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Ice
I had forgotten ice
I knew I would mess up something, and as I was driving down the Loj road I realized that I had not enough ice. That meant I would either go without cold water in the camelback on the trail the next day, or I would have to go back to Keene, where the scene of the crime took place. The only other possibility was to do the thing that I was desperately trying to avoid. I had purposefully spent Saturday and Sunday in the valley, only to head to South Meadows to strike camp in the evening on Sunday, hoping to steer clear of the logjam that was bound to be the Lake Placid Ironman. There was no real choice. I was not going to climb all day with only lukewarm water. So I set up camp and headed to town sometime right about dark that day.
I had come up on Saturday, having driven through the night on Friday. After leaving my car with my heavy pack, stuffed with my big tent, an air roll out, my eggshell and a sleeping bag (I carried Bare), I headed for a few hours of rest at Roaring Brook Falls. Not truly getting any sleep, I was rejuvenated enough to head out down the Ausable Lake Road and start the climb towards my little own place in the sun. For the most part, the Weld trail is very pretty, and does not demand too much of you until you reach the last mile or so. One thing I particularly like about the trail is that once you hit the really steep areas, you have numerous choices of places, that on any decent day, you only need to turn around and you can rest with gorgeous views. I love the long slabs of rock you find on this mountain. The sight lines are wonderful from many places, and I wonder how Gothics stands up against the other mountains when it comes to sheer mass. The General Sherman tree in Sequoia Park is not the tallest, nor the oldest tree in the world, but it had more mass then any living thing on the planet. With its size, could Gothics have more rock then Marcy or Haystack?
When I finally reached today’s destination, Pyramid, I was prepared to spend a nice long sit on what I like to think of as the Elephants Trunk. I had my stove, plenty of water, a good book, a few puzzles, and the anticipation of a warm mountaintop meal as I loosened my shoes and made myself comfy. Anyone who has enjoyed this vista on a clear day has no wonder at all as to why they drag themselves out, over, under, and through the configurations the Dacks continually seem to come up with. I have not found another place up here where you can see as muck rock as the white and sheerness this singular place holds.
The day was spectacular, and the wind was just breezy enough to discourage the flying insects, most of the time. I made myself some soup and noodles to go with my chicken parm sandwich and had a chat or three with some other determined hikers, most either coming or going to Gothics proper. After doing some reading and roaming about to catch the views to the northeast, I became inspired and wrote something I titled ‘Pyramid’, which is enclosed at the end of this essay. There is always the little funny feeling I get after a long night driving, a bit of rest, then the long stop after you push your body for a few hours. The body thinks it is going to get some real rest, and it does not quite understand that it still has an important job to do.
It was a good four hours until I felt it was necessary to gather up and start moving. The way down was easy going once my body and I came to an understanding. I must have left the summit between five-thirty and six, and right about at the stream I ran into a couple with heavy packs that said they were attempting to get to Ore-Bed to make camp. It was after six thirty at the time and I sure hope they made it over to Gothics proper and down he cables before dark. I am fairly certain that they had little chance of negotiating the three tenths of a mile of descent from the col that is very eroded and can be tricky at the wetter parts, especially with a load to balance. When I bottomed out at the lake I took a walk to the falls and had another bite to eat and enjoyed the lovely sight and the spray. There was a still a touch of sun in the sky and I had a bright idea.
Rule number Eight: ‘When you are weary, take the easiest road home’. We live and learn and hope that the lesson is not too painful. Anyway, object lessons are the only kind of lessons that are worth anything anyway, right? Since I have stepped foot on a large majority of the trails shown on the front side of the standard ADK guidebook map, especially the trails in the immediate St. Huberts to North Elba territory, I thought it would be grand to take the West River Trail back so I could blue in another of the dotted lines on the map that is framed and hangs on my living room wall. I also have colored the route from the GRIAD in red to make a purple color from Rooster Combs parking area to the Loj. The trail started out fine enough, and I am sure it is a very nice trail to walk when you have a day that you have energy and your plans are not for a massive hike. I now know it is also 3.8 miles compared to the 3.3 from dam to gate down the Lake road.
Before long the ups and downs were not so cute anymore. My body was beat, which was all my fault, and even though I went through some very nice areas, and saw some very pretty waterfalls, my stamina was starting an all out revolt. To compound matters, I did not take the first chance, or the second to detour to the road. I figured that since I put myself into the mess, I was going to get myself out in the only dignified way possible. Just bull on through and hope that the organs did not unite and go on strike. I was also out of water, and felt it was a bit futile filtering any of the abundant sources since I was soooooo close to home.
Finally I came upon the golf course and the amazing view it has of Giant Of The Valley, with its broad shoulders encompassing the eastern boundary of the High Peaks. My legs did not desert me and I rewarded them with an extra scoop of ice cream at Stewarts. I even found myself at the campsite pretty early, for me at least, and I did not set an alarm for the next day, hell, I even used my earplugs.
Sunday morning I decided to take an easy walk up to Porter and do some more lingering. Starting out from the Garden, I found the route very enjoyable. There were even a number of deer that stuck their heads out from time to time. So happily surprised was I at the great stop over half way up which is Little Porter. If you really wanted to take it easy or introduce someone to the valley, this is a trail to consider. It did not take very long to get to Porters summit, and since most hikers do Cascade first, then Porter, I had well over an hour before any other being broke my physical solitude. There was a few times I could hear summiteers as they raised their voices and a time or two thought they were so close, they must be only a few minutes away from joining me. When I did receive company, a few French Canadians joked about all the noise the Canadians make in the area, and then preceded to give me the understanding that it might well have been him who was making the sounds I was hearing some time ago.
