Cracks in the DACKS

According to the book "Roadside Geology of New York", the Adirondack Mountains are composed of rock as much as three billion years old.  That rock crashed into the Eurasia continent, drifted back apart, was uplifted, eroded, redeposited, metamorphosed, uplifted again, carved by glaciers...  Day after day, the sun rose and set, spring winds scoured, summer heat baked, fall rains fell, and winter's cold penetrated.  Year after year after year.  Three billion times.  No wonder the rocks cracked.

In June of 2019, Doug and I went on an adventure to investigate two of these cracks.  

We leave Ithaca at a moderately early hour, navigate our way through swarms of Harleys out enjoying the sun, and arrive at the Rogers Rock Campground.  We get in line...
 to rent a canoe!  

The first crack we plan to climb is a 600 foot cleft rising almost directly out of the water on the west shore of Lake George.  So we rent our boat, strap our packs to the thwarts (it would make us sad to capsize, it would make us even more sad to lose our ropes and gear to the bottom of the lake), and paddle north.

The aptly named Little Finger Route is justifiably popular, and we're not surprised to find a pile of canoes and kayaks pulled up into the woods at the base of this climb.  We do some fancy footwork to clamber onto the boulders that serve as a dock, pull the canoe up, and settle down to wait at the end of the climbing conga line.  

This route is popular for the same reasons that I like it: it follows a crack, so even I will have a hard time getting off route, it follows a crack so there are ample opportunities to place protection, it follows a crack with anatomy friendly dimensions and geometries so fingers, ring locks, hand jams, and side pulls feel solid even to me, and there are enough features on the face to keep feet happy without ankle contortions (which I will talk about again a few paragraphs below).

I have come to accept that I will never be much of a lead climber.  My first multi-pitch lead was in the Gunks, rated 5.5  Now, years and many pitches later, I lead...
5.5 and still sometimes scare myself silly.  At this rate I'll be climbing 5.5 in no time, for all time.

So, it should come as no surprise that this three pitch route with gorgeous scenery, is rated...  5.5  : )

I'm also a slow leader: slow moves, slow gear placements, slow anchor building, slow rope management.

In comparison, the party ahead of us is, how to put this diplomatically...

slower than the geologic processes that created the rock and cracks!  The party of three employs, how to put this diplomatically...  unusual procedures.  Their leader climbs up, builds an anchor, puts the second on belay, then pulls all the slack through their belay device.  It would be much more efficient to pull the slack up, then rig the belay device like this.  They're too far to see, but based on the speed at which the rope moves up, they must be using a pull, brake, under, slide, pause, pause, pause, pause, pull, brake...  method.  

Doug and I eat lunch and take a nap.  When we wake up, hooray! their second climber is at the anchor.  Then after more pauses, their belayer puts their third climber on belay, and... pull, brake, under, slide, pause, pause...  A more efficient way is to belay two followers simultaneously like this.  Doug and I take another nap and ponder dinner.

We know that we should wait longer as the party ahead of us heads up the second pitch, but we're starting to seize up.  So, Doug leads off, builds an anchor and belays me up.

There's no ledge at this station, so we hang in our harnesses, shifting our feet around trying (unsuccessfully) to find a position that doesn't fold our ankles in half.  

Turns out what we want is squirrel ankles.  Squirrels have swiveling back ankles! that rotate 180 degrees, allowing them to hang upside down.  I've been watching squirrels for a long time, and never thought to question how they do that.

Instead of swiveling our ankles, we get incredibly stiff and sore from the calves down.  It's so painful that when I lead the next pitch, I wonder if I'll be able to climb the next day.  Luckily, there's a bit of a ledge at the next belay station, and we knead our unhappy parts while we wait.  It's hard to complain when waiting consists of hanging out having fun conversations and sharing snacks in a setting like this:

Eventually, we see the other party rappelling, so Doug leads off again.  I glance down at the party at a lower rappel station just as they start to pull their rope.  I notice they've done a good job about tying a stopper knot in the end of their rope.  The reason I notice this, is because as they're pulling down one end of their rope, the other end, still with a knot in it, is slithering up the cliff destined to be stuck in the anchor chains.  Luckily, this time they could wait until Doug climbs up and he could release their rope.  But in general, a stuck rope is serious business.  Here's some information about how to deal with a rope that is stuck above your rappel.  Luckily, I alert them to the problem, they're able to scramble up, pull their rope down, untie the knot, and with a thanks and wave, they're on their way again. 

