6th Annual Columbus Day Weekend Duck Hole Trip (to the Siamese Ponds) 11/5 - 11/7/10

[DSettahr]

Jiffy Pop, 8 miles in the dark, mixed drinks, and nighttime swim lessons:
The 6th Annual Columbus Day Weekend Duck Hole Trip to the Siamese Ponds



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It all started as a result of a Columbus Day weekend backpacking trip in Fall of 2005. I was in my first year at Paul Smith's College, and had just been elected president of the Paul Smith's College Outing Club. Our very first official outing as a club was spent in the Western High Peaks during the long weekend, and began a tradition that would be repeated every Fall since. While on this trip, I had the opportunity to get to know Sam, a classmate of mine with whom I'd had little interaction prior to the trip. What began that weekend was a friendship that has lasted to this day and only grown stronger as time passes by.

During this trip, we made a brief visit to Duck Hole, as the desire to check out this treasured destination we'd all heard about before the dam deteriorated and the pond drained was quite strong. Sam and I were struck so much by the tranquility, remoteness, and the history that seemed the permeate every corner the woods, that we later resolved to return together to this area, and to share it with those we were close to in our lives.

Every fall since that year, the two of us have organized and invited some of our closest friends to participate in what we've come to refer to as the Annual Columbus Day Duck Hole Trip. The name is somewhat ironic. After the third year, we visited West Canada Lakes for two consecutive years. Additionally, the date of the trip has not continued to always fall on this long October weekend. Neither the specificity of the destination nor of the date, however, is important. What we value in the Annual Duck Hole Trip is the opportunity for us visit remote areas of the Adirondacks, to explore places we've not been before, and to feel a common bond with those who historically made a life for themselves working and living with the woods and who are now long gone.

Additionally, the trip is an opportunity for us to visit with friends not often seen. The trip started out as a school Outing Club affair, but has grown beyond these original confines. As students at Paul Smith's, we all shared a common thread in our love of the outdoors and our desire to, like the lumbermen of old, make a future for ourselves in the wild areas of the world by attending a forestry school. Life, however, has taken us physically in different directions since graduation, even if our minds permanently find their focus on wilderness. Behind us, we find shared memories: Tuesday night camping, 35 mile day hikes, night hikes up St. Regis Mountain, night after night spent in the woods until a full week has gone by without having slept inside, showing up for class together in the morning with our packs still on our backs and reeking of campfire, thrashing through wilderness forests so thick an outstretched hand is lost in the conifer branches and laughing at how much fun it is, afternoons and weekends spent measuring trees in the pouring rain, nights spent together dancing to bluegrass music in the bar, nights spent together reviewing twigs and leaves and management plans and tree measurement statistics and forest soil types and senior capstones while old timey music blares from the stereo. We look back upon our time as students at Paul Smiths and remember happiness, so much so that our memories are bursting at the seams, yet these memories are tempered with the occasional sadness too. We were all looking forwards to the opportunity to spend a weekend together in the woods, for old friends to reminisce about our memories and make some new ones, and to give new friends a chance to become a part of what has become, for us, an important tradition.

We selected the Siamese Ponds Wilderness Area, and the lean-to on the East Branch of the Scanadaga, as our destination for this year's trip for several reasons. It was one of the few places left in the Adirondacks that none of us had been too, and the distance was not so great from anyone as to prevent them from making the trip.

Anna and I were the first to arrive at the Eleventh Mountain trailhead in the gathering dusk Friday evening. I pulled up in my car just as she was getting out of hers, and we soon had our packs out and ready to go. We had all agreed not to wait for each other at the trailhead, as arrangements of this sort in a previous year led to a miscommunication that resulted in a “lost” member of our party and a DEC search and rescue operation being initiated; a story best left, however, for another thread and another time. When packed and ready, Anna and I headed off together into the darkness.

