Hike: Cascade and Porter Mountains
Distance: ~6.5 miles
Elevation: 4098 ft (Cascade) 4059 ft (Porter)
Total Ascent: ~2300 ft
Date: June 20, 2015
Discussions of a return trip to Cascade and Porter had been ongoing for some time between my brother Brian and I. He had been up Cascade a decade earlier, but had not caught Porter at the time. I had been up both 8 months prior, but the weather had prevented seeing any views. And so it worked out that we could gather on Father’s Day weekend to resolve these issues.
The plan was to make a quick trip to grab them on Saturday, and then do a shorter, less rushed hike with my dad and kids Sunday. We arrived a bit late at the trailhead, and were worried about finding a parking spot. However, we lucked out because someone had just pulled out right next to it. While we were getting ready to kick off, a small car attempted to park on the other side of the street and went in a bit far, until only 3 wheels were on the ground. I was about to run across and jump on his trunk, but thankfully he was able to back up and get the fourth back down.
The hike up Cascade went fairly quickly and smoothly. We both felt like we were in pretty good shape after our Marcy summit a month prior, so we were excited to see how this went. Before we knew it we were on the last push above treeline.
The ADK has a summit steward program which posts a person on many of the more popular High Peak summits during the summer months. They are there to educate hikers and keep them off the fragile plants that grow there. A very kind and knowledgeable young woman was posted on Cascade this day, and took our picture (the other, unofficial, duty of stewards). It’s one of my favorite pictures of us.
We were fortunate to summit during a lull, and spent quite a while chatting and enjoying the views.
Feeling good, we hauled ass off Cascade back to the junction for Porter. There is a semi-technical descent for part of the 0.75 miles out to Porter. We passed a pair of women, one with a young child on her back, who was a 46er multiple times over. Climbing back up to Porter’s summit, the ascending fatigue returned and I slowed down. I still hadn’t achieved my climbing legs.
The summit of Porter is treed in, but it turns out there are still pretty good views over the tree tops.
Hike: Mt Severance
Distance: 2.4 miles
Elevation: 1693 ft
Total Ascent: ~800 ft
Date: June 21, 2015
Sunday, Father’s Day, started with a nice motivating tantrum from my youngest. Clearly it was time to get into the woods. My children were not particularly interested, but I wanted them all to at least get a taste of the experience, and Mt Severance is a short climb with rewarding views, so it fit the bill.
The trail starts by literally tunneling under Interstate 87, followed by crossing some bridges over a bog area. Then the trail gets pretty easy, with very gradual climbing.
There are a few fun stops along the way, such as this giant rock.
Having become used to longer, taller hikes, it was a surprise when we came to the summit. Not to the kids, however. My daughter, especially, was not particularly enjoying the experience. She now says she’s happy to have a helicopter drop her on top and she’d be willing to walk down.
Hike: Mount Marcy
Distance: 15 miles
Elevation: 5344 ft
Total Ascent: ~3800 ft
Date: May 9, 2015
To say I had become a little obsessed with standing on top of Mount Marcy after our epic failure (er, solid attempt! … learning experience?) back in January would be the understatement of the year. Unfortunately life and poor Spring hiking conditions disrupted the flow, and the next opportunity wouldn’t come for several months.
I was itching to try out my new shoes. I had spent months agonizing over what to slip my feet into once winter took its leave. I wanted minimalist shoes, but waterproof and with decent traction in the mud. A tall order indeed. Once I gave up on the idea of finding a boot I was happy with and began looking at sneakers, I happened across the Vivobarefoot Winterproof Trail Freaks.
An opportunity for a little getaway finally presented itself for me and my brother in May. I was telling some friends about my plans a few days before the trip. “I’m heading to my parents’ house (sans kids!) from tomorrow through Monday. Hoping to get a couple hikes in. Maybe even another Marcy attempt (apparently there is still a couple feet of snow up there).”
My friends were unimpressed. “Oooh. You found a May vacation spot with snow. You’re really winning at the vacation thing.”
Indeed, it was hard to imagine feet of snow anywhere at this point. Spring was in full swing, trees and flowers blooming, the grass already pissing me off because I JUST MOWED, DAMMIT. But Brian and I heeded the reports and packed our microspikes and snowshoes, even with the high temperature in the High Peaks expected to be around 80F.
