Pharaoh Mountain - 28 Jun 2014

I went for a run up Pharaoh Mountain a few weeks ago, to work on my ability to run up and down steep terrain, and also to get some elevation.  The views were fantastic, but the mosquitoes were vicious.

I parked at the end of Crane Pond Road, and started getting ready to run.  The mosquitoes were already out and looking for a meal, so I went for the picaridin right from the bat.  While I was getting my stuff together, I chatted briefly with another runner, who said he was going up to the trailhead and then running back.  He and his dog set out fairly quickly, and I thought about how great it would be to live close enough to this system that a 4 mile run would be worth the drive.

I set out, along a wide woods road, trying to take in as much as I could while still moving quickly.  I heard and then saw a small waterfall off to my left, running strong from the recent rains.  The other runner passed by on his way back, moving at a quick pace.  There was one car parked at the trailhead for Goose Pond, which was all I expected to see, but then there was another at a small bend in the road.

Then the road dipped down, all the way down until we were in the drainage plain of Alder Pond.  I had been able to avoid the puddles until now, but a road-sized muddy puddle stood before me.  It was impossible to see the bottom, but I knew what to do.  I plunged bravely in, trying to avoid widening the ... road ... and immediately stumbled.  I expected it to be 6-8", but it was much, much deeper.  At least 18", though it wouldn't have surprised me if it was 24".  Down I went, and my left knee smashed into what must have been gravel in a shallower section of the puddle.  I had gone to the puddle near the right edge of it, and it only occurred to me after I had shredded my knee to pieces that the edges of the puddle would be the deepest, due to vehicular traffic.  Where my knee had hit was where I should have been running.

It looked like I had a small gash on my knee.  Nothing too bad.  I could fix it up when I got home.  I pushed on, and found myself standing in a large, pine needle covered parking area.  There were at least ten trucks and SUVs there, though I didn't stop to count.  The moment I stopped running I was swarmed by mosquitoes.  The trailhead was off to the right, and I pushed on, stopping for a moment to clean the mud off of my hands in the outlet of Crane Pond.

The road had been fairly level, never flat, but very runnable.  The trail was fairly runnable, too, and in some places it was as wide as a road, an indication that it might have been one, at some point.  The trail register wasn't too far beyond the bridge over the Crane Pond outlet.  I stopped to register, and then pushed on, still hounded by the mosquitoes.  After a few more strides I stopped, put my pack on a rock, and applied another round of picaridin.  It stung on my knee, but it worked.  The mosquitos backed off once again.

Again I pushed on, taking a left at the next junction, heading south now, toward the mountain.  Whenever I stopped, I was swarmed, so I did my best to just keep pushing.  I reapplied the picaridin a few times, and the effect was the same.  As long as I was hiking, I was generally ok.  Once I hit the steeper portion of the trail, I decided to just keep hiking, to see if the mosquitoes would stay away.  It worked, for the most part.

The trail guide describes the hike as exposed ridge, and that's technically correct, though inaccurate.  The portion where the trail is has been eroded away down to the bedrock in many places, but this is not, in any way, shape, or form, an exposed ridge.  There is a small, 15' section that is exposed (about 10' of exposure) on a herd path paralleling the trail.  That's it.

Exposure has three meanings here, so, in case that wasn't clear:
1) You are hiking on bedrock that has been exposed through erosion.
2) You are not very likely to fall.  (There are cliffs near the summit area that you could fall off of if you REALLY tried.  Keep your kids on their leashes.)
3) You are never above the treeline.  (There are a few large tree-less areas on the summit, and that helps with the view.)

Despite never actually getting above the treeline, there are *fantastic* views from the summit.  After getting up to the summit area, I headed left, scrambled up some rocks and soaked in the view.  I could see Schroon Lake, Desolate Swamp, and the High Peaks off to the northeast.  It wasn't immediately obvious which peaks I was looking at, though I could make out some of the Great Range, which helped with orientation.  The PeakFinder app helped fill in the pieces: the three most prominent peaks I was seeing were Marcy, Dix (the Beckhorn), and Giant.  That struck me: I was standing on the highpoint of one wilderness area and looking at the highpoints of three others.

After a snack and a few glorious bug-free moments in the sun, I went to explore the rest of the summit area.  Just beyond the turn off for the summit proper is a trail leading to a designated camping area.  (I didn't realize there were any designated camping areas on summits, especially prominent summits like this, but it makes sense to keep people in an area that can take it.)  I found the remnants of a fire there, but the flies buzzing about kept me moving on.  Beyond the camping area was another massive open slab, which I explored a bit.  Eventually I was driven away by flies, and I started heading back.  Just before I left the summit area, I found a small wooden structure, like a stash box, a few feet off of the trail, and further down the trail, a small cave that didn't seem to go anywhere.

I wasn't able to run on the steeper section due to the water on the bedrock, which kept the rocks slick.  Once I was past the exposed bedrock, I was able to run some, and that's when I started to run into a steady stream of hikers: one miserable looking guy with a bug net, an older couple resting on a rock, who warned me about the troop coming up the trail, followed by several other smaller couples and even a few small dogs.  When I got down to the water there were canoes out on Crane Pond, and as I ran the road back toward my car, I had to step off several times to make room for the vehicles coming through.  I also saw what I had missed the first time through: a small herd path through the weeds right next to the road where the puddle-trap was.

I made it back to the car more or less intact, and stopped at the Stewart's in Schroon for a snack before making my way back home.

I think I'm more or less done with running on trails in May, June and July.  I can keep the mosquitoes at bay fairly well with long sleeves and picaridin, but it fails utterly and miserably when I'm wearing short sleeves and sweat enters into the equation.  The other non-DEET sprays I've tried, using citronella or oil of Lemon Eucalyptus, follow the same pattern.  So I think it makes more sense to stick to double track when the bugs are at their worst, where I can move more quickly and not bother with bug spray.

Moreau Lake State Park - 1 Jun 2014

I went for a run today at Moreau Lake State Park, to explore the 15k route some, and to continue my mileage build-up for Savoy.  I parked at the Baker/Western Ridge trailhead again, off of Spier Falls Road, with the intention of running down the Western Ridge Trail, over to Mud Pond, then up and over the ridge to pick up the Western Ridge Trail on the other side.  My goal was 6 miles, and I hadn't spent a whole lot of time plotting it out, figuring I'd adjust my route as I went.

As I was getting sunscreen and bug spray on, I chatted with a couple who had driven up shortly after me.  They said they were heading up the Western Ridge (the other way), and I chuckled a bit, saying that it was a bit steep.  They asked how steep and I said that it climbed a couple hundred feet, and they shrugged it off and said it would be fine.  I haven't actually walked up that trail, but running down it was steep and intense.  I said I'd see them out there, and headed off.

I started out way too fast, and it took a while for me to slow myself down.  It's mostly downhill from the parking lot to Mud Pond, and my body was screaming "let's go fast!".  I managed to rein myself in after the second stream crossing, where the trail heads up for a little bit, and settled in to a more reasonable pace.  The trails get nicer around there: fewer rocks and a lot more stable footing, but it was hard to enjoy.  There was what looked like bear scat along the trail, and I'd find more of it every few minutes.  (It was large; the smallest animal it could have come out of was a coyote, but it looked like the animal had been eating mostly berries.  I looked around for the source of the berries that the animal had been eating, but couldn't find them.)

Once I got down by Mud Pond, I started seeing other people quite a bit.  I ran around what I thought was the pond, and did my best to pick out the trail based on my memory of the race course map from last year.  In actuality, I ran around the northern portion of Moreau Lake, and then over an isthmus with a small break to allow boat traffic to travel between the two portions of the lake.  After that point, I was at the beach area proper, with several hundred (possibly a thousand) other people, from the look of the parking lot and the crowds gathered on the beach and at the various picnic areas.  It was *crowded*.

I made my way along the beach, and breathed a sigh of relief as I got away from the crowds.  I ran in front of the cabin along the white trail, which was occupied, and eventually came to a portion of white trail that was too overgrown to use.  There was a blaze right before the overgrown area, so I was certain that I hadn't stumbled upon a herd path.  My choice was to either run through the water next to the trail, or switch over to the road.  I crossed the road, looking to see if the Red Oak Ridge trail connector I was looking for was there, but it wasn't, so I ran through the water, which was shallow.  I'm not quite sure how that trail will look in September.

From there, I got to a boat launch area across from the Warming Hut.  I stopped to use the restroom (between the crowds and the mosquitoes, a wise choice), walked right past the trailhead for the ROR trail, and continued along the white trail.  I got to the point where the white trail hits the road, and started scouting around for a connector that I had seen during the winter.  The sign or marking was gone, as far as I could tell, but I could see the ROR trail, so I walked over to it and started running along it.  Not long after that, I came to a point that I remembered from my winter run through here.  Now, seeing it in summer, it looked like a herd path, and the real path appeared to run down to the Warming Hut.  I ran down, hoping to get some insight, but the trail ended right at the hut.  Frustrated, I turned around, and made my way back to the herd path I had just seen.  Sure enough, there was a blaze, and it seemed to indicate that the way I had just gone, down to the Warming Hut, was correct.  Stubbornly, I took the herd path.

I wasn't very far along when I came to the eroded portion I remembered from the winter, where it felt like I was going to fall down the hill at any moment.  Eventually I came back to the trail, and turned right to see where it went.  Sure enough, I found myself back at the Warming Hut, on the other side of the parking lot from the trail that I had decided was wrong.  I stopped to take a picture of the sign that I had walked right past almost a mile ago, and then headed up.  The mosquitoes got worse as I headed up.  I did my best to run, but the heat and the terrain left me walking a lot.  I made it up to the Moreau Overlook trail, passed by a gaggle of beach-goers having a walk in the woods, and pushed up to the top.  I chatted with a few other people admiring the view, which was fairly clear today, and then headed off again.  I had intended on running along the Ridge Run as far as the Cottage Path trail, but my unintended diversion had eaten up distance and time.  Not long after starting out on the Ridge Run, I turned around, and headed the other way on it, with the intention of picking up the Baker Trail back to the parking lot.  As I ran past the Moreau Overlook again, I saw that the party I had passed were just now pulling in to the overlook.  I smiled as they gawked over the view, and pushed on.