The trail in was easy to follow, even the darkness. Much of it is along an old road, and so the tread is wide and obvious. Markers were few and far between, but not needed. We did see a fair number of cats eyes (little reflective pins often used by hunters, that are invisible during the day, but light up quite brightly at night when the light from a headlamp hits them), however, so it's clear that this trail does get some nighttime use. The trail gains 250 feet in elevation right away as it climbs its way up and over the western shoulder of Eleventh Mountain. Parts of this portion of the trail had some loose cobbles and slippery exposed rock, but nothing too difficult or hard for us to deal with. The climb is well-graded, and the climb felt quite easy, and soon we found ourselves descending into the valley through which the Sacandaga River flows.

Beyond Eleventh Mountain, the trail more or less follows east bank of the river, some times right on the shore of the river, at other times a little ways up in the woods. The going was flat, perhaps one of the flattest hikes I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Some spots were a bit muddy, but these were easily traversed, and for the most part, the old road bed was quite dry. Early on, we encountered a nice bridge with handrails made of interwoven branches. Might this perhaps be the work of the Siamese Trail Improvement Society (STIS)? My only complaint was that the handrails were a bit too narrow, making it difficult for me to cross the bridge with a full pack on!

Burnt Shanty Clearing, and the side trail that crosses the river and leads to Curtis Clearing, were all but obscured by the forest, which has pretty well reclaimed the entire area. The only way, in fact, that we realized we were near the clearing was thanks to the cats eyes- we were quite readily able to see the side trail that lead down to ford, which was well marked with the reflective pins. Definitely a trail that is easier to find at night.

We pushed on through the darkness, and made good time. Before long, we were at the junction. Here, the old trail continued to follow the old road along higher ground to the right, while the newer, and much better used, trail hugged the shoreline of the river to the left. Some orange plastic discs here pointed out which way was which, although the writing has in faded permanent marker and was only moderately legible.

The Sacandaga Lean-to is only a half mile beyond the junction, and we quickly crossed the remaining distance, arriving at the shelter roughly 2 hours after we'd started hiking. As we approached, the supports and cables for an impressive suspension bridge appeared out of the darkness, and a lone mouse scurried partway up one of the cables before fear stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to observe us as we approached. As we passed by, he scurried back down the cable and disappeared between the roots of a nearby yellow birch. The lean-to is right on the river, no more than a bout 20 feet upstream of the bridge. Despite the darkness, I could tell that it was certainly prime camping real estate, and that we'd have some nice views of the river from the shelter in the daylight.

 

[DSettahr]

As we began to unpack and spread out our sleeping pads in the lean-to, voices and lights in the woods, along with the cry of “foo” (a shout used by trail crews to maintain contact while out of sight in the woods that we'd adopted for our own use) announced the arrival of Danie, Meg, and their malamute Inga. They'd driven in from Massachusetts, and we learned that they'd reached the parking lot only a few minutes behind us and therefore had been hot on our heals the whole four miles in. Four people plus a dog made for a fairly active campsite as we all claimed sleeping space in the lean-to, got our stoves going for dinner, got a fire going, and began to collect firewood.

Finding wood for our fire turned out to be a bit of a challenge. The woods around the lean-to are primarily young coniferous growth, and there was very little dead and down wood to be found. I wandered across the suspension bridge at one point to see if I might have better luck over there, only to discover that the situation was worse on the far shore. There I found two campsites, one of which had several signs tacked up nearby stating that it had been closed due to overuse. Overuse, in this case, certainly is an understatement. The campsite was surrounded by cut stumps! It looked like someone had gone through and removed every tree less than 5 inches in diameter in an area at least 50 feet across. The second campsite was in much better shape, and looked like it hadn't been used in a long while. Needless to say, however, I had no better luck finding firewood, and so I soon returned back across the bridge to the lean-to.

With perseverance, we were eventually able to collect a good supply of wood for the evening, although it was mostly wood no thicker than my finger, which was all we able to find on the ground near the lean-to. Warm dinner was also in our bellies (Anna and I made instant rice with pre-prepared Indian palak paneer that came in a foil packet, and was quite delicious), and so we sat down to catch up with Meg and Danie, and awaited the arrival of the rest of our group, Marty, Sam, and Brenna.

