Adirondacks High Peaks

(Mt. Marshall-26)

The heavens opened up over i-90 the morning after and shot beams of sunlight in every direction filtered through the silver clouds with a neighboring hint of a rainbow to the right, as my i-Pod playlist landed on the magical fingers of Rick Wakeman and angelic voice of Jon Anderson: “High vibration, go on to the sun. Oh, let my heart dreaming. Past a mortal as me. Where can I be? Wish the sun to stand still. Reaching out to touch our own being. Past all mortal as we, here we can be. Here we be. Sun’s high streams through. AWAKEN GENTLE MASS TOUCH…” Flashes of the endless harrowing ordeal from the day before replayed in my head, and my eyes were continually drawn to the sky as it spoke to the open wound of my soul, through the soundscape filling the air between my four tires, as they race eastward to carry me home. A river of tears released and the road blurred into liquid sunlight. It’s a wonder I didn’t tumble over the guardrail of the overpass and plunge into the icy cold Hudson. I guess I was on autopilot, much like the seemingly endless final miles of the full moon death march to the trailhead the night before.

Well maybe that’s ramping up the drama a bit as is the following recount of the events leading up to a Marshall victory which we earned and then some! But at the time it seemed very dramatic. It certainly could have been worse i suppose. The temperature and weather were kind to us that day, factors that are notoriously unpredictable in the mountains. No, today it was the trail conditions, nutrition, and hydration that would be our nemesis.  

It all started with a fresh snowfall coating the mountains on New Year’s Day. We had set out on our first winter hike from the Upper Works lot to see if we could make a run at Mt. Marshall. We saw, through our ADK Facebook page, that there were a few groups that had made the journey in recent weeks, but we weren’t certain there would be any sign of their tracks after a few days of fresh snow. But I didn’t care. I just needed to be in the mountains making my own tracks in a winter wonderland, weather we reached our ultimate destination or not.

Marshall is, like many in the Adirondacks, one of those peaks where you need to walk a long distance of marked trail just to get to the base of the main climb. Then you ascend a 2-ish mile steep unmarked herd path to reach the summit. It’s this last portion we were unsure of. But my sister and I were just glad to be doing some winter hiking, no matter how far the journey took us. We would just see what condition the trail was in when we got there, and take what the mountain gives us.

It was a great day! The conditions couldn’t be better. Not brutally cold a nice packed trail base with a new layer of powder. A coating of pure white lay upon the limbs of Christmas trees scattered along the trail. The sound of streams running beneath our shoes as we make several crossings of tributaries branching from Calamity Brook which eventually becomes the Hudson river. It’s good to be approaching the mountains from the south for a change. Up until now we have been departing from either The Garden lot, Heart Lake, or St. Huberts for the most part, all of which approach from the North/Northeast.

A short distance after making a high water crossing of the brook across a rickety wooden bridge that is leaning badly to the left, we enjoy pretty views of lower MacIntyre’s and Marshall across the open clearing of Calamity Pond, and later as we reach the Flowed Lands, views of Algonquin and our planned finishing peak – Colden. I remember that late autumn day when we first attempted Colden and had our first turnback. That was a tough pill to swallow but experiences like that deepen your respect for the mountain, and this made Colden a meaningful finisher choice. I would shortly get a renewed respect through the lessons of another peak.

Well we never found the Herbert Brook herd path that day. As suspected, the snow had covered up any previous group’s attempts to break trail to Marshall. We retraced our steps back and forth a few times trying to find it, to no avail. Even if I knew exactly where it should be, there was no way we were going to break trail, not this late in the day anyway. So, we stopped at the lean-to, ate some lunch, and made our way back to the trail head with plenty of daylight to spare. It was a good day in the Daks even if we didn’t summit. Marshall isn’t going anywhere.