Doug and I finish our climb, celebrate with a couple of masculine chest bumps (not really, and no I have not actually watched this how to video).

By now, the sun is dropping like a stone toward the horizon, so no time to tarry.  We discuss and decide to simul -rappel.  This is a method that can be quicker than rappelling one at a time, but it entails risks as with any climbing procedure.  One reason I like Doug so much as a trip partner is because we are both highly respectful of our own stupidity.  So we check and cross check every step, including verifying that the stopper knot is untied before we pull the rope.

By the time we get down, dusk is settling over the lake.  We pack up gear, paddle back to the campground, and find the rental office is closed.  We leave the canoe and paddles with a note and hope nobody steals the stuff before the staff come in the morning.  

We now drive north and west to put ourselves in position for our next adventure, climbing a big crack.  We head towards the Adirondak Loj, gateway to several of the 46 High Peaks.  Before reaching the Loj parking lot, we turn left onto South Meadow Road.  There are several free camp sites along this cobble strewn track. A dirtbag's dream!  Unfortunately, all the official sites are occupied.  Luckily, there seems to be an accepted practice of stuffing a vehicle into any slight gap in the trees that crowd the lane, and setting up a tent on any patch of ground that you're willing to sleep on.  So that's what we do.  After the long day, a quick snack serves as dinner, and soon we're asleep.

In the morning, neither of us require formal breakfast or complicated beverage rituals, so after quickly packing up our camp, we start walking towards our climbing objective, Mount Colden.

The first few miles of our route is south along the Marcy Dam truck trail.  Wide enough for the passage of service vehicles, the track allows the unique opportunity to walk side by side.  Our repartee is improved by approximately 76.3%  compared to talking while hiking on a normal Adirondack trail. When you converse with someone under normal circumstances, you point your mouth at their ears, and they do the same thing.  When walking in tandem along a hiking trail, the person in front points their mouth away from the person in back, and the person in back points their mouth at the back of the leaders head.  Both people have a hard time being heard, so over half of the banter consists of "what?"

With this unprecedented opportunity to commune, the miles pass quickly and we arrive at Avalanche Lake.  The weather is perfect: sunny sky, mild temperature, cool gentle breeze.  Quite different from the last time I was here (on a trip that also included Doug).

Daughter Molly getting a snow exfoliation treatment

No frozen lake to walk on today, so we skirt around the west shore on "Hitch-Up Matildas" wooden walkways cantilevered out from the sheer rock lining the lake.

Avalanche Lake in warmer conditions

Jeff in December
with the ol slip & fall gag

Part way along the trail, our destination comes into view across the lake. The big crack cleaving Mount Colden known as the Trap Dike.    Here's an explanation of the geologic processes that created this big crack.

At the south end of the lake, we meet a trail crew.  Buff young men and women sweat away levering boulders, hand sawing timbers, and picking and shoveling earth so that the rest of us can hike without stubbing our toes.  We offer our sincere thanks.

We take a break to eat and filter water.  For years I had used chemical treatments to disinfect water.  Then my sister Kathy gave me a filter (after bringing it as a precaution on her travels to a questionable foreign destination).  What a revelation!  No more ingesting Tetraglycine hydroperiodide or chlorine dioxide!  No more waiting while bacterial agents penetrate cell walls, retard protein synthesis, disrupt electron transport, cause DNA denaturation, or destabilize membranes!  And I think the best part is, you can drink the water while it's still cold from the lake or stream.  Almost as good as the old days before the invention of beavers.