I kept rolling my ankle on the descent, nothing serious, but I think I was a bit tired.  I made it back to my car in one piece, and dove in to avoid the mosquitoes that were starting to swarm around me.  The drive back home was uneventful.  I had seen a couple dozen Tour de Cure participants on the way in, and I saw what appeared to be a few more finishing up on the way home.  That must have been a long day for them!

Anyway, I think that's it.  I'm getting excited about Savoy, and doing the Moreau 15k, if they hold it this year.

Oh, one more note: I read Jake Stookey's report on the 2012 race, and I can't believe he ran it barefoot in 2 hours!  He went on to win the 2013 edition of the race in huaraches, which seems like a more logical choice.  He even set a new course record in 2013, coming in at 1:27:11.  I love being out and about barefoot, and while I can imagine hiking this course barefoot, I cannot imagine running it barefoot under race conditions.  I'd be hobbling by the end.

Anyway, be excellent to each other, carry plenty of bug spray, watch out for ticks, call your mother, and tip your waiter.  Until next time...

Sleeping Beauty and the Three Ponds - 25 May 2014

On Thursday I got an invitation to join my friends Justin and Ken on a hike up Sleeping Beauty, which quickly morphed into hiking up Sleeping Beauty and then checking out the ponds between Sleeping Beauty and Black Mountain.    To that end, we met up at my house on Sunday morning and we drove up to Dacy Clearing.  On the way up Buttermilk Falls Road / Sly Pond Road we passed by Camp Wakpominee, one of the Boy Scout camps my troop used after Camp Saratoga stopped hosting summer camps.

We passed by the parking area for Buck Mountain, continued on down past the Hogtown parking area, down the one-lane woods road to Dacy Clearing.  There were several marked campsites with small parking areas along the way, and all of them were in use.  When we pulled in to Dacy Clearing, we saw a gigantic campsite set up in one corner, with a horse trailer and trucks being used to delineate the campsite.  Looking at the map for the Shelving Rock Area, it looks like they were in sites #5 and #6, though it wasn't clear to us at the time.  It looked like they had just taken up a huge chunk of the parking area for their own use.

Camping in Style

We stopped gawking, geared up, noted the swarms of mosquitoes, put on some bug spray, and headed out.  A short ways up the signed trail, there was a junction and a trail register box with no trail register.  I knew that we needed to go right at the first junction, so we went right, and immediately found ourselves back at the parking area.  Oops.  We turned around, headed back up the trail, found the correct junction, and headed up toward Sleeping Beauty.  We were at the summit cliffs an hour after heading out.  The view was excellent, but the black flies were swarming, so after a short snack, we headed out again.

Lake George from Sleeping Beauty

There was some debate over where the path to Bumps Pond was, but I remembered from the map that the summit was on a spur trail, and that there was a sign pointing the way to the summit a short way down the trail.  It wasn't obvious on the way up, but this was the junction we were searching for.  We took the semi-hidden left turn, and made our way over to Bumps Pond.

The trails everywhere were wet, and I had already proven that the trail running shoes I had worn that day were draining well and drying out quickly enough.  So, when we came to the bridge that crosses over the outlet of Bumps Pond, and we saw a huge plastic blue and yellow thing floating in the water just past the bridge, it didn't take me long to decide to fish it out.  The guys were talking about using a stick to get it, but I could see that the water was only about a foot deep, so I just went for it.  Fishing it out was no problem, and I managed to jerry-rig the 3' long blue plastic thing to the bottom of my pack, where it stayed for the remainder of the hike.

On the other side of the bridge was a junction with another trail, and we headed north, aiming for Fishbrook Pond.  A minute or so later we started seeing a lot of amphibians: frogs, toads, and several beautiful orange salamanders, called red efts.  We sloshed in to Fishbrook Pond, walked down to a somewhat clear point near the water, and ate our lunches.  Justin had brought some fantastic dried swordfish, and shared some with us.  It was easily the best fish I had eaten in a year, if not longer: sushi-grade, brined and dehydrated.  Ken shared some paninis he made at home, and I couldn't believe how delicious they were, even cold.  They tasted a lot like a Monte Cristo sandwich, and they held up very well on the trail.  I offered up some coffee.

She turned me into a newt!

We headed out again, and quickly came to a lean-to, complete with a smoking fire.  I checked to confirm that someone was in fact in the lean-to, and then we headed off along the trail.  It quickly became overgrown, and I thought maybe I had picked a herd path, but eventually we found a sign indicating that this was a snowmobile trail.  A short distance later it met up with the foot trail and crossed the outlet of Fishbrook Pond.  On the other side, the foot trail went left and another trail, blazed with snowmobile markers, went straight.  I assumed that the snowmobile trail was the route over to Greenland Pond, but it took us on an overgrown path through the woods before dropping us back at the foot trail.

We picked our way up a brook to the junction with the Greenland Pond Trail, and then waded up and over a small ridge before starting our descent.  The first portion of the Greenland Pond Trail was incredibly wet, with several instances of standing water a foot deep.  One such occurrence manifested as a small pond, at least 50' in diameter and a foot deep on average.  That was fun to wade through.  Once we got past the flooded portion, we slogged downhill to the pond.  The trail was sporadically blazed, and it appeared to be little used.  When we finally caught sight of Greenland Pond, the first feature we saw was blue, then a beaver lodge in the blue.  The trail stays away from the lake as it crosses to the south, but it was still easy to lose, so we got to visit the lake a few times.

Ken stopped to let his boots air out, and Justin and I went to go check out the lean-to.  We found the outlet of Greenland Pond, and then came to what appeared to be a junction.  There was a red blaze over to the right, so we went that way, but it quickly became obvious that we were heading the wrong way.  Our mistake was fortunate, though, because we found what was easily the best waterfall of the day, a little ways off of the trail.  Actually, it was the second best waterfall of the day: on the drive in there was a ridiculously beautiful and tall waterfall in someone's backyard, complete with a large "Keep Out" sign.

Waterfall just downstream from Greenland Pond

We slogged down through deep leaves to check out the waterfall, and then headed back to the trail and back to get Ken.  From there, we made our way back up to Fishbrook Pond, then back up to Bumps Pond.  We hadn't seen much of Bumps Pond earlier, but now the trail took us right along it for a while.  After that we descended on a very rocky woods road back down to Dacy Clearing.  When we arrived, the parking lot was fairly full, and the sun was out.  So, too, were the black flies.  At higher elevations they didn't appear to have started biting, but in Dacy Clearing they were, and in the few minutes that it took us to get our wet gear off and choke down some food, I managed to get two bites.  Always a fun experience.

Well, I guess that's about it for this tale.  I highly recommend checking out Sleeping Beauty and Fishbrook Pond.  Until next time...

Moreau Lake State Park - 10,17 May 2014

(Sleep deprivation is fun.  I could have sworn that I didn't post the report for last week's long run, but.. I did.  I'm leaving this report the way it is, regardless.  This report is more accurate; it's the "Palmertown Range", not "Palmertown Ridge".  Also, the map I was using didn't have a name on the Baker Trail, it was just a green blazed trail.  The newest trail map calls it the Baker Trail.)

I took my last two long runs on Grant Mountain in the Palmertown Range.  If you haven't heard of either geological feature, don't be surprised; both names appear only on USGS maps, as far as I can tell.  This is the mountain that stands just west of Moreau Lake, and this is the mountain that the Moreau Lake 15K runs up, around, and back down.  I haven't committed to doing that race yet, but I figured I should go check out the trails.  So far, I'm very impressed.  This system is an excellent model for training for the High Peaks.  More on that in a bit.

Access

This part confused me quite a bit when I first started investigating this trail system.  There are three trailheads along Spier Town Rd, and there is, of course, access from the campground, too.  You can find maps here: http://nysparks.com/parks/150/maps.aspx.  I am describing landmarks as if you were driving north/east along Spier Falls Road.

Western Ridge Trail

[I have not tried to run or hike from here, yet.]  There is a tiny pull-off near the western end of the Western Ridge trail (yellow), however, on the most recent Trail Map, there is no indication of a parking lot.  It was listed on the 2011 version of the map, and it is still physically there. Heading north, the road goes through several turns, and then when it gets close to the Hudson River, it straightens out.  Right after it straightens out, there is an access road on the right.  This is gated, so don't park here, but there's a small turnout a little further on, with what appears to be a spring.  The trail itself appears to start out following the access road.  I will investigate it further as time allows.

Cottage Path

[I have not tried to run or hike from here, yet, either.]  The parking lot for the Cottage Path trail is further along Spier Falls Road, and is very obvious.  Near the bend in the road, where it goes from following the Hudson to crossing a col in the Palmertown, there is a large access area for boats, with ample parking.  The Cottage Path trail (orange) is accessed on the other side of Spier Falls Road, a short distance to the south.  It appears to follow a stone wall for a while.

(Please note that as of May, 2014, a sign at the third parking area indicates that there is currently construction along the power line corridor, and that trails may be subject to closure.  No trail was indicated on the sign, but the trail most likely to be affected would be the Cottage Path trail.)

Western Ridge / Baker Trail

This is my favorite of the three areas, though extra caution is needed due to the single lane access road and blind turns.  Heading east along Spier Falls Road, the access road is a gravel road on the right, and it is just past the col.  As soon as the road starts to descend, look for gravel on the right.  Turn right into here, and then proceed to the parking area.  (Note that this gets gated off during the winter.  Also note that there is ANOTHER access road that intersects this access road.  DO NOT take this other access road.  I'm fairly certain that it's intended for large electrical utility trucks, and unless you have a big truck, you're likely to get stuck.)  You'll find the parking area a short distance on, and there are three paths you can take out of here.  The first is on your right, just before the parking area; this is the eastern portion of the Western Ridge Trail (yellow).  The second is blocked by a large boulder, along the same road that you drove in on; this is the western portion of the Western Ridge Trail (yellow).  Finally, between the two is another wide trail, marked in green, this is the Baker trail.

