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I hiked the length of the Northville-Placid Trail on a solo thru-hike, leaving the trailhead at Upper Benson at 6:30AM on Nov 18 and exiting at the trailhead at Averyville Road on Nov 24 at 5pm.
Between those dates and times, except for road and residential area crossings, I saw three people. I saw the sun on 2 days (the first and last), almost saw it another day, and the rest of the time it clouded over, rained, sleeted, and snowed. I can't recommend this kind of trip for its weather conditions: eight hours of downpour over five inches of snow does not make for *fun* hiking--although if you're lucky enough to descend the northern side of a pass in those conditions (as I did), you might be get to have your first "ski" of the season--enough slushy snow left to make fast strides.
I averaged 17-18 miles a day. I rose usually an hour before light each day and averaged a 2mph pace. The trip wouldn't have been possible if that pace weren't sustainable. I tent camped the first night and stayed in lean-tos the rest of the time, sometimes using my tent as a tarp to block moisture blowing in. The lean-tos saved me a lot of time and hassle finding good ventilation and locations in the snow. On two days I hiked for a couple miles after dark in order to make it to the next lean-to.
There was snow on most of the trail, from an inch up to 6 inches. I did not have snowshoes, only sturdy light hiking boots. I did bring some small 4-point crampons in case I hit an icestorm, but I never needed them. Temperatures apparently ranged from 10-40 degrees.
One morning I overslept and lost almost 3 hours of daylight (after that night I stuck my watch alarm right next to my ear inside my two hats). I suppose I didn't complete a bonafide thru-hike because later that same day I accepted a ride on Cedar River Road from two hunters. This made up for my having slept in and saved me from 6 miles of icy road walking--I wasn't stubborn (or dumb) enough to turn down the offer.
I can't think of too many other instances of luck. I was certainly not lucky during my stay at the Tirrell Pond lean-to. I've never met more voracious mice. Fought a long battle with them as I prepared dinner and got into the sack. Once all the food was hung up and zippers were all closed, I figured even starving creatures would need to sleep. Not so. I spent a very uncomfortable hour or so batting away mice from my sleeping bag face-hole, a couple of times tearing off the bag as one snuck in, until finally I nailed one with the back of my hand hard enough that it squealed away into the corner of the lean-to, and his friends took notice. Of course when I woke up in the morning, I found mouse droppings all over my bag and even in my camp cup.
It was magical to watch the land, in a thousand little ways, switch the fall for the winter garb. The day I started was beautiful autumn weather, cloudless, crisp, and with just a trace of snow on the ground. The day I ended was bluebird as well, but now there were 5-6 inches of snow, waterfalls were hard and green, and every branch, twig, and bud had a casing of ice that tinkled as I brushed by them. It wasn't exactly, "POOF: winter's here"--I shivered through that ugly transition time when water's trying to figure out how to arrange itself--but it was still a dramatic and gratifying change to have witnessed in nature.
Thanksgiving itself was kind of a sorry affair. A 19 mile day, rain all day long, happy houses I had to pass at NY 28N, with holiday lights up and smiling families in the windows--I could almost feel the whipped cream squishing into the pumpkin pie on my tongue--and the rainwater finally found its way through my goretex socks. To make matters worse, it seemed like half of Long Lake was blowing into my lean-to at the lake's head, and I spilled my dinner (for the special occasion: turkey pepperoni thrown into the noodles) on my down bag. Cold cursing and grumbling and 2 hours later after hand-warmer heating and more grumbling, the bag was almost dry again and the dinner was almost still warm.
This was my first time in the Adirondacks. I can't imagine a better introduction to the park, although if I'd had more time it would have been nicer to stroll more slowly along the trail. This was, however, the best time for solitude, and being out on your own, with hypothermia lurking behind too many corners, certainly gives you a healthy perspective on how dependent we are on each other and on our technology, how fragile our bodies are, but also how resilient. Anti-inflammatories were my friends the whole trip, and pain medication was another friend on the final day.
Thanks to the forum for the advice as I planned this, and also thanks to Hawk for his help and concern. I can vouch for the most part that the new ADK guide is up to date. I was very glad to have the 2 waterproof Natl Geo maps of the trail instead of relying on the non-waterproof ADK map.
I managed to avoid wading any streams or rivers--lucky fallen logs, low water the first 2 days, long jumps, trekking poles, and a couple of questionable bridges.
Now I'm itching to get on some of the summits I saw along the way.
Here's where I stayed each night:
1-tent camped a mile or two past Hamilton Lake Stream lean-to.
2-Spruce Lake 3 lean-to
3-Cedar Lake 3 lean-to
4-Tirrell Pond lean-to
5-Plumleys Point lean-to
6-Duck Hole lean-to
I started out carrying approx 32 pounds, 15 of which was food.
Gear I was happiest to have:
synthetic insulated jacket
bomber hat
lithium batteries (and extra ones)
headlamp
waterproof socks
neoprene gloves
duct tape
trekking poles
pair of extra socks and gloves
Gear I wish I'd had:
down booties
warmer sleeping bag
mousetraps
One final memory:
I won't forget the night I spent at Cedar Lake. I stopped a bit early that afternoon and was snug in my bag before it was too dark. As I finished dinner, staring out onto the lake, the clouds started swirling and were soon scudding across the sky, letting the half-filled moon cast shadows against the snow, dapple the lake silver, and generally make me think, "Boy, this is why you are supposed to come out here." No one had signed the last trail register in the past week, I hadn't see human tracks in the snow for miles, and it seemed like I was lying silently and still on the shoulder of New York in this little made-to-fit shelter as nature went on about its business around me. Special.
Thanks for the chance to share.
