Adirondacks 2012 Part Two: Eating, Hiking, and Eating

14 July 2012

The roads were wet, it was raining in Yardley, and Cheryl canceled her ride this morning. Instead of looking in the book to see what else was on offer, I went back to bed.

An hour later I had just enough time to get to they gym for a spin class, and then I did some much-needed iron-pumping. There was sunlight coming through the gym windows. If I hadn't been on my back doing chest presses, I'd have been kicking myself.

So here I am, with a good case of bike guilt, a bowl of coffee (if the mug needs two hands to hold, it's a bowl), and a hike's worth of photographs that need explaining. So let's get to it.

Lately it seems I do one hike a year. I'd packed my boots and my ankle brace, which is all the hiking gear I own. I decided to use the backpack that I carry all my biking gear in, which meant that I had to empty it for the first time since I'd bought it maybe a decade ago. This was long overdue.

Onto the bed went the usual stuff: chain lube; spare gloves; the sunglasses case; the bag of spare Kermits; glove liners; and another pair of gloves. Then came the stuff I forgot was even in there: tiny bungee cords from back when all I had was a panier on Bluestreak; plastic bags from the days before I discovered toe warmers; maps and cue sheets from my earliest days of leading; a comb; and more chain lube.

I replaced it all with two water bottles and a peanut butter sandwich.

A year ago we tried to climb Hopkins Mountain, but the tiny parking area was full when we got there. This year, Jeff had us wake up extra early. We were on the road by 7:30.

As usual, I was the only one not wearing specialty hiking gear. I was the only one without hiking poles. My shoes were decent, though, and in good shape. This was their third time out.

Where parking lots were full last year they were empty now. Ours was the first car in the three-car pull-over at the head of the Hopkins trail.

We spilled out to get our boots on. Mary Anne leaned over off to the side and Don, not seeing her, promptly conked her noggin as he swung the rear gate open. There was no blood, just a lot of apologizing and a few big hugs.

Jeff, who does meticulous research into his hikes, told us that today we'd be going about 6.5 miles, with a final elevation of 3000 feet and a near panoramic view of the Adirondack's High Peaks.

We walked on bouncy soil under the shade of hemlock trees.  Beside us ran the Mossy Cascade, leading, eventually, to the Ausable River.

The morning light wasn't quite enough to illuminate the little waterfalls.

We worked our way uphill gradually, but our steady pace was often interrupted by sudden steep sections. Don, Mary Anne, Marilyn, and Jeff used their poles for support.  I used my quads and grabbed trees.  This was an up-and-back trail.  Coming down was going to be fun.

As we do on bike rides, we gathered at the top of each steep section to collect everyone and drink.  Here, Jeff is ahead of us.  Marilyn is calmly imparting wisdom unto me, something I need to know about life and hiking, something about relaxing in the moment, as Don and Mary Anne climb up. 

I don't know how far up we were when we got our first peek at the other mountains.  We still had almost a mile to go, I think.  As good as I am about judging distances and time on the road, I'm just as lousy with time and distance on the trail.  I was getting impatient.  A mile is nothing on the road.  A mile is forever on a mountain.

From left to right, Don, Mary Anne (behind Jeff), Jeff, and Marilyn take in the view.

Don saw the fuzzy lichen first.

The trail was getting steeper.

We were looking for an intersection with another trail.  It would be a sign that we were near the top.  Jeff and I were a little ahead when we found it.  The trail marker said we had 0.2 miles to go, and from the looks of it, we were going straight up.  Jeff sat and beckoned me to sit too.  "Sit on this friendly rock," he said.  At this angle it was less sitting than leaning.  We waited a few minutes.  He gave me a topographical trail map, and I was lost in map geekiness, searching for where we were and what we might see.

Jeff slid down to the trail and put his hands to his mouth.  He faced the trail and shouted, "CAW!  CAW!"  He sounded like a crow.  There was no response.  "CAW!  CAW!" he hollered again.  From a distance we heard Don's Tarzan yell and we giggled.  Moments later they arrived.

Mary Anne looked up at me on my near vertical perch and put her hands on her hips.  "Laura," she said.  "Can't you do something about this?"

"Like what?"

"I dunno.  You've got a PhD."

"We need Jack and Terry for that.  They're the creative ones.  I'm just good with my hands."  I wiggled my fingers in the air.

I knew what was coming.  Don said something best left in the bedroom, and we were on the move again.

