Page Title

9/99

You can tell when you're in the groove. Things click into place… 1,2,3… they come and go like they are supposed to. It's one-part-planning, one-part-organization and one-part-luck. For me, I was in the groove! I was on schedule and drivin' up the Northway to the Adirondacks for my first solo backpacking trip.

It's a 2-hour drive from home to the High Peak Wilderness Area and Lake Placid in Upstate New York. Two measly hours separated me from trekking along Olympic cross-country ski trails, hiking past the tucked-away and abandoned Olympic Awards Center, paralleling the Olympic bobsled run, and claiming the summit at Mt. Van Hoevenberg.

Although my intention was to buddy-up for a pre-Yosemite warm-up trip to test out (more) new gear… I was unable to enlist the company of a fellow backpacker from my short list of rock rovers and high altitude junkies. Going solo made me a little nervous (don't tell my wife, Kate) so I felt compelled to do some homework. I spoke with my mentors (Warren and Roger) about a simple loop to hike. Now, in my pocket, protected by a small zip-lock baggie, were photocopies of trail narratives and an ADK map.

PLAN: (1) Arrive at the massive Adirondack LOJ parking lot around 3:30 PM; (2) Carry a 40 lb. back of bare essentials (No wine THIS time) 3.6 miles over the Mr. Van Trail ski trail (crossing two beaver dams) and to the Mr. Van Lean-to (6:00 PM); (3) Should the lean-to be "occupado," Plan-B included a night in my (NEW) ultra-light backpacking tent; (4) On Sunday (9:00 A.M.), continue the loop by hiking 4 miles across ski trails, past the Olympic Stadium, up and around the bobsled run, over the summit at Mt. Van Hoevenberg, and then back to my car; And (5), unlike the last trip… Avoid any encounters with a Beer… Errr… Bear.

I arrived at the LOJ on time. However, the lot was full and I needed to park ½ mile away from the entrance with other latecomers… a minor inconvenience. Thrilled and ready to HIKE, I bolted up to the trailhead, logged in and gleefully began my trek. This was the moment I had been anxiously awaiting. Being on my own in the Great Out-of-doors!

About 200 yards later I came upon a pleasant couple that shared with me their decision to not hike this particular trail. With flooding the previous week due to Hurricane Floyd, Marcy Brook was a gushing river and a ¼ mile down the trail the bridge/beaver dam had been washed out. (What! An obstacle? GREAT!) Although the novices turned back, I chose to persevere.

Upon reaching Marcy Brook I carefully scoped out my options. "Hmmm. No bridge. No beaver dam. Plenty of rushing, ice-cold water... slippery rocks… big chance of falling and twisting an ankle. OK. I'm goin' across!"

With bare feet and my trousers rolled well above my knees, I cautiously hobbled along the tops of large submerged rocks. Ice-cold mountain water rushed around my feet and calves creating an enlightened sense of danger about being swept away and dragged downstream. ("Did that pleasant couple know something I didn't?")

After safely crossing the dam-less, bridge-less water hazard, I had an immediate sense of success and accomplishment. Using my lightweight shammy, I dried off my dogs, donned my boots, and hung the shammy to dry on my pack… "Cool," I thought, "Just like the real hikers!"

Excited about having conquered an unexpected obstacle, I cut across the top of a ridge only to get WHACKED in the eye by a branch. "UGGS! NOT AGAIN!" Instantly I reminisced about the Gorham-LaBella trip in which I was legally blind in one eye for two days due to (as I would later learn at the ER) a slight abrasion to my cornea. A moment later, I realized that my sunglasses had protected me from the lethal blow. My good fortune continued with the recognition that my eyes and glasses went unscratched. A double victory! (What a great trip this is!)

Not much further into the wood, obstacle #2 presented itself with the trail disappearing into a marshland. Should I actually get across the marsh (now a deep bog), I wondered if there would be a trail on the other side? Edging myself over fallen trees mostly submerged in deep black water, crawling over and under thick fallen brush, and making my way across most of the 200 yard bog without falling in, I reached obstacle #2A: I've got to get wet … to get to the trail. ("I see the trail blaze! I SEE THE TRAIL BLAZE!")

Snapping off a poker from a fallen tree, I barefooted the murky (but, pine needle soft) bog. Reaching the edge of the bog and eyeing the trail blaze and accompanying trail with relief, I had a keen sense of being unstoppable! I was once again on my way. ("Damn… All the trail markers are yellow-ski-trail as opposed to red as shown on my map.")

At this point, I am feeling moderately anxious. It's been about 2 hours and I have not come across any fellow hikers. Although my trail narrative describes this trail as impassable in high water, and I've already come to several water obstacles and plenty of soft marshy trail, I allow myself to consider the possibility that no one else has dared to persevere as I have.

It is perfect hiking weather. Leaves have begun to change color. The too-narrow-for-comfort, camouflaged, and leaf covered trail often had the appearance of "no trail." At times, I wasn't sure if I was on a trail, and I often wondered if I was following a ghost trail imagined by the way the leaves had fallen to the ground. The yellow markers do not appear as often as I would prefer. I'm doing ok. (AOK is reserved for knowing I'm not lost.)

Somewhere along the hike I recognized smushed boot prints and what I assume to be a sporadic dog print. This is comforting, because (I want to believe) I'm no longer alone. Next challenge: If the Mr. Van Lean-to is occupied by the owners of these unusually deposited footprints… I'll "tent."

At 3.6 miles, I first notice the outhouse and then the back of the adjacent Mr. Van Lean-to. Not wanting to startle its inhabitants, I prepare to offer a pleasant "hello" as I round the corner to greet fellow hikers. My words are barely spoken, when I realize the lean-to is empty. IT'S EMPTY! This is cool. A clean lean-to tightly wrapped in forest, and nestled in the "T" where a creek to the right meets the gushing South Meadow Brook 15 yards off the front of my shelter. (Oops. I forgot. A lean-to for myself means I'm STILL alone… with bears?).