(The sign indicating closures due to electrical work could also apply to this access road; so keep an eye out for a closed gate when you're turning on to it.)

Hunting Notice

Please note that Spring Turkey season is in effect during the month of May in New York.  The Spring season runs from an hour before sunrise until noon.  Vermont and Massachusetts have similar Spring Turkey hunting seasons.  Since the season only lasts for half the day, it's courteous to give hunters the first half of the day to themselves.  Turkeys are apparently difficult to hunt, due to their eyesight and intelligence.  If you are out in the woods during hunting hours, stick to popular trails, and wear orange.  Avoid wearing red, white and blue, as this mimics the colors of the male turkeys being hunted this time of year.

Last Week - 10 May 2014

Both weeks I found myself bounded for time between the Spring Turkey season and commitments in the mid-afternoon.  On the 10th, I ended up getting out the door a lot later than I had intended, and decided to cut my run down to an hour, instead of my intended two hours.  I started off strong, heading up the Baker Trail, but I quickly found myself out of breath.  Running uphill is nothing like running along flat bike paths, or even the rolling terrain I had been running on.  After a while the path leveled off a bit, and I was able to catch my breath a bit, but I found myself alternating between walking and running the entire time I was out.

The Baker Trail intersects the Ridge Run Trail.  Without consulting my map, I decided to go left, and I choose wisely.  A short while later I found myself in a still open deciduous forest, clearly high ground, and there were long exposed sections of parallel rock, which appeared to be the remnants of glacial erosion.  This whole section would have been under the ice sheet (the whole state was), and it looks like the movement of the glacier cut these gouges out.  They are beautiful, regardless of their origin.

Just past this area was what appeared to be a view point.  I ran up to it and it was indeed a view point: the Moreau Overlook.  From here I could see Moreau Lake and the country beyond.  What really caught my eye were the Taconic peaks off in the distance.  They were hard to make out, but they were there.  The following week I spent a little more time up here, and confirmed that I was correct: Equinox, Little Equinox, Bear, and Grass are all distinct and visible, and there are are a host of other peaks visible as well.

When I first ran up to the Overlook, I noticed that there were two people, a man and a woman, sitting on a rock nearby, taking in the view.  From their clothes, and the braids in the woman's hair, I assumed that they were runners, too.  We exchanged hellos, and the woman asked if I could take their picture, and offered to return the favor.  After we had taken pictures, we chatted a bit, and then they were off, down the blue Moreau Overlook Trail.  As for me, I lingered briefly, and then continued along the Ridge Run trail.  I knew I had limited time, so I consulted my map, trying to get a sense of what was possible given my constraints.  I saw that there was a loop to be had: if I kept making right turns, eventually I would end up on the Western Ridge Trail, and that would take me back to my car.  Off I ran.

The terrain up here was great.  Baker Trail is mostly loose rocks, but once you're up high, the trails are a lot softer; mostly leaves and loam.  The Western Ridge is a different story, though.  There's plenty of loam, for sure, but there are also sections where you're running along exposed bedrock, not unlike the rocks I had stopped to admire higher up.  It's a lot of fun, but I can imagine that they'd be slippery when wet.  Once the Western Ridge starts to descend in earnest, it has a few short sections of loose rock, and an eroded section near the end of the descent that is fairly steep.  I found myself monkeying along the trees in there at one point.  Once I got past the steeper section, the trail leveled off again, and it was relatively level (though not even close to flat) for the remainder of my run back to my car.  The views looked fantastic along the Western Ridge, but I didn't stop to admire them since I was in a rush.

This Week - 17 May 2014

 This week I decided to check out some more of the Western Ridge, to the east of the parking area.  The Western Ridge drops down to Mud Pond, over fairly gentle terrain.  It had rained the night before, and the streams were going strong.  I ran past the white blazed Turkey Path, and almost took it, but I wanted to get a better sense of the full climb, so I pushed on.  The Western Ridge Path ends at an intersection with the the Mud Pond trail; I went right, along a beautiful corridor of trees, and the over a wide bridge.  From there I hit a woods road, and I went right again, searching for the red-blazed Red Oak Ridge Trail.  I had run the other end of this trail over the winter, and I followed it to the same intersection I had come to back then.  This time, though, I decided to UP the Moreau Overlook trail instead of using it to bail out.

This section was steep, and I had trouble running up it, but I did my best to push myself into a run on the flatter sections.  Eventually I came to a decent sized talus pile and decided to just hike it.  I'm fairly certain that this is the "Staircase of Death" referenced on the event page, or perhaps the whole trail from the ROR/MO junction up to the Moreau Overlook is the "Staircase of Death".  Whatever.  It's steep.

Once I was past the talus pile, a little push put me back up at the Moreau Overlook.  I stopped for a few minutes, trying to enjoy the view and confirm that I was seeing the peaks I thought I was seeing, but the insects were feasting on me, so I had to get back to running.  My pace on the way up had been slow enough that they had found me, but once I started running steadily again, they mostly left me alone.  It was getting to be time to head home, so I ran back to my car, along the Ridge Run and then the Baker Trail.  When I got to my car, I felt like I needed a little more, so I ran along the Western Ridge for a minute just to get a little bit more out.  (Sitting here, writing this, I still feel like I have energy that I need to get out.  I might need to go for a run tomorrow.)

Closing Thoughts

 When I was getting ready to write this, I reviewed the run in Strava, and I was astonished at the elevation profile.  I didn't think it was *that* steep, but I climbed from just under 400' at 1.3 miles to just under 1200' at 2.4 miles.  It's fairly typical for a trail to ascend 800'-1000' in the space of a mile near the top of the High Peaks.  You could run and/or hike up and down the length of the Moreau Overlook trail a few times and simulate the final push of a High Peak trail fairly well.  Furthermore, the trails themselves are typical of the trails found further north in the Adirondacks: a chaotic blend of rocks, bedrock, loam, and roots.

On a different note, I have to say that this park has the most considerate trail system I've ever been on.  There are numbers on the map at each junction, and those numbers are also posted on signs on trees at the junction.  I've never seen that before, but it makes a lot of sense, and I can think of many systems that would benefit from this enhancement.

Continuing on with the non-sequitor, I'm still reviewing gear, trying to figure out what I like best for this particular terrain.  I tried out both pairs of shoes that I had bought from Fleet Feet last autumn when I was finally healed up enough to start running again.  Last week I ran in my ASICs GEL-Scouts, and this week I ran in my Brooks PureFlow 2s.  The GEL-Scouts did very well with the terrain, and I felt in control, but their high heel drop (8-10mm) tends to bug my knee while running, and on this run it was no exception.  The PureFlows are my go-to shoe for running on pavement, where they offer a smooth ride; out here on the trails they felt hard, like I was running in a minimalist shoe, and I felt like I was slipping a few times on the descents.  They're treaded for road running, so I would expect them to have trouble gripping in some off-road situations.  I was just curious to see how they'd do.  Anyway, I still haven't narrowed down my shoe for this terrain.  I'm going to alternate between the GEL-Scouts and the Trail Gloves a couple of times, to try and see if it's just in my head or if there really is a difference in how my knees feel during or after the run.

Well, that's about it.  Next weekend I might try to run the entire 15k course, if time allows.  I've explored roughly half of it between my last three runs here.

...

Oh, before I forget, there's another option for a fall race, a newly created event called the Shawangunk Ridge Trail Run/Hike.  There are three distances: 20, 32, and 74 miles.  Details are here: https://www.facebook.com/SRTRunHike/info, and I've pasted the gist of it below:

"SRT Run/Hike is an endurance event for trail runners and through-hikers celebrating the preservation of natural lands along the Shawangunk Mountains.
...

The inaugural edition of SRT Run/Hike will take place September 19-21, 2014, offering three divisions:
- 20-mile, starting in Minnewaska State Park Preserve, Sunday morning, Sep 21
- 32-mile, starting at Sams Point, Saturday morning, Sep 20
- 74-mile, representing an entire "crossing" of the SRT, starting at High Point State Park, NJ, Friday afternoon, Sep 19"

Looks like fun!  It's the same weekend as the Saratoga Palio, so I wouldn't be able to do both.  I've still got time to decide, though.  Anyway, until next time, be excellent to each other...

Moreau Lake State Park (Palmertown Ridge) - 10 May 2014

I had intended on staying out for two hours on this weekend's long run, but ended up with only an hour due to other commitments.  So, I did the best I could do with that time.

I parked at the parking lot at the northern end of Moreau Lake State Park, just east of the high point of Spier Falls Road, the only car in the lot at the time.  From there, I started running up the green trail, and quickly found myself out of breath.  It's amazing how much elevation changes the game.  Once I had gotten past the initial burst of steepness, the trail leveled out, but it was rarely flat.  I made my way over to the junction with the Ridge Run trail (red), and headed left, toward Moreau.  A short while later I found myself in a deciduous forest, still winter bare on this hot May day, and I stopped to admire the beauty of the landscape for a moment.  There were several exposed ridges, and they were captivating.  I headed on, and a moment later I found myself at the Moreau Overlook.  The view was fantastic, and there were two other runners up there admiring it as well.  We chatted briefly, and one of the runners asked me if I could take their picture.  I said sure, snapped a few pictures of them, and then she returned the favor.  We chatted a bit more, and then we were off on our separate ways.

I was alternating between walking and running a lot throughout the run, and it reminded me of when I was first starting to run on level ground, and made me think about how far I've come since then.  I made my way along the Ridge Run Trai, and then headed over to the Western Ridge Trail.  The Western Ridge runs along long, thin stretches of exposed bedrock before it starts to descend in earnest, and it was really fun to run along.