I had also invested in a nice pair of Black Diamond trekking poles that I was excited to get to know. The value of good poles became apparent on the last hike when mine had become useless, contributing to my hip failure. I expected to fully use their features on this day, with rubber and carbide tips, and removable snow baskets.
We set off from the Loj up the now all-too-familiar Van Hoevenberg Trail around 8:30am, feeling relaxed and excited. It was already warm, and we had hours more daylight to play with. There would be no freezing to death today.
The trail to Marcy Dam was surprisingly dry. This was supposed to be mud season! It turns out all the water was in Marcy Brook, overflowing the dam hard, melting off the surrounding mountains in torrents.
I was also provided with my first view of Wright Peak not draped in white. The air was warm, moist, and gloriously fragrant with Spring.
We passed some college-aged guys, also intending to summit Marcy. They were wearing shorts, t-shirts, and sneakers, with minimal gear on their backs. I felt a bit apprehensive while talking to them, knowing the conditions ahead would be far different than down below, but on we all went.
This was the first time I had seen this section of the trail along Phelps Brook not covered in thick ice. It turns out it’s far rockier and harder to traverse. But it was fine. A little sweat wasn’t going to slow us down too much.
Once across Phelps Brook, the trail begins to steepen quickly. This was our first sign that winter did still exist up here, however minor. It was important to carefully watch our step, as the difference between ice, rock, root, and mud was not always obvious.
Around 3000 feet the patchy ice turned to consistent coverage. Most of it was only on the trail itself, the spine, from having been packed down by hikers and skiers over the previous months.
The thickness of the snow beneath us quickly grew as we climbed, even though the warm temperatures had it melting in buckets. We could literally hear the water rushing in rivers below our feet, finding its way down the mountain into Marcy Brook, over Marcy Dam, and eventually to Lake Champlain.
I had heard of postholing before, but never experienced it myself to this degree. If we were careful to step in the exact middle of the worn path, where others had packed it down well but hadn’t destabilized it by postholing themselves, then it was usually ok. A slight deviation would send us sinking to our hips. This happened, um, more than once. We passed a couple who were fleeing down in frustration, muttering about sinking every other step.
At one point, Brian put his pole in a hole I had just climbed out of to show its depth, and while doing so postholed himself. I had the pleasure of capturing the moment on camera.
One of the really cool things about this section of the hike was experiencing the battle between the cold and warm air. The ground and the sun were battling it out, and we were caught in the middle. A hot breeze would immediately be followed by an icy cold breeze, then hot breeze, etc.
Finally we made it to our turn-around point in January, feeling much stronger and more capable than back then, despite the battle with the unstable trail.
We elected to continue on without our snowshoes. We received a few compliments at being the only ones on the mountain with the foresight to bring them, but that doesn’t mean we were smart enough to put them on our feet. One guy joked about wishing he had brought his raquettes, and another asked, “To play tennis?”, much to the delight of the rest of the group. It’s the little things.
Much of this section of trail was easier hiking. The snow pack was more stable, and we could trudge along without worrying about constantly postholing as much. It felt exciting to be further along than I had ever been before, seeing new trail that had been haunting my dreams for several months.
It’s often worth a look over your shoulder when climbing.
Exiting the trees, the views immediately became phenomenal. This is looking down the Great Range with Basin in the forefront.
Nearing the top, the snow was largely gone, but what was left was ice. There were a few tricky spots where the ice was unavoidable. At one point we refilled our bottles from water pouring off a little baby glacier, figuring there was little chance it would be contaminated at that location, since there was no upstream.
Finally, it was done. The summit of Mt Marcy. It was breathtaking, and we even had it to ourselves for a short while. We spent nearly an hour and a half relaxing, eating, and exploring.
Although it was not a crystal clear day, the views were still impressive and well worth the trip.
This is one of my favorite shots from the day, taken by my brother. It brings me back to that moment, standing atop Marcy and taking it all in. I was dreaming of exploring down there, beyond Marcy, experiencing Skylight, Lake Tear of the Clouds, Gray, Redfield, and Cliff from the west. It would be more than a year before that dream would become realized.
Finally around 3:30pm we decided we’d better get a move on, and started the long descent.
We took a break at Indian Falls. Marcy Brook was roaring, and there was a spotty cell phone signal if you held it up just right.