Fast forward a few weeks to Friday 13^th …

Some finagling of work schedules and more recent news of a trail-breaking group, had us up at 4:30 am before first light and driving once again to Upper Works for take 2. This time we had one goal- Marshall or bust! Originally, we had planned on possibly joining a larger group that was blazing the way to the Santanoni range, but in the end, we decided we had some unfinished business to take care of in the MacIntyres first. Up until that decision to switch gears, I was bringing work home and staying late at the office so as not to fall behind for the sake of a day off in the mountains. Whatever it takes, right?

I suppose my first mistake that morning was stopping at one cup of coffee, followed by my second blunder – skipping breakfast. But my taste buds weren’t awake yet I guess, and neither was I. I had plenty of trail snacks with me anyway. We made our way along the same route from New Year’s Day and enjoyed the familiar sights and sounds, but stopping far less, to maximize our chances for success. Also, adding to our advantages are actually trying to use electronics as a safety net, firing up the GPS along with some tracking apps on our phones. We have done more research and got some tips from fellow hikers on where to find the herd path as well, so we have a good feeling going into the day, despite what the calendar says.

I have some lower back and hip soreness I am dealing with this morning, but trying to stay ahead of it with vitamin-I. The trail conditions are not as perfect this time but still fine. It had rained earlier in the week and then the temp dropped again forming a frozen glaze over the snow. Crunch, crunch, crunch – all day long (“Mmmm cereal…”).

As usual there’s some new gear today, one of them being a new water bladder. Well I guess I was missing something with how the bite valve works, because I was getting nothing out of it. I did have a water bottle with me though so I wasn’t all that worried. But having to reach around and grab the bottle from the side of my pack every time, instead of simply sucking from the hose, had me drinking less than usual. Before I knew it, dehydration was starting to set in. Without realizing it, this also had me snacking less since I would have to wash down any food with the hard to reach water bottle. So now I add overworked, tired, dehydrated, and malnourished to my list of symptoms.

I am only realizing now how much this came into play after the fact although, Therese did mention that this was probably the source of my issues. At the time, I was just lacking energy and although a tried to push the pace I found it difficult to go beyond a snail’s pace. I felt ok but somehow couldn’t push the envelope. It was hard to understand, although it should have been simple to explain in hindsight. Still we had a goal to reach, so I would push through best I could, which wasn’t very good – I was draggin ass more than ever.

We found the Herbert Brook path just before 11:00 and took an early lunch break at the lean-to for some much-needed fuel and water. Then it was onward and upward. We had some energy now and were hopeful for success. The broken trail was faint thanks to the rain washing over it, but still very visible… at first. That was all about to change though.

For the first half of the HB path we were cruising along pretty good, although in my case still slower than usual. And then somewhere around the halfway point the “trail” would suddenly stop and we found ourselves bushwhacking and breaking our own trail. Then we would find the trail only to lose it once again. At one point, we were on the broken trail but veering considerably to the left of the one plotted on the map, on the GPS and phone app. We were faced with a decision to continue to follow the broken-out path or make our way back to the brook. All the electronics indicated following the brook to the end then continue on that bearing and making a hard left to the summit, while the map showed the trail going to the end of the brook and veering gradually to the left. I thought that if it was good for someone else it was good for us unless it took us too far out of the way, and around the opposite side of the mountain ridge. We followed it for a while then eventually it did turn right and lead us back to the brook.

But once again, AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, another dead-end would appear. The off-trail snow was very unstable. The recent rain and then refreeze gave a false security, forming a very weak crust layer over several feet of soft snow. We would walk a few steps and sink to our waist, manage to dig ourselves out, only to sink once more. The struggles persisted like this for the rest of the trip. Even when we managed to find the trail, the post-holes continued, and our snowshoes offered little protection from the quicksand. We were a full hour behind our turnaround time, but we were so close! We had to be!! How could this hell go on much longer? Surely it has to be over soon! And so, we fought our way up that god forsaken mountain through spruce traps, bushwhacking, snow bridges giving way to the icy cold water racing down the valley below, gear malfunctions and batteries dying, muscular breakdowns, energy depletion, broken spirits, and sooooooo many F-BOMBS… OOOH SOOOO MANY F-BOMBS!!!