The Western Ridge was interesting to descend, and I did my best to stick to fast footwork instead of my typical descent pattern, which involves a lot of fear and cautious shuffling.  It worked, though I did revert to walking when the terrain got sketchy and I was worried about loose rocks on top of steeply angled ones.  All told, I did four miles in an 1:11; nothing to write home about, but the terrain definitely added an extra element to the run.  If I had been hiking here a few years ago, I'm convinced that it would have taken 2 hours, possibly 3.  I remember looking down at my GPS a few years ago, walking back from Awosting with my brother, and saw that we were going 2.5 mph, on level, easy ground.  My pace on hikes before I started hiking was typically 1 mph for steep ground (800-1000' of ascent per mile) and 2 mph the rest of the time.  Descents were as slow as ascents, due to the constant fear of falling.  Using my poles helps a lot, but trusting myself and keeping my feet light seems to help even more.

I can't wait to get back up here, hopefully next weekend, to explore more of the trail network and work on making myself stronger.

A few closing thoughts: the descent down the Western Ridge trail was very much like a descent down a High Peak, and I think it's a good training ground.  The trail themselves are a mix of rocks, loam and exposed bedrock.  This is fairly typical for the Adirondacks, and I think it'll be a good training ground for hiking and running in the High Peaks.

Also, I can totally understand how people get lost on the 15k race.  The trails aren't always obvious; and there's a lot of terrain that looks like a trail.  I also saw what appeared to be several herd paths or true game trails, further complicating things.

Five Mile Trail - 13 Apr 2014

Today is Monday.  The winds have been blowing hard all day, and tomorrow the rain will likely come, pushing up our already swollen rivers and streams.  Mud Season is upon us in earnest.

Last Tuesday, I ran through the park, through sublimation fog, and fell twice on slick ice.  My hand still bears the marks.  I ate my lunch, a hummus sandwich, when I hit solid ground, attempting to figure out what my stomach can and cannot handle on runs.  I didn't last very long, but it was the ice that shut me down, not the food.  It was everywhere.

On Wednesday, I did a quick make-up session along the Spring Run, which was dry except for a couple of spots.  There was also a patch of late season ice; more like rock or glacier than the slippery stuff that had foiled me the day before.  I did some interval training, but my knee was hurting me, and my pace suffered.  On the way back to my car, I picked up a couple of hot dogs from Awesome Dogs and ate them as I walked.  I don't think I could handle that on a run.

On Thursday, I went back to the park, without food, but with a Heart Full of Soul and a shining sun.  Unfortunately Soul didn't get me very far, though the sun felt nice.  I again ran some intervals, attempting to salvage something of the week.  The ice that remained slowed me down, though, and on the last leg I came across ice that I was unable to cross.  It was angled up, I had no traction aids (it's April!), and it was too slick for me to climb up.  I was several feet onto the ice when I finally turned around, and I fully expected to fall.  I convinced myself that if I got up it, I could get down it, and carefully I made my way back down without falling.

On Saturday, we went to a park down in New Paltz to meet up with some friends.  The kids had fun playing together, and they kept us on our toes.  It was hot; more like June than April.

On Sunday, the kids and I went to my mom's house for breakfast.  Afterwards, they played outside for a while, and then we all pitched in a hand to help with some yardwork.  By noon it was close to 70; another hot day.

Later that day, after a week of horrid runs, and one and a half days of being outside in the sun, I went for a long run.  It was still hot out when I set off around 3:45.  I settled in to a 12:00 pace and did my best to mentally prepare myself for 10 miles of this.  The bike path I was running on was level, and clear of water and debris; as easy as a run on pavement is going to get.  When I hit an unpaved section, I was surprised to find it firm underfoot.

As the path made its way along route 50, I received a reminder of why I prefer to avoid roads: cars.  In this case, it was a car with a half-witted human inside, who decided to compliment me on my choice of hat (a thin explorer's style cap, to keep the sunburn off of my nose and ears).  It was gone before I had a chance to thank them for their kind remarks.  I thought that perhaps on my next run I should run with a ridiculously long multi-colored scarf, so that another kind soul would have something else to compliment me on as they drove in to 'Toga to get drunk.

After that point I decided to make my way over to the mall area and then run the Five Mile Trail, away from roads.  First, however, I needed to start my fueling experiment.

I'm training for a race in May, and I've been trying to figure out what I'm going to do about fuel.  I decided to try out one strategy I had read, I think in Runner's World, which was to start fueling after 30 minutes and then fuel every 15 minutes after that.  I ate half a package of salty jelly beans, which were really difficult to choke down.

The winds whipping across the mall were strong, and I was happy to be in the woods once I got to the other side.  The ice that had been present in the woods three days earlier was now gone, and even the mud was noticeably drier.  I made my way down to the picnic area, past a decomposing possum and a gaggle of people enjoying the day.

The section along Geyser Creek had a little bit of ice left, past the tufa pile.  The air was noticeably cooler down there, too.  I made my way up the stairs as fast as I could, but my muscles were quite upset about being asked to climb stairs after having already run a few miles.  At the top I noticed that it was time to fuel again.

I ate the second half of the salty jelly bean packet, which tasted a lot better this time around.  I swung over to the Orenda Spring to top off my water bottle with some mineral water.  I started feeling strong at this point, and probably should have just stopped fueling for a little while.  Instead, I continued on with the experiment.  As I made my way over to the western entrance, I drank the shot of salty sugar water I had put in my flask.  This tasted delicious: a magical cherry beverage, but I crashed pretty quickly after that, and my pace started to suffer as I made my way through the wetlands.  By the time it was time to fuel again, I opted for a gel.

I'm not really sure...

I think...

I think I'd rather carry a tub of rice pudding than eat another of these gels.

The flavor was described as vanilla, and the taste was somewhere between vanilla pudding (evil vanilla pudding) and these packages of pre-made vanilla shakes that I used to drink twelve (or so) years ago.  It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good.  My hands were sticky afterwards, and I wasted water rinsing them off so that I wouldn't spend the next few miles trying to obsessively wipe them off.

I finished up the trails and made my way back over to the mall.  I ate the last fuel of my run, a stroopwafel.  (I'm at least 1% Dutch, so it's legit.)  It took me by surprise, though: they are definitely sweet, but the taste ended up bitter.  I'm not sure if it was the lingering bite of the gel, or the effect of the run, but it was strange.

I made my way back over to the bike trails, to finish up my 10 miles, and I found myself running on empty.  I pushed on, but mile 8 was spent in a trance, and not the good kind.  By mile 9 I was feeling better, and I picked up the pace a bit.  I was still zoning out, but it was an "almost done" zone.  At 9.5 miles, I gave up.  My feet were hurting, both knees were hurting, and I had no desire to run any farther.

That last bit is significant: my feet hadn't hurt yet on these long runs.  I'm not quite sure where that was coming from, though I'm guessing the mud and water in my socks may have had some impact on it.

I felt drained afterwards, and all the next day.  I have two more long runs to get this right, before the race.  It's clear that the strategy I used this week is not going to work well.  I'm switching to lower GI food, and increasing the interval between intake.  I'm contemplating three options for fueling: a trail mix that worked very well on Sawteeth last year, o-nigiri, and/or some No Meat Athlete energy bars.  O-nigiri is a portable rice dish, which Matthew Inman (aka The Oatmeal) mentioned in a link off of his running comics (he got the recipe from Scott Jurek's book, Eat & Run).

Castle Point - 29 Mar 2014

Today's long run featured a run up to Castle Point from Lake Minnewaska.  7 miles.  Slushy snow, snappy ice, mud, wind, rain, and mist made for a fun run.

When I pulled up at the booth, I asked the lady working there if the trails were still only for skiing.  She said I could try that, if I wanted, hinting that it wasn't a good idea.  There was still snow, and it had frozen and thawed quite a bit.  I said that I was planning on running on the carriage roads, and she said I could try that, too.  I liked her attitude.

There were quite a few people parked at the upper parking lot, but they all seemed to be hanging around the lake.  I only saw one other person beyond the lake: a cross-country skier.  When I first saw him he was gingerly making his way around some mud.  We exchanged hellos, both of us surprised to see the other.

It quickly became apparent that I needed to put on my YakTrax.  The terrain was rarely level on my route, and there was plenty of solid ice, rubbed smooth and too slippery for my shoes to handle.  Once I had them on I had enough traction to run on the ice, though.  My main problem ended up being the snow.  It was slushy, about the consistency of sorbet, and I ended up going slower than I would have liked.  Still, I made it up and back again in two hours.

The View

The summit was windy, and the view was non-existent, but it was fantastic to be back up there again.  This peak has a special place in my heart, and I've been up it many times.  The views are exceptional, when they're visible, the rock is gorgeous, and the trees are stunted to the point of being cute.

On the drive home I had a bit of euphoria.  I was running much, much slower than I had expected to be, but the snow and the constant up and down explained that.  I was still able to move much faster up there than I ever have.  I can't wait to run back there again, on a day with a view, at a faster pace.  I'd like to run up via the Awosting Reserve, or possibly from the north or west, or even one of the routes I've done many, many times before.

Mohawk-Hudson Bike-Hike Trail - 23 Mar 2014

Driven half mad by cabin fever, my family headed out in search of some relief.  My first thought, the playground at Clifton Commons in Clifton Park, was a bust: it was covered in what looked like rock hard ice and snow.

We headed further south, and I decided to go have a look at the bike path in Latham and Niskayuna.  We found it mostly free of snow and ice, at least along River Road as far as the old train station.  It was, however, way too windy today to have the kids out for very long.  I do my best to get out under any and every condition, to train my mind as well as my body, but it's too much to ask of small kids.  My youngest has only recently started telling us when she's cold without being prompted.  As such, they only logged six tenths of a mile this weekend.