There was one young lady I spoke to who did not think she was much of an adventurer, then went on to tell me about how she and her friends did the Great Range, over Upper, Armstrong and Gothics, then back out to the garden in a day. I think she was stronger then she believed. Another duo was plotting out a trip they had in mind for the week after, where in four days they would do the Great Range, and they planned on going from LWJ, UWJ, Arm and Gothics, from Ore Bed, then over Saddleback and Basin, and over to Slant Rock and doing Haystack day three before heading out on day four. It is only seventy feet or so down Saddleback, but going that way with a heavy pack looks like no fun. I think I convinced them to head over the range from Ore-Bed, with a slight backtrack to Slant Rock, and then do Haystack without the packs, head over Shoreys Short Cut to do Basin and Saddleback on the way out. It seems more logical and safer that way to me.
Then the summit was starting to become more crowded, as it is wont to do on a semi cloudy summer weekend day. While it was still early, and I wanted to be nowhere near the Ironman contest, I knew I could do some more lingering on the big rocks at Little Porter.
Gazing out into the valley at intervals while I did some reading enhanced the appreciation of the wonderful weather this season has brought so far. I was then rewarded as I was about to head for the car by a family who was just coming upon the open rocks. With them was a young boy no more then six who was on his first overnighter with mom and dad. Dad seemed experienced and they were going to find a nice spot to camp off the trail in the area with the low leafy plants. Then junior would do one, and maybe two summits the next day, introducing him to the wonderful outdoors in a manner that the Adirondacks does so well. As I reached my car the only thing I could think of was getting a shower at the HPIC. Maybe that is why I forgot the ice when I stopped at Stewarts and I found myself driving into the one area I was really trying to avoid.
I was able to get closer to the town then I thought. That still left me a good walk away. It took almost five minutes to find myself near the intersection of 73 and 86. Here is where I first encountered the atmosphere that the town exuded. I decided to take a walk and see how near I could get. I Could not help myself but smile as I found myself reading the chalk lined messages and comic artistic renditions left to encourage the participants. My favorite was an outline of a body, like you see of the corpse on a cop show. Along the side was written in big bold letters, ‘not you’. Besides these types of things there were notes left for individual people, left there by lovers or children. Words, the least of things we can give sometimes. Often they can mean so much. The crowd was hooting and hollering, ringing bells and buzzing buzzers. Everyone received the same treatment. Ironmen passed in all shapes and sizes, all of them knowing there was less then a mile left to their 140.4 mile ordeal. Almost everyone had at least a modicum of agony showing on there face. Up just one more hill. The marathon, at this point, is more of a walk-trot-sometimes run. They had crossed this path at least twice before on the bike and once before on their own two legs. Now the end was truly at hand.
I have no real proof, but the Lake Placid Ironman had to be the toughest of these events that there is. I can see the swimming being easier then, say, in Hawaii, but the other 138 miles over this beautiful terrain would be hard to top anywhere else. Two thousand and five hundred plus lined up early in the morning knowing that they had 17 hours in which they had to complete this insane mission. You could not help but smile and cheer and wave at these strugglers as they passed you by, or as you passed one by. It was now about ten o’clock and the number of people still coming in was impressive. It did not matter as much that the winner came in at a time around eight and a half (I could not get a definitive answer) hours, while these runners were striving to hit the fifteen-hour mark.
I made my way to the outdoor oval where Eric Heiden became the first athlete to win five golds in a single Olympic games in 1980. Here is where they had a grandstand set up with a DJ spinning some up tempo stuff while getting the crowd into it and keeping them there. I crossed when the volunteer let me and made my way towards the front. People were making their way into the oval and the strangest thing was happening. Some of the same people who were struggling to make it that final hill a few hundred yards back were now gliding down the track for the last two hundred yards with huge smiles on their face and the camera showing their profiles on the big screens set up. The MC was announcing that another winner was coming down the track. In an instant he had the finishers name and hometown and letting the crowd know exactly who was officially a Lake Placid Ironman.
I would like to believe that anyone with a heart found it hard not to swell up with emotion, seeing someone striving so far for little more than the self-knowledge of what they’ve done. I melted the first time I saw a father come around the corner with one little girl on his shoulders and a somewhat taller boy holding his hand, both keen on helping daddy make it to the finish line. They tried hard to have a finish banner up for every participant, though when it became crowded it was not always possible. It was the husband joining his wife, or hearing that the eighteen years old girl that just crossed the line was the youngest entrant in the field. The night was stellar, the day had been not overly hot, and the crowd was more then willing to give it their best for all who made the way there. After all, it would be the wives and husbands and kids and friends who would have to do the celebrating later that night, since I am sure most who did finish wanted little more then a shower, maybe some hot soup, and a bed. A surprising thing is most did finish. I heard that almost 90% who started, finished. After a bit over an hour later, I gave one last huzzah and started back to the car, reading the streets as I walked. I purchased my ice and headed back to South Meadow, the road no longer full of hopeful people with who knows what going through their minds as they push themselves beyond most people’s imagination.
I awoke early the next morning and headed out to Wallface Ponds. The Loj would be me residence this night, and I decided to take a walk to somewhere I had never been before, and blue in a bit more of my map. The night before brought some rain, but not a tumult. But these woods keep their moisture in the mornings. Since it also drizzled from time to time, it kept refreshing the ability of the surrounding fauna to keep its visitors nice and moist. It took no time at all to get to Scott lean to, where I helped relay the weather; it was supposed to dry out before noon, and receive a report on the way to Wallface from two fellow hikers, since they had gone up there the day before. Wet. Muddy. Sometimes, real muddy. After a bite and some conversation, I was on my way. It seemed no time at all, and just a good squishing later I was at Scott ponds. There was no doubt I would get wet today, and I was hungry, but I wanted to get to Wallface, so I carried on. Yucky. Sometimes real yucky. I swear that it was almost as nasty as the trail was to Couschsachraga at times. And the pisser was that when you finally trudged through to the end, if you do not have a boat, there is little place to go without doing some bushwhacking and some recon work. It was a few quick shots, a brief look around to make sure I was not missing anything, then some rumbling, by my mouth and my tummy, and I headed back. Before long I got to that point where you just give up. It does not matter. There is little difference between extremely muddy and excessively muddy. I had reached this epiphany and I clomped my way back to a nice rock on Scott Ponds and had a bit to munch on. Since it was early, I had thought of spending the day in the lean-to at Scotts clearing and just kicking back. By the time I was in the area of the site, I had decided that even though I needed a proper meal, the walk to Rocky Falls was not a long one, and the trail is pretty much a highway from the lean-to on.