After the break at Indian Falls, my arthritis decided to kick into high gear and my knee gave out. The descent through this section is the most technical of the entire trek, and I was crawling. It was frustrating as hell, for both me and my brother.
A few years prior, I had an arthritis episode that lasted for months, and was so severe I could barely walk, couldn’t do normal chores or pick up my kids, at times couldn’t get into or out of bed without assistance. I was diagnosed with reactive arthritis, and had been learning about it and my body since, and how to best manage it. Clearly there was more to learn.
Just before crossing Phelps Brook, my brother dug some ibuprofen out of his pack and gave it to me. I had taken so much NSAIDs during my severe arthritis episode that I had developed an emotional block against taking them, not wanting to return to that saga. But, duh, they can still help at times. And within 15 minutes I was back to cruising speed, my brother huffing behind me muttering under his breath, because a few minutes ago he was waiting for me.
Hike: OK Slip Falls
Distance: 7 miles
Date: May 10, 2015
The next day, my brother and I wanted to do something with our dad, but, for obvious reasons, nothing too crazy. We decided on OK Slip Falls. This had recently been opened up to the public, and was a fairly level, 7 mile round-trip hike with one of the tallest waterfalls in New York at the terminus.
The conditions were quite different from the day before. Some mud, but mostly dry, easy trail. Our legs complained at first, but once we got going it felt good to stretch them out.
There were many snakes on the trail. I lost count of the times I’d hear some rustling and stop to scope what was making it, only to find a little snake slithering out of the way.
The falls were absolutely stunning. There is a trail to hike around the rim, but weather was moving in, and we were all tired. The end of the trail, where this view is from, is quite steep. I wouldn’t recommend letting small children run wild here.
On the way out, the skies opened up. Brian and I neglected to put our ponchos on. It absolutely poured and we got soaked. Fortunately the temperature was mild, and it added to the adventure and the memory.
After a beautiful and successful few days of hiking, it’s time to drink wine and get out the maps to plan the next adventure!
Hike: Phelps Mountain
Distance: ~8.5 miles
Elevation: 4160 ft
Total Ascent: ~2200 ft
Date: January 3, 2015
Santa was ever so kind this year, apparently as excited by our hiking pursuits as we were (imagine that!). Plenty of new gear was found under the tree, including a set of microspikes. Newly equipped and prepared for a little winter trekking, Brian, Dad, and I decided to ring in the new year with another hike into Marcy Dam and beyond. Little snow had fallen thus far, but we weren’t sure what the conditions would be once we got in. We thought we may be able to summit a peak, and with a relatively short trail distance and low prominence, Phelps Mountain seemed the most likely candidate.
“Old Mountain” Phelps, or Orson Schofield Phelps, was an early Adirondack guide, and reportedly a poor one at that. He is known, however, for cutting the first trail up Mount Marcy, the highest peak in New York. (This is the aptly named Phelps Trail, now more widely known as the Johns Brook Trail, from the Garden parking lot in Keene Valley. The more popular Van Hoevenberg Trail is a shorter ascent from the Adirondack Loj.) Phelps Mountain, and Phelps Brook, the stream that flows from its northwest face, are also named in his honor.
A slightly earlier start had us pulling onto the Adirondack Loj Road right around 9:30am. The view from here is iconic, with Colden, the Mac Range, and the Street Range all in view. The big white tipped mountain in the middle is Algonquin, second only to Marcy in the state, and the only other above 5000 feet.
This road always seems to wind on forever as it leads deeper and deeper away from civilization. Eventually a bend reveals the entrance booth for the ADK-owned parking area, and we scramble to be the first to get out our wallets and pay the $10 parking fee.
The lot was far busier than the last time, and there were hordes of people bustling about, preparing for their own treks. Some were wearing snowshoes, some microspikes, and some just boots. We elected to start off with our shiny new microspikes on, but carried our snowshoes in case the snow deepened farther in. By the time we signed in at the trail register, it was nearly 10.
I discovered that dillydallying at the car while getting ready in winter has its disadvantages, and my fingers were frozen by the time we started moving. Live and learn. I ran ahead for a quarter mile or so and then back to get my furnace firing and the blood flowing back into my fingers. Winter hiking is fun this way. You have to work hard enough to keep your temperature up, but not so hard that you start sweating. It’s a little game I like to call Don’t Lose Your Fingers.
