." I replied. "Why do you ask?" ""Because right now a bear is dragging it away into the forest", she goes.

Without even thinking about it, I shot up like a rocket and bolted for my tent. What would I do if I lost my pack? As I rounded the corner to our campsite, I heard a heavy rustling and, rounding the bend, saw the trees just behind my tent bristling. I couldn't see the bear itself, but I could see the trees moving where it was shaking them and hear it pushing through the underbrush; it was just feet into the woods and I had missed it by mere seconds. It had dropped my pack right at the edge of the woods, so I grabbed it to examine. The bear had tore a fist-sized hole near the top of my pack, near the cinch cords. I had accidentally left in the bag a gallon-sized ziploc bag that was still half-full of a trail mix called "GORP", which stands for "Good Ol' Raisins and Peanuts". The bear had pulled this bag out through that hole, forced a large hole in it, and sucked down all the trail mix in a matter of seconds. I felt bad for forgetting the mix in my bag due to my exhaustion, and because of the damage to my pack, but at the same time marveled at the (for lack of a better word) awesomeness of black bears.

This sudden surge of adrenaline and excitement kept me up for an hour or so, but soon absolute exhaustion took its toll. Soon after darkness, Keith and I laid down, and passed out to the sound of other campers talking in the distance.

The next morning, we packed up and left early. We had to be back at work for lunch, so we really had to hurry. It's seven miles back to the Garden from Slant Rock, but we managed to cover that distance in about three hours. The only difficult part was crossing streams with a full pack on :-P

This hike taught me alot. It forced me to be more focused than I normally have to be on my hikes. It kept my confidence in check, teaching me that no matter how easy something seems, no matter how experienced you get, you can still make mistakes, and that if you lose your focus for a moment you can pay for it. But, it also taught me that with determination and prudence, you can accomplish more than you had ever thought you would; just a few years ago, I never would have believed I could hike six High Peaks in one day. Most of all, this trip taught me that you can spend a lifetime in these mountains and hike the same trails over and over again, and no two hikes will ever be the same. The opportunities for adventures and stories in the Adirondacks are endless.

Tongue Mountain Range

"There have been joys too great to be described in words, and there have been griefs upon which I have not dared to dwell, and with these in mind I say, climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are naught without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime.  Do nothing in haste, look well to each step, and from the beginning think what may be the end."

- Edward Whymper

The Tongue Mountain Range is one of the wildest places in the Lake George Park.  Many have mistakenly called it simply "Tongue Mountain", but it is in fact a range.  The range derives its name from its appearance - the peninsula appears to jut out into Lake George like a tongue, separating Lake George on the East from four-mile-long Northwest Bay to the West.  The Tongue Mountain Range consists of six peaks along a ridge: First Peak, French Point Peak, Fifth Peak, Five Mile Mountain, Huckleberry Mountain, and Brown Mountain.

The majority of hikers in the Tongue Mountain Range Wilderness begin their treks at Clay Meadows, about five miles North of the town of Bolton Landing.  Fifth Peak and Five Mile Mountain are the most popular destinations from this trailhead, with relatively little traffic seen South of there.  Fifth Peak is a relatively easy 2.5 miles from the trailhead and has a leanto on top.  It has a field behind it that is fantastic for stargazing (it's my favorite spot to go in August for the Perseid Meteor Shower), but there is no water nearby, so you will have to carry in all your drinking and cooking water.

There's a great loop trip I did while working at Camp Pack Forest that uses this campsite as your first night's stop on a 3 day/2 night backpacking trip.  The second day is somewhat grueling, traversing the spine of the ridge, including three peaks, and then descending to the lake at Montcalm Point, or what some call "Point of Tongue".  It is seldom visited by dayhikers and provides a rarely-viewed perspective of Lake George, the islands of The Narrows, and The Sagamore Resort.

My favorite view from the Tongue Range is from French Point Mountain, which is 1.5 miles past Fifth Peak, making for an 8 mile roundtrip from Clay Meadows.  The terrain between Fifth and French Point Peaks is probably the most rugged of the peninsula, as well.  Lake George was part of a pivotal corridor between Montreal and New York City during the French and Indian War in the mid-18th century.  The lake is 32 miles long and anywhere from 1-3 miles wide.  At the northern end sits the town of Ticonderoga, home to Fort Ticonderoga (which is actually on nearby Lake Champlain), and the southern end is home to Fort William Henry, immortalized in the film adaptation of James Fenimore Cooper's Last of the Mohicans.  Lake George was a powderkeg of conflict during the French and Indian War, and the name of French Point Peak harkens to this colonial era.  From this peak, one can almost imagine the warships and batteaus making their way down the lake.  And, at an elevation of 1,756 feet, the view looks almost straight down on the state camping islands of The Narrows approximately 1,400 feet below.

