Anyone would've expected we'd run into problems at 4,000 feet in negative temps. It is winter, after all. There are certain hazards that we'll need to look out for. But expectations seem to have a way of bucking trends, of rebelling like angsty teenagers against...well, what you expect.
Upon Arriving In Saranac Lake:
Ten minutes in we almost crashed the car. Drove into town, quaint little village, really. Reminds me of a woodsy Coney Island. A throwback. This will be home base for our winter try at the High Peaks. We're excited. Happy we made it. We head down the street to find the grocery store to stock up for the week. We're leaving the quiet neighborhood we're staying in, coming down a hill that empties out onto the main drag through town. It's snowing and there's fresh slush all over the road. Fin's Subaru must not have been expecting the steep grade of the hill, or the ice under its wheels, because when Fin hit the brakes we started to slide directly into the middle of traffic and missed t-boning an F-250 by three feet at most. In the Adirondacks there are innumerable cliffs to topple off of, ice sheets to slip down, wind to pick you up and toss you right off the face of the earth. WE try to pick up oatmeal and nearly broadside a pick-up truck. I took it as a metaphor: we're strangers here with no idea of the ins and outs of the landscape; proceed with caution. Fin took it more literally: you can't fall off a mountain if you can't drive to it.
Initial Experience of a Local Mountain Weather Forecast:
I'd expected to hike the difficult ones with Fin, the herd paths, the bushwhacks, the compass and map marches. But in the North Country, (not the North Country like they refer to northern New Hampshire) but the True North Country of the Adirondack region, delivers a cold snap the likes of which the northeast hasn't seen in years, at least not where we're from. We're packing our gear with an eye to camping with the other eye fixed on the weather. Negative 60 on the top of Marcy. Negative 60?! Seriously?!! I was in Fairbanks, Alaska last March where -5 was the rule and -20 was common. You adjust, you acclimate. Acclimated to -60 is just a long way of saying "dead." So Fin and I have been day-hiking instead, knocking out the peaks within seven or eight miles of a trailhead just to get our feet wet. Note: The absolute LAST thing you want to do while hiking in -60, -40, or -20 is to get your feet wet.
Initial Experience of The Actual Weather On a High Peak:
"The mountains make their own weather" we were told by a grizzled New Hampshiran in Crawford Notch last fall. Guy seemed like he lived in a lawn chair by the trailhead just to discourage city-slickin' Bostonians. But over time, hiking in the Whites, I found his statement to be mostly true. Weather can change in an instant up there. Three days ago we hiked up Big Slide, a mountain perfectly situated to provide one of the best views in all the Adirondacks. And throughout the morning on the way up it did not disappoint. Amazing views of the Great Range (!) along the rock outcroppings on the way. Back into the trees, we didn't get another view until reaching the summit at noon. Complete graywash. Couldn't see the moss on the rocks in front of you. 30 below. Tagged the top, headed down. Regained the feeling in my thumbs sometime after 2pm.
Initial Experience of a "Brook" In The Adirondacks:
What does the term "brook" mean to you when describing a body of water? Were i to say, for example, "Meet me down by the brook," what do you picture in your mind? For me, i see a stream, a wash, a 'crik' as folks down south say. In other words, something manageable. It babbles, it gurgles and flows, but with a rock hop or two, or even just a long lunge it's navigable. Fin and i hiked a mile and a half into the woods on our way to summit two peaks today, Street and Nye. I was having a great time. It was a "herd path," one of the unmaintained but heavily traveled "trails." It was our first herd path and i was feeling confident because we were navigating it smoothly. Old growth cedar stood like ancient sentinels to both sides. I had just mentioned to Fin what an awful nice trail it was, in fact, when we came to a halt by the side of what the map and trail description had dubbed: "the brook." We were to cross it, and continue on our way. Okay.... From where we were standing it didn't look too passable. Water was humming five feet deep in the middle, sending chunks of ice down its current like stock cars down a track.
"You sure this is the crossing?" Fin said.
"I can see the trail on the other side. See?" He nodded, that yes, he could in fact see. Okay....
We looked 300 yards down one way. Nothing. We bushwhacked along the edge 300 yards the other way. Nada.
"Well what the hell are we supposed to do now?" I said that. About that time, another couple of hikers arrived at the edge of the screaming flood river. The man had been there before. In summer. Piddling puddle of water this brook was then, he explained. Cross it without getting your shoes wet.
"That thaw yesterday. I was afraid of this," he said. See, the insane cold front had given way to one day, one day, mind you of above-freezing temperature, and with it, a bit of rain. Well that was all this flow-way needed to transform itself from a babbling brook into something out of the Old Testament.