The rolling hills through low-elevation forests out to Marcy Dam felt like home now. Once past the dam, we continued on the Van Hoevenberg Trail along Phelps Brook, following the signs for Mt. Marcy instead of towards Avalanche Pass. The trail begins to climb, although gradually, through this section, and it was largely covered in ice. I was very glad to be wearing the microspikes. I felt like Spiderman sticking to the soft ice. They don’t always work so well on harder ice, but that’s another story. It was definitely a learning experience, being careful how each foot is planted to get maximum traction, and instead of finding the rocks and avoiding the ice, taking the opposite approach.
The junction for the base of the spur trail up Phelps is about a mile up this gradual incline after Marcy Dam. It is then about a mile spur to the summit, which immediately steepens. There are a few little scramble sections where trees and roots become your friends, but nothing too severe. It turns out these are standard obstacles on pretty much every mountain up here.
The feel changes as you near most summits. The trees grow stubbier, the trail narrows, there is less ambient noise and the wind becomes more pronounced. Such was the case on Phelps. I was overcome with excitement and energy for my third high peak, my first in winter, and ran ahead for the last quarter mile to the summit. Pausing near the top, I was surprised how out of breath I was. Gathering myself, I found the top to be a labyrinth of trails turning every which way, and I realized I had to be very careful not to get lost while I hunted for the true summit. After making about 5 turns I decided that I should probably head back before I lose track, and find my brother and father.
They were just coming up the last climb, and together we navigated around and found the ledges with views to the north. Tabletop is directly in front. Marcy was off in the distance, completely enveloped by clouds. It drove home how much of a difference a thousand feet can make, and how dangerous it can be in whiteout conditions up there.
3 down, 43 to go!
We didn’t linger long on the ledge. It was about 7 degrees with strong bitter winds. The return trip felt more relaxed and joyful to me. We ran into a very nice young couple who were coming back from Tabletop, and camping out there. Someday, Brian and I thought, it would be awesome to do some winter camping of our own up here. After chatting for a bit, they were kind enough to take our picture.
We ran out of daylight with about a mile left, and came out of the magical wonderland in little light-bubbles from our headlamps. My confidence was boosted, and I was falling in love with winter hiking.
In the weeks following, I spent hours staring at that summit picture, with Marcy in the clouds. I studied the topographic trail maps and tried to figure how the trail climbed through the ridges and mountains in the view. I wanted to experience it for myself, but was a winter climb up Marcy within my reach?
Hike: Marcy Dam (and a bit beyond)
Distance: ~7 miles
Date: November 28, 2014
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite times of the year to visit my parents. Winter has yet to become tiresome. The air is filled with the smell of woodsmoke as the cold air nips at my cheeks. I step inside, greeted by the dry warmth from the woodstove, fragrances wafting from the kitchen as my mother toils away, and some underhanded comment shot by my brother as he smirks and tries to contain his joy at seeing me.
Brian had summited Cascade 10 years earlier, and Marcy and Algonquin as a kid with Dad. All the recent talk of hiking had him excited to join us and get back up there. While others were going shopping on Black Friday, the three Jenks men decided to take a little exploratory walk into Marcy Dam and see where the hike went from there.
We arrived at the Adirondack Loj at Heart Lake around lunch time. This is the most heavily trafficked trailhead in the High Peaks, but it wasn’t too crowded today. Maybe everyone was still too full of turkey. It is right in the heart of the High Peaks, and provides the shortest route to more than a handful of peaks.
There was only a few inches of snow on the ground, but it had fallen recently and was still sticking to the trees. It was a magical winter wonderland, as the snow gently flurried down around us.
The first major junction on the Van Hoevenberg Trail is about a mile in. Go right and you start climbing up into the MacIntyre Range (or “The Macs”), left leads to Marcy Dam.
The 2.1 miles to Marcy Dam is pretty easy hiking over rolling hills. The dam was recently severely damaged by Hurricane Irene. It can no longer be crossed.
We stood and talked with some people while I drooled over their equipment. The item that was most obvious they had and we needed was a set of microspikes on our feet for traction. One couple had come from Avalanche Lake, the pass between the Macs and Mount Colden. We only had a few hours of daylight left, but thought we would hike up that direction and see how far we got.
A new bridge has been built to cross Marcy Brook downstream from the dam.
The views from the east side of the dam are phenomenal. Wright, the first peak in the Mac Range, dominates over the dam, and Avalanche Pass is visible beyond.