The Tongue Mountain Range is also one of the only places in the Northeast that is home to the Timber Rattlesnake.  These snakes are striped tan and brown and blend in well with the undergrowth, pine needles dusting the forest floor, and pine cones.  They will sometimes come out on the trails to sun themselves, and more than once I have come close to absentmindedly stepping on one!  As such, the Tongue Mountain Range requires an added measure of prudence ;-)

Phelps Mountain

"Every mile is two in winter."

 - George Herbert

The VanHoevenberg Trail is the most used trail in the Adirondacks, and for good reason.  Starting at the Adirondak Loj, this trail is the primary route up Mount Marcy.  Along the way, it also bring you to Marcy Dam, one of the major trail hubs, a popular camping spot, and a common final destination for novice hikers or those without much time to spare for a longer trip.  Some hikers and backpackers, however, call the VanHoeverberg "The Adirondack Highway"; in some spots it is as wide as a road, there is very little elevation gain from it's start until Marcy Dam (2.3 miles in), and packed down about as hard as concrete.

In early 2009, my buddy Kaleb and I planned a winter ascent of Phelps and Tabletop Mountains, which are both reached by following the VanHoevenberg.  Winter hikes have proven to be much more difficult to me than my summer backpacking trips.  Even with trekking poles, you posthole all the time in the spaces between boulders filled in by snow drift.  Try as hard as you might, and even bringing extra hats and mittens/gloves, I've always gotten every piece of clothing I brought soaked through.  Most of my food becomes frozen, even though I do my best to keep it warm, and even keeping the lid of your nalgene from freezing shut is a chore.  On my winter hike of Algonquin and Wright, Kaleb and I had planned to stay overnight at Marcy Dam.  Even using my ice axe, it was basically impossible to break through the surface of the lake to make getting water easier.  Everything was a huge pain.  We had also kept an eye on the forecast that week, and every day the forecast for the day got colder and colder.  Even still, it wasn't supposed to get colder than 0 degrees, and my sleeping bag was rated to 0, Kaleb's to -20 degrees.  I brought a fleece liner and figured I'd be ok.  Neither of us could stay asleep at night, however, waking up several times due to the cold.  At one point, my feet had extreme pins-and-needles pain and my buddy couldn't stop shivering.  It was at that time we decided to pack up and head back to the trailhead, even though it was 3 am.  When we arrived back at the Loj, we checked the thermometer and it read -15 degrees.  Even though we had prepared, winter camping is very uncomfortable and highly dangerous.  But I digress...

So Kaleb and I hiked in from the Loj, sights set on two peaks for the day.  By this point we were fairly seasoned hikers and we arrived at Marcy Dam in no time.  The skies were overcast, leading us to worry some about summit weather.

We took a quick break to fuel up at the Dam before continuing onward.  It's important to stay hydrated and also to eat enough while winter hiking, even more so than while hiking in the summer.  It is estimated that a person of average size burns between 450 and 500 calories per hour of snowshoeing, and you also dehydrate faster because the air is so dry and it's windy, both of which suck the moisture right out of your skin.  Continuing past the Dam, stay on the Marcy trail.  In another 0.8 miles you will come to the trail junction with the Phelps trail.  From there it is only another 0.6 - 0.7 miles to the summit.

Phelps Mountain is named after Orson Schofield Phelps, also known as Old Mountain Phelps.  He's a prominent figure in Adirondack history.  He boasted of climbing his favorite mountain, Marcy, over 100 times and in 1850 guided two women to the top and back, gaining local renown for guiding them safely there.  

I look pretty much the same, right? 

Phelps Mountain is the 32nd highest mountain in New York State at an elevation of 4160 feet.  Although it is only #32 in height, it has wide expansive views of Mounts Marcy, Haystack, the McIntyre Range, and more, with an incredible perspective looking right down Avalanche Pass.  It's summit is very small, though, only the size of a standard kitchen.  On a day such as when we hiked, there were many people up there, which caused some traffic jams on the trail near the top and made the summit somewhat congested.

We stayed on the summit longer than planned in order to get some solitude.  We waited out everyone else who had summitted that day to get the peak to ourselves.  Partly due to how long we stayed on the top though, and partly because of the added physical demands of hiking in the winter, we decided not to attempt Tabletop; eight miles in snowshoes was enough for one day.  I will say, though, that winter hiking gives you a crisp feeling that's hard to come by in other months.