Muddy Thursday.

Thursday 8.21
I am tired. Today was a really good day though. Woke up early-ish again, before 8:00, and set out immediately for Cascade with backpacks full of granola bars, peanut butter crackers, a loaf of bread and 3 liters of water. Signed into the trailhead at 8:45, and we were on our way. Down into the little cascade valley and then UP! This hike was not too steep, in fact it was pretty pleasant and moderate the whole way up. And Meghan sets a good pace. But what it was; Muddy! Very muddy. The whole trail was a reminder of the wet summer we’ve been having and we slogged through lots of muck. I tried my best not to sink my sneakers 3 inches deep into the liquid Adirondacks, but I still wound up with dirty shoes, and a few close calls with a sprained ankle for my rock-hopping efforts.

The hike is 2.1 miles to the intersection with the trail to Porter, and it took us a little under 2 hours, which I blame entirely on having to navigate so many soggy patches. From there we took the ¾ mile jaunt over to the top of Porter Mtn. (4080 ft). The trail descends a bit, through what was essentially a running stream bed, before climbing back up to the summit, which, although tree-lined still had some really wonderful views of the high peaks. And they were so much closer than either of our previous viewpoints. And Porter being of little import to the day hiker with Cascade on their mind, we were even able to spend a couple minutes completely alone at the top.

After about a half hour we headed back over to Cascade. Shortly after the intersection you get out to the bare rock and start heading toward what you think is the summit. And then you get there. And then you climb another little ways to get to the actual summit (4098 ft). It’s totally bare. The views are really wonderful, although I felt after having been on Porter, that the view of the high peaks was somewhat similar, except that Porter was now in the way. Nonetheless, Cascade gives you the crisp panorama that you do not get at the top of Porter. And again, there is just no real reason to make an attempt at describing the view. I can show you pictures. But you really need to go up yourself.

Summit fever is real. But then we started descending and I started wishing we’d had that weird Whiteface elevator to bring us down. But now, achy legs and all, I’m starting to think about what I want to hike next, and I’ll deal with that descent when the time comes. All told today’s trip was somewhere between 5.5 and 6 hours, roughly 2200 feet of climbing and about 6.5 miles round trip and I’m so glad that we did it. I’m ready to do it again, even if my knees are currently pitching a fit and my toes are aching from almost face-planting on the way down.

I’d also like to mention the exquisite pleasure that is the post-hike shower. Which is equally as great as the post-camping shower. Words cannot describe. We stopped for a six pack on the way back, and had a post shower beer, which is also nice. Went into Saranac Lake village after sitting around a bit, walked more (I don’t know why) and then had wood-fired pizza at a little family joint which Meghan informed me did not exist when she lived up here. It was really good. And though I’d sorta planned on going to a Piano/Cello recital in town here tonight, Meghan wasn’t really up for it, and I’m probably not either. So we’re here at the motel for our last night, reading and writing outside, because it’s finally warm enough, and preparing to watch the sunset over Lake Flower. A well spent day means an early bed time.

Travel Writer?

So. I'm going to write a travelogue of my vacation this week. Here goes nothing...

Tuesday 8.19
Woken up by Meghan in robe and toweled hair. “It’s too early” I say. Well actually it was almost 9 am. Hit the road around 10 or 10:30, Meghan at the wheel. She knew I would want to gawk, and I did. Once we got on route 73 I was like a child riding in a cart at the grocery store. Ooh, Ahhh; I want this, I want that. And I would consume these mountains like a box of animal crackers if it were possible. Giant seems to be the first really big thing you see, and it lives up to its name, isolated as it is from the rest of the high peaks. And we passed Cascade, which we have planned for Thursday, our first high peak, and I’m uncontrollably excited about it.

After a driving tour of all Meghan’s old stomping (teaching) grounds, we pulled into the motel a bit after 1:00, checked in, unloaded and then took a walk up to the deli to get lunch. “Italian Mix” of turkey, ham and salami. Oh well. They had good chips. A cool breezy lunch, it’s only been around 60 degrees up here today, and a bit windy off of Lake Flower, but not totally unpleasant.

After lunch we set off for Mt. Baker, practically right in town, a short .9 mile hike up 900 feet to the top (2452 ft). The trail proved to be full of families, obviously taking advantage of its ease of use. Encountered at least a handful of grandparents on the trip, as well as the usual French-Canadians and some nice dogs. The trail was rather poorly marked, but due to the heavy use and relatively thin growth it’s pretty easy to find your way to the top. There is a bit of a flat stretch after the initial climb, followed by some more substantial climbing in the last 1/3 of the hike and the views occur about 50 feet below the actual summit on a rocky ridge. And they were good. The whole high peaks region stretches out in front of you from east to west. Giant cuts a significant profile and the tops of Algonquin and Marcy were just barely frosted with clouds. Through my binoculars I watched the clouds burn off Algonquin’s summit and then sit just above. It looked like you could put a step-ladder on the summit and climb right back into them. And the view of the Saranac Chain as well as the village was beautiful as well. While the high peaks present a tangible, imposing and relatively close barrier, to the west and southwest the park seems to stretch endlessly away.

The hike was quite short, half an hour up, 45 minutes at the top and half an hour down. After an aborted stop for beer at the Grand Union on the way back (poor selection, I think I might need some bourbon), we’ve been relaxing at the motel. Meghan is reading, I’m listening to Charles Ives as I write and watching Jack, the motel’s dog, get a bath out on the lawn. Regarding the motel, its nice and simple. The beds have really nice quilts, I’m assuming made with love by somebody’s grandmother, or family friend. And the toilet has a note about country plumbing and not flushing anything you didn’t eat, but the thing is a turbo-flush nonetheless. Anyway, out to dinner and wandering around town tonight.