Adirondack Peeks Winter 2024

marked territory was somewhat thrilling. Bluntly speaking, it was good, old-fashioned fun. We passed a few hikers coming down from the peaks. They were tired, red in the face, and seemed hap py to make conversation with strangers. They passed on some knowledge of the upcoming conditions, traded a quick story and then moved on, enjoying their own depar ture from the pavement, offices, and city traffic. My most frequent thought was that I didn't want to return to civilization. I wanted to stay up here. It was so sim ple here. But it wasn't. A day in the Adirondacks in Febru ary starts at dawn. It's real work keeping warm, boiling wa ter to drink, cooking food with raw fingers, stuffing sleeping bags with no feeling in your hands, trying to keep socks and boots dry to avoid frostbite, finding a suitable place to use as a restroom, and maintaining healthy thought to avoid the stresses of knowing there is no escape from the cold and snow. There is no hotel room to bail out in if things get too rough. We heard of the hiker who has been miss ing since November. His jacket was found. No trace of him. Maybe someone will stumble across him in the spring and give his family a taste of closure. Maybe they won't find him. Maybe all his family will get in return is his jacket. I would not be surprised if they donated his garment to a lean-to on the trail. Backpackers and extreme hikers seem to have that quality: They understand being at the mercy of the mountains. They know it will be of good use to some one struggling to keep warm. It may even prevent the next disappearance. It was time for a "freestyle!" Bill hopped off the path this time, bouncing around in deep snow and giving us some needed laughter. The fact our water was freez ing didn't seem too threatening. Having snow and streams nearby offered some comfort, despite whatever inconve niences. Beaver fever still exists during the winters. The fortunate thing about getting the parasite is that it won't come screaming through your intestines until long after you've returned home. Most likely it will strike while you're stuck in traffic or waiting behind the local farmer's tractor while you're driving to work. That can make for a great sto ry, too, over breakfast in the local diner. We headed up the gorge, meandering in out of massive rocks, fallen trees, and frozen streams. Bill and Josh were starting to feel the effects of the cold. Combined with wet boots and gloves, and perspiration from under neath, socks and gloves can become your nemesis if they take on water. We took special care to move the body parts that were starting to numb. About five hours into the trip, Kurt decided to ditch his pack. His day pack was still too heavy and was wearing him down. Fighting a bad hip, bad ankles, and sore knees wasn't helping his fatigue either. He was a trouper though. The elevation was now starting to change more drastically. We were climbing higher, quicker. We had made the assumption we would be coming home partially in the dark. It was too late in the day to make it back to the lean-to before sundown. Keeping our headlam ps tight to our bodies kept the batteries from freezing. This would turn out to be of importance on the walk home. Dur-

Monday, February 21, 2011: Haystack Retrospect Ken Held 1 Y esterday we returned from the Adirondacks tired, achy, dehydrated, and ecstatic. Our trip began in a Ford Excursion as we made our way north listening to music, stories, and jokes that a seven-year-old wouldn't laugh at. It was dark for the entire ride to Keene, NY. Functioning on only a few hours’ sleep, we were about to enter Adirondack Park on snowshoes with heavy backpacks, dried fruit, power bars, and with the hope that we would have an extreme adventure of some kind as we eyed our destination, Mt. Haystack. A good home-cooked, soul-food breakfast at the local diner gave us a disoriented vision of what the next 36 hours would bring. As we left the diner, our waitress commented that we were crazy to stay overnight in the wilderness, especially when the temperature was predicted to be just below zero. We never blinked, hesitated, or stuttered despite all the reservations we had tucked away and hidden behind the jokes and wisecracks five grown men can muster up over a good breakfast. By eight a.m. we were on the trail. A light snow fell on us as we slowly ascended the valley towards New York's highest peaks. Fifteen degrees didn't feel very chill ing with fleece layers, jackets, and a thirty-pound pack. The views were limited due to the cloud cover in the mountains, so we eyed the thick blanket of snow on the ground. A beautiful sight in itself. The forest was still. A nice departure from the chaotic lives we all indulge in. I reminisced about September 11. For a few days during that period there was a no-fly rule in effect. I remember a good friend saying how nice it was not to see or hear any planes in the sky. Despite the unfortunate reason for the no-fly ban, for a brief time, the skies were quiet and free of man's determination and capabilities. It was still. Our feet plodded on. Scott led the way mapping our trail route, keeping a close eye on the burls in the trees and wishing he could take a few home to turn on a lathe for the sake of making a cool bowl or wood turning. We passed some impressive birch trees—probably the biggest birch trees I've ever seen, some leaning over from so many winters of heavy snow and high winds. This forest was im pressive in the winter. Without a view of the peaks around, we channeled our vision to the smaller subtleties that are of equal beauty but often overlooked. After hiking just over three miles, we settled on a lean-to to drop our packs. We saddled up with what we needed for the day and headed for Haystack with hope we would return before dark. The trail offered about a two-foot width to place our snowshoed feet on. Stepping off the trail put us in deep snow and made walking a little more dif ficult. Kurt found this to be very opportunistic. There was something about "free styling," as he termed it, that was very tempting and rewarding. Jumping off the trail into un

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