That was a very wise decision. When I did get to Rocky Falls, I stripped almost every thing off of me except my shorts. My pant legs zipped off and my shirt, shoes, and socks got a thorough banging against the rocks along with my leg bottoms. Once I took my bandana to my muddy and sweaty body, and started to do a bit of basking in the sun, I started to feel like a new person. I had a good lunch, a good book, and some puzzles to waste away the rest of the afternoon with. Now I also had the added pleasure of knowing that dinner was less than an hour walk away. The sun was kind enough to keep me very comfortable the rest of my stay.
Since I was looking for new path, I thought it would be nice to take one of the ski trails that are on Loj property. I found myself taking the West Side Speedway to the Southwest Outlook. There was not much to see in this overgrown area, and it was a good 400 ft climb up and down. I was very disconcerted with myself when I realized I left my pole at the vista-less summit. And to boot, I was only about twenty feet in altitude from the bottom, and almost to the Loj. I ran as fast as I could, not stopping until my stride count was in the hundreds. Guess I received more of a work out then I expected. I finally checked in at the Loj and got myself all gussied up for dinner, I even used soap!
There were not many visitors to the Loj this night, but I found the seven other people who shared my dinner table quite congenial. This meant a quieter then normal night in the common room, which can be a pleasant change, Though meeting people and breaking bread with them in this place is one of my favorite pastimes. I had big plans to do not much the next day and start meandering home sometime before sunset. I was mistaken.
Right after breakfast, I took a quick jaunt up Jo. I figured that I would get some quality time in, dance myself down the mountain, and hit the shower one last time before I was to be officially checked out. I even rented a canoe and lazed away the noon hour staring at the surrounding peaks. It is when I returned the canoe, and started talking to people, as I will do, that I heard a bit of distressing news. It seems, for insurance reasons, the Loj will need to eliminate a number of beds in the 18-person bunkroom. This means the disheartening fact that the Loj may no longer have the corresponding number of beds to the celebrated Fourty-Sixers that many of love so dearly. When I tried to inquire which beds may be moved out, the details were a bit sketchier, and after the nice young lady asked a superior for me, I get the feeling she was told not to tell anyone any real details.
Since I had made it a goal a few years back to sleep in all of the beds that I had climbed, this may no longer be possible. Maybe we could convince them to find a way to rotate the beds in some manner. Just because a few people, myself a few times, included, have banged their heads in the close quarters of the upper bunks on the wall in the dark of the night is no reason to think that these same people who I have met on the trails with cuts, scrapes, sprains, blood and smiles abounding aren’t hearty enough to sustain another bruise or two and still come to breakfast with a smile on their face. This is the way that life progressed though. Entropy must win, no long how long we put up the good fight.
I also said goodbye to a wonderful Loj host who was off to Paul Smiths College to continue on her way to a career that will lead her down the path her heart has chosen. During a chat, she told me that she started her own business while only in her early twenties. She and her boyfriend were doing quite nicely. They were well off and owned lakefront property with a magnificent view. The only thing wrong was that she was not happy. So she made the decision to use her profits to further the road she was meant to follow. I hope to know that courage someday.
Then I had myself a nice little lunch with the use of my camp stove, and relaxed in one of the comfy chairs outside the lounge. I was doing some reading and before long a nice young woman sat down. It turned out she was from right up the road, less then ten miles from where I stay. She was hoping to go for a hike up a big mountain that day, only to be disappointed due to the fact one of her two hiking partners had a quick burger (McDonalds) on the way up, the night before. Since she almost never eats at those kinds of fast food places, she spent the night, not in her tent, with visions of mud and rocks and blowdown in her head, but in the communal bathroom, doing ungodly things from about one until six in the morning. It was kind of the campers she kept awake to say they understood, being unhappy about not getting sleep, and happy they were not her. The hope was for a swim (which I saw them do), then a short hike and hopefully a good size mountain on the morrow before they were on there way home.
At mid-afternoon, I strolled to my car and started packing for the trip home. If not ready to leave just yet, I knew I would be on the road before full dark. Maybe I would head up to Cascade lakes for an hour or two. The only task left was to drop off a couple of multi-packs of some brew for the trail crew. I like to let the guys and gals who keep our highways clean and as dry as possible know I support them. So do not be afraid to show your appreciation by leaving them a pint or two. They have a cabin by the HPIC and I am sure it would not be hard to fine out where to leave it. It took me a few minutes to realize there was someone in the passenger seat in the car next to mine. I saw that the windows were open, but she was so still I did not focus on her on the opposite side of the car.
It turns out her name is Jeniffer, and she decided not to climb Jo with her five friends. I told her what a mistake that was on a pretty day such as it was. She is a very amiable person, and we hit it off right away. When she was my guitar, she said she wanted to her me play. They were from Michigan, and two of their group of six had competed, and completed the Ironman. Before long her friends returned and I had the pleasure of meeting Renee (finisher, less then thirteen hours), Clyde (I hope that is right, finisher, forgot the time), Michelle, Lori, and Chuck. We all stood around for another half hour or so, just shooting it. They all had a good sense of humor, and I am still so impressed by Renee, who seems so small and delicate. Jeniffer and Michelle were looking for some spot to camp, and the others had a B&B in Keane Valley. I suggested the short walk to Roaring Falls (they really are loud) as a place near the others. They joked that I should come down and camp with them, that did not want to be alone in the woods. Nice thought, but I had to be at work three hundred and fifty miles away in a little less then twenty-four hours. I suggested the two places in town to eat, the Noonmark, and the Ausable Inn. I then said goodbye and headed off to the Weitzel cabin to drop off the beer for Zach and the crew, then I would be away. As I was walking back, I had one of those ‘what the hell moments’. Just upon approaching my car, both their cars were pulling out. I raised my hand like I had something to say. When the window rolled down, I asked if they still wanted me to join them camping, that is if they thought it wasn’t too weird or anything. After just a second or two of ‘what do you think’ looks, they said it would be cool. So I followed them to the valley, and a quick stop where the main body was stating. They eschewed the Noonmark and decided on the Ausable. It was a good choice. I had never eaten there before, and I enjoyed the food and atmosphere. I was in very good company. The kind of company I find more often in these mountains then I do about anywhere else beyond my circle of close friends.
