You have to earn it.
That's what Dix told me today. Told me to pass it along. Not like folks don't know, everyone here's had their a$% handed to them on a day or two in these mountains. Had a sudden snow squall deny them a peak; had a twisted ankle on a snow-covered root end their day; had a wind 40-50 mph more than they were expecting bring them to their knees. "Every knee shall bend" a new friend told me recently. It certainly felt that way up in the Dix Range today.
We made it. (I'll spare you the drama). The Dix Range is broken from 73 to Round Pond. You're welcome to it. But even if you've been there, i'd consider bringing along a buddy, or a guide, or a guide-buddy - they're the best kind :) The broken route's not quite as direct as your map's neatly dashed lines would have you believe. That's not a dig on the trailbreakers; it's acknowledgement that there's no trail up there. Maybe there is in summer. Maybe there was in early January. It's late February and the snow and wind has come; there's no trail up there.
Because i'm convinced by what i've seen that words cannot bring justice to these mountains, i'll provide just the briefest description of the day.
Cold and clear. Better than the weather said. Sun coming through the trees with no leaves to obstruct it, no clouds to filter it. Inge's waiting at Round Pond to car spot. She's Lovely to see first thing in the morning. Happy. Alive (!). Better than coffee. "The mountains are magic" say her eyes. In drives Great Expectations. Easy. Even. Eager. Says he stayed at TMax last night. A Frog will be vulturing behind us. We fire out of the car so excited we have our snowshoes on before the TH and walk a hundred yards on pavement in them. We set out on a blistering pace and make the base of Grace Slide in two hours. We're soaked. Spirits dry and toasty, we ascend. We get lost in the col. GPS is confuddled. It confuddles us. We 'shwack around and find the trail. Grace is a gift of bare rock and sunlit views south out over a million lakes. 42.
Inge says she's cold and leaves the summit. We don't see her again until South Dix. She's drinking chocolate protein shake. We're shaking the snow off our necks from the sometime trail/sometime 'shwack route we followed in her footsteps. Have to hand it to her. She's like a bloodhound for peaks. She gets a scent and heads straight for them. Me and GE are a foot and a foot and a half taller than her, respectively. I suspect but don't say that we caught a lot more of the trail in the face than she did. I crush a chocolate shake myself and we drop down into the col for Macomb. 43.
Macomb is bagged. Elk Lake is a picture postcard. We pass the Frog on the way down. He says when he's done with this he's going to DisneyWorld. Inge laughs at the juxtaposition. The Frog likes a cruise, a beach, a place to unwind, and who could blame him; to each their own and thank God for that. Back on South Dix to retrieve the bags and make the real push. Convo is light and optimistic. We're high on mountains. 44.
Over Puff. Trail is lost again. Foot and a half of powder far as the eye can see. We stay as high on the ridge as possible until it kicks us off. Thickest 'shwack ever where a trail was listed. I feel like Bob Marshall on his first ascents. I'm a kid in a snow castle, in a blanket fort. Everything is new. We've caught the Frog but he's nowhere to be found. I go left again toward the ridgetop, lose sight of everyone. No sound. After ten minutes i call out. Responses come from three sides. Unbelievable this trail. We reconvene and fight our way up. The Frog is showing signs of frustration, no doubt already half on a beach somewhere. Other half on the side of a 20' sheer ledge with snowshoes slipping. GE is gassed. Inge, as usual, up ahead and out of sight. It's 3:00 before i see the peak with GE. Huff and Puff - funny. I get it. 45.
I stop for a long time on Hough. Let GE get out ahead. The wind is blowing but i'm not chilled at all. Feels like home to me now. Staring at the Beckhorn. Epic peak. What a way to end! Start to get sentimental. Never want to come down. Sun is steadfast in the sky despite the late hour. Locked in just behind a thin cloud. Never want to come down.
Inge's on the ridge just below the Beckhorn. She shouts. I yodel. She's with the Frog, i'm sticking with my wingman. 4:00 as we top the Beckhorn. Camera won't work. Figures. Some things are too special to capture with a click. Inge's waiting at the peak. A hug. GE smiles and snaps a few as i kiss the summit. "How's it feel?" She says. "Did i do it?" "You did it!" "I thought Hough was gonna kill us all," i say. 46.
She's cold and headed home. Come on around again sometime she says. And she's off. Force of nature, that one. GE and i take a long while to take in the scene. Heading down, the view of the entire damn park is laid out like an afghan i want to curl up in. Everywhere i've been; I can see my blue hard shell hustling over each peak. Now i know where to look. Know where trails go. Know where they connect and where they don't. What's possible and what ain't. Know them by name. Know that, as life goes, like the man said: "knowing how way leads on to way," if i should ever see them again. At least like this.
And this is the sadness in the beauty. Why when it's good your stomach buckles a bit. And the clearest vista becomes blurry through your sightline. I just wanted to feel like i'd been here. Descending with that view outstretched before me was the greatest gift these mountains could have given. i am Grateful.
Protect this place.
Would never have been possible were it not for the kindness and generosity of those who have helped me at every step along the way. You know who you are. i am indebted.
Take care of each other.
i'd Love to stay. But as the man said:
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But i have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep...
And miles to go before i sleep.
