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!

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.

Pharaoh Lakes Wilderness - 9 Mar 2013

(This is from the weekend before last.  I've got a few more runs to write up, hopefully soon.)

I had a chance to go hiking on Saturday with Ken, but the snow wouldn't have been ideal for the gear that we have, so we opted to pursue our individual sports.  He went for a bike ride on Sunday, and I went for a run on Saturday.  I had initially decided to go for a run on the east side of Lake George, out of Dacy Clearing, but after doing some research I found out that the route I was intending on taking is part of an established snowmobile route.  Having already shared the trail twice with snowmobiles, I wasn't interested.  I wanted something with a little more wilderness.  I thought about going over to the Northville-Placid trail, but ended up choosing the Pharaoh Wilderness instead.  It turns out that was an excellent idea.

(Actually, I thought about going to numerous different trails, all over the state and across the border.  More on that later.)



I got a late start, having wanted to give my wife a chance to sleep in in the morning.  Once I was in my car, I had expected to get to the trailhead by 1:00, but ended up getting turned around near Brant Lake and didn't get to the trailhead until 2:00.  No matter, I thought, a little is better than nothing.  The trailhead was packed, and people were parked along the edge of the road leading to the parking area.  I chose a decent spot, doing my best not to block the driveway of the lucky soul who lives right near the trailhead.

In truth, it's an old woods road, and there's no gate across it.  The snow was packed hard, and made for an excellent running surface.  I quickly put on my running shoes, made my way over to the snow (the approach road was pure mud), and put on my snowshoes.

For this run, I chose to ditch the Sketcher 505s I had used on my last two snowshoe runs, and opted for my standard running shoes, my Merrell Trail Gloves.  Despite the fact that they have absolutely no waterproofing whatsoever (except perhaps the rubber on the bottom), my feet were fine.  My toes were a little bit cold at first, but I never felt like I was in danger of getting frostbite.  Despite the snow on the ground, the air temperature was in the high 40s, low 50s.  I had my usual cold weather running socks on (a pair of Darn Tough hikers [at least I think they're hikers]).

The biggest difference I noticed, however, was in the way my feet felt afterwards.  With the 505s and the snowshoes, I literally felt like I was running on concrete, and my feet were sore all over.  With the Trail Gloves, the only thing that was sore afterwards was my left achilles tendon.  Since that's a normal ache point for people transitioning to minimalist footwear, I'll take it.

I managed to travel at about 2.7mph, average, between running, hobbling, and walking fast.  I had hoped to get in to Pharaoh Lake itself, and possibly even circumnavigate it, but given my late start and my slow speed, I only made it in to Pharaoh Lake Brook.  After realizing that I wasn't going to make it in to the lake in time to make it home for some other commitments, I turned around, half-heartedly.  Fortunately for me, I decided to check out a designated camping area that's right near the bridge across the brook.  It turned out to be an excellent decision.

Pharaoh Lake Brook drains the lake itself, and right before it flows under the bridge that the trail uses, it flows right past a beaver den.  Presumably due to these beavers influence and engineering, the area is therefore a marshy one.  Standing on the edge of this marshy area, not far from the campsite, looking across the marsh, I laid eyes on Pharaoh Mountain.  The view was breathtaking.  Not something you would expect to find along an old logging road, standing beside an area that, during the spring and summer, must be swarming with insects of all kind.  Yet there it was: sheer beauty.



I plan on coming back soon, and starting to work on running around Pharaoh Lake and up Pharaoh Mountain.  There's a huge network of trails back there, and it's a perfect training ground for an exploratory run I'd like to do later in the year.

Hennig Preserve - 4 Jan 2013

The wind here has a name, an unpronounceable one, and it screams this name until you look up to try and see where it's coming from.  That's when you realize that there's a wall of snow moving swiftly towards you.  You have a precious moment to throw your hood over your head, before the snow does its best to creep down your shirt and chill you to the core.  Sometimes you're successful, sometimes you're not.  You could just leave your hood up, but the thumping, creaking, squeaking and screaming all around you makes you constantly look from side to side, just to confirm once again that the sound is yet one more tree grinding against another.  Such was my existence for two frozen hours on Friday, while I attempted to work out the gearing and layering that I would use for future training runs and hikes in this strange land of sugar icing.

I was testing out my new snowshoes at the Hennig Preserve, a large preserve in the town of Providence, NY, only a stone's throw from the Adirondack Park itself.  The preserve reminds me of the Adirondacks, though I can't get a good look at the ground to confirm that, because of the snow that covers it.  All of the trails on the south side, where I spent most of my time, were well-packed by other snowshoers.  I was pleased when I saw this; I didn't want to mess with ski tracks, since skiers apparently get upset when you do this, and I didn't want to cut new trail for the entire time, because I wasn't wearing snowshoes meant for that.  I was wearing snowshoes that were meant for running on groomed trails, because I'm in the middle of training for an upcoming snowshoe race, and I thought I might try some novel form of training, such as putting snowshoes on and running in them.

