Preface: I was tempted to jump into the fray yesterday re: proper snowshoe usage (though i'm having trouble locating the specific TR). I was going to weigh in on the side of microspikes. I was going to say that i know they get a bad rep, but if you're only one person and you're traveling the superhighway from the Loj to the Dam there's absolutely no reason to shoe it out there when you can make better time in the spikes and not really inconvenience anyone. My home range is the Whites, where everyone microspikes all the time. I was going to say, "this is mountain climbing, you get up the thing the best you can. Snowshoes flatten everything down afterward anyway. Let's stop being babies and hike the trails." Those would have been big words coming from a forum newbie. They also would have been dead wrong. Observe...
Saw in the forecast Monday was going to be maybe the best day i've seen yet: partly cloudy, about 15 degrees, 5-10 mph breeze coming out of the south. Now that i've been here a couple weeks and understand the lay of the land a bit better, a weather report like that sends my head spinning. Do i act strategically - check the trail conditions reports and go get something difficult, something that would be really complicated by bad weather? Or do i take it easy - go to the Great Range or somewhere not very complicated that i know is screaming for a nice day because the views are going to knock me into tomorrow?
In this case, i went with the latter.
Hit the Lake Rd. at 7. Cold enough for face protection, but clear and warming rapidly. Bare-booted the four miles from the lot to the bridge for the Gothics and Scenic trails in no time. Had planned to take the Scenic. Put on my snowshoes and even though it looked like the lone set of prints going that way had been rubbed away a while ago, i stuck to it. Bagging's not all about getting the peaks. We come out here to revel in it, to take the scenic route. Well, i was going to take the Scenic Trail! Hit my first three foot drift maybe 200 yards in. Ok, this is going to be interesting. Hit my first four foot drift 50 yards later. Noticed the worn bootprints of my predecessor vanished a few hundred feet back. Do i really want to do this? Solo, heavy bag, still a newb here with little idea what to expect. If everybody and their second cousin is going up the Gothics trail, i guess i'll defer to the majority and make my stand somewhere else. Decided that place would be on the forum for the Great Snowshoe Debate.
Crafted my argument on the way up to Sawteeth. Trail was packed all the way. Expected after the weekend and no snowfall the night before. Not a soul to be found or heard anywhere. Kept wishing i could shut up all the sound i was making. Breathe quieter. Silence the crunch underfoot. Muffle the squeak the poles make twisting in the snow. Ground the airplanes passing in the sky. Then maybe, just maybe, i could hear the woods as they actually are. Hell, i could solve the Great Falling Tree Debate then, too. Arrived at the summit of Sawteeth to the lone sound of a lonely woodpecker. And a view i'll never forget.
I'd been told by a fellow hiker my last time down the Lake Rd to reserve a good day for these peaks. "Thank you, Jerry. You absolutely nailed it." I'll not take the time here because i intend to address the differences in depth in a later entry, but one of the starkest differences between the DAX and the Whites is, quite obviously, the slides. It's like these mountains are trying to shed their mortal coils and launch themselves ever upward. They have no time to hold soil, they shirk the responsibility. Their goals are loftier. The overall effect is that these mountains demand respect. You can almost see, if you stare long enough, your own battered body bouncing off the face of one of these interminable rock slabs into the bottom of Nevermore. Fin put a pretty fine point on it the other day while we were passing the east side of Colden along Feldspar Brook looking up at three gigantic slides.
"It's not that that mountain looks like it wants to kill you, per se. It just looks like it doesn't give a *%$# what your ambitions are on it." Compare this with, say, the south slide on the Tripyramids in NH. That slide is so inviting it reminds you of a sandbox. "Come frolic on me," it beckons. But i digress.
Took in the view and made my way over to Gothics, a mountain with a name so cool you feel like you owe it something. Where, i have to say, i was shocked to find drifts and nothing but. Some 6-8 inches deep. I was vexed. Either no one hiked for the past couple days between Gothics and Sawteeth, which i find almost impossible considering the weather we had over the weekend. Or that range saw some substantial snowfall last night, which of course is always feasible, but this snow wasn't fluffy and fresh. It was crusted in places. Between that and mistaking Basin for the Wolfjaws and not being able to reconcile my map to fit my error, i thought i was walking through the twilight zone. Toward Gothics. Fitting.