Thus refreshed, we follow a faint trail on the east side of the lake to the debris fan of the Colden Trap Dike.



For the most part, ascending the Trap Dike route consists of steep hiking and easy scrambling.  But there are a couple of cruxes maybe 15 feet high with class 4 to 5 moves, and people have died here.  As part of our trip planning, Doug and I discussed bringing a rope and few pieces of gear, and decided that we would turn around if things looked too spicy.

In several places besides the cruxes, the footing and exposure serve to focus my concentration.  For me, this is another type of meditation.  My only thoughts are where to put a hand or foot, what rock looks solid, which rock requires a thump with a fist to test for a hollow sound indicating possible weakness.  Concentrating on decisions each second: the sloping dry foot hold? or the smaller level wet one?  If I follow the enticingly spaced steps to the left does that end in a vertical wall?  Do the broken blocks lead to the running waterfall?  If I make the obvious move as a dynamic jump, what are the consequences if the foot hold is slippery?  Will momentum carry me to the pair of juggy hand holds?

But most of the time the steep hiking/easy scrambling take little thought and we have mental bandwidth for soul-connecting conversation.  The best part of any trip.

There's no set trail up this route, so we choose our own adventure, angling back and forth across the running stream.  The route would require much greater concentration if all of the rock was wet from rain or more stream flow, and I personally wouldn't care for the experience.

Eventually the slope of the rocky steps decreases, and the rock is over-topped by vegetation.  The canyon walls close in like a trap.  

Trip reports warn us not to exit the dike too soon, so we bush whack our way through the scrubby woods.  There are only faint traces of previous sojourns, but we do find a lone snowshoe.  The danger of climbing out of the dike too soon is because we could end up too low on the adjacent "slide".  The slide is steeper down low, and we might not be able to downclimb back into the dike safely.  Here's a link to trip reports and videos of slide climbs.  And another link.

We exit onto the slide where the slope is reasonable, but oh my what a smooth expanse of exposure.  The slab angle isn't super steep, but it's long and unrelenting.  If you ever started rolling, you wouldn't stop until the bottom.

Photo by others

Photo by others

Here's my take on slide climbing 

The geology of the bedrock on the slide is pretty interesting.

Doug and I agreed that our crux is up at the top of the slab and transitioning to the trail.

Sketchier than it looks

We hike the short distance to the top where we greet a few other hikers who came up the Lake Colden trail, take a summibration picture, drink and eat a snack. We would love to take a nap, but need to keep moving because we still have a long drive ahead of us.

We descend to the northeast along the standard trail towards Lake Arnold. Doug offers to carry out the snowshoe, and we pass a small remaining patch of snow along the trail.
   

The hike out is uneventful.
We often think the description "uneventful" means boring or disappointing.  But when it comes to outdoor adventures I'm happiest when my trip partners and I are not the subjects of newsworthy events.  An uneventful trip doesn't preclude joyous, rapturous, and life affirming.

Karma continues to smile upon us.  From the trailhead, we drive to the Adirondak Loj where we discover a new addition to the facilities.  An eatery!!!  And although we arrive at closing time and resign ourselves to a dinner of leftover trail snacks, the server and cook beckon us to the window and they bestow a delectable ending to our Adirondack crack adventure.

My First Tracks in the DACKS

Hikers Relax in the DACKS 

On a sparkling crisp afternoon on the fifth of October, 2019 my daughter Molly and I are walking back to the trailhead after hiking to the top of Sawteeth (yes that's the correct spelling!) Mountain in the Adirondacks of New York.  We catch up with a middle aged couple walking along, and as hikers often do, we start talking about the brilliant weather and where we had hiked.  The man notices my hat, and comments ‘these Adirondack High Peaks must not seem like anything compared to the mountains in Colorado’.  Well, actually....

Certainly, the Colorado 14ers tower over the "DACKS" in terms of elevation above sea level. Standing on the summit of Mt Marcy, the highest point in New York, you’d have over a mile and a half of rock over your head to match Mt Elbert, the highest point in Colorado.