While we were eating and regaling, I was informed of the reason that Renee participated in the Ironman. It turns out that after waiting a lifetime for the right person to complete her life, she found as perfect a man as she felt she had a right to find. He was very much into fitness and kept in such good shape, he occasionally ran the Ironman.
Being in the prime of life, more active and fit as anyone could hope to be, and finding the woman you hoped to love forever is about all one can hope for. Life is funny sometimes, and not ha-ha funny. He had a heart attack and died. Everyone at the table had nothing but the best for the man, and I can smell bs pretty well. I can’t tell you how I felt at that moment. There are times that you can actually feel your heart. You can follow its beats and you can almost feel the blood flowing a little quicker and warmer. Sometimes you can actually feel your heart ache. I don’t want to say she came up in tribute of him, but I cannot imagine what went through her mind the last few hundred yards and across the tape. It must be a very lonely place. I am glad she has the friends she seems to, and I would not mind being considered one someday. Strength is to be found in all sizes and shapes and colors, so careful who you cross.
There was talk of maybe everyone going to the camp area, and since we could have a fire, getting all snug and maybe crowing out a banger or two. The rain put any idea like such out of the question. We ended up going to the B&B and congregating in the main hall. We played some cards and kidded each other a bit more; it was a very loose group. Somewhere about ten it was time to head to camp. There were the goodbyes and just a few minutes later we were pulling into the parking lot in St Huberts. I had gotten a killer deal on a new SKB guitar case, and this would be a good test for it. I then asked three questions. First, were they planning on hitting the hay right away? They were not real tired. Then was their tent big enough for three? Jen said yes. Then I said I would bring my Epiphone down play for a bit. It was still wet, but the case is solid. A brief conference later and I was loaning Michelle a headlamp and rain jacket and heading off for the five hundred or so yard walk to the brook.
We had set up our tents quickly before dinner and mine is a pretty good one from LLBean. It was nice and dry inside. The girls’ tent however, did not have a sufficiently large enough rain fly, and it was not dry inside. The girls had lugged a large foam pad apiece to the site. Think; tear the cover off your long living room couch pillow and that is what they had. The other side of being heavy as hell in the morning is that they were comfy and kept the ladies far enough above the water to have hopes of staying dry. I found that I could sit on my guitar case if I was not too reckless. It took a few minutes, but we were finally situated to the point I could tune my guitar and start to strum.
Sometimes a small rift will open up into this world and something flows through to this universe that allows fortunate believers who are in the right place at the right time to suspend reality and imagine the small bubble they have created exists outside of everything and everyone. For a few hours there was no ‘out there’. I was happy to project and the girls were very happy to be receptive, and add in their own colors to the portrait being painted. It was like a Christmas that you just did not want to let go of. You can get more remote, but we could have never been more isolated.
Somehow on top of all of this, I let myself be convinced (yeah! Right) that the ladies would feel safer if I brought my bag and roll into their tent. My tent was much drier. Theirs was much more enchanting. It was hot and muggy and damp and a bit crowded. Paradise. I also had Bare with me and it was paramount to keep him dry. I talked for a while in ever decreasing tones, finding myself unable to stop my mind, until my body got it through that I had to get up EARLY and get home in time to shower and get to work. Cutting it close is a specialty of mine.
When morning came, the girls got up with me. They had a breakfast date with the rest of the crew. I wanted to be on the road before eight, and I wanted to eat and clean up very well before I headed home. Upon leaving the site I hugged the ladies and watched them head off to the falls. Soon after I was on my way home. When they got to the falls, I was told, they put on their birthday suits and wallowed in the water laughing and talking about the stranger that they met who came into their tent and entertained them when they were almost half a continent away. I hope to make them my friends in time. They all headed up to Brothers and had an obscured but inspiring view that had them wanting to return someday. My only regret being that I did not stop at the next parking lot south on 73 and scream goodbye, which I wanted to do and knew they would hear, until I saw someone standing outside there car admiring the view. Let him have his moment. I had mine.
Pyramid
I’m thinking of the words to tell you
Thinking of what I might have done
I’m sinking into something that is bigger then me
While I sit here on the elephants trunk
Too many times we are left behind
Don’t get to taste a slice of the fun
Wondering what happened to yesterday
And all the dreams that we’d begun
Like sitting on the elephants trunk
Sorry Billy, you cannot play today
There is still too much work to be done
Sitting round is getting us nowhere way too fast
Guess we did not hear the staring gun
‘My My, Hey Hey’ yeah, that’s what the man said
Few truer words have ever been sung
Scream them over and over and over my friends
Till you get it all out of your lugs
And you make it to the elephants trunk
If you need help, I will always be glad
To bring you to the sights of the sun
Lift you up to this promised land
Sitting here on the elephants trunk
Just sitting on the elephants trunk
Thinking of the worlds we can make
Putting band-aids on the dreams of yesterday
Maybe take a knee and pray
Just make it all go away
But it sure would be nice to stay
I think I will go and play
My red guitar and remember
Sitting on the elephants trunk
When there is nothing more to be done
And you’re sitting on the elephants trunk
I had forgotten ice
I knew I would mess up something, and as I was driving down the Loj road I realized that I had not enough ice. That meant I would either go without cold water in the camelback on the trail the next day, or I would have to go back to Keene, where the scene of the crime took place. The only other possibility was to do the thing that I was desperately trying to avoid. I had purposefully spent Saturday and Sunday in the valley, only to head to South Meadows to strike camp in the evening on Sunday, hoping to steer clear of the logjam that was bound to be the Lake Placid Ironman. There was no real choice. I was not going to climb all day with only lukewarm water. So I set up camp and headed to town sometime right about dark that day.