That was actually an improvement.  Last weekend I took my oldest out for a run along the Zim Smith Trail, and between the snow, ice, standing water, and wind, she only lasted for half a mile.  On the drive home, she said, "I only like running on blacktop."  I asked, "well, what about dirt?"  She said, "dirt is fine, but no snow, or ice, or mud, and especially no water."  I chuckled.  "Ok," I said, "we'll head back out once the snow has melted."  To which she replied: "how about summer?"  I chuckled again, and promised to take her out again once the surfaces were clear.

When we pulled up to the bike path today, she said, "I don't want to go for a walk.  I only like to run," to which we replied: "so run!"  So, she did!

It occurred to me later that her style of running is entirely fartlek (that's Swedish for speed play).  Run as fast as you can here, run over there, stop, walk, stretch, run some more, run fast, run back, stop, run in to someone, run, stop.  It drove me crazy at first, but now I mostly just laugh and encourage her (or corral her, as needed).

I hope to get them out again next weekend, hopefully for a bit longer, and hopefully without any wind.

On a different note: from what I could see of it today, the Zim Smith Trail (where it meets the Northway) seems to still be covered in a layer of snow.  I assume that this is from the sled traffic, compacting the snow down to a rock hard layer, since most of the surrounding terrain is snow free.  When we went out last weekend, we parked at the parking lot off of Round Lake Road.  There were several short stretches of clear pavement, but it looked like the trail was mostly snow, ice, icy snow and standing water.

Rounding out this report: I did my long run yesterday at Saratoga Spa State Park.  The bike paths are a mixed bag.  The portions that are normally clear are clear.  Along Avenue of the Pines there are sections with several inches of water covered by a thin sheet of ice, punctuated at regular intervals by a few crazy fools who decided to run through it (like me).  The closed portion of Putnam Road has a thin layer of milky ice on it.  Further into the park, the woods roads are covered in ice and icy snow.  The western half of the Picnic Loop road is in exactly, and I mean EXACTLY, the same state that it was several weeks ago: covered in several inches of hard snow that is a mess of tracks.  The North-South Road appears to be in the same state.  The East-West Road is mostly free of ice or snow where it was plowed (at least from the western entrance to the edge of the hill after the Peerless Pool).  And, finally, as you would expect, the dirt road leading south off of the East-West Road, across from the Peerless, is a muddy mess that deteriorates the further south you get.

Until next time, be excellent to each other.

Moreau Lake State Park - 9 Mar 2014

I decided to check out Moreau Lake State Park last weekend, and I was pleasantly surprised at what I found.  I have been driving down Spier Falls Road every so often, trying to pick out the trailheads.  The main parking area is just east of the apex of the road, on a single lane dirt and gravel road that winds its way over to a small parking area.  It is not plowed in the winter.  I did a quick hike off of here last August, but I haven't really explored the area yet.

There are at least two other trailheads along Spier Falls Road; but I have yet to check out the trail from there.  Both of them looked plowed, and they probably provide decent snowshoeing.  I say probably because there's a lot of bare boot activity over by the main entrance, so it's hard for me to say without checking it out myself.

At any rate, last weekend I went in the main entrance, and I was very surprised at what I found.  The parking lot near the booth is plowed, and it was packed full of cars.  People were there to walk their dog, to walk across the lake, to XC ski, and to snowshoe.  I didn't expect it to be that busy.

The road that leads from the booth over to the Nature Center was plowed, providing a somewhat clear surface just shy of a mile for walking and running.  There was some ice on it, but it was runnable, with or without YakTrax.

(It's amazing how much easier it is for me to run over ice than it is to walk, with or without traction devices.  I don't fully understand it, though I assume it has to do with the force of my strike and the fact that I midfoot strike when I run and heel strike when I walk.  Has anyone else experienced this?)

I did a quick out and back, and then grabbed my snowshoes for a run over the trails.  I located the Red Oak Trail, which starts right across the street from the parking area, and put on my snowshoes.  The snow was in rough shape, and I found myself in danger of losing my footing along a few slope traverses and downhills.  The combination of warm weather, rain, and the fact that most of the trail users seemed to not be using snowshoes explained the poor condition of the trail.

I saw two other parties while I was playing in the snow.  The first was a group of four people whom I saw heading up as I was heading back to my car (and whom I had set as a target to catch up to).  The second... wow.  As I neared the top of a rise in the trail, I heard a whooshing noise and looked up to see someone skiing down through the trees.  They were off trail, looking for fresh snow, but it was amazing that they were able to exert as much control as they did.  One screw up and they would have run in to a tree, but they made quick work of the descent and were soon out of sight.

As I made my way along, I crossed three completely open brooks, as well as several downslopes that were completely iced over or eroded down to the mud.  It was certainly challenging, and I wished that I had brought my poles for the extra support, but I made it through without falling.  The steepest and sketchiest stretch was along the Moreau Overlook trail, and I ended up bushwhacking a bit to get around the ice slope.  Once I got down to the lake, I started making my way around the edge of it, following trails and tracks, until I made my way over to the road near where I had started.  I contemplated running across the lake.  There were several other parties out there, so I knew it would probably hold me, but I didn't have anything on me to dig a hole in the ice to check for certain.  The ice fishers might not have appreciated me thudding past, either.

Bluebird Day at Moreau Lake

I sat down on a nearby bench to take off my snowshoes (what a novel concept), and headed back to my car.  As I mentioned, I didn't fall at all... until I was walking around my car to get in the driver's seat, and my feet slipped out from under me.  I landed with a thud on my rear. Ouch.

I look forward to exploring this park some more in the future.  It looks like a good place to train.

Until next time, be excellent to each other!

The Springing of February - 23 Feb 2014

Yesterday's run around Saratoga Spa State Park was a lovely combination of wet pavement, icy pavement, water-logged pavement, and mud.  My favorite, though, was when the ice and water worked together.  It came in two distinct forms: standing water over hard ice, and standing water with chunks of ice floating in it.  The latter was, by far, the strangest thing I've run through in a long time.

Water on hard ice along Putnam Road.

I first encountered it along the bike path, where it cuts between the apartments along Route 50 and the golf course.  There was a short stretch of it, and it was very much like the inside of a cooler that started the day full of ice and had sat out in the sun for the rest of the day.  It even made the same sound that the ice in the cooler makes as you root around to find a refreshment.  The first stretch was short: long enough to make me take notice, but not so long that it really bothered me.  I had been running through water on and off for the entire trip, so it wasn't really a problem, it was just odd.

As I got over to the crosswalk for Railroad Run, I decided to pop over and check it out.  I had seen bits and pieces of it from driving around, and I knew it was roughly a mile long, that it went past the Y, and that ended over by West Circular.  Little did I know.  The first stretch started out great.  The pavement was wet, yet free of standing water, and it was pleasant.  Conditions were the same after the next street crossing, and even though there were some massive puddles near the intersection, I didn't think much of it.

Around the halfway point, I came to another stretch of standing water with chunks of ice in it.  The water was deep, at least an inch, and as I ran through it I kicked massive quantities of water up onto the bottom of the jacket that was tied around my waist.  (Where my phone was, of course.)  This stretch was longer: at least 100 feet, and immediately after it there was another stretch of equal length, and then another.  Each stretch was long enough that my feet started to go numb.  My feet had been warm up to this point; despite the standing water that I had been running through on and off throughout my run, my feet had warmed up by the 1k mark and hadn't felt cold since.  Now they were dangerously cold.  Mercifully they warmed up quickly after the last ice bath, but there was no way that I was going to repeat that.  I decided to run on the streets back to the last crossing instead of another turn through the ice bath.

The rest of the run was typical.  My shoes (Brooks PureFlow 2) did better than I expected them to on the ice.  One stretch along the bike path, between the dance museum and the Avenue of the Pines, was solid ice with water over it, and I was kicking myself for not bringing my YakTrax along with me, but I was able to navigate it fine, all things considered.  I slowed down a bit and kept my stride short, and I felt stable.  Nervous, but stable.  All told I felt myself lose traction only a few times on the run, and it wasn't so bad that I feared falling.

All told this was a good run.  I managed to go 50 minutes without taking a walk break; I'm fairly certain that's a record for me, or very close to the record.  I have a goal of being able to run 60 minutes without take a walk break that I hope to complete very soon.

Until next time, be excellent to each other.

Snowshoe Hike at North South Lake - 9 Feb 2013

Winter is a magical time for me.  The views are often phenomenal: you can see further without leaves, and you can see geological features that are otherwise hidden when the ground is lit up with snow.  The air is crisp, cool, and refreshing, and the world is dazzlingly bright.  The terrain is often easier to traverse, since snow fills in many features that you would have to step over otherwise, and the winter months are devoid of bothersome insects and especially bothersome arachnids, and I don't mean the harmless spiders or daddy longlegs.  Bushwhacking becomes much, much easier in some regards, though you'll still need to watch out for thorny plants, which seem to thrive through every season.  In short, I love winter.

Boulder Rock, with Kaaterskill High Peak in the background,
and a cut snowshoe and ski path wandering off into the woods.

Ken and I set out on a snowshoeing hike at North/South Lake.  I've been there several times, but it's been over a decade since I was last there.  The trail leading from Schutt Road has been improved from the confused mess that it used to be, and I swear there are more signs and junctions than there used to be.  Ken had been there several times over the past few weeks, and he knew exactly where he wanted to go, so I let him lead.

The trail from Schutt road over to the first junction (with the ski trail) was well cut and an easy walk.  Once we got to the junction and signed in, we started up the horse trail towards the top of South Mountain.  The trail was once again well cut, with a clear snowshoe track running parallel to ski tracks.  The snowshoe tracks abandoned us at a junction leading to the Palenville Overlook (an awesome place to sit a spell), so Ken and I took turns breaking a new snowshoe trail.

When we arrived at the tangled junction near Kaaterskill Mountain House loop, we saw a relatively large party of snowshoers (5-7 of them).  We exchanged greetings, and then headed on our way around the loop.  Here there were no ski tracks, just a broken snowshoe path.  The trail was only cut for a short ways, and we were soon back to breaking trail. 