But in terms of climbing effort, some of the hikes are surprisingly comparable.  Take Sawteeth Moutain via the scenic loop trail that Molly and I just hiked:

Alltrails cites the hike as 14.2 miles long with 3,356 feet of elevation gain.  Comparing Colorado 14er hikes that have approximately 3,300 feet of elevation gain: Mount Princeton is a 6.5 mile hike, Wetterhorn Peak is 7 miles, and Quandry is 6.75 miles, less than half the distance!

How about hikes for beginners?
Hikers looking for a first peak to climb in the Adirondacks are often directed to Cascade mountain.

Descending Cascade

Mount Democrat is often suggested as a first Colorado 14er.

View from the summit of Mount Democrat
See my trip report here

From trailhead to summit, Cascade is a 4.8 mile round trip hike with 1,940 feet of elevation gain. Mount Democrat requires hiking 4 miles and 2,150 feet of climbing.  Pretty similar number of steps and breaths : )

Towards the other end of the caloric consumption scale, Mount Skylight, Haystack, and Redfield, Donaldson, Emmons, and Cliff in the Adirondacks all require over 17 miles of hiking to complete the round trip.  In Colorado, only Pikes Peak and Snowmass require over 17 mile hikes.

There are however several 14ers that require over 6,000 feet of ascending to reach their lofty heights. And there is the matter of those lofty and literally breath taking heights.  At 14,000 feet above sea level, each breath contains 43% less oxygen than at sea level.  Lack of oxygen is not a significant issue in the Adirondack High Peaks.

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Aside from distance, elevation gain, and the differences of altitude, how do the trails compare?

According to Coloradoencyclopedia.org, "Colorado's combination of high elevation, midlatitude, and continental interior geography results in a cool, dry, and invigorating climate."   Accordinging to their chamber of commerce: Alamosa, CO basks in sunshine 350 days of the year.  Between the dry sunny weather and sandy gravely soil, many of the mountain trails in Colorado are nice and smooth...
Until you encounter scree and talus fields. Here are tips for how to descend scree. Or, try this method.

Summer climate in the Adirondacks is in a word, wet.  Wet from rain (3"-5" per month), wet from humidity, wet from runoff and swampy conditions.  The New York State Department of Environmental Conservation actually urges hikers to avoid trails during muddy spring conditions. And all that rain comes from somewhere, namely clouds.  According to the Farmer's Almanac, New York is the fourth cloudiest state in the US with Buffalo seeing just 50 some days of sunshine per year!  Imagine our shock and drop in vitamin D when Lisa and I moved from Alamosa to Ithaca.

An Adirondack trail

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In winter, conditions in the Adirondacks are pretty chilly. According to weather.com, the average low in January is 9 F.   In February of 2016, the summit of Whiteface Mountain recorded a windchill of 114 degrees below zero.

Chilly morning after sleeping in the car

at the NYSDOT High Peaks rest stop parking lot

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There are 46 mountains in the Adirondacks that rise over 4,000 feet in elevation.  Sort of. You can read about the caveat here.  Climbing all of the 46 High Peaks provides a means to experience outdoor adventures, build friendships, and appreciate the wonder of nature.

My introduction to the High Peaks began in April of 2013.  I was aware of the 46 High Peaks, but didn't seriously think about climbing all of them.  So, assuming this first trip would be one of my few opportunities to experience the DACKS, I thought why not go big and see what it feels like.

In April, strong evidence of winter remains in the form of deep snow and cold nights.   But day time temperatures are not as severe as in the dead of winter, and the lengthening days provide more time to hike without resorting to a headlamp.

With a forecast of favorable weather, I drive from Ithaca and arrive at the Adirondak Loj  (yes that's the correct spelling! do you see a pattern here?  The history of that spelling is actually kind of interesting and involves Dewey of the Dewey Decimal system!!!) after dark.  The parking lot is empty, which I will learn later is a rare treat.   I arrange my pack, pull on microspikes, and set off by the light of my headlamp.