I had come up on Saturday, having driven through the night on Friday. After leaving my car with my heavy pack, stuffed with my big tent, an air roll out, my eggshell and a sleeping bag (I carried Bare), I headed for a few hours of rest at Roaring Brook Falls. Not truly getting any sleep, I was rejuvenated enough to head out down the Ausable Lake Road and start the climb towards my little own place in the sun. For the most part, the Weld trail is very pretty, and does not demand too much of you until you reach the last mile or so. One thing I particularly like about the trail is that once you hit the really steep areas, you have numerous choices of places, that on any decent day, you only need to turn around and you can rest with gorgeous views. I love the long slabs of rock you find on this mountain. The sight lines are wonderful from many places, and I wonder how Gothics stands up against the other mountains when it comes to sheer mass. The General Sherman tree in Sequoia Park is not the tallest, nor the oldest tree in the world, but it had more mass then any living thing on the planet. With its size, could Gothics have more rock then Marcy or Haystack?
When I finally reached today’s destination, Pyramid, I was prepared to spend a nice long sit on what I like to think of as the Elephants Trunk. I had my stove, plenty of water, a good book, a few puzzles, and the anticipation of a warm mountaintop meal as I loosened my shoes and made myself comfy. Anyone who has enjoyed this vista on a clear day has no wonder at all as to why they drag themselves out, over, under, and through the configurations the Dacks continually seem to come up with. I have not found another place up here where you can see as muck rock as the white and sheerness this singular place holds.
The day was spectacular, and the wind was just breezy enough to discourage the flying insects, most of the time. I made myself some soup and noodles to go with my chicken parm sandwich and had a chat or three with some other determined hikers, most either coming or going to Gothics proper. After doing some reading and roaming about to catch the views to the northeast, I became inspired and wrote something I titled ‘Pyramid’, which is enclosed at the end of this essay. There is always the little funny feeling I get after a long night driving, a bit of rest, then the long stop after you push your body for a few hours. The body thinks it is going to get some real rest, and it does not quite understand that it still has an important job to do.
It was a good four hours until I felt it was necessary to gather up and start moving. The way down was easy going once my body and I came to an understanding. I must have left the summit between five-thirty and six, and right about at the stream I ran into a couple with heavy packs that said they were attempting to get to Ore-Bed to make camp. It was after six thirty at the time and I sure hope they made it over to Gothics proper and down he cables before dark. I am fairly certain that they had little chance of negotiating the three tenths of a mile of descent from the col that is very eroded and can be tricky at the wetter parts, especially with a load to balance. When I bottomed out at the lake I took a walk to the falls and had another bite to eat and enjoyed the lovely sight and the spray. There was a still a touch of sun in the sky and I had a bright idea.
Rule number Eight: ‘When you are weary, take the easiest road home’. We live and learn and hope that the lesson is not too painful. Anyway, object lessons are the only kind of lessons that are worth anything anyway, right? Since I have stepped foot on a large majority of the trails shown on the front side of the standard ADK guidebook map, especially the trails in the immediate St. Huberts to North Elba territory, I thought it would be grand to take the West River Trail back so I could blue in another of the dotted lines on the map that is framed and hangs on my living room wall. I also have colored the route from the GRIAD in red to make a purple color from Rooster Combs parking area to the Loj. The trail started out fine enough, and I am sure it is a very nice trail to walk when you have a day that you have energy and your plans are not for a massive hike. I now know it is also 3.8 miles compared to the 3.3 from dam to gate down the Lake road.
Before long the ups and downs were not so cute anymore. My body was beat, which was all my fault, and even though I went through some very nice areas, and saw some very pretty waterfalls, my stamina was starting an all out revolt. To compound matters, I did not take the first chance, or the second to detour to the road. I figured that since I put myself into the mess, I was going to get myself out in the only dignified way possible. Just bull on through and hope that the organs did not unite and go on strike. I was also out of water, and felt it was a bit futile filtering any of the abundant sources since I was soooooo close to home.
Finally I came upon the golf course and the amazing view it has of Giant Of The Valley, with its broad shoulders encompassing the eastern boundary of the High Peaks. My legs did not desert me and I rewarded them with an extra scoop of ice cream at Stewarts. I even found myself at the campsite pretty early, for me at least, and I did not set an alarm for the next day, hell, I even used my earplugs.
Sunday morning I decided to take an easy walk up to Porter and do some more lingering. Starting out from the Garden, I found the route very enjoyable. There were even a number of deer that stuck their heads out from time to time. So happily surprised was I at the great stop over half way up which is Little Porter. If you really wanted to take it easy or introduce someone to the valley, this is a trail to consider. It did not take very long to get to Porters summit, and since most hikers do Cascade first, then Porter, I had well over an hour before any other being broke my physical solitude. There was a few times I could hear summiteers as they raised their voices and a time or two thought they were so close, they must be only a few minutes away from joining me. When I did receive company, a few French Canadians joked about all the noise the Canadians make in the area, and then preceded to give me the understanding that it might well have been him who was making the sounds I was hearing some time ago.