As time crept by without any sign of our missing companions, we started to get anxious. It wasn't that we were worried about them. Both Marty and Sam were both Paul Smith's alums, and Sam especially had an impressive amount of backcountry experience. Even if they were lost or hurt somewhere in the darkened forest, they'd be able to take care of themselves until they managed to summon help. Rather, it was simply that we were excited to see them. Marty was driving all the way up from DC that afternoon, and had planned on picking up both Sam and Brenna, residents of New York City, at a train station in New Jersey. They had claimed that they'd be able to reach the trailhead by 10 pm, and so when midnight came and went without them arriving, we knew they'd run into unanticipated delays.

It didn't help, either, that we were hanging out next to a flowing river. The sounds of bubbling water were surely playing tricks on our ears, which we strained with the hope that we might hear our friends coming down the trail. Soon, Anna perked up and exclaimed “I hear them!” I wasn't so sure myself, but I figured I'd grab my headlamp and walk down the trail to great them.

Several minutes went by without any sign of headlamps coming down the trail, and so I knew Anna had been mistaken. I continued on, however, and quickly reached the junction. I paused here, debating between continuing on and returning to the lean-to. My impatience won out, and I found myself charging down the trail, determined not to turn around until I either met my friends, or reached the parking lot, three and a half miles distant.

There is certainly an indescribable feeling associated with traveling through the woods along at night. The lack of sensory stimulation from fellow humans sends your mind into a depraved state almost immediately, and your senses, and your thoughts, run rampant after only a few minutes alone in the darkness. I was reminded of previous solo trips in the woods, ones where I had no human contact for days at a time, and all of the woods sounds that my brain inevitably interpreted as voices. Sure enough, as I continued down the trail something caught my eye- a light, off in the woods. It was bright, almost as bright at the stars, which by this point had started to appear from behind the clouds, but unlike the stars, it was not constant in brightness. It looked like a headlamp. Might it be my friends? This though was quickly dismissed, however- the light was coming from right angles to the trail. Whatever it was, it was uphill to the east of the trail and definitely not on it. I turned off my headlamp, and continued to watch it. First it was bright, then dim, then bright again. A minute of observation revealed an important clue, however... the light never moved. It was simply a star low down near the horizon, at time partially obscured by branches that were blowing in the breeze. Yet again, my mind in a moment of solitary wilderness travel, interpreted a completely natural event as one being caused by humans (perhaps even doing so hopefully!).

I'd made it approximately half way back to the trailhead before I heard the cry of “foo,” and knew that I'd finally found Sam, Marty, and Brenna. Sure enough, around the next bend in the trail, I saw a column of three headlamps approaching. Greetings and hugs were had all around before I turned to hike back to the lean-to with them. We made good time, despite the lateness of the hour (it was well past 1 am by now, but our excitement and anticipation of the weekend ahead gave us each a boost in our step that kept us moving quickly. A mile from the lean-to, we started to catch whiffs of the smoke from the campfire in the woods. As we passed the junction and approached the shelter, I called out that we should grab whatever wood we found before we got too close to find any. All in all, I had traveled at least 8 miles through the darkness since starting out earlier that evening.

We arrived at the lean-to to find that Danie and Meg had gone to bed, and that Anna had put the last of the wood on the fire some time before. In a few seconds, the campsite transformed from one of tranquility to one of happy chaos as the girls were roused, hugs were exchanged all around, and introductions were made for those who did not know each other. Stacks of wood that had been carried some distance in to the lean-to were used to stoke the fire back up from dim coals into a warm flame. Out camp the snacks and drinks. It had been decided in advance that Jiffy Pop was to be brought by all parties involved in this year's trip, and that rather than the usual woods affair of straight liquor, mixed drinks would be on the menu instead. Soon, Marty was busy holding a container of jiffy pop over the fire while the rest of us were mixing white russians (there'd been some concern prior to the trip by those who don't stay warm as easily that either the milk wouldn't keep in the woods, or that even worse, it'd be cold enough that it would!). In addition to the white russians, mai tais, gin and seltzers, whiskey and irish cream and hot chocolate were also served. I can definitely say that it's the fanciest happy hour I've ever had the pleasure of being a part of 4 miles into the woods and at 2 in the morning, and the snow flurries that began to fall rounded out the lavishness of the occasion quite nicely. The mental high brought about by the happiness we all felt at being together as a group again carried us well into the night, and it was nearly 5 in the morning when the last of us finally crawled into bed.