After a pleasant walk along the gentle and easily followed Van Hoevenberg trail, I arrive at a lean-to near Marcy Dam, and startle a hiker cocooned in his sleeping bag. I apologize for the intrusion and spread out my two sleeping pads and the down sleeping bag I sewed in 1971.

In the morning, I meet Robert, a student at Rochester University.  I learn that he has hiked some of these trails in the summer so I'm thankful for an experienced partner, and we team up to climb Mount Marcy.  Robert stuffs a water bottle and some snacks into the pockets of his ski jacket, and proclaims himself ready.  I load up my pack with enough extra clothes and gear to survive a night out and we start walking.  When we stop for a break, his water bottle is frozen (in winter conditions you need to insulate the bottle with a sleeve or wrapped in clothing) so I pull out my second bottle for him.





Somewhere along the way, one of his sidewalk traction devices has parted company from his boot.  Luckily, the snow on the trail is textured and not too slippery, and compact enough that snowshoes are not critical* (because Robert didn't bring any).  We continue up and reach the tree line, where predictably, a gale sweeps unhindered.

Windswept Mount Marcy

Now I learn that Robert doesn't have mittens or gloves, or eye protection.  So I pull out my spare gloves and goggles, and we head up onto the windswept open slope.   Luckily, the snow is in great condition, and he is able to make his way up without slipping too much. We arrive at the summit

Robert, with borrowed gloves and goggles

The sun is warm enough behind a sheltering ledge to enjoy a break for lunch.  Now I learn that he didn't bring a lunch!  So...

Top of Mount. Marcy 1 of 46 : ) with my trusty red anorak

We head back to the lean to and as we prepare for the night, I learn that Robert doesn't have a sleeping pad!  So...

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*  On my way down, a skier educates me about a rule that snowshoes are required whenever the snow is greater than 8" in depth to prevent post holing that would create a hazard for others.

Travel & Climbing in Ecuador, Part 1

Having grown up in the US, I never gave much thought to the country of Ecuador.
I knew that it's situated on the equator (though be forewarned if you visit the official monument); the Galapagos would be cool to visit; and that was about it.
Until my sister Jeanne retired there.  You can read a bit more about that here.

Jeanne feeding a street dog

In any case, in December of 2012 I joined my son Jimmy, daughter Molly, and sister Kathy to visit Ecuador.

We fly from Ithaca, New York; on the east coast of North America



And fly to Quito and then Cuenca, Ecuador; on the west coast of South America


Literally due south.  Due to plate tectonics, Ecuador and New York are in the same time zone!

Jeanne lives in Cuenca, the third largest city in Ecuador after Quito and Guayaquil (a common gateway to tours of the Galapagos Islands).


Before visiting, I read cautionary tales of crowded buses (where thieves will reach under your seat and slit your backpack open to steal the contents),



About the loose adherence to safety when driving.

A number of times we see vehicles passing while negotiating a hairpin turn.  And a number of times a third vehicle (including semi trucks) come barreling around the bend at the same time.  Luckily, Ecuadorian Highway Engineers are clever and build the roads wide enough to accommodate three across...

But the thoughts of visiting Jeanne (and climbing mountains) are strong enough to overcome my concerns, and I book tickets.

One of the mountains Jimmy and I hope to climb is Mt. Chimborazo.


At 6,272 meters above sea level, Mt. Chimborazo is a high peak.  Again, thanks to geology and geeky geodesists, we know that the earth bulges at the equator (Considering the earth is spinning at 1,000 miles per hour, it's a wonder Ecuadorians don't go flying off into space).  Because of the bulging, Mt. Chimborazo is actually farther from the center of the earth than Mt. Everest!


So, how do I prepare for such a serious climb?

Lots of stairs (you can read about my OCD SMURF training program here).


I also climb some peaks in the Adirondacks.

