Editor's Note: The Hat's been chomping at the bit to tell his version of the great washout in the Adirondacks. Here it is...

OK Guys,

You've got to do something with a trip like this so here's my working-through process.

Panther Gorge. For years Joe and I had been eyeing this trail. It was the last way into the High Peaks Region we had not taken. But, it was so long. 9 miles with packs over one ridgeline and then up to 3300 ft. It had always seemed quite a bit longer then we could do . . . but in Rocky Mountain National Park (2003) we had hiked 11 miles in one day, going over an 11,000 foot pass. Surely, 9 miles with plenty of air to breathe and (only) a couple of thousand feet in elevation gain would be a walk in the park . . .

So, reunited with Steve and Joe, the original Adirondack group set off on a beautiful sunny day for Panther Gorge. The bugs were out but experienced backpackers we were; we all were equipped with headnets (Joe and Steve even having net jackets). The first miles went down easily (though we noticed a creature that seemed frog-like, yet walked upright like a human in our midst) and we didn’t stop until we had lunch at a beautiful spot in the midst of Marcy Swamp where a creek made an elbow with a steep 4 foot bank to sit by. The going was slower as we headed towards the Gorge. The trail was in terrible shape with lots of blowdown, the largest trunks of which had not been cleared. The denseness of the surrounding growth made going around the blowdown not an option leaving us with several times where we had to get on our bellies to squirm under tree trunks. As we climbed the trail which was often quite narrow, rutted, and muddy making for slow and careful going, we arrived at the lean-to by 5:00 PM. Finding it available and in good condition was the perfect ending to a hard day!

After the usual post hike stupor we enjoyed a nostalgic meal of tortellini in clem sauce (you wouldn’t have thought Joe and Steve could be so fussy about where certain bodily excretions were placed), I mean, clam sauce (though some of us missed the linguini). Some of Steve’s hot chocolate with a little toottado (is that the right spelling), a game of pigs and the night passed well . . .

. . . except for the rain in the morning (Saturday). Though our lean-to was dry, nothing else at our campsite was. It had turned into rivulets. Despite Joe’s attempt to put the Army Corps of Engineers to shame, the water continued to keep everything around us damp and muddy. We dozed on and off throughout the morning, enjoying the freedom of having nothing to do and nowhere to go (though the 10 mile hike for this seemed a bit excessive). As scheduled, we tried to contact the other half of our party between 11:00 and 1:00 whom we were to meet at the summit on Marcy... but, to no avail, though of course... even Gary wouldn’t be crazy enough to hike up Marcy when the visibility was 50 feet max... right??? (and that with the question of Roger’s intestinal fortitude hanging open so to speak).

Later that day, roused out of a haze of dreams of civilization, I said to the boys, "Lets get the f—k out of here!"

Of course, déjà vu being what it is, Joe nixed this idea. But with Steve's going-along-for-the-ride attitude, we ended up bursting into a futile and lame attempt to head up the short but steep 1.5 miles to Haystack Mt (not quit hitting my mark for returning to civilization) which succeeded only in wetting the few dry and clean clothes we had left. It soon became inevitable that I would be socked in for another night in a damp lean-to.

Later that evening we were joined by some Frenchies on holiday. And though we considered telling them to sleep in the mud because of their non-support of the Iraq war, our better nature’s prevailed and we invited them to join us in the (DRY) lean-to... even sharing our fantastic meal of Asian noodles with chicken, Portobello mushrooms, and scallions. After dinner, Joe put them to task by giving them a small pile of firestick to start a fire (Ha! Good luck!). Despite the wetness of the wood and the serious odds against them for getting a fire started, they secured a blazing fire that cheered the evening.

As morning dawned our campers were so eager to be on their way that breakfast was skipped and even Steve was packed and on the trail by 7AM. Warren’s envy of Steve and Joe’s gaiters gave way to the sloshing of the trail that was now mostly a streambed as we made our way out of the gorge. We reached the marsh two hours later and thought at first the going seemed good enough. But, the logs we had walked on coming in were now found to be more often to be floating on top of water. We reached the crossing where we had lunched on Friday only to find the streambank gone and the water 4 – 5 feet higher then it was when we came in. The two log bridge were still intact with the stream now immediately under it with a strong current. When we crossed the bridge we found that the trail had reverted to marsh. The trail ended up going through deeper and deeper waters until we finally found ourselves wading through thigh high water 50 feet across. Fortunately, this water was calm and the day was warm despite the overcast. 10 – 20 degrees cooler or another 2 – 3 feet of water and we might have found ourselves spending an unanticipated extra day or two in the backcountry in a hypothermic coma.

Nevertheless, we persevered, though with less admiration for the gaitors. As we made our way out through the last 5 miles of the hike we found ourselves alone with our thoughts . . . “Was backpacking really something we would be doing as we got older” . . . “Why were we going to Vancouver Island” . . . “Can one really save money by substituting leaves for Kleenex”.

By 1PM we had made it back to the car and after discovering a new great place for lunch (a little reminiscent of the grand lake lodge in the shininess of it’s paneling) we headed for home older and wiser.