As we headed up the trail toward Avalanche Pass, we were watching the clock and realized we were losing the daylight battle. Brian and I decided to race ahead without Dad and see how far we could get. It felt good to stretch out and cover some ground quickly.
After what we guessed was about a mile, we came to a bridge and decided we had better turn around. We didn’t realize it at the time, but this was a bridge crossing over Marcy Brook, and right around the corner was a trail junction to either head up the shoulder of Colden or go into Avalanche Pass.
Brian photobombed a selfie. Now this picture sits on my piano.
It was a magical experience, sitting there in the silence on that bridge, miles into the woods and enveloped by winter. The kind of experience that puts its claws into you and doesn’t let go, making you want more.
Our thoughts returned to Dad and we decided to get moving. We trotted at a good clip to catch up. After a while and no sign of him, we both began worrying that we passed him somehow, if he had stepped off the trail for a minute. There is no cell service to communicate with, so losing your dad miles from the trailhead is generally frowned upon. Right at that moment he came into view. He had turned around and started heading back, figuring he’d get a head start on the trek out.
We hiked out in silence, reveling in the experience. My shoulders ached from my old backpack. My feet hurt from the seven miles of hiking. My thoughts began reaching forward to that woodstove, my mom’s hot dinner waiting, and a glass of wine. But I loved every second of it. And now my brother was hooked, too.
Hike: Cascade and Porter Mountains
Distance: ~6.5 miles
Elevation: 4098 ft (Cascade) 4059 ft (Porter)
Total Ascent: ~2300 ft
Date: October 18, 2014
Has a place ever seemed more mythical than real in your mind? That was the High Peaks to me, as I didn’t have enough to fill in the blanks, having only visited superficially a few times as a kid. I had been obsessing about the area, what it looks like, what it feels like, since my little jaunt up Chimney Mountain three weeks earlier.
The High Peaks Wilderness is an area in the northern half of the Adirondack Park, and contains most of the biggest mountains of the park, and indeed the state. It’s a good 2 hour drive from my parents’ house, and 4 hours from where I live now.
It was after 10 on a chilly October morning when my dad and I turned off I-87 onto route 73. “That’s Giant,” my dad said as a massive dome of earth came into view. “Yeah it is,” I replied, not realizing that Giant is one of the 46 Adirondack High Peaks, those originally measured to be over 4000 feet. Number 12 in the state, in fact, at 4627.
My head whipped back and forth, trying to take it all in. The mountains, the cliffs, the waterfalls, the lakes, the boulder strewn streams, all right off the road as it cut its way into the heart of the mountains. How was this right here this whole time and I hadn’t bothered to experience it? My dad filled the space with anecdotes about my grandfather’s experiences as a conservation officer, people who have climbed this or that, past climbs of his own back in the day. Hearing about all these places I hadn’t seen for myself only added to the mysticism. My brain struggled to keep up, wanting to absorb everything.
It was heavily overcast, and the forecast called for isolated showers that afternoon. I wasn’t too worried, but agreed that it would be a good idea to swing by The Mountaineer and grab a couple ponchos just in case. I had found an old backpack stuffed in the back of my closet that I had packed with some food and water, and a change of socks, but had little else to offer. Our plan was to hike Cascade and Porter. Cascade is often chosen as a first High Peak because of its relatively short distance from trailhead to summit, at just 2.4 miles, and as such it sounded like a good starter for me.
The trailhead parking area was full, despite being a cold and wet weekend well after the leaves had browned and fallen. We parked in another lot a few hundred yards down the road, threw our packs on, and took off. It was wet and muddy, and I was wearing Merrell Barefoot trail running shoes. I am a huge fan of minimalist footwear, but these have no traction in mud, and seem to suck any surrounding water straight into the bones of my feet. So I took the high ground, hopping from rock to rock, picking my way up the mountain as my dad slogged through the mud. The thing about Cascade, it turns out, is that sure, it’s a relatively short hike, but you’re still climbing 2000 feet over those 2 miles. My calves were not pleased the next day having done this by rock hopping.
We leapfrogged with a few different groups of people on the way up, making the slog themselves. My dad would chat away with anyone and everyone. I would smile and say hello, ever the introvert. There was the couple from Pennsylvania who had made the long day trip, the girls from California, one of whom grew up in this area, etc etc.
