1mlost: 3500: 4 Peaks in Winter Part 4

It’s March 20th, the last official day of winter. I have run out of time to complete these 4 hikes by the end of winter. I need to get on top of Blackhead by midnight to complete this foolish and arbitrary task. It’s Sunday. I wake up at 5:00am, take out the bike, put on the boxes, strap the pack down and start out. I am eagerly awaiting the sunrise, but it never comes. Instead, I am suddenly aware that it is no longer dark as I headed up Sundown Rd.

Traction. In one endeavor and another I’m always battling traction. Motorcycling fast is always a challenge of maintaining traction. In the winter, the government’s habit of incessantly sprinkling micro gravel on the roadways exacerbates that challenge. The road just before Blackhead has thick stripes of the stuff. Traction is always on the mind. I stop to take a photo of the beautiful blackhead range with it’s dark evergreen tops.

Staring at those distant mountain tops, I realize I have forgotten my crampons (foot spikes) at home. (see part I/ gear list /‘adventures’) . I squint to try and get a better view. It doesn’t look like there is ice at the higher elevations.
I assured myself that I would fine.

Nature is calling and I quickly step into the wood. The direction you choose to hike the Blackhead loop determines what face of the mountain you climb and which you descend. I am at that junction and need to choose. I looked at the topo maps the night before, so I know the left trail up the north face is twice as steep, but there is a lean-to on the way. The lean-to would surely have a sit down toilet of some kind. Twice as steep and a toilet.
I go left up the north face.

I have spent many nights sleeping in a lean-to and the experience has a wholly unique spirit. The places we humans choose to gather tend to manifest a collective energy from the repetition of our actions. We have a history, and the feeling settles into my bones. I can smell a wood fire, feel the shuffles of cards , hear the rain patter and the scurry of the mice. A fellow artist has also been moved by this place and has painted and mounted a picture of the lean-to on the wall of the lean-to. Looking at the painting, inspiration struck again and I headed up to the privy.

The privy sat on a small hill above the back of the lean-to. Just a box on a hill with a hole and a toilet seat. No walls, just you, your business and God’s green earth. the best kind of privy. I sat for some time admiring the view. Pooping in the woods is always an experience and it’s healthy to avail your self to so much vulnerability amidst a vast wilderness. It puts you back in your place. An ill-equipped animal in an unfamiliar wood.

The trail goes up steeply now and soon I see the 3500 elevation sign. Only another 400 feet up to the top of my last mountain for the winter. The trail crosses to the north face and something is worrying me.

There is a layer of ice forming in the center of the path. It’s the remains of snow packed down over the course of the winter. It starts at the center and slowly expands until it spans the width of the trail. It’s warm so a steady trickle of water is washing over the top of the ice formation. It is not possible to take even one step on this ice with crampons. I hop along moving from rock to rock until I reach a point where I am completely stuck. I can see the top of the mountain leveling off just ahead. I stop for some time contemplating what to do. I am so close to finishing the 4 hikes, but the conditions are legitimately dangerous. I honestly don’t know if I can make it down some of the areas I’ve just climbed up. I am stranded on an island of mud in a sea of ice.

We hikers are stewards of the forest and keepers of the trails. I am not proud of what I did next. As the trail was impassible due to ice, I cut a new trail up the mountain beside the waterfall of ice, breaking limbs and destroying delicate alpine vegetation. It took me about an hour to go the last quarter of a mile. Each step extremely sketchy and steep. I fell several times, collecting little scratches and bruises ,but I made it to the top of that mountain before the end of winter.

Just before I reach the parking lot, I see a state ranger stationed at the end of the trail. She’s athletic and has several loaded clips for her handgun attached to the front of her kevlar vest. Total gear head. I stop to chat about the trail conditions. She is stationed there to warn people about ice on the north face trail I’ve taken. When I tell her about forgetting my crampons, she interrupts and asks, “so you turned around, right?” I tell my tale and she’s upset. “See. That’s how it happens. I have to scrape up too many people in these mountains. Yetsterday I had to scrape a dog off the bottom of Kaaterskill Falls.” She implores that next time I find myself in that position to please turn back. I smilingly agree, thank her for her work and head to the bike. I am late. I am always late. So I quickly change out of my hiking stuff and into my riding stuff and am on my way.

It’s several days later and I’m sitting by the fire in my house. The cuts on my hand are a reminder of the hike from the previous weekend. They give me a dull burning sensation when I squeeze my hand into a fist. It’s lovely really. I am not proud of this last hike up Blackhead mountain. I got lost on my way up these 4 mountains. The destination is always just the road and the woods. The scribble dates on a tally sheet as meaningless as ink in a pen.

-jk