There was one young lady I spoke to who did not think she was much of an adventurer, then went on to tell me about how she and her friends did the Great Range, over Upper, Armstrong and Gothics, then back out to the garden in a day. I think she was stronger then she believed. Another duo was plotting out a trip they had in mind for the week after, where in four days they would do the Great Range, and they planned on going from LWJ, UWJ, Arm and Gothics, from Ore Bed, then over Saddleback and Basin, and over to Slant Rock and doing Haystack day three before heading out on day four. It is only seventy feet or so down Saddleback, but going that way with a heavy pack looks like no fun. I think I convinced them to head over the range from Ore-Bed, with a slight backtrack to Slant Rock, and then do Haystack without the packs, head over Shoreys Short Cut to do Basin and Saddleback on the way out. It seems more logical and safer that way to me.
Then the summit was starting to become more crowded, as it is wont to do on a semi cloudy summer weekend day. While it was still early, and I wanted to be nowhere near the Ironman contest, I knew I could do some more lingering on the big rocks at Little Porter.
Gazing out into the valley at intervals while I did some reading enhanced the appreciation of the wonderful weather this season has brought so far. I was then rewarded as I was about to head for the car by a family who was just coming upon the open rocks. With them was a young boy no more then six who was on his first overnighter with mom and dad. Dad seemed experienced and they were going to find a nice spot to camp off the trail in the area with the low leafy plants. Then junior would do one, and maybe two summits the next day, introducing him to the wonderful outdoors in a manner that the Adirondacks does so well. As I reached my car the only thing I could think of was getting a shower at the HPIC. Maybe that is why I forgot the ice when I stopped at Stewarts and I found myself driving into the one area I was really trying to avoid.
I was able to get closer to the town then I thought. That still left me a good walk away. It took almost five minutes to find myself near the intersection of 73 and 86. Here is where I first encountered the atmosphere that the town exuded. I decided to take a walk and see how near I could get. I Could not help myself but smile as I found myself reading the chalk lined messages and comic artistic renditions left to encourage the participants. My favorite was an outline of a body, like you see of the corpse on a cop show. Along the side was written in big bold letters, ‘not you’. Besides these types of things there were notes left for individual people, left there by lovers or children. Words, the least of things we can give sometimes. Often they can mean so much. The crowd was hooting and hollering, ringing bells and buzzing buzzers. Everyone received the same treatment. Ironmen passed in all shapes and sizes, all of them knowing there was less then a mile left to their 140.4 mile ordeal. Almost everyone had at least a modicum of agony showing on there face. Up just one more hill. The marathon, at this point, is more of a walk-trot-sometimes run. They had crossed this path at least twice before on the bike and once before on their own two legs. Now the end was truly at hand.
I have no real proof, but the Lake Placid Ironman had to be the toughest of these events that there is. I can see the swimming being easier then, say, in Hawaii, but the other 138 miles over this beautiful terrain would be hard to top anywhere else. Two thousand and five hundred plus lined up early in the morning knowing that they had 17 hours in which they had to complete this insane mission. You could not help but smile and cheer and wave at these strugglers as they passed you by, or as you passed one by. It was now about ten o’clock and the number of people still coming in was impressive. It did not matter as much that the winner came in at a time around eight and a half (I could not get a definitive answer) hours, while these runners were striving to hit the fifteen-hour mark.
I made my way to the outdoor oval where Eric Heiden became the first athlete to win five golds in a single Olympic games in 1980. Here is where they had a grandstand set up with a DJ spinning some up tempo stuff while getting the crowd into it and keeping them there. I crossed when the volunteer let me and made my way towards the front. People were making their way into the oval and the strangest thing was happening. Some of the same people who were struggling to make it that final hill a few hundred yards back were now gliding down the track for the last two hundred yards with huge smiles on their face and the camera showing their profiles on the big screens set up. The MC was announcing that another winner was coming down the track. In an instant he had the finishers name and hometown and letting the crowd know exactly who was officially a Lake Placid Ironman.
I would like to believe that anyone with a heart found it hard not to swell up with emotion, seeing someone striving so far for little more than the self-knowledge of what they’ve done. I melted the first time I saw a father come around the corner with one little girl on his shoulders and a somewhat taller boy holding his hand, both keen on helping daddy make it to the finish line. They tried hard to have a finish banner up for every participant, though when it became crowded it was not always possible. It was the husband joining his wife, or hearing that the eighteen years old girl that just crossed the line was the youngest entrant in the field. The night was stellar, the day had been not overly hot, and the crowd was more then willing to give it their best for all who made the way there. After all, it would be the wives and husbands and kids and friends who would have to do the celebrating later that night, since I am sure most who did finish wanted little more then a shower, maybe some hot soup, and a bed. A surprising thing is most did finish. I heard that almost 90% who started, finished. After a bit over an hour later, I gave one last huzzah and started back to the car, reading the streets as I walked. I purchased my ice and headed back to South Meadow, the road no longer full of hopeful people with who knows what going through their minds as they push themselves beyond most people’s imagination.
I awoke early the next morning and headed out to Wallface Ponds. The Loj would be me residence this night, and I decided to take a walk to somewhere I had never been before, and blue in a bit more of my map. The night before brought some rain, but not a tumult. But these woods keep their moisture in the mornings. Since it also drizzled from time to time, it kept refreshing the ability of the surrounding fauna to keep its visitors nice and moist. It took no time at all to get to Scott lean to, where I helped relay the weather; it was supposed to dry out before noon, and receive a report on the way to Wallface from two fellow hikers, since they had gone up there the day before. Wet. Muddy. Sometimes, real muddy. After a bite and some conversation, I was on my way. It seemed no time at all, and just a good squishing later I was at Scott ponds. There was no doubt I would get wet today, and I was hungry, but I wanted to get to Wallface, so I carried on. Yucky. Sometimes real yucky. I swear that it was almost as nasty as the trail was to Couschsachraga at times. And the pisser was that when you finally trudged through to the end, if you do not have a boat, there is little place to go without doing some bushwhacking and some recon work. It was a few quick shots, a brief look around to make sure I was not missing anything, then some rumbling, by my mouth and my tummy, and I headed back. Before long I got to that point where you just give up. It does not matter. There is little difference between extremely muddy and excessively muddy. I had reached this epiphany and I clomped my way back to a nice rock on Scott Ponds and had a bit to munch on. Since it was early, I had thought of spending the day in the lean-to at Scotts clearing and just kicking back. By the time I was in the area of the site, I had decided that even though I needed a proper meal, the walk to Rocky Falls was not a long one, and the trail is pretty much a highway from the lean-to on.