The mountains make their own weath--Yup. Thanks, old guy. Got it.
Upon Arriving In Saranac Lake:
Ten minutes in we almost crashed the car. Drove into town, quaint little village, really. Reminds me of a woodsy Coney Island. A throwback. This will be home base for our winter try at the High Peaks. We're excited. Happy we made it. We head down the street to find the grocery store to stock up for the week. We're leaving the quiet neighborhood we're staying in, coming down a hill that empties out onto the main drag through town. It's snowing and there's fresh slush all over the road. Fin's Subaru must not have been expecting the steep grade of the hill, or the ice under its wheels, because when Fin hit the brakes we started to slide directly into the middle of traffic and missed t-boning an F-250 by three feet at most. In the Adirondacks there are innumerable cliffs to topple off of, ice sheets to slip down, wind to pick you up and toss you right off the face of the earth. WE try to pick up oatmeal and nearly broadside a pick-up truck. I took it as a metaphor: we're strangers here with no idea of the ins and outs of the landscape; proceed with caution. Fin took it more literally: you can't fall off a mountain if you can't drive to it.
Initial Experience of a Local Mountain Weather Forecast:
I'd expected to hike the difficult ones with Fin, the herd paths, the bushwhacks, the compass and map marches. But in the North Country, (not the North Country like they refer to northern New Hampshire) but the True North Country of the Adirondack region, delivers a cold snap the likes of which the northeast hasn't seen in years, at least not where we're from. We're packing our gear with an eye to camping with the other eye fixed on the weather. Negative 60 on the top of Marcy. Negative 60?! Seriously?!! I was in Fairbanks, Alaska last March where -5 was the rule and -20 was common. You adjust, you acclimate. Acclimated to -60 is just a long way of saying "dead." So Fin and I have been day-hiking instead, knocking out the peaks within seven or eight miles of a trailhead just to get our feet wet. Note: The absolute LAST thing you want to do while hiking in -60, -40, or -20 is to get your feet wet.
Initial Experience of The Actual Weather On a High Peak:
"The mountains make their own weather" we were told by a grizzled New Hampshiran in Crawford Notch last fall. Guy seemed like he lived in a lawn chair by the trailhead just to discourage city-slickin' Bostonians. But over time, hiking in the Whites, I found his statement to be mostly true. Weather can change in an instant up there. Three days ago we hiked up Big Slide, a mountain perfectly situated to provide one of the best views in all the Adirondacks. And throughout the morning on the way up it did not disappoint. Amazing views of the Great Range (!) along the rock outcroppings on the way. Back into the trees, we didn't get another view until reaching the summit at noon. Complete graywash. Couldn't see the moss on the rocks in front of you. 30 below. Tagged the top, headed down. Regained the feeling in my thumbs sometime after 2pm.
Initial Experience of a "Brook" In The Adirondacks:
What does the term "brook" mean to you when describing a body of water? Were i to say, for example, "Meet me down by the brook," what do you picture in your mind? For me, i see a stream, a wash, a 'crik' as folks down south say. In other words, something manageable. It babbles, it gurgles and flows, but with a rock hop or two, or even just a long lunge it's navigable. Fin and i hiked a mile and a half into the woods on our way to summit two peaks today, Street and Nye. I was having a great time. It was a "herd path," one of the unmaintained but heavily traveled "trails." It was our first herd path and i was feeling confident because we were navigating it smoothly. Old growth cedar stood like ancient sentinels to both sides. I had just mentioned to Fin what an awful nice trail it was, in fact, when we came to a halt by the side of what the map and trail description had dubbed: "the brook." We were to cross it, and continue on our way. Okay.... From where we were standing it didn't look too passable. Water was humming five feet deep in the middle, sending chunks of ice down its current like stock cars down a track.
"You sure this is the crossing?" Fin said.
"I can see the trail on the other side. See?" He nodded, that yes, he could in fact see. Okay....
We looked 300 yards down one way. Nothing. We bushwhacked along the edge 300 yards the other way. Nada.
"Well what the hell are we supposed to do now?" I said that. About that time, another couple of hikers arrived at the edge of the screaming flood river. The man had been there before. In summer. Piddling puddle of water this brook was then, he explained. Cross it without getting your shoes wet.
"That thaw yesterday. I was afraid of this," he said. See, the insane cold front had given way to one day, one day, mind you of above-freezing temperature, and with it, a bit of rain. Well that was all this flow-way needed to transform itself from a babbling brook into something out of the Old Testament.
The mountains make their own weath--Yup. Thanks, old guy. Got it.
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