We circled around and Ken lead us over to the old cistern, across from a small pond and a tangled mess of tracks.  It looked as if we had found the local deer party spot.  where we stopped to enjoy some food.  We had done nearly all of the height, and now it was just a matter of getting back to the car.  After enjoying a short food break, we continued circling around the small pond, heading toward the flat area where the hotel used to be.

As we did that, we came across a curious set of tracks: they looked feline, but with a walking pattern (or possibly running pattern) that I don't normally associate with cats.  Two larger paws were side by side, and then behind them, in a T formation, were two smaller paws.  I'm kicking myself now for not stopping to photograph them with a reference point, but it appeared to be a feline paw (at least up front): 4 toes and no visible claws.  If I had to guess, I would guess that a bobcat or lynx had come tearing through there trying to get at the deer whose tracks we had seen on the way in.  I don't know enough about reading tracks to say for certain, though.

At the site of the Kaaterskill House, I looked around, trying to find the top of South Mountain.  There are two possible areas: one is the height of a fairly open and level area, which you pass by near the start of a counter-clockwise loop.  The other is a small rise to the other end of it.  I decided to go climb up the small rise.  To my surprise, I found a decent sized foundation up there, along with footings for another building.  I told Ken about it, and we both spent a few minutes checking it out.  Then we circled around the building and started looking for a way off of the rise and back down to the trail.  It ended up being a relatively gentle descent on the line that we had chosen, and Ken spotted a marker within a minute.

We made our way back to the junction where we had seen the large group, and started over toward Boulder Rock.  We came to yet another junction, and then another.  The latter led on a short but somewhat steep descent down to Boulder Rock.  Had it been any steeper, we would have been taking our snowshoes off, but as it was, we did ok.

Boulder Rock is a glacial erratic that sits right near the edge of the escarpment.  When we arrived there, we found that we had caught up to the  same large group of snowshoers.  As we strode past, heading for the view, one of them commented on the size of Ken's snowshoes: "they're so BIG!"  I said, "yes, they are," with a chuckle, and we kept on moving.  (Ken's snowshoes are sized for traversing unbroken snow, whereas most of the others, myself included, were wearing snowshoes meant for broken snow and the occasional rocky terrain you encounter on hiking trails.  On fresh powder, he floated a solid inch above mine when we stopped to compare.)

We enjoyed the view off of the escarpment for a few minutes, commiserating with a group of skiers about frozen Clif bars.  Ken offered me a choice, return by the way we had come (more or less) or head back over a unmarked trail (which is described on the NYNJTC maps as such), between a cliff and a rock wall.  I took one look, said "f- that" to going back the way we came, and we headed off.  Ken lead the way to the unmarked trail, which one or two other snowshoers had already cut for us.  It lead through beautiful woods, and past massive erratics that looked ready to topple the next time the region gets a big earthquake.  The snowmobilers we had been hearing all day were getting louder and louder, and as we neared the road, we saw them driving past.

The road was covered in snow, and pounded hard and flat by a lot of snowmobile traffic.  I imagine this makes for decent skiing, but for snowshoeing it's the equivalent of concrete.  I don't like running on it with snowshoes, and I don't particularly like hiking on it (with snowshoes or with spikes).  Still, we only had to hike on it for a tenth of a mile or so, and it ended up being ok.  We turned left onto the ski trail that led back to the first junction, and headed back to the car.

We saw a few more new parties on our way out, including a group of kids, one of whom decided to run off through the woods when he caught sight of us.  Apparently we're getting scarier-looking in our old age.

That was about it.  All told we did 5.2 miles, and it was a good trip.  By the end of it we were both getting a lot more comfortable on our snowshoes, and I'm looking forward to more winter adventures, hopefully soon.  Hiking on the road also brought back unexpected memories, of grey skies and wet ground and wandering forever over these roads, but that tale will have to wait for another day.

Zim Smith Trail - 1 Feb 2014

I went for a run today on the Zim Smith Trail.  I was hoping to find bare pavement, since the weather was warm and I know that there's a decent amount of foot traffic on this trail, even in the winter.  I didn't find what I was looking for.

The section between Oak Street and Underpass Road was snow-covered, and packed somewhat from boot and bike traffic.  The packed section was maybe an inch deep, and the unconsolidated section was maybe two inches deep. (Both are very rough estimates.)  All told there wasn't much there.  As I got closer to Underpass Road, I saw some ski tracks originating from one of the private side trails.

The Zim Smith Trail

Crossing over Underpass Road, I ran in the tire track of a truck for a while, pretending that I was on a single track trail.  That didn't last very long.  The surface degraded into a mixture of snow, ice and bare pavement.  I found a hundred or so yards of totally bare pavement over by the industrial park, before it switched back to snow and ice.

After crossing East Line, the trail was incredibly hard underfoot.  This was the result of the snowmobile traffic in this section: a half inch or so of rock hard snow.  It didn't make for very good running; in fact it hurt my knee, so I turned back.  The damage was done, though, and I stopped my run a short distance after I had crossed back over Underpass Road.

This will probably be my last run on the Zim Smith until the snow melts, though I might try it once more with different footwear.  I'm fairly certain that the problem I ran into today was the result of wearing my trail runners and the way that I was running.  They're excellent on snow and ice, providing good grip, but they're a bit jarring on hard surfaces.  I didn't soften my stride when I got to the bare pavement or the snowmobile section, either, which didn't help.

Anyway, the Zim Smith right now is fine for walking and bike riding between Underpass Road and Oak Street (roughly 1.5 miles of trail).  I don't recommend snowshoeing on it: you'll destroy your crampons.  Between Underpass Road and East Line, it's a mixed bag, and once you're across East Line you're in snowmobile territory.  You can still walk or run there, as the snowmobilers don't seem to mind, but you'll be on snow that's as hard as concrete.

Until next time, "be excellent to each other!"

Mini Trip Reports for January, Random Thoughts

I had a few random thoughts that I wanted to post.

First and foremost: I wanted to thank the crew over at Saratoga Spa State Park.  They do an excellent job keeping the park open and accessible, even in the middle of winter.  A large portion of the walking paths, including the stretch along Avenue of the Pines and a good portion of the Putnam Road section are also kept relatively snow free.  It's wonderful, and it's very appreciated.

I went for a run today at lunch time, and found that even the back section, where Putnam Road is closed to traffic, had been partially cleared.  This section is always a bit snowy, presumably because cross-country skiers also use it to cross between the golf courses.  As I cruised up it today, I passed by two XC skiers doing just that.  When I got close, one of them asked, "Are we the only crazy people out today?" to which I replied, "Looks like it!"  I smiled and kept on running.

Part of my smile was due to the fact that I had put on my street running shoes for the first time in months.  I realized that I had been running and walking with 8mm+ drops for far too long, and that I'd have to re-adjust back down to lower drops if I was going to avoid another Achilles injury.  So, today, I went for a run in my 4mm drop shoes (Brooks PureFlow 2), with YakTrax on, because otherwise I would have been skating across the snow.  These shoes do not bite at all on snow.  They do give me +2 speed and +1 stamina, so I'm not complaining.

I got side tracked there.

Second on my list of thoughts: I also want to thank the crew at Wilton Wildlife Preserve and Park, for maintaining some excellent trails over at Camp Saratoga and Opdahl Farm.  I went for a snowshoe run there this weekend, and was amazed at how great the trails are.  I kept to the side as much as possible, to avoid damaging the XC ski tracks, but in many sections, there wasn't a single set of tracks, but rather a jumble of them.  It looked like two or three people had been ski-skating through, too, which didn't help with the confusion.  Anyway, I stayed to the side, and deferred to any skiers that I happened to encounter.

That reminds me: the lot was busy when I pulled up!  There were at least 8 other cars there, and as I ran, I saw so many people out on skis.  There were at least 2 snowshoers out, based on the tracks and, well, the two people that I saw walking down Scout Road to their car.  It was great to see so many people out and enjoying the winter.

I had two interesting observations: one, with my jacket tied around my waist and my lumbar pack on, I didn't get a deluge of snow every time I took a running step.  It might have been due to the the trail state, or it might have been due to the stuff around my waist.  I'll have to experiment some more.  Two, the few times that I was trailing a skier, I found that my snowshoe running pace (14:00-15:00) roughly matched their skiing pace.  I guess in my mind I had expected them to go faster than that. 

Well, that's about it.  Oh, and I'm also trying out an alternate lacing strategy (skipping the first crossover) for my boots, to see if that helps at all with the pinched toe.

Until next time, be excellent to each other.

Saratoga Spa State Park - 20 Jan 2014

I went for a run at SSSP today on my lunch.  As I drove in, I could see that barriers were up across the entrance to the picnic areas.

I parked near the Baths, and then ran down the hill (the gravel road).  I was mindful to avoid places where I could create postholes, but there really wasn't anything to worry about.  The entire road and the other roads throughout the park were covered in shallow boot prints, dog prints, tire tracks and even kid's sled markings.  The latter often seemed to be running in to a ditch.  In a few spots I saw bike tracks and what might have been snowmobile tracks.  Only rarely did I see ski tracks.

When I got to the bottom of the hill, I saw that a good portion of Geyser Loop Road was free of snow and ice.  I instinctively went for it, and opened up to a pace that I couldn't sustain (7:30-8:00).  It felt wonderful.  I eased off the throttle so that I wouldn't crash and burn, and continued on to the end of the road.  When I got to the end, I was going to go left on to East West Road, and head back to my car, but I decided to go right, instead.  The road to the right rose immediately, and I wanted to go up it.

I had seen, as I passed through the picnic area, that my return was going to be over snow, but for the length of the East West road, I was on pavement.  It was great to run along these empty roads.  I ran past the Peerless Pool, and got to the top of Geyser Loop Road, and started the return to my car.  The entire length of Geyser Loop Road was covered in snow, and in some places ice, but I was able to run it without too much trouble.  The GEL-Scouts I was wearing do very well on slippery terrain.  They breathe really well, too, which is great for running through shallow snow, but horrid for walking through it.