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But we did not give up! How could we after coming all this way? TWICE!! I’m not gonna lie. Many times, I felt like giving up. Just lay down in the snow and let the mountain take me. The human spirit is a funny thing. In the toughest of times, it fights on, even when there seems nothing worth fighting for.

And then…

Out of nowhere…

From the great white, nothing…

as i cleared the branches from my face…

IT APPEARED!

That wonderful scrawny tree wearing a sign with the only two words that could have made a difference:

“MT. MARSHALL”

We had made it, finally.

We took turns hugging that little tree, sent an “I’m ok” Spot message to our families, took some selfies, and wasted no time starting our descent in hopes of making up some lost time. If we could just get back to the marked trail before dark, we would be ok.

Now we could take in a quick view before heading back into the abyss…

The trip down was a bit better. We were still post-holing and navigating sketchy water ways, sinking in traps, getting our feet wet, changing socks, and struggling to stay on the trail. But it didn’t matter. We made it to the summit and would make it out of this god forsaken place. We may even want to return to the mountains someday (Well let’s not get ahead of ourselves).

We made it back to the marked trail as the sun made its way to the horizon and gave way to the full moon. Everything was going to be fine. I was completely spent but by then was on autopilot making the looooooong zombie death march back to the trail head, by the dim light of our fading headlamps and the brilliant stars. There were no words uttered. It would take too much energy to speak, and we had not a drop left. Marshall had kicked our butt, taught us its lessons, and deepened our respect for the mountain. But really, it could have been a lot worse! I mean people die here! That was no consolation at a time like this though, when it felt like we would never get to the car!

And the death march dragged on… and on… and on.

Until it ended at last.

But would I ever be the same?

 

2 weeks later…

And so, I found healing in the darndest of places. I knew that to get this sour taste for winter out of my mouth, I needed to get back out there sooner than later. So, I looked at my calendar for my next window, and kept an eye on the weather. But where would I find this therapy? Would I take on another marathon trail-less peak in the Daks? Or maybe I could catch up to Therese on Sawteeth, or Dial/Nippletop if she was unavailable. I tossed ideas around for a week or so. Then I cleared my head and just started making arrangements for the upcoming annual NH48 awards ceremony in April, getting a head count for who would be joining me, and agonizing over which 6 out of thousands of photos I would share in the slideshow. While going through these images and the memories they represented, I suddenly realized how much I already missed the Whites.

So as the weekend neared closer, and the snowy trail conditions became apparent, I needed to nail down a plan. Therese had come down with a cold, so that eliminated anything like Cliff and Redfield. I wasn’t going to tackle another marathon without my hiking buddy. Sawteeth was the one I would go for in the ADKs, but I was now leaning toward something in the Whites. Therese told me to go to the mountain that calls to me. So, I listened to my heart if it was ready to speak to me. Of course! Why not go back to where I got my first taste of wintery hiking? That late November day just before the BIG SNOW year of 2015, where I encountered the powdery trails and saw the Whites through different eyes. That day on Tecumseh, in my cotton layers and a stick for a hiking pole, I looked out from the tree clearing on the summit to the peaks of the Sandwich range and decided I would give my gear an update and make Winter hiking my new favorite.

I hit the trail from the Waterville Valley Ski area parking lot at 9:30 and completed the 5.2 mile journey before lunch, and just like that I WAS CURED! I knew all along that I couldn’t stay mad at the mountains for even any length of time, but I’m not gonna lie: part of me dreaded the thought of another winter trek after my experience on Marshall. This little jaunt up Tecumseh was exactly what I needed. I had found the love again. I’M BACK!!! BRING ON THE NEXT ONE!