Morning came to us bright and sunny and inviting. Earlier forecasts in the week had called for a mixture of rain and snow on Saturday, and so the blue skies we awoke to were held in high esteem when we opened our eyes. Due to the lateness of the hour at which we turned in the previous night, morning in camp was obviously a bit slow, and we all took our time cooking our meals of oatmeal and grits. It was during this time that the can of corn from Trader Joe's made it's appearance. It took some searching to find a can opener, but the lid was soon removed and two spoonfuls of corn were doled out to each participant, with the understanding that whomever won the race would not have to pay for dinner after we left the woods.

 

[DSettahr]

Day packs were the order of the day, as our objective was to check out Siamese Ponds, some two miles beyond the suspension bridge. Conversation was quite lively during the hike, as we continued to catch up with each other. Topics of conversation ranged from being in the hear and now (tree identification), to past experiences (recounting fun trips and experiences we'd had together before to those who'd not taken part in them and even to those who had), to future plans (where we were looking for jobs, where some of us wanted to move to in the near future).

The trail itself to Siamese Ponds was easy going the whole way. Like the trail along the Sacandaga River, it also follows an old road, although this road was clearly not maintained to the same standards. Nonetheless, the going was easy with the exception of some muddy spots here and there. Halfway to the ponds, we crossed Siamese Brook on a neat set of boulders than a trail crew had at some point in history conveniently placed across the steam to facilitate rock hopping across without getting your feet wet. The grade was steadily uphill, especially during the last mile, but never difficult.

Upon reaching the designated campsite at the end of the trail at the first of the two Siamese Ponds (the lower pond) a halt for lunch was called. While we'd each packed our own food for the midday meal, lunch turned out instead to be a fairly communal affair, in which candy, cheese, humice, crackers and other various food items were freely exchanged. The campsite was located a little ways up away from the water, but there was a stiff breeze coming of the pond which we could feel even in the woods, and the sun had disapeared a few minutes before behind a thick bank of clouds that had marched across the sky. Before long, we'd all pulled out extra layers and were wearing them.

After lunch, some time was taken to quickly explore the area around the outlet of the lower pond. The area was quite interesting, and it was immediately apparent from our brief explorations that a considerable amount of time could be spent here. The outlet of the pond flows through the remains of an old logging dam that looks to have raised the water level at least 10 feet. A sandy shore and lake bottom, combined with underwater terrain that facilitates a quick dropoff near shore look to make this a prime swimming spot as well. Marty and I determined that it was only proper for us to come back specifically to Siamese Ponds on a separate trip to spend more time here, and decided that such a trip should occur during the summer of 2011.

Due to the wind and the the drop in temperature we experienced while at the lower pond, it wasn't long before packs were back on our backs and people were anxious to begin moving again. Meg and Danie decided to take advantage of the opportunity to follow the herd path around the lower pond, while the rest of us headed straight back to the lean-to.

Our arrival back in camp preceded darkness by at least an hour, and so we decided to take advantage of the opportunity to make a proper wood run for the evening. After some searching, some distance to the north we found an excellent stand of hardwoods, the understory of which was littered with downed stems all wrist size or so in diameter. Much energy was expended in transporting these limbs all that way back to the lean-to, but we were able to make quite a pile of firewood as a result of our efforts.

Around dusk, we started to break out the stoves again and cook dinner. Danie and Meg returned and reported that there wasn't much of a trail to follow around the lower pond, but that they did find several campsites. In addition to proper supper food, more Jiffy Pop was made over the fire, and the mixed drinks made a re-appearance. What followed is perhaps one of the most fun nights I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing in the woods. Jokes were told, stories were related, and everyone had a smile on their face the entire evening. At one point, I commented that it would be hard for me to ever return to this lean-to alone, because of the memories I now had associated with it. To return on a solo venture and find the shelter dark and lifeless would be difficult after this evening, as it would serve only as a reminder that my friends weren't there, and in fact, were quite far away.