I was pleased to see that the Coesa Spouter was still going strong as I passed by.  I almost took the (potentially) easy way back to my car, through SPAC, along level terrain, but I decided to go for the extra descent and ascent, and stayed on the Geyser Loop.  I ran past the Island Spouter, which was also going strong, and then made my way back up to my car using a different set of pavilion roads.

All told I did 2 miles, which is my current target for these midweek runs.  It's tough for me to get out in the morning due to familial obligations, and I have no desire to run on winter roads at night.  So, it was a good run.  I was happy to have gotten out, and happy to have been able to run on a track I can't normally run on, through the woods, and faster than normal.

One final thought: as I was running up the Geyser Loop Road at the start, John Krakauer's ruminations in Chamonix about "whether I might, given my limited talents, ever rise above the life of the terminally banal" echoed through my head.  I had just cut back on the throttle because I had been running way too fast (for me) and I was wondering if I'd ever get to the point where I could cruise long and fast.  Then I remembered that I was running through freezing air, over a road that by all rights should have been covered in black ice and impossible to run over at all without traction aids, and that I won't know how much my pace and stamina have actually improved until the springing of the year.  I think it was this thought process that pushed me to go up the hill instead of taking the easier route.  The climb, at the very least, had the effect of focusing on the run and letting my worries fall to the wayside.  By the top of the hill, I was enjoying the run again.

Lincoln Mountain State Forest - 18 Jan 2014

(I think I spent more time writing this than actually running.)

I took a run today over at Lincoln Mountain State Forest.  I had visited there once before, in December of 2012, but that visit had been cut short.  My goal today was to explore the roads a bit, and to explore the area that appeared to be the summit of Lincoln Mountain.

I found it quickly enough.

I parked at the small parking area a quarter mile or so past the gate on Cohen Raod, and got out to check out the ground cover.  The drive in had been a bit sketchy, even with AWD, and when I set my foot down it was immediately apparent why: the road was covered in at an inch or two of ice, topped with another inch or so of snow.  The weather patterns over the past week or so matched what I saw: warm weather, enough to clear up whatever was there, or at least turn it to slush, followed by a torrential downpour on still frozen dirt, followed by a freeze, followed by snow.  I had brought YakTrax and snowshoes, and opted for the YakTrax.

I set out down Cohen Road at a trot, took the obvious left, where an arrow marks the turn of the Jeep trail and snowmobile trail, and started to head up.  I was at the top 8 minutes after setting out from my car.  I tromped around a bit, looking for the highest ground, and it looked like the small patch of dirt, surrounded by the road and a small turn-off, was it.

This was the summit, in all its glory.

Summit?

Sort of.

There's no indication of where Lincoln Mountain actually is on the USGS maps.  None.  It is part of the Palmertown Range, which includes 6 features labeled as "mountains" on various maps with only one obvious col between them, where Spier Falls Road runs through.  The labeled features are:

• Lincoln Mountain, which is identified by the fact that there is a state forest named after it, and a road, which is labeled as Hollister Road on the old USGS maps, but Lincoln Mountain Road on newer maps.
• Mount McGregor, which sits on the eastern edge of the range.
• Corinth Mountain and Wilton Mountain.  The road that runs past Mount McGregor between Route 9 and Spier Falls Road is labeled as both Corinth Mountain Road (on the Wilton side) and Wilton Mountain Road (on the Corinth side).
• Grant Mountain: this is an actual mountain label.
• Palmertown Mountain: this is also an actual mountain label.

The range, massif, whatever it is, fades out slowly to the south and southwest, but drops off precipitously to the east and north, as well as to the west where the range encounters the Hudson.

So where does that leave us?  Palmertown Mountain is clearly defined, and Grant Mountain is clearly defined, and there is a several hundred foot col between them.  Grant Mountain tops out at 1260'+.  Following the features over to Mount McGregor, which tops out at 1070'+, the col appears to be at about 1010', near Lake Ann, giving it a prominence of 60'.  It's a subpeak at best.

With regards to Wilton or Corinth Mountain, I have to assume that these are place names and not peak names, i.e. "Wilton Mountain Road" means that this is the road to Wilton over the mountain, and vice versa.

Looking further along the ridge, at Lincoln Mountain, I see that Lincoln Mountain road drives up to a point higher than what we've currently labeled as the summit of Lincoln Mountain.  The road crosses the 1000' mark near the point where it transitions to Hollister Road.  Clothier Road runs right through a section of 1040'+ land.

Furthermore, between that section of land over 1000' and the 960'+ "summit", there's another bump of land that's taller than our "summit" (as defined on peakbagger.com).  It tops out at 980'+.

I hope to find some historical basis for the name "Lincoln Mountain", and through that figure out where the peak lies.  Until then, I have a hard time calling this point Lincoln Mountain.  If anything, this should be labeled as the Lincoln Mountain State Forest High Point (or something along those lines), though the actual highest point within the State Forest might lay in the higher ground to the northeast.

Topographical quibbling aside, I topped out and explored the area around the summit.  While I was checking out an old cellar hole, my YakTrax got caught on a small stump or root on the ground and I ended up snapping the rubber so that one of the coils was dangling free.  I fixed them as best I could and then decided to continue along the Jeep trail.  It appeared to run on for quite a while.  I eventually crossed off of state land; looking back I could see a sign announcing emergency DEC contact information.  I kept my eyes open for No Trespassing or Posted signs, but the only signs I saw were on a road leading off to the right, by a large turn-around or parking area.

A little ways after that, I came to a junction.  I could tell from my phone's topo maps that state land was over to the left, and I could see a clearing or pond not too far away, so I went over to check it out.  Eventually I crossed back on to state land, marked by a prominent "No Motor Vehicles Allowed Beyond This Point" and yellow paint splotches on the tree.  A little ways after that I came to what appeared to be a frozen beaver pond.  There were tracks leading across it, but I didn't trust the ice, so I returned to the road, which led around the flooded area.  Eventually I passed by a large parking area on my right, and then found myself heading toward Lincoln Mountain Road.  Standing at the edge of the road, I caught a glimpse of the Kayaderosseras Range: my only view of the run.  I had seen this range as I drove in to Lincoln Mountain State Forest along Locust Grove Road, and they beckoned me to come explore them, instead.  (I've already explored one of the peaks in that range, Spruce Mountain.)

I contemplated taking off the YakTrax and running the roads back to my car, but decided against it.  I had come out here to be in the woods, and I'd rather be running and walking over snow-and-ice-covered woods roads than blacktop any day.  I started to head back the way I had come.  When I passed by the beaver pond earlier, I had noticed a clearing through the trees, like an old lane, that followed an old stone wall (there are stone walls everywhere in these woods).  It looked as if the old lane was heading along the narrow strip of land owned by the State.  I followed it now, for a little ways, until it disappeared into some wetlands.  If it was a road at some point, it's lost now.

Disappointed, I headed back the way I had come.  As I was on my way back up to the "summit", I passed by the only other people I saw in the forest that day.  (By the prints, another person was here today or yesterday; they parked off of Lincoln Mountain Road and walked up to the summit area of Lincoln Mountain, then turned around and went home.  He or she was the brave soul whose prints led across the beaver pond, along with a few other, older tracks.)  Anyway, I stopped running as I approached the other party because they had a dog and I wasn't sure if I would spook it if I ran past.  We exchanged pleasantries, though they looked at me like I had an extra head or something.

I got back to my car, then explored a little of the woods just past the parking area, looking for trails or other clearings.  I found what appeared to be an old, disused woods road and signs of old logging, but nothing very exciting, so I headed back home.

The 2002 Draft Unit Management Plan [http://www.dec.ny.gov/docs/lands_forests_pdf/saratogawardraftump.pdf] for this forest is available online, and contains a wealth of information about these woods.  (If the link ceases to work, search for "Unit Management Plan for State Forests in Saratoga and Warren Counties".)  According to the Draft UMP, which refers to Lincoln Mountain State Forest as "Saratoga I":

Saratoga I contains a major “truck trail” which connects with Cohen Road and traverses state land for about one mile to the southern boundary. This is classified for motor vehicle use. Two other access roads, one east and one west, provide access to parts of state land and for some private adjacent landowners. An easement exists for the road which runs easterly off Cohen Road. The westerly road has been barricaded by the current owner where it crosses his property. The west end of this road is accessible from Green Road. These two roads total about 2600 feet.

I've visited two of the other forests managed under this plan: Ushers Road State Forest, which links up to the Zim Smith Trail south of Round Lake, and Daketown State Forest.  If you look at satellite pictures of Daketown it looks like a tree farm from above, which was part of the reason why I went to check it out.  It looks like a tree farm from the ground, too, because it is, or was.  These are working forests, and the trees are used for lumber.  Middle Grove State Forest also has a seed orchard, supplying the Saratoga Tree Nursery with seeds.

Lincoln Mountain has some other interesting features, including some very old trees.  According to the same Draft UMP:

As a result of Neil Pederson’s research, it has been determined that an “old age” stand of Black gum (Nyssa sylvatica) exists in the northern wetlands in Saratoga I off Cohen Road. Neil is a doctorate candidate at the Tree-Ring Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory and Columbia University. Trees up to three feet in diameter have been found and after aging a number of these trees (using an increment borer and cross dating), Neil has found ages dating back to the mid 1400's (or well over 500 years old). Over 30 trees have been aged and recorded to date (see Appendix 10).

Amazing.

That about wraps it up.  Given that the amount of state land available for running is fairly small, and that I can't find much in the way of details about the easement along the Jeep trail, I have a hard time recommending this land for runners.  You could, in theory, follow the Jeep trail off of Cohen Road down to Woodard Road in Wilton, and then run back up the mountain (an ascent of roughly 500').  It's hard to say for certain whether or not the road is open the entire way, and whether or not the landowners would be OK with this use, though.  So I'm going to keep looking elsewhere.

