Adirondack Peeks Winter 2024

ing the walk back to the lean-to, I watched Scott and Josh take a few falls in front of me and then joined them with one of my own. We all didn't escape a good jab to the skull from broken branches either. Josh and Kurt both took shots to the head, which disrupted the stillness of the early night. Bill continued to battle wet frozen socks by stomping his feet on occasion to maintain sufficient blood flow. We stopped to admire a sign sticking out of the snow at the base of Mt. Haystack. Impressively, our feet were level with the top of the sign after almost a full winter of snowfall and wind. The sign read, "Haystack 1 mi." We had hiked about eight miles. It was time to go up. I would describe it as a leg burning climb. The wind started to pick up as we climbed. At times I was forced to scramble on my hands and knees to avoid slipping back down, even in the snowshoes. Josh ran into some trouble on one of the steep inclines. It's a good decision to stop and collect yourself during a climb. He was light-headed, dehydrated, cold, and tired. After a sixty second rest he said, "The only way down is up." He smiled and kept on. While we were stopped, I turned and looked back. The clouds had thinned at this elevation. There was now a tre mendous view of the surrounding peaks and the valley we just meandered through. It was breathtaking. A snow squall was blowing up the valley. I was glad it never made its way to us. It would have blocked my view of the mountains. They're ancient and impressive. Jagged rocks stick up with snow flowing smoothly and softly around them. They're an eternal, living painting framed by the sky and the trees and the snow. I couldn't see anyone. I couldn't hear anyone. There were no airplanes above, no houses, no structures, no roads, no motors. The only synthetic presences were the tracks on the trail. I chose not to pull out my camera. These sights cannot be photographed or even described completely in words. They can only be witnessed. We finally stumbled up onto the peak. The winds were steady at a solid thirty miles per hour. The gusts were much stronger, capable of knocking you off your feet. The temperature on top of the mountain was minus three de grees. We later estimated the wind chill to be "really frea kin' cold!" There would be no picnic on the peak today. The snow pellets stung our eyelids. Mt. Marcy was standing proudly across the valley. She was impressive. The natives called her Tahawus, meaning cloud splitter, and today, a cloud splitter she was. We didn't stay long on the peak. We descended rather quickly. Going down was easier. We were quickly out of the winds and back into the valley where it was calm and warmer, although most people wouldn't associate ten degrees with being warmer. One steep decline offered the chance to sit and slide. A thirty-yard snow slide was a thrill ing addition to the hike down the mountain. We maintained a steady pace, running out of water about halfway back to the lean-to. We were cold and stumbling. We were deliri ous. Thoughts came and went. Some pleasant and some unpleasant. It was challenging physical work, snowshoeing down the gorge. It was challenging mental work too. Our

last ninety minutes were spent in the dark with head lamps lighting a small radius around us. As we grew closer to our lean-to, we passed a small cabin with four inhabitants. They called the one room cabin the "warming hut." Bill peered in the windows to survey the scene. Four retired hikers were talking politics around a small table, sipping coffee and whiskey. They were weekend volunteers stationed there to keep an eye on unprepared or damaged backpackers. Eventually, they invited us in. After a hot meal, hot cocoa, and some needed conversation, we ventured back out into the cold night to find our lean-to. The "warming hut" was a key find. The inhabitants were generous. Cooking a meal in this weather would have been difficult and en ergy consuming. We slept sound and steady. Our only fear was having the urge to urinate during the night. We could all imagine the unpleasant experience of having to climb out of our sleeping bags on a minus two–degree night. Bill was the hero of the evening. With his hands exposed to the raw cold, he boiled water for everyone so we would have a warm bottle at our feet during the night. Sunday morning brought us beautiful sunshine. The sky was crystal blue and accented the hemlocks that lined the creek we were camped next to. Mounds of snow flowed over the boulders and downed trees that outlined the creek. There were a few spots of flowing water which added sparkle to the air and very pleasant sound effects to the whole scene. Sunday morning was a postcard. The hike back to the vehicle was just over three miles. The walk took more than two hours. I did my best to keep my head up the entire walk down the trail. The peaks were visible in the distance and showed their faces nearly the entire journey back. I decided to burn these images into my brain. They were worth remembering. I couldn't stop looking at one peak that kept peering back at me. It reminded me of a small mountain we climbed as kids. A flood of great memories poured in, and I held onto them for some time. They made me smile. The diner in Keene was now our destination again. Talk of fresh water; a good, warm meal; coffee; juice; and homemade pie made us tingle. The waitress remembered us. She was happy to see us. We were happy to see her. We climbed back into the Ford Excursion and headed south away from the Adirondacks. Bill and I talked for most of the ride home while Kurt, Josh, and Scott took advantage of the time to nap. I turned several times to look at the mountains disappearing behind me, wishing I could take them home with me. As it turns out, I did. 1 Editor's note: This story was sent to PEEKS via Bill Knight, #11769, who told us: “I am a high school teacher of 29 years. Recently a friend, Ken Held, passed away unex pectedly and far too soon. I ran across a retrospect that he had taken the time to write and share with a group of us fellow teachers and hikers after his first winter hiking/ camping experience in the high peaks. I'm sure it would bring some joy to Ken's family and friends as well as some of your readers.”

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