It turns out that running in snowshoes isn't as difficult as I thought it would be, at least from a logistical standpoint.  I automatically increased my stride so that I wouldn't trip on my own shoes, and according to my recorded track, I was able to get up into the 15:00s.  Nothing to write home about, but pretty good, I thought, for a total beginner.  The major limiting factor, it turns out, was my heart.  After less than a minute I was reaching for the 170s and starting to shut down.  This was completely disheartening, since on snow-free routes I'm able to run a mile in the 12:00s, and my heart stays in the high 150s to low 160s.  Again, I know it's nothing to write home about, but my point is, running in snowshoes is significantly more difficult than I had anticipated.  Trying to make the best of the situation, I resolved to push on and just hike as far as I could for as long as I could.  I broke into a run a few times, but for the most part I hiked.

Personal problems aside, the trail and the woods were beautiful.  There was a trail labeled as "Esker Trail" on the map, and I was cautiously optimistic that it was a trail named because of an esker, and not because of a certain Mr. or Mrs. Esker.  As I slogged up a slight uphill that marked the start of the trail, I was pleasantly surprised to see that I was, in fact, standing upon an esker.  It wasn't very tall at first, but as the trail traversed the ridge, the ground below the deposition grew further and further away.  The esker itself does more undulating than it does winding, and it doesn't show up on any topo map that I've found, but it's most definitely there.  You can see it from Glenwild Road, as well, on your approach to the preserve, and you can see the road from the end of the esker.  From the map, it doesn't look like it goes any further; there's something that looks more like a kame on the other side of the road, with a gravel pit excavated from one end of it.



I should also add that I loved being on top of the esker.  I had made it a goal of mine last year to visit one, after reading about the eskers in the Five Ponds Wilderness and seeing them laying there like serpents upon the topo maps of the region.  The experience itself was a bit surreal, both from the slopes falling away on either side and from the physical reminder that thousands of feet worth of moving ice once stood above this very spot.  I can't wait to check out the massive eskers at Five Ponds.

The wind made itself known while I was up there, as it had while I was gearing up on the road, but once I descended off of the esker, the valley on the other side was sufficiently sheltered for me to warm up and consider dropping a layer.  I didn't, mostly because I just wanted to keep moving and cover as much ground as I could.  It was late in the day, and I knew that I had to keep pushing on.

At one point I came across a barely frozen stream, with the loud rush of a small waterfall only barely hidden from sight.  In one spot a hole had opened up, and I could see the water rushing past.  I awkwardly forded the stream, following another soul's foot placements.  This was repeated several times on the hike, and it was always a bit nerve-wracking.

The other end of the blue trail meets up with the end of both the orange and the green trail, as well.  I contemplated going back on the orange trail, which would have led me back to my car by the most direct route, but I choose to go the long way instead.  It was on the green trail, on the back side of a small ridge (possibly the same esker line), that the wind started whipping through the trees, dumping snow on me and the forest ahead in a moving wall of snow.  It was also back here that I heard some of the strangest noises coming from the trees as they rubbed together.

The green trail travels through some lovely country, and I found myself wanting to linger on several occasions.  Twice along the green trail, I crossed over another trail (or road) without P.L.A.N. signs on it, and there were several other points where I thought I saw herd paths or old trails.  I also passed by a snow-covered, barely visible old stone wall that I only noticed when I glanced back at one point.

The only people I ran into were four seasoned gentlemen who were coming out as I was heading in.  We stopped to chat briefly, but in my haste to get moving, I forgot to thank them for breaking (or re-breaking, more likely) the trail for me.  If any of you happen to read this, thank you!

All in all, this was a fun trip.  My legs were sore afterwards, especially the outside of my thighs, so I'll count this as a decent workout even without being able to run very far.  The preserve is beautiful, and the Hennigs and now Saratoga P.L.A.N. have done a good job in keeping the land pristine.

The trip also convinced me that I'm not ready for this race.  My pace for the day was 27:56.  On the 2011 Camp Saratoga 8K Snowshoe results page, the slowest runner ran a 19:22 pace over the course.  If I were to perform like I did today, it would take me over 2:18 hours to complete the course.  I'm simply not ready for it, and I don't want to make some poor souls sit around in the cold waiting for me to prove that I'm not ready for it.  So, I'll skip this race, and start looking toward a race in the fall or late summer, as well as a snowshoe race next season.  In the meantime, I hope the snow sticks around so I can train some more in it!

For more information on the Hennig Preserve, please visit Saratoga P.L.A.N.'s website, here: http://www.saratogaplan.org/HennigPreserve.htm.