The drizzle increased gradually as we climbed higher, and eventually I decided to put on my sexy bright orange poncho. People we passed who were coming down started looking harried as we got closer, making comments like “Whew, it’s rough up there!” It was only drizzling, so I brushed them off, thinking, “How bad could it possibly be? We’re only a quarter mile from the summit.” When we broke tree line, I found out what all the fuss was about.
The winds howled, the rain pelted sideways. The view ahead looked ghostly and threatening. We soldiered on. There were others nearby who climbed all the way to this point and chose to turn around.
“Welcome to the High Peaks! Respect …,” the mountain seemed to warn. As we made our way up the last scramble, the winds became even worse. It felt like a hurricane. The rain stung my face and I looked away to ease the blows. At the summit, my dad fumbled with my phone trying to get my picture, but quickly gave up and retreated, having elected not to put on his poncho. I took a selfie and then hunkered down behind a rock. I was not going to be denied the experience of breathing this in for a few minutes, even if I was sitting in the middle of a big bowl of milk. I was on top of the world. I didn’t realize at this time how rare it is to be alone on top of Cascade.
Heading back down, the weather almost immediately improved, as if the mountain had delivered its message and moved on. At the tree line I decided to get the poncho off, and struggled like a toddler getting tight pajamas off over his Tweety Bird head, eventually ripping the damn thing in half.
Back down at the junction to Porter, Cascade’s neighboring mountain, we decided since the weather was improving and it was only 3/4 of a mile to its summit, we should grab it while we were there. We stopped for a quick bite to eat, and I received my next lesson. Bananas don’t make the best trail food. It was mushed all over everything in my pack.
The trail over to Porter drops a few hundred feet into the col, and then climbs back up to its summit. The going was a bit more rugged, although not steep, and very wet.
It was difficult to even be sure we had reached the summit as there is no marker and the trail continues onward, but another guy we ran into assured us that this was it. The weather had cleared a bit, and it is treed in, so although the experience was quite a lot more pleasant, it was still lacking for views.
The hike down felt lighter. I had survived my first high peak, two in fact, and the skies were clearing. A new goal began to take shape. I like checklists. I like the Adirondacks. I like hiking. Maybe this is the start of a journey to become a 46er. 46 4000+ foot mountains in the Adirondacks. 2 down, 44 more mountains waiting for me to experience, to learn from. I was already drooling for the next hike.
Hike: Chimney Mountain
Distance: ~2 miles
Elevation: 2708 ft
Ascent: 760 ft
Date: September 26, 2014
I grew up in a tiny town in the southern Adirondacks of upstate New York, called Northville.
Why yes, it is pretty! My parents’ house is right about … there. I spent much of my childhood exploring and playing in the woods, but did little serious hiking.
After my life underwent reconstructive surgery by chainsaw in 2014, I was ripe to receive a new hobby from my old friend, The Universe. In late September the Fall colors called, and I listened. First stop was to visit my parents, and my dad and I climbed Chimney Mountain near Indian Lake.
The trailhead wasn’t too difficult to find, after winding through several miles of dusty dirt roads east of Indian Lake. The parking area is at a beautiful spot with rentable cabins near a small lake. It is a private resort, so be respectful and bring a few bucks to park. [Map]
This is Zebra Supervan Jenks checking out the scene. (My kids like to name things.)
Chimney is a pretty short easy hike at around 760 feet of climbing over 1 mile. The trail starts out mild, with a gradual climb over easy trail through beautiful forest.
You do pay for the easy bit in the second half, when the trail steepens significantly. Soon enough you reach the top and are rewarded with clear views. You can see right back down to the parking area.
Looking north, you can see why it is called Chimney.
I decided to scramble across and attempt to climb the chimney to find even better views. It’s a fun little scramble!
Once on the chimney itself, it is pretty exposed with a significant drop, but if you can handle heights the holds are fairly straightforward.
My Dad stayed behind to capture me in the scene.
The view north was well worth the climb.
I wanted to soar off that chimney and dive down into and explore those gorgeous forests. I wanted to find the water sources that carved the gaps. I wanted to see the forest groves from the floor and find the conifer patches.
A seed had been planted. I began wondering about other hikes, and thinking about the High Peaks. How is it that I grew up in the Adirondacks and had never done any hiking up there, never been on top of a 4000 footer? This must be remedied!