Came, quite suddenly, upon the only human being i would see all day. Young guy. Biblical name. Said he'd come up from Rooster Comb and over the Wolfjaws. He was in great spirits. "Feeling good in God's creation," he said. Feeling good in microspikes, i noticed. It was a funny thing to note, because i'd been composing my pro-spike defense till just then. We talked ten minutes or so, then before we parted company, he went into a long spiel about Jesus and how i should read the Good Book, and how if i didn't i was already halfway to hell and i thought, one: "Man, if this kid only knew how much closer i am to Hell than that..." and, "Really? The only person i run into up here and he's preaching gospel to me? On my way to Gothics, no less?" I started looking out for Rod Serling standing just off-camera.
In the kid's defense, he seemed a very genuinely nice kid. And i'm sure he was doing what he thought was right. It's just that when you're out seeking a silence you can't even conjure alone, the last thing you want to hear is someone thumping a book in your ear. Regardless of the title. But as long as we were swapping gospels, i thought to teach him the one about proper trail footwear. Thou shalt wear snowshoes... But i kept it to myself since i wasn't really convinced one person wearing spikes was a problem.
Then i was. Absolutely convinced. Heading up toward Pyramid stepping in all the narrow semi-posts he'd made, my shoes kept catching just the sides so that my toe wouldn't touch the snow and my feet kept slipping with almost every step. I was amazed to find the amount of snow on the trail was growing, inexplicably. And with it, Mr. Microspikes' post-holes were getting serious. Regrettably, yet incessantly, i began to curse his biblical name.
Yet nothing could defile the view from the top of Pyramid. "Best in the Adirondacks?" i second. Best that i've seen, anyway. It reminded me of Franconia, but with a little extra umph. Little heavier gravity. And covered in snow like they were, the Alps had nothing on the Great Range this day. i lingered for a good while.
The trail between Gothics and Armstrong was a winter walkway wasteland. The snow had to have come before or during the weekend because there were more boot tracks in the snow than a day could have done. It looked like a stampede of buffalo had tromped through it. And just like that, you could say, in a manner of speaking: i saaaaw the light! There on Gothics, i was converted. "i swear to the Almighty i will wear my shoes religiously from here to eternity or at least to the Loj, forever and ever, amen." And the argument was resolved. And the clouds broke. And i saw that it was good.
I could have stayed up there for hours. The wind picked up only ever so slightly. It was just me and the Great Range, basked in sunlight, covered in snow, surrounded by the sound of silence.
I toyed with the idea of doing Upper Wolfjaw, even though i'd already checked it off the list the week before. "Bagging isn't the only reason we come up here," i reminded myself. And then, more to the point: "Why hike down there on a snowmobile road when i can hike up here in paradise?" But it was getting late then, so i trucked it down Beaver Meadows, which had, to my utter delight, been packed by some responsible snowshoers.
And i kept it that way. And i saw that it was good.
Saw in the forecast Monday was going to be maybe the best day i've seen yet: partly cloudy, about 15 degrees, 5-10 mph breeze coming out of the south. Now that i've been here a couple weeks and understand the lay of the land a bit better, a weather report like that sends my head spinning. Do i act strategically - check the trail conditions reports and go get something difficult, something that would be really complicated by bad weather? Or do i take it easy - go to the Great Range or somewhere not very complicated that i know is screaming for a nice day because the views are going to knock me into tomorrow?
In this case, i went with the latter.
Hit the Lake Rd. at 7. Cold enough for face protection, but clear and warming rapidly. Bare-booted the four miles from the lot to the bridge for the Gothics and Scenic trails in no time. Had planned to take the Scenic. Put on my snowshoes and even though it looked like the lone set of prints going that way had been rubbed away a while ago, i stuck to it. Bagging's not all about getting the peaks. We come out here to revel in it, to take the scenic route. Well, i was going to take the Scenic Trail! Hit my first three foot drift maybe 200 yards in. Ok, this is going to be interesting. Hit my first four foot drift 50 yards later. Noticed the worn bootprints of my predecessor vanished a few hundred feet back. Do i really want to do this? Solo, heavy bag, still a newb here with little idea what to expect. If everybody and their second cousin is going up the Gothics trail, i guess i'll defer to the majority and make my stand somewhere else. Decided that place would be on the forum for the Great Snowshoe Debate.
Crafted my argument on the way up to Sawteeth. Trail was packed all the way. Expected after the weekend and no snowfall the night before. Not a soul to be found or heard anywhere. Kept wishing i could shut up all the sound i was making. Breathe quieter. Silence the crunch underfoot. Muffle the squeak the poles make twisting in the snow. Ground the airplanes passing in the sky. Then maybe, just maybe, i could hear the woods as they actually are. Hell, i could solve the Great Falling Tree Debate then, too. Arrived at the summit of Sawteeth to the lone sound of a lonely woodpecker. And a view i'll never forget.