That's what Dix told me today. Told me to pass it along. Not like folks don't know, everyone here's had their a$% handed to them on a day or two in these mountains. Had a sudden snow squall deny them a peak; had a twisted ankle on a snow-covered root end their day; had a wind 40-50 mph more than they were expecting bring them to their knees. "Every knee shall bend" a new friend told me recently. It certainly felt that way up in the Dix Range today.
We made it. (I'll spare you the drama). The Dix Range is broken from 73 to Round Pond. You're welcome to it. But even if you've been there, i'd consider bringing along a buddy, or a guide, or a guide-buddy - they're the best kind :) The broken route's not quite as direct as your map's neatly dashed lines would have you believe. That's not a dig on the trailbreakers; it's acknowledgement that there's no trail up there. Maybe there is in summer. Maybe there was in early January. It's late February and the snow and wind has come; there's no trail up there.
Because i'm convinced by what i've seen that words cannot bring justice to these mountains, i'll provide just the briefest description of the day.
Cold and clear. Better than the weather said. Sun coming through the trees with no leaves to obstruct it, no clouds to filter it. Inge's waiting at Round Pond to car spot. She's Lovely to see first thing in the morning. Happy. Alive (!). Better than coffee. "The mountains are magic" say her eyes. In drives Great Expectations. Easy. Even. Eager. Says he stayed at TMax last night. A Frog will be vulturing behind us. We fire out of the car so excited we have our snowshoes on before the TH and walk a hundred yards on pavement in them. We set out on a blistering pace and make the base of Grace Slide in two hours. We're soaked. Spirits dry and toasty, we ascend. We get lost in the col. GPS is confuddled. It confuddles us. We 'shwack around and find the trail. Grace is a gift of bare rock and sunlit views south out over a million lakes. 42.
Inge says she's cold and leaves the summit. We don't see her again until South Dix. She's drinking chocolate protein shake. We're shaking the snow off our necks from the sometime trail/sometime 'shwack route we followed in her footsteps. Have to hand it to her. She's like a bloodhound for peaks. She gets a scent and heads straight for them. Me and GE are a foot and a foot and a half taller than her, respectively. I suspect but don't say that we caught a lot more of the trail in the face than she did. I crush a chocolate shake myself and we drop down into the col for Macomb. 43.
Macomb is bagged. Elk Lake is a picture postcard. We pass the Frog on the way down. He says when he's done with this he's going to DisneyWorld. Inge laughs at the juxtaposition. The Frog likes a cruise, a beach, a place to unwind, and who could blame him; to each their own and thank God for that. Back on South Dix to retrieve the bags and make the real push. Convo is light and optimistic. We're high on mountains. 44.
Over Puff. Trail is lost again. Foot and a half of powder far as the eye can see. We stay as high on the ridge as possible until it kicks us off. Thickest 'shwack ever where a trail was listed. I feel like Bob Marshall on his first ascents. I'm a kid in a snow castle, in a blanket fort. Everything is new. We've caught the Frog but he's nowhere to be found. I go left again toward the ridgetop, lose sight of everyone. No sound. After ten minutes i call out. Responses come from three sides. Unbelievable this trail. We reconvene and fight our way up. The Frog is showing signs of frustration, no doubt already half on a beach somewhere. Other half on the side of a 20' sheer ledge with snowshoes slipping. GE is gassed. Inge, as usual, up ahead and out of sight. It's 3:00 before i see the peak with GE. Huff and Puff - funny. I get it. 45.
I stop for a long time on Hough. Let GE get out ahead. The wind is blowing but i'm not chilled at all. Feels like home to me now. Staring at the Beckhorn. Epic peak. What a way to end! Start to get sentimental. Never want to come down. Sun is steadfast in the sky despite the late hour. Locked in just behind a thin cloud. Never want to come down.
Inge's on the ridge just below the Beckhorn. She shouts. I yodel. She's with the Frog, i'm sticking with my wingman. 4:00 as we top the Beckhorn. Camera won't work. Figures. Some things are too special to capture with a click. Inge's waiting at the peak. A hug. GE smiles and snaps a few as i kiss the summit. "How's it feel?" She says. "Did i do it?" "You did it!" "I thought Hough was gonna kill us all," i say. 46.
She's cold and headed home. Come on around again sometime she says. And she's off. Force of nature, that one. GE and i take a long while to take in the scene. Heading down, the view of the entire damn park is laid out like an afghan i want to curl up in. Everywhere i've been; I can see my blue hard shell hustling over each peak. Now i know where to look. Know where trails go. Know where they connect and where they don't. What's possible and what ain't. Know them by name. Know that, as life goes, like the man said: "knowing how way leads on to way," if i should ever see them again. At least like this.
And this is the sadness in the beauty. Why when it's good your stomach buckles a bit. And the clearest vista becomes blurry through your sightline. I just wanted to feel like i'd been here. Descending with that view outstretched before me was the greatest gift these mountains could have given. i am Grateful.
Protect this place.
Would never have been possible were it not for the kindness and generosity of those who have helped me at every step along the way. You know who you are. i am indebted.
Take care of each other.
i'd Love to stay. But as the man said:
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But i have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep...
And miles to go before i sleep.
just finished your last post - thanks for taking us with you through the blog. What an adventure! Hope your reentry was seamless. All the best to you and Fin. :)
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