Off in the distance we could see clouds streaming across the summit of Mt. Marcy, also known by the Mohawk name Tahawus — “cloud-splitter.” We were there to attempt an ambitious traverse of the Great Range beginning from the summit of New York's highest peak. At the time this seemed entirely reasonable.
We had spent the previous week making last-minute preparations and after work Wednesday night we loaded the truck and headed northeast toward Adirondack State Park in upstate New York. Driving straight through the night, stopping only for fuel and donuts, we arrived in Keene Valley shortly after sunrise. It was quite cold and a storm the previous day had covered everything in fluffy white powder, leaving the mountains glowing in the magical early morning light.
After stopping for a few photographs I woke Ron and Mike and continued on into Lake Placid. The streets were deserted and I found myself wishing I were home instead, where my family would soon be making final preparations for their Thanksgiving feast.
We refueled at the only open gas station in town and drove back to the trailhead where we shouldered our packs, signed the register, and headed up the trail.
The hike into Johns Brook Valley was pleasant enough. The sky was mostly clear and the temperature had moderated some. Unfortunately, I felt terrible. Between exhaustion, dehydration, lack of caffeine, and very little actual sleep in the truck, I struggled badly from the beginning. It bothered me more than I cared to admit since this was a comparatively easy trail and I had never experienced such difficulty on any previous trip.
As we moved farther up the valley we began seeing more of our intended return route and the scale of the traverse slowly became apparent. There was considerably more climbing involved than we had imagined while studying maps at home, and quietly all three of us began reassessing the wisdom of the plan.
By mid-afternoon we had reached the Bushnell Falls lean-to. A group of four from Pennsylvania was already setting up camp nearby, so we dropped our packs and claimed sleeping spots. Shortly afterward a couple from Connecticut arrived with their dog and pitched a tent near the brook. Across the stream, occupying another lean-to, were two men from New York — one obviously experienced, the other appearing only marginally comfortable with the entire concept.
After sorting our gear we all began cooking dinner, leading to my first experience with what could best be described as combat cooking: seven people shoulder-to-shoulder across the front of a twelve-foot lean-to, all priming white gas stoves simultaneously. Until then I had assumed stories about massive stove flare-ups were largely fictional, or at minimum, limited to the terminally incompetent. Apparently not.
For several exciting moments it looked entirely possible we might burn down the entire Adirondacks, but eventually the flames subsided, water boiled, and Thanksgiving dinners were successfully prepared. Darkness settled in early and within a few hours everyone was asleep.
Over a relaxed breakfast we officially abandoned plans for the full Great Range traverse and settled on a simpler objective: an ascent of Mt. Marcy.
The two men from across the brook had started well before daylight, followed shortly afterward by the Connecticut couple and their dog. They had already done the unpleasant work of route-finding and trail-breaking through deep fresh snow, which made our climb considerably easier. I felt much better than the previous day and had no trouble maintaining a decent pace.
At Slant Rock, however, Ron and Mike became preoccupied with an urgent need to answer nature's call despite possessing between them, only a few squares of toilet paper. I continued upward assuming they would catch up.
A short time later I caught up with the dog and his people while they were putting on snowshoes. We talked for a few minutes before they shuffled onward into the trees. Not long afterward Ron and Mike reappeared, highly animated and babbling about some spectacular fall Ron had taken. Apparently he had punched through a snow-covered gap between rocks, twisted his knee, and performed what they enthusiastically described as a “self-arrest,” presumably inspired by repeated viewings of the movie K2. They appeared functional enough, so we continued onward.
Gradually the forest thinned and we entered the krummholz zone. Visibility deteriorated as we climbed into the clouds and the wind began making itself known. At this point crampons became necessary, so we stopped to reorganize gear and add extra layers.
The Pennsylvania group caught up with us near the trail junction below Marcy. Almost immediately afterward the two men from across the brook came descending off the mountain plastered in rime ice. They reported extremely high winds and said they had turned back without reaching the summit.
The Pennsylvania group admitted they had no technical gear but planned to continue upward anyway, intending to turn around by mid-afternoon. They moved off first while we followed several minutes later. They lost the trail almost immediately and began thrashing through deep snow and tangled krummholz.
At the same moment I got tangled in buried brush and took a headfirst dive into a deep drift. While I extricated myself, the Pennsylvania group climbed onto a nearby rise, took photographs, and decided to retreat. I still had a reasonable sense of where the trail should be, so we continued upward and soon relocated it.
Shortly thereafter we emerged completely from the trees onto the exposed upper slopes of Marcy where wind-packed snow, thick blue ice, and rime ice coated everything. The wind was strong enough that conversation required actual effort. It was also here that I realized how badly Ron had injured his knee.
Until then I had been leading and paying more attention to the route than to them, assuming they would tell me if there was a serious problem. Ron wanted to stop briefly but had no intention of turning back with the summit only a few hundred yards away.
We continued upward slowly. At one point I stopped and looked back to discover Ron taking shelter behind a rise. Mike continued on to the summit while I descended a short distance to Ron. Eventually the two of us worked our way upward together and reached the summit.
By then the temperature had dropped, the wind made standing difficult, and visibility was a quarter mile at best. Rime ice coated every exposed surface. The summit felt more like something to endure than enjoy.
We took the obligatory summit photographs quickly and after only a few minutes I started urging us downward. I was getting cold fast and we still had miles to cover before camp. Mike admitted he had forgotten his headlamp and was anxious to get down before darkness set in. Later I learned his hands had also become painfully cold, information that would have been useful since I was carrying chemical hand warmers specifically for that purpose, but instead he hurried off alone while I stayed with Ron.
Considering the condition of his knee, the descent went well. By early evening we had reached the flatter part of the trail. I paused for a moment to get my headlamp out of my pack. Earlier in the day Mike had noticed Ron's light was already switched on, and I became concerned about burning through batteries too quickly. I gave Ron the better light and followed directly behind him, close so that I could see the ground at his feet. The woods had become completely dark.
After a while Ron said, “You know, if I didn't hurt so bad, I'd be really scared right now.”
I laughed and told him there was nothing to worry about. The bears were hibernating and besides, we hadn't seen tracks of anything larger than a squirrel. Not two minutes later a creature — probably a grouse — exploded out of the darkness directly beside the trail, sounding like someone violently throwing a wooden crate through the forest. We walked quietly for a while afterwards.
By then I had started worrying about Mike. Had he reached camp before dark? Had he gotten lost? If something had happened to him, did I even have enough energy left to go back out searching after getting Ron off the mountain? At that point there was nothing to do except keep moving. One slow, limping step at a time we continued down the valley.
Hours later I saw a light approaching through the trees. It turned out to be Mike carrying a bottle of hot chocolate and the welcome news that camp was less than five minutes away. Ron and I drank the hot chocolate immediately since neither of us had consumed much liquid since breakfast. With morale suddenly restored we shuffled onward while Mike explained what had happened after he reached camp. He had indeed made it back before dark, boiled water for us, and waited. When we still hadn't appeared he ate dinner, boiled more water, informed the Pennsylvania group he was heading back up the trail, and came looking for us. He found us only a short distance from camp.
Back at the lean-to we made dinner, stood around looking at the stars for a while, and eventually crawled into our sleeping bags. We slept in late, had a leisurely breakfast, packed our gear, and hiked back toward the truck. Despite Ron's knee, we covered the miles surprisingly quickly.
At the trailhead we threw our gear into the truck, changed clothes, and immediately went looking for food. After consuming a completely irresponsible amount of pizza we pointed the truck toward home. We were sorry to be leaving the mountains so soon, and before we even crossed the state line, we were already planning the next trip.