1mlost: 3500: 4 Peaks in Winter

For one reason or another, humans have always searched for meaning through the most meaningless of activities. It seems the closer we come to truly doing something for "no reason," the closer we come to finding meaning in the activity. My search for this kind of meaning led me to The Catskill 3500 Club. The club has an intense mission: Climb to the top of all the mountains over 3500 feet within the Catskills park boundaries. Don't be fooled by the patch of honor given to successful "aspirants" who complete the goal. There could be nothing more pointless than peak-bagging. It is for this reason, I've made it my first priority.

It's freshly February, so I'm jumping right in. The holy committee at the 3500 club has ordained that one must climb 4 specific mountains in the winter months: Balsam, Blackhead, Panther and Slide. I have stood atop 3 of these but never in the middle of winter. I'd need some new gear. Any purchase can be justified by safety and the boy scout motto, "always be prepared." I quickly order an ice ax, a balaclava and some damn warm gloves before I can think about what it's costing me. The biggest gear question is traction. The trails of the catskills were laid out by an absolute sadist, so you never know when you'll be scaling a 15 foot section of near vertical rock. In the winter these spots are usually coated with a layer of ice, making it very tricky to go up and especially down.

The brown slime.

It's the morning of my first hike. I'm late. I'm always late. 2 miles into the park, the road starts turning brown. First a line in the middle of the lane forms up. Then it slowly takes over the entire surface of the road. The further into the park I go, the thicker the layer of brown slime on the roadway. I do not know how this substance forms. I suspect it's from the same family of slime as the coating formed on one's floors after a houseparty with too many guests. This brown slime seems composed of snow, ice, salt, gravel and mud. The brown slime is mostly harmless, but once in a while it becomes completely ice or completely gravel, which could be catastrophic to my efforts to remain upright. This slime has me feeling very uneasy. I pull hard on the brake lever several times with varied results, sometimes grippy, sometimes slippery.

I am not in a rush so I slow way down. Blinkers on, riding near the shoulder slow. I'm on one of my favorite backroads, Ulster Rt. 47. I have ridden it a dozen times. It's fast and twisty as it follows rivers though frost valley. Riding along at 25 mph. The bike starts to levitate. No longer atop a 600 lb bike, at this speed, it feels more like riding a very fast bicycle, with an immaculate powerplant and great suspension. A wonderful feeling. I go even slower. I can hear the flow of the river and a bird chirping. The ride to the trailhead takes over two hours at these speeds.

The parking lot for the trail to Giant Ledge and Panther Mountain is in the eye of a downhill hairpin. The brown slime has formed thick here and I take the corner at 5mph and pull into the icy lot. There is a man getting into his car in the spot next to mine.

He glances over and asks, "how do you FEEL riding in this weather." "Stupid" immediatley pops out of my mouth. "I'm asking because I used to ride a lot in this weather.... fell a lot." He doesn't say anything else, gets in his car and drives off. A real charmer.

It takes me forever to strip out of the motorcycle gear and get into the hiking gear, but eventually I'm on my way. The trail is snowy and slippery and I have to immediately stop to put on crampons. On the ride here, I noticed that the mountains all turned white at a certain elevation. Very beautiful. I've just discovered that the white color is caused by a layer of ice that is hanging on every branch leaf and rock. The weight of the ice pulls the branches down into the path smacking me in the face with shards of ice.

In a little under an hour I've reached Giant Ledge. Giant Ledge is a rock shelf overlooking the great mountains of The Catskills. These rocks jut out, hanging in the air over a drop of about 100 ft. This spot holds a place in my heart and I've hiked to the vista more times than anywhere else in the catskills. On the first backpacking trip I planned, a group of us camped on the ledge on our last night. The hike was difficult and the old guys were sore and pissed. Looking out from the vista, I could see all the mountains we had climbed on the previous day. As the sun was setting, I stood at the edge of one of the rocky outcroppings with my friend Bill. Bill is some 30 years older than me and infinitely wiser. He's always telling me a story about these two French girls.. As Bill and I looked down at the drop below us, Bill pointed out a rock, similar to the one we stood on, that had fallen and tumbled into the valley. The thought of OUR rock dislodging and tumbling down was horrifying.. Bill understood what I was thinking. He turned to me and said, "Just imagine if THIS rock fell. What a way to go." He was absolutely right, and a rush of relief washed over me. My view of life and death was forever changed that moment and I've been returning to that rock, for the opportunity to have it spontaneously dislodge, ever since that day.
On all my previous trips I'd never actually hiked beyond Giant Ledge. The summit of Panther mountain is visible from this vista but it is not easy to get there. The trail drops down steeply and then heads back up steeply again. At one point, the trail becomes solid ice from a frozen waterfall. The ice is so thick, it takes on a strange blue, similar to the blue glow of a glacier. An incredible sight. Just then, a group of hikers comes down the trail. They seem to be a group of retired people, probably peak baggers. The last woman in the group turns to me and quips, "why are we doing this to ourselves anyway." It's the type of sarcastic wit common among the hardcore hiker. I reply with a wink, "I have an inkling, but I am not sure." We smile at one another, acknowledging that we are both on "the level" and two of the luckiest people in the world at that moment.

The reason I love climbing higher into the mountains, is that naturally, the further up a mountain you go, the farther you are from the laziness of human kind. Maybe I'm just "patch-drunk" but after crossing the 3500 ft. elevation sign I do feel a change. The trees become christmas tree sized, all evergreen. The snow at this altitude hushes the surroundings. I round a corner and there is a sudden gale, turn another, deadly calm. An eerie feeling takes hold, saturated by the desperate cling of the few remaining plants that grow at this elevation. I'm the last person out hiking today.





end part 1