Noonmark Mountain as viewed from a kite

And, to prepare for a mountain that's "higher" than Mount Everest, I climb Mt. Everett in Massachusetts!


I also assemble a mountain of gear and clothing



A week before my scheduled departure, Mt Tungurahua blows up.

I send a frantic email asking the guide company if they're okay and if I should still come.
I receive this message in response:

"Hi Bob

Good day

Everything is Ok ,with us thank you ,i live in Quito.

There is no affect of Volcan Tungurahua  of your Chimborazo climb..dont worry.

Regards

Shuly"

So with that reassurance, off I go.


Despite it being the third largest city in Ecuador, there doesn't seem to be a way to fly from the US to Cuenca without a night layover in Quito.  Some folks stay in the airport (luckily Ecuadorian interior designers are compassionate and the seats don't have arm rests).


But we opt for a brief stay in a hotel.  The drive to the hotel feels sketchy to this bumpkin, unaccustomed to the ways of big cities or third world cultures.


But once inside, and especially in the morning, the place reveals it's grand nature.  Jimmy and I sleep in the round tower, and have coffee on the little balcony, with a view of...


The mountains surrounding Quito.  I come to know one of these mountains during my next visit.

Coffee on the balcony

Breakfast also turns out to be memorable.


Quito is a big city, and would probably be even bigger if not for the constraints of the surrounding mountains.

Kind of like Ouray, Colorado.
Kind of.


Cuenca is also a big city by my standards, but the trip from the airport to Jeanne's house is quick.  Because...


The airport in Cuenca is right in town.  So close, the jet blast probably helps dry people's laundry hanging in their yard.  Or more likely gives sheets the twangy aroma of Jet-A fuel.

One of the cultural differences I like is watching a guy walking with a cow along pedestrian paths to the city park where he tethers it to graze for the day.  Then they walk home in the evening.


Although located on the equator, Cuenca is situated at about 8,400 feet of elevation, so we get to see some new flora.









Cuenca is a UNESCO World Heritage Site so we also get to admire some incredible architecture






Jimmy and I get to appreciate another cultural difference when we visit this cathedral in Quito.  As we're admiring the architecture, they close and lock the surrounding gates for the night. There's no advanced notice, so several of us tourists have to climb over a wrought iron fence and traverse along the top of a stone wall to get out!  Good practice for mountains.


And, on the ground floor of the cathedral, you can shop for plumbing supplies.



While on the subject of merchandise in unexpected places, or in this case unexpected merchandise...
The guy behind the food vendor is selling toilet paper and rubber chickens.

Jimmy is about 5'10" tall.  Granted, he's wearing his mountain boots and maybe he's closer to the camera, but still...

Fried banana with queso fresco.  Yum.

Cherries, not plums

Didn't try this, or even stop to ask.  But I am curious.

Here are pictures of the food market near Jeanne's house.








This little piggy went to market and ended up as Almuerzo.

































If you look closely to labels in the US grocery stores, sometimes you'll see that fruits and vegetables are from Ecuador.



And lots of the cut flowers, especially roses are from Ecuador.


As well as chocolate.

This is not a store display, but I'm not telling how many gringos share this gluttonous spread.

Despite the name, Panama Hats originated in Ecuador.


Armed with proper protection from the sun; Molly, Jimmy and I set off for a hike in Las Cajas Park.




This turns out to be one of the most scenic hikes I've ever had the pleasure to experience.  I am so lucky.






And the sandwiches rank as one of the best meals of my life.  Of course, it might have something to do with the culinary companions and scenery.


One cultural quirk that Cuenca shares with Ithaca is a parade of tutu-wearing vehicles.


It's part of the New Year celebration that includes burning effigies to rid us from bad habits of the past year.  The "monigotes" are available for sale all over the city,


resulting in some fun passengers


On New Year's Eve, there's no need to leave your house to enjoy the fireworks, they are shot off all over the city streets : )

And so, after a great time together, Molly and Kathy head home, and Jimmy and I prepare to do some climbing.