Here's how things looked: http://www.flickr.com/photos/2126880...09242445/show/
Between those dates and times, except for road and residential area crossings, I saw three people. I saw the sun on 2 days (the first and last), almost saw it another day, and the rest of the time it clouded over, rained, sleeted, and snowed. I can't recommend this kind of trip for its weather conditions: eight hours of downpour over five inches of snow does not make for *fun* hiking--although if you're lucky enough to descend the northern side of a pass in those conditions (as I did), you might be get to have your first "ski" of the season--enough slushy snow left to make fast strides.
I averaged 17-18 miles a day. I rose usually an hour before light each day and averaged a 2mph pace. The trip wouldn't have been possible if that pace weren't sustainable. I tent camped the first night and stayed in lean-tos the rest of the time, sometimes using my tent as a tarp to block moisture blowing in. The lean-tos saved me a lot of time and hassle finding good ventilation and locations in the snow. On two days I hiked for a couple miles after dark in order to make it to the next lean-to.
There was snow on most of the trail, from an inch up to 6 inches. I did not have snowshoes, only sturdy light hiking boots. I did bring some small 4-point crampons in case I hit an icestorm, but I never needed them. Temperatures apparently ranged from 10-40 degrees.
One morning I overslept and lost almost 3 hours of daylight (after that night I stuck my watch alarm right next to my ear inside my two hats). I suppose I didn't complete a bonafide thru-hike because later that same day I accepted a ride on Cedar River Road from two hunters. This made up for my having slept in and saved me from 6 miles of icy road walking--I wasn't stubborn (or dumb) enough to turn down the offer.
I can't think of too many other instances of luck. I was certainly not lucky during my stay at the Tirrell Pond lean-to. I've never met more voracious mice. Fought a long battle with them as I prepared dinner and got into the sack. Once all the food was hung up and zippers were all closed, I figured even starving creatures would need to sleep. Not so. I spent a very uncomfortable hour or so batting away mice from my sleeping bag face-hole, a couple of times tearing off the bag as one snuck in, until finally I nailed one with the back of my hand hard enough that it squealed away into the corner of the lean-to, and his friends took notice. Of course when I woke up in the morning, I found mouse droppings all over my bag and even in my camp cup.
It was magical to watch the land, in a thousand little ways, switch the fall for the winter garb. The day I started was beautiful autumn weather, cloudless, crisp, and with just a trace of snow on the ground. The day I ended was bluebird as well, but now there were 5-6 inches of snow, waterfalls were hard and green, and every branch, twig, and bud had a casing of ice that tinkled as I brushed by them. It wasn't exactly, "POOF: winter's here"--I shivered through that ugly transition time when water's trying to figure out how to arrange itself--but it was still a dramatic and gratifying change to have witnessed in nature.
Thanksgiving itself was kind of a sorry affair. A 19 mile day, rain all day long, happy houses I had to pass at NY 28N, with holiday lights up and smiling families in the windows--I could almost feel the whipped cream squishing into the pumpkin pie on my tongue--and the rainwater finally found its way through my goretex socks. To make matters worse, it seemed like half of Long Lake was blowing into my lean-to at the lake's head, and I spilled my dinner (for the special occasion: turkey pepperoni thrown into the noodles) on my down bag. Cold cursing and grumbling and 2 hours later after hand-warmer heating and more grumbling, the bag was almost dry again and the dinner was almost still warm.
This was my first time in the Adirondacks. I can't imagine a better introduction to the park, although if I'd had more time it would have been nicer to stroll more slowly along the trail. This was, however, the best time for solitude, and being out on your own, with hypothermia lurking behind too many corners, certainly gives you a healthy perspective on how dependent we are on each other and on our technology, how fragile our bodies are, but also how resilient. Anti-inflammatories were my friends the whole trip, and pain medication was another friend on the final day.
Thanks to the forum for the advice as I planned this, and also thanks to Hawk for his help and concern. I can vouch for the most part that the new ADK guide is up to date. I was very glad to have the 2 waterproof Natl Geo maps of the trail instead of relying on the non-waterproof ADK map.
I managed to avoid wading any streams or rivers--lucky fallen logs, low water the first 2 days, long jumps, trekking poles, and a couple of questionable bridges.
Now I'm itching to get on some of the summits I saw along the way.
Here's where I stayed each night:
1-tent camped a mile or two past Hamilton Lake Stream lean-to.
2-Spruce Lake 3 lean-to
3-Cedar Lake 3 lean-to
4-Tirrell Pond lean-to
5-Plumleys Point lean-to
6-Duck Hole lean-to
I started out carrying approx 32 pounds, 15 of which was food.
Gear I was happiest to have:
synthetic insulated jacket
bomber hat
lithium batteries (and extra ones)
headlamp
waterproof socks
neoprene gloves
duct tape
trekking poles
pair of extra socks and gloves
Gear I wish I'd had:
down booties
warmer sleeping bag
mousetraps
One final memory:
I won't forget the night I spent at Cedar Lake. I stopped a bit early that afternoon and was snug in my bag before it was too dark. As I finished dinner, staring out onto the lake, the clouds started swirling and were soon scudding across the sky, letting the half-filled moon cast shadows against the snow, dapple the lake silver, and generally make me think, "Boy, this is why you are supposed to come out here." No one had signed the last trail register in the past week, I hadn't see human tracks in the snow for miles, and it seemed like I was lying silently and still on the shoulder of New York in this little made-to-fit shelter as nature went on about its business around me. Special.
Thanks for the chance to share.
Here's how things looked: http://www.flickr.com/photos/2126880...09242445/show/
).
I loved everything except the hat with earflaps, that's gotta go.
Just kidding, great job.
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