Jeff and I got to the clearing at the same time.

I dropped my backpack and sprang ahead to take it all in. From behind me, Jeff called out, "So, Laura! Is it worth it?"

Hell, yeah!

Jeff knew all the peaks.  Let's see what I can remember.  Above, rear left:  Dix.  Foreground left:  Noonmark.  The Sawteeth are on the right, I think.  There's an Upper and Lower Wolf Jaw in there, too.

In the background is one of the shoulders of Giant Mountain:

That's a rock slide on Giant:

Behind us, in the far distance, Jeff thought we could see Nipple Top.

The air was getting hazy.  We could see the Ausable Club (the clearing, center right) but not the river.

We sat in the sun and ate our lunches.  I was running out of water.  Jeff and Marilyn rescued me.  "I never know how much to bring," I said.  "More than you think you'll need," Jeff told me.

As clouds rolled in, we started back down the mountain.

Here's some more lichen.

Don pointed this one out to me:

The descent was hairy in places.  I found myself facing sideways, stepping into wells between roots and holding onto trees.

We liked how this tree was holding onto a rock.

"I looooove youuuuuu!"

I noticed more small things on the way down than I did on the way up.

Art rock!

Don, Mary Anne, and Marilyn with their poles:

Thought I was finished with this theme, Jim?  Think again!

The diffuse afternoon light was much better for photographs of the Mossy Cascade.

We were the only ones on the trail.  Jeff's car was the only one parked on the road. All day it had been us and the mountain.

We stopped at the Noonmark Diner on the way home for a well-earned hit of ice cream.  Don and Jeff got milkshakes so thick that their straws didn't work.  Wearing cotton and lacking a change of clothes, I began to get chilled.

By the time we got home it was something near or past 5 p.m.  Mary Anne, clearly the only intelligent one in the group, went for a massage.  She and Don went for dinner at Garnet Hill.  The rest of us stuffed our faces with leftovers.

I decided that I might as well throw my biking and hiking gear in the wash.   My empty backpack seemed heavy.  I looked in.  There, at the very bottom, was a rolled-up t-shirt I could have changed into.  And in the rear pouch I found the following:  arm warmers; two balaclavas; a hat; two pairs of summer gloves; a pair of winter gloves; and glove liners.  Had we'd encountered a snow squall at the top of Hopkins Mountain, by gum I'd have been ready to keep everyone warm.

Saturday greeted us with rain showers.  We were all off to a slow start.  Jeff, Terry, Marilyn, Jack, and I drove to the Adirondack Museum.  With each stair or ramp, three of us were saying, "Ow.  Ow.  Ow."  Mary Anne, of course, was completely fine.

The exhibit that stuck with me the most was the one on logging. If you want a job that will kill you if you're lucky and wreck you if you're not, try being a lumberjack at the turn of the last century.  If you want to die quickly, be one of the three-man boat crew undoing logjams.

We got back to North Creek in the late afternoon.  Bob, Norene, and Nancy returned from another day trip to one of the many camps that the Robber Barons had set up for themselves.

"Are you guys going to dinner?"  I asked.  They were sacked out on the couch in front of leftover crackers.  I was inhaling chocolate raisins and yogurt almonds.  "Ugh," Norene said.  "We had a late lunch.  3:45."  She was holding her stomach.  "We'll come down later."

Basil and Wick's is next to the bottom of the Gore Village driveway.  We had the same waiter as last year.  It was Jeff's birthday.  Mary Anne baked a cake that the waiters brought out for him.  Stuffed, we hauled ourselves back up the driveway.  Ow.  Ow.  Ow.

The last night in North Creek is always a rush to pack our cars and get rid of whatever food we can't take home.  The next morning we finish packing and traditionally have breakfast together at Marsha's, the town's greasy spoon.  If it weren't for Bob, I'd have left my fancy coffee bean grinder in the condo.

Bob and Norene somehow both managed to misplace their cell phones.  "Can you call them?"  I asked. 

"We have Verizon," he said.  "They're turned off."

"I remember you pulling yours out of your pocket the other night, on the sofa."

"Wait!"  His hand hit a side pocket on his cargo pants.  He fumbled with the Velcro and pulled out his phone.  "Too many damn pockets," he grumbled.

Two days later, Norene emailed us to let us know that her phone was found among Bob's plein air painting gear.  I asked her if she knew how it got there.

"Bob likes to paint by numbers," she replied.