I'd been told by a fellow hiker my last time down the Lake Rd to reserve a good day for these peaks. "Thank you, Jerry. You absolutely nailed it." I'll not take the time here because i intend to address the differences in depth in a later entry, but one of the starkest differences between the DAX and the Whites is, quite obviously, the slides. It's like these mountains are trying to shed their mortal coils and launch themselves ever upward. They have no time to hold soil, they shirk the responsibility. Their goals are loftier. The overall effect is that these mountains demand respect. You can almost see, if you stare long enough, your own battered body bouncing off the face of one of these interminable rock slabs into the bottom of Nevermore. Fin put a pretty fine point on it the other day while we were passing the east side of Colden along Feldspar Brook looking up at three gigantic slides.
"It's not that that mountain looks like it wants to kill you, per se. It just looks like it doesn't give a *%$# what your ambitions are on it." Compare this with, say, the south slide on the Tripyramids in NH. That slide is so inviting it reminds you of a sandbox. "Come frolic on me," it beckons. But i digress.
Took in the view and made my way over to Gothics, a mountain with a name so cool you feel like you owe it something. Where, i have to say, i was shocked to find drifts and nothing but. Some 6-8 inches deep. I was vexed. Either no one hiked for the past couple days between Gothics and Sawteeth, which i find almost impossible considering the weather we had over the weekend. Or that range saw some substantial snowfall last night, which of course is always feasible, but this snow wasn't fluffy and fresh. It was crusted in places. Between that and mistaking Basin for the Wolfjaws and not being able to reconcile my map to fit my error, i thought i was walking through the twilight zone. Toward Gothics. Fitting.
Came, quite suddenly, upon the only human being i would see all day. Young guy. Biblical name. Said he'd come up from Rooster Comb and over the Wolfjaws. He was in great spirits. "Feeling good in God's creation," he said. Feeling good in microspikes, i noticed. It was a funny thing to note, because i'd been composing my pro-spike defense till just then. We talked ten minutes or so, then before we parted company, he went into a long spiel about Jesus and how i should read the Good Book, and how if i didn't i was already halfway to hell and i thought, one: "Man, if this kid only knew how much closer i am to Hell than that..." and, "Really? The only person i run into up here and he's preaching gospel to me? On my way to Gothics, no less?" I started looking out for Rod Serling standing just off-camera.
In the kid's defense, he seemed a very genuinely nice kid. And i'm sure he was doing what he thought was right. It's just that when you're out seeking a silence you can't even conjure alone, the last thing you want to hear is someone thumping a book in your ear. Regardless of the title. But as long as we were swapping gospels, i thought to teach him the one about proper trail footwear. Thou shalt wear snowshoes... But i kept it to myself since i wasn't really convinced one person wearing spikes was a problem.
Then i was. Absolutely convinced. Heading up toward Pyramid stepping in all the narrow semi-posts he'd made, my shoes kept catching just the sides so that my toe wouldn't touch the snow and my feet kept slipping with almost every step. I was amazed to find the amount of snow on the trail was growing, inexplicably. And with it, Mr. Microspikes' post-holes were getting serious. Regrettably, yet incessantly, i began to curse his biblical name.
Yet nothing could defile the view from the top of Pyramid. "Best in the Adirondacks?" i second. Best that i've seen, anyway. It reminded me of Franconia, but with a little extra umph. Little heavier gravity. And covered in snow like they were, the Alps had nothing on the Great Range this day. i lingered for a good while.
The trail between Gothics and Armstrong was a winter walkway wasteland. The snow had to have come before or during the weekend because there were more boot tracks in the snow than a day could have done. It looked like a stampede of buffalo had tromped through it. And just like that, you could say, in a manner of speaking: i saaaaw the light! There on Gothics, i was converted. "i swear to the Almighty i will wear my shoes religiously from here to eternity or at least to the Loj, forever and ever, amen." And the argument was resolved. And the clouds broke. And i saw that it was good.
I could have stayed up there for hours. The wind picked up only ever so slightly. It was just me and the Great Range, basked in sunlight, covered in snow, surrounded by the sound of silence.
I toyed with the idea of doing Upper Wolfjaw, even though i'd already checked it off the list the week before. "Bagging isn't the only reason we come up here," i reminded myself. And then, more to the point: "Why hike down there on a snowmobile road when i can hike up here in paradise?" But it was getting late then, so i trucked it down Beaver Meadows, which had, to my utter delight, been packed by some responsible snowshoers.
And i kept it that way. And i saw that it was good.
Beaver Meadow Falls
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