One final note: this forest is very active with hunters during deer hunting season.  Out of respect for their sport, and concern for everyone's safety, I suggest not entering these woods during the main deer season, unless you are hunting.  This forest sits in the Northern Zone, which is bounded by Route 29 in this area.  Full details are available on the DEC site.

Big Slide and Yard - 8 Jun 2013

(Final stop: The Garden in June.  Not quite as epic as the Judoon on the moon in June, but c'est la vie.  Allons-y!)

I’m writing this report seven months after the fact, so the details are a little fuzzy.  Here’s what I remember.

Jason and Mike picked me up and we headed up north on a foggy June morning.  When we arrived at the Garden, there were still places to park, and the attendant directed us toward a spot.  A minute or two after Jason parked, she came back over and suggested that he move his car a foot or so, to ensure that no one tried to park next to him, because there wasn’t enough room for a car to fit there, but apparently people get a little bit ambitious in their attempts to park.  No surprise there.

Best View of the Day

We got geared up, and as we were doing so, another lady walked over and asked us a few questions, which were the usual questions we got when heading out into the High Peaks with dogs (do you have leashes?, how long are you staying?, where are you going?).  Basic questions to ensure that we were aware of the regulations.  We answered her questions, and we reassured her that we were aware of the rules and regulations of New York’s finest, and heavily used, wilderness.

My favorite part of that conversation was when she first walked over and glanced down to see that I was wearing FiveFingers and gaiters that didn’t really attach fully.  Her eyes widened a bit and she said, “wow, those are some awesome... gaiters.”  I thanked her, chuckled internally, and continued getting ready.

I know that it’s considered standard form to wear boots in the High Peaks, and elsewhere, but I’ve come to really appreciate wearing less footwear on mountain trails.  After wearing boots for 10 miles of rough trail, my feet ache and my toes are blistered and beat.  My pinky toes are screaming for relief, and it takes them days to fully recover.  I still haven’t made up my mind between wearing running shoes or minimalist shoes like FiveFingers, but in either case, my feet are generally better off afterwards.  That said, I fully appreciate that there are times when boots have to be worn.  Around here, that means any outing over an hour or two where your feet will get wet and cold, and any time where there’s a high chance of a venomous snake encounter.  Beyond that, boots are overkill in my mind.

We made our way over to the trail register, and stopped to chat again with the lady who had asked us about the dogs, and a guy who was heading in.  Both were either DEC or ADK employees, but I didn’t look closely enough to figure it out.  The guy and Jason talked about dogs for a bit, and then he also commented on my footwear.  He said that he had been working with a bear expert a few weeks earlier, and that the expert had come across the strangest looking bear tracks he had ever seen.  Fortunately, the gentleman who was leading him was familiar with the other wildlife in the park, and recognized that the bear expert was actually tracking a ferocious Homo sapiens vibram.

We made our way up the Brothers, stopping to assist the dogs when needed.  If I remember correctly, Autumn seemed to fly up the short cliffs, but Indiana hesitated often.  We all worked together to get the dogs up, and I remember enjoying the challenge.  There were several very large erratics along the Brothers ridge, and the northeast ridge of Big Slide, and I remember suppressing the urge to scale a few of the smaller ones.  (I really need to stop holding myself back on these hikes.  Most of the time I’m so focused on pushing on that I forget that it’s OK to wander a bit.)  There was one in particular that caught my fancy that I’ll need to check out the next time I head up; it might have been where the USC&GS marker is that’s labelled on the USGS map (near the NE summit of Big Slide).

The Brothers and the northeast ridge of Big Slide are fantastic.  Aside from the erratics, there are massive expanses of exposed rock.  Combined with the mist that we were walking through, it was an altogether beautiful hike.

After a while we headed back in to forest, and we came to an area with some intense blowdown.  The guy, ranger, whoever he was, had warned us about this.  It was bad enough that we found ourselves wandering through the woods unexpectedly.  We stopped and took a guess at where the trail would be, and I told the guys to wait a second while I went to have a look.  I found the trail about 30’ away, and hollered for them to follow.

Not long after that, we came to the junction that led back down to the JBL.  I knew from my reading that the base of the slide was a short way through the woods, and had wanted to go take a look.  There was supposed to be a herd path, and there was indeed a faint one, but it petered out without getting close to the cliffs.  We walked for a couple of hundred feet, then turned back and returned to the trail.

We continued on up, and soon enough came to a short side trail that led over to a view of the slide.  Jason pointed out that it was unlikely that many people would hike all the way up here to climb the slide.  It wasn’t worth the effort.  The slide was nearly vertical, and looked like it would be a class 5 climb.

We continued on toward the summit.  When we were nearly at the top, Indiana slipped on a 12-15’ rock face.  We had been supporting her and Autumn through a series of them, and they had both been fine, but Jason noticed some blood on her paw.  We got to the summit, and he immediately set about checking out her paw.  There wasn’t much that we could do for her, but the bleeding wasn’t heavy, and it stopped while we were on the summit.  We had initially planned on going for Yard, if we had time and conditions were good, but since Indiana was injured, we decided to head back instead.

I have made several silly mistakes this year; all were due to me skimming too fast over a map or a guidebook, or not bothering to read them at all.  On Greylock, I stupidly assumed that it would be easier to use the road instead of the trails, and added several miles over hard (literally hard) terrain that we didn’t have to do.  I was so concerned about the snow condition that we skipped the Farmer’s route up to Mt. Williams, and instead walked the road up to the AT and then hiked up from there.  On the descent, we took the road back instead of the Bellows Pipe Trail, because I thought that there would be a high risk of an avalanche on such a steep looking slope.  The slope looked steep on the map, but didn’t look steep in person, and there wasn’t enough snow or open terrain for an avalanche, anyway.  I let fear get the best of me, and made a long day unnecessarily longer.

On Sawteeth, I didn’t even both reading the guidebook, and just took a few internet reports as enough information.  As a result, I didn’t know what to expect, and couldn’t convey that to my hiking partners.  We ended up stretching ourselves a bit thin on that one; yes, we did make the summit, but we were right on the edge of what we could accomplish.  It could have been bad.

Here, on Big Slide, I read the map way too quickly, and thought that there was a trail that lead down to the JBL out of the Big Slide - Yard col.  I thought that would be the quickest way to get down, so I suggested that we go that way.  Jason agreed, because he didn’t want to take Indiana back over the rocks that had cut her up in the first place.  We got to the summit of Yard quickly (it isn’t much of a col) and I realized that I had made a mistake: the trail I was thinking of was actually back at the junction we had passed before summiting.  I felt horrible, since I was trying to get Indiana down as safely as possible.  The descent off of Yard was rough in spots.  At one point the trail dropped straight down off of a 6’ cliff.  We could get ourselves down fine, but Indiana wouldn’t get close enough to the edge for us to hand her off.  We saw another possible route over to the left, and tried to show it to her, but she wasn’t having it.  While I was checking that out, she walked back over to the trail and let Jason help her down.

Eventually we found the Klondike Notch Trail.  From this point on, we were on mostly level terrain, but decidedly muddier.  Ridiculously muddier.  We made our way over to the JBL, passing a few people doing trail maintenance, and stopped for a rest and some water.  I decided to go inside and have a look around, and ended up buying a coffee each for Jason and I.  Mike chose not to have one.  The coffee was a locally roasted blend called Hammer.  The JBL staff prepared it in a percolator, served it in small ceramic cups.  Payment was collected on the honor system.  The whole experience was wonderful.  I had intended on purchasing more of the coffee, but I never got a chance.  The company that roasted it, Adirondack Bean-To, went out of business a few months later.

A Cuppa in the Woods

As we were enjoying our coffee, a group of younger, fit-looking men came up to the JBL and plopped down not far from where we sat.  They were visibly exhausted, like they had pushed way too hard for far too long.  It was a bit strange then, and even stranger in hindsight, because they had come from the direction of Marcy or the Orebed trail.  They had to have descended to get to where they now were, and most people don’t get bushed like that on a descent.  The only thing I can think was that they must have been running.

We made our way now along the Phelps trail, aka the Northside trail, which led back to the Garden.  It was fairly uneventful, until we reached a junction.  I had a look at a sign board, and noticed that there was a note, written by a ranger, instructing the members of some party where to find another member of their party.  When we got back to the Garden, we found the ranger and the boy.  I stopped to chat briefly, letting him know that we hadn’t seen the rest of the party on our way out.  The ranger said that the boy had been left behind by the rest of his party up near the col between Wolfjaws, and that he had mistakenly descended in to the wrong valley.  Luckily the boy had his wits about him, and he got help.  As we got our gear off and got ready to head out, the rest of the boy’s party finally showed up.  We heard a bit of the conversation as we headed out, mostly of the boy’s older companions making excuses about why they had left him behind.  I was very glad that it had ended like this, though, with embarrassed excuses, instead of the other way, with SAR and dwindling odds of survival.

Now that I think more about it, I wonder if the out-of-breath guys were his companions, having made a hasty climb back up the AMR side of the Great Range and down to the JBL side?  Or perhaps the boy descended down the AMR side and the ranger brought him back over to the JBL side?  I suppose that makes more sense, since their cars were parked at the Garden.  Anyway, enough rambling.

To end on a positive note: I love hiking with dogs.  Especially these dogs.  Indiana is a Husky and Autumn is a German Shepherd.  If you’re feeling tired, Indiana will literally pull you up the hill, as long as her leash is attached to her harness and not her collar.  It’s instinct for her, and I love it.  On the first hike I took with her, I was dragging far behind, and she kept an eye on me.  It was wonderful.  Autumn is excellent on the trail, too, finding her way very well, even over the steep stuff.  On top of all that, they’re both wonderfully affectionate, and well-behaved.  You couldn’t ask for better trail dogs.

(Thus concludes our trip backwards through time.  I'm caught up on trip reports.  Finally.  Time to go climb something new.)