That was a very wise decision. When I did get to Rocky Falls, I stripped almost every thing off of me except my shorts. My pant legs zipped off and my shirt, shoes, and socks got a thorough banging against the rocks along with my leg bottoms. Once I took my bandana to my muddy and sweaty body, and started to do a bit of basking in the sun, I started to feel like a new person. I had a good lunch, a good book, and some puzzles to waste away the rest of the afternoon with. Now I also had the added pleasure of knowing that dinner was less than an hour walk away. The sun was kind enough to keep me very comfortable the rest of my stay.
Since I was looking for new path, I thought it would be nice to take one of the ski trails that are on Loj property. I found myself taking the West Side Speedway to the Southwest Outlook. There was not much to see in this overgrown area, and it was a good 400 ft climb up and down. I was very disconcerted with myself when I realized I left my pole at the vista-less summit. And to boot, I was only about twenty feet in altitude from the bottom, and almost to the Loj. I ran as fast as I could, not stopping until my stride count was in the hundreds. Guess I received more of a work out then I expected. I finally checked in at the Loj and got myself all gussied up for dinner, I even used soap!
There were not many visitors to the Loj this night, but I found the seven other people who shared my dinner table quite congenial. This meant a quieter then normal night in the common room, which can be a pleasant change, Though meeting people and breaking bread with them in this place is one of my favorite pastimes. I had big plans to do not much the next day and start meandering home sometime before sunset. I was mistaken.
Right after breakfast, I took a quick jaunt up Jo. I figured that I would get some quality time in, dance myself down the mountain, and hit the shower one last time before I was to be officially checked out. I even rented a canoe and lazed away the noon hour staring at the surrounding peaks. It is when I returned the canoe, and started talking to people, as I will do, that I heard a bit of distressing news. It seems, for insurance reasons, the Loj will need to eliminate a number of beds in the 18-person bunkroom. This means the disheartening fact that the Loj may no longer have the corresponding number of beds to the celebrated Fourty-Sixers that many of love so dearly. When I tried to inquire which beds may be moved out, the details were a bit sketchier, and after the nice young lady asked a superior for me, I get the feeling she was told not to tell anyone any real details.
Since I had made it a goal a few years back to sleep in all of the beds that I had climbed, this may no longer be possible. Maybe we could convince them to find a way to rotate the beds in some manner. Just because a few people, myself a few times, included, have banged their heads in the close quarters of the upper bunks on the wall in the dark of the night is no reason to think that these same people who I have met on the trails with cuts, scrapes, sprains, blood and smiles abounding aren’t hearty enough to sustain another bruise or two and still come to breakfast with a smile on their face. This is the way that life progressed though. Entropy must win, no long how long we put up the good fight.
I also said goodbye to a wonderful Loj host who was off to Paul Smiths College to continue on her way to a career that will lead her down the path her heart has chosen. During a chat, she told me that she started her own business while only in her early twenties. She and her boyfriend were doing quite nicely. They were well off and owned lakefront property with a magnificent view. The only thing wrong was that she was not happy. So she made the decision to use her profits to further the road she was meant to follow. I hope to know that courage someday.
Then I had myself a nice little lunch with the use of my camp stove, and relaxed in one of the comfy chairs outside the lounge. I was doing some reading and before long a nice young woman sat down. It turned out she was from right up the road, less then ten miles from where I stay. She was hoping to go for a hike up a big mountain that day, only to be disappointed due to the fact one of her two hiking partners had a quick burger (McDonalds) on the way up, the night before. Since she almost never eats at those kinds of fast food places, she spent the night, not in her tent, with visions of mud and rocks and blowdown in her head, but in the communal bathroom, doing ungodly things from about one until six in the morning. It was kind of the campers she kept awake to say they understood, being unhappy about not getting sleep, and happy they were not her. The hope was for a swim (which I saw them do), then a short hike and hopefully a good size mountain on the morrow before they were on there way home.
At mid-afternoon, I strolled to my car and started packing for the trip home. If not ready to leave just yet, I knew I would be on the road before full dark. Maybe I would head up to Cascade lakes for an hour or two. The only task left was to drop off a couple of multi-packs of some brew for the trail crew. I like to let the guys and gals who keep our highways clean and as dry as possible know I support them. So do not be afraid to show your appreciation by leaving them a pint or two. They have a cabin by the HPIC and I am sure it would not be hard to fine out where to leave it. It took me a few minutes to realize there was someone in the passenger seat in the car next to mine. I saw that the windows were open, but she was so still I did not focus on her on the opposite side of the car.
It turns out her name is Jeniffer, and she decided not to climb Jo with her five friends. I told her what a mistake that was on a pretty day such as it was. She is a very amiable person, and we hit it off right away. When she was my guitar, she said she wanted to her me play. They were from Michigan, and two of their group of six had competed, and completed the Ironman. Before long her friends returned and I had the pleasure of meeting Renee (finisher, less then thirteen hours), Clyde (I hope that is right, finisher, forgot the time), Michelle, Lori, and Chuck. We all stood around for another half hour or so, just shooting it. They all had a good sense of humor, and I am still so impressed by Renee, who seems so small and delicate. Jeniffer and Michelle were looking for some spot to camp, and the others had a B&B in Keane Valley. I suggested the short walk to Roaring Falls (they really are loud) as a place near the others. They joked that I should come down and camp with them, that did not want to be alone in the woods. Nice thought, but I had to be at work three hundred and fifty miles away in a little less then twenty-four hours. I suggested the two places in town to eat, the Noonmark, and the Ausable Inn. I then said goodbye and headed off to the Weitzel cabin to drop off the beer for Zach and the crew, then I would be away. As I was walking back, I had one of those ‘what the hell moments’. Just upon approaching my car, both their cars were pulling out. I raised my hand like I had something to say. When the window rolled down, I asked if they still wanted me to join them camping, that is if they thought it wasn’t too weird or anything. After just a second or two of ‘what do you think’ looks, they said it would be cool. So I followed them to the valley, and a quick stop where the main body was stating. They eschewed the Noonmark and decided on the Ausable. It was a good choice. I had never eaten there before, and I enjoyed the food and atmosphere. I was in very good company. The kind of company I find more often in these mountains then I do about anywhere else beyond my circle of close friends.