As the night wore on, some of us elected to turn in. Always the last ones awake Sam, Marty, and I, had just about exhausted the selection of Irish drinking songs we knew when the suggestion was made that we should go swimming. Sam and I protested and expressed the desire to stay warm and dry near the fire, but both new that deep down inside, if we passed up this opportunity now that it had presented itself, we'd regret it later on. On future Duck Hole Trips, we couldn't tell a story that went “and then we thought about going swimming, but decided not to.” The challenge had been laid down, and so after Marty had begged and pleaded and baggered us for some time, we grudgingly got up, walked over to the bank, stripped down out of our clothes, and stepped into the water. What followed I'm sure sounded very much like the shrieks of three five year old girls rather than grown men... that water was cold. Being only thigh deep as it was, it wasn't enough to get in and get out, but rather, we had to dunk ourselves completely underwater before clambering back up the bank and running back to stand next to the fire. Just as I was getting warm, I realized my glasses were missing... and so back into the water I went to retrieve them, before rushing back to the fire a second time and finally getting into warm and dry clothing. I'm not sure what it was... perhaps the cold water shocked my body into dilating it's capillaries, or maybe it was just the fact that we had 7 people sleeping in the lean-to, but I slept warmer that night than I have in a while.

Sunday morning also dawned on us sunny, if perhaps a bit cooler than the previous day. While preparing breakfast and packing up to head out, Meg was declared the winner of the race. We were also fortunate to be exiting the woods on this particular day, being as it was the end of daylight savings, giving us an extra hour to get Sam and Brenna to the bus stop and from there back into the city, and allowing the rest of us an extra hour of sleep before work on Monday. Packing up therefore went at an easy and relaxed pace, and it was mid-morning before we left camp.

We'd not seen a single other person apart from those in our group all weekend, yet this changed during our hike out. I recall passing at least four groups during the four mile hike back to the trailhead, including a group of two guys headed to the lean-to for two nights to do some hunting in the area. We did briefly see one other hike, and a few families and couples out for a stroll.

I completely missed Burnt Shanty Clearing on the way out, further exemplifying how much easier it is to find at night, thanks to the cats eyes. What was especially interesting was seeing the terrain and being able to view the Sacandaga River in the day light, especially after having hiked in at night. There was one view in particular that I really liked, of Diamond Mountain from near the bridge across Diamond Brook. We also saw a few rotten sticks covered in the thinnest imaginable strands of ice, almost like little hairs, as a result of the moisture from within having frozen and been extruded through tiny holes in the bark due to the pressure. We moved quickly and at five after midday, we found ourselves emerging from the woods back at the trailhead.

In Bakers Mills, near Eleventh Mountain, there is a little bar called the Foxx Lair Tavern that we decided to stop at for a celebratory post hike meal. The food was excellent even though not much was offered beyond typical fried bar food. Perhaps it was the hunger often sustained by hikers in the woods (and in fact a few of us had foregone breakfast in anticipation of a meal at the tavern!) We delayed leaving the bar as long as we could, but all too soon we found ourselves back out in the parking lot, saying goodbye and heading back our separate ways.

I don't, however, say that we were headed home, because in reality, none of us were. For us, it was home that we were leaving as we drove back to our jobs and our lives outside the woods. I think Sam summed it up perfectly during the hike back out on Sunday when Meg asked him where he wanted most to live. “About two miles back that way,” he replied, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. And it's not just that home is the wilderness for us. That's an added benefit. What makes it home is that during the all-too-short amount of time we are there, we have those people whom we need the most in our lives and would find life that much harder to live without. And so, while four cars and their occupants heading their separate ways signaled the end of yet another Annual Columbus Day Weekend Duck Hole Trip, in a year, we'll be back. The date may be different, the place may not be the same, but ion ones and twos and threes we'll march back into the wilderness to find our friends and return home. And hopefully not forget the Jiffy Pop.