While we were eating and regaling, I was informed of the reason that Renee participated in the Ironman. It turns out that after waiting a lifetime for the right person to complete her life, she found as perfect a man as she felt she had a right to find. He was very much into fitness and kept in such good shape, he occasionally ran the Ironman.
Being in the prime of life, more active and fit as anyone could hope to be, and finding the woman you hoped to love forever is about all one can hope for. Life is funny sometimes, and not ha-ha funny. He had a heart attack and died. Everyone at the table had nothing but the best for the man, and I can smell bs pretty well. I can’t tell you how I felt at that moment. There are times that you can actually feel your heart. You can follow its beats and you can almost feel the blood flowing a little quicker and warmer. Sometimes you can actually feel your heart ache. I don’t want to say she came up in tribute of him, but I cannot imagine what went through her mind the last few hundred yards and across the tape. It must be a very lonely place. I am glad she has the friends she seems to, and I would not mind being considered one someday. Strength is to be found in all sizes and shapes and colors, so careful who you cross.
There was talk of maybe everyone going to the camp area, and since we could have a fire, getting all snug and maybe crowing out a banger or two. The rain put any idea like such out of the question. We ended up going to the B&B and congregating in the main hall. We played some cards and kidded each other a bit more; it was a very loose group. Somewhere about ten it was time to head to camp. There were the goodbyes and just a few minutes later we were pulling into the parking lot in St Huberts. I had gotten a killer deal on a new SKB guitar case, and this would be a good test for it. I then asked three questions. First, were they planning on hitting the hay right away? They were not real tired. Then was their tent big enough for three? Jen said yes. Then I said I would bring my Epiphone down play for a bit. It was still wet, but the case is solid. A brief conference later and I was loaning Michelle a headlamp and rain jacket and heading off for the five hundred or so yard walk to the brook.
We had set up our tents quickly before dinner and mine is a pretty good one from LLBean. It was nice and dry inside. The girls’ tent however, did not have a sufficiently large enough rain fly, and it was not dry inside. The girls had lugged a large foam pad apiece to the site. Think; tear the cover off your long living room couch pillow and that is what they had. The other side of being heavy as hell in the morning is that they were comfy and kept the ladies far enough above the water to have hopes of staying dry. I found that I could sit on my guitar case if I was not too reckless. It took a few minutes, but we were finally situated to the point I could tune my guitar and start to strum.
Sometimes a small rift will open up into this world and something flows through to this universe that allows fortunate believers who are in the right place at the right time to suspend reality and imagine the small bubble they have created exists outside of everything and everyone. For a few hours there was no ‘out there’. I was happy to project and the girls were very happy to be receptive, and add in their own colors to the portrait being painted. It was like a Christmas that you just did not want to let go of. You can get more remote, but we could have never been more isolated.
Somehow on top of all of this, I let myself be convinced (yeah! Right) that the ladies would feel safer if I brought my bag and roll into their tent. My tent was much drier. Theirs was much more enchanting. It was hot and muggy and damp and a bit crowded. Paradise. I also had Bare with me and it was paramount to keep him dry. I talked for a while in ever decreasing tones, finding myself unable to stop my mind, until my body got it through that I had to get up EARLY and get home in time to shower and get to work. Cutting it close is a specialty of mine.
When morning came, the girls got up with me. They had a breakfast date with the rest of the crew. I wanted to be on the road before eight, and I wanted to eat and clean up very well before I headed home. Upon leaving the site I hugged the ladies and watched them head off to the falls. Soon after I was on my way home. When they got to the falls, I was told, they put on their birthday suits and wallowed in the water laughing and talking about the stranger that they met who came into their tent and entertained them when they were almost half a continent away. I hope to make them my friends in time. They all headed up to Brothers and had an obscured but inspiring view that had them wanting to return someday. My only regret being that I did not stop at the next parking lot south on 73 and scream goodbye, which I wanted to do and knew they would hear, until I saw someone standing outside there car admiring the view. Let him have his moment. I had mine.
Pyramid
I’m thinking of the words to tell you
Thinking of what I might have done
I’m sinking into something that is bigger then me
While I sit here on the elephants trunk
Too many times we are left behind
Don’t get to taste a slice of the fun
Wondering what happened to yesterday
And all the dreams that we’d begun
Like sitting on the elephants trunk
Sorry Billy, you cannot play today
There is still too much work to be done
Sitting round is getting us nowhere way too fast
Guess we did not hear the staring gun
‘My My, Hey Hey’ yeah, that’s what the man said
Few truer words have ever been sung
Scream them over and over and over my friends
Till you get it all out of your lugs
And you make it to the elephants trunk
If you need help, I will always be glad
To bring you to the sights of the sun
Lift you up to this promised land
Sitting here on the elephants trunk
Just sitting on the elephants trunk
Thinking of the worlds we can make
Putting band-aids on the dreams of yesterday
Maybe take a knee and pray
Just make it all go away
But it sure would be nice to stay
I think I will go and play
My red guitar and remember
Sitting on the elephants trunk
When there is nothing more to be done
And you’re sitting on the elephants trunk
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