Neil
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Crampons and crocs make for unusual bedfellows but on this trip they shared the same pack as we searched for the NW passage.
There was peakbagging and rose smelling going on on this trip. We started up the trail to Bradley Pond at 7am. There was ¼ in. of snow but that increased steadily as we walked through the mess of the BP trail. At 8:30 we made the turn to the Santanoni direct expressway (old-new) and proceeded to climb into the deepening snow. The trail was easy to follow in spite of the snow cover. Whenever we were in doubt as to where the trail went we managed to spy a beige trail marker (cut-through deadfall) and kept on going. I descended this trail with Mavs a few days after the OSI purchase on a scorching day in June and never thought I’d be climbing it in full-on winter conditions a scant 5 months later. Whenever there was some bare rock beneath the snow it was very slippery with a too-thin layer of ice and I wondered whether the crampons were a waste of weight.
We had hummed and hawed and deliberated over our gear as the weather situation degraded leading up to the hike. We had planned our itinerary over a two-week period and it was heavily influenced by a couple of previous hikes in ideal autumn conditions. The planned route was irreversibly tainted with fanatical enthusiasm and a subtle touch of mental illness. It involved 2 slides and 2 bushwhack ascents in the Sewards. So, after carrying our overnight winter packs to the summit of Santa we made a quick about-face and headed to Times Square. Neither of us had ever done the route from Santa to TS over an unbroken and snowed-over herd trail and we lost and found the trail many times. After Panther we headed to Couch. We dropped our packs in the final little col before the summit of Couch, made a quick round trip (losing the path once or twice while we were at it) and when we got back to our packs the temp had dropped a good 10 degrees for some unknown reason.
I was cold. All I had on was a thin base layer and a very (Go-)light wind breaker. Before starting out I had hemmed and hawed and finally I put a pair of waterproof rain pants on over very thin synthetic long-johns in anticipation of conifers that would willingly shed gallons and gallons of wet snow. Now I was paying the price because I was soaked by my own sweat. Instead of going back to TS we dialled 330 into our compasses and dropped off the ridge-line in search of the NW passage to the Seward Range. This bearing made no sense to me but this was Mastergrasshopper’s baby and since he has accompanied me on so many of my projects I aided and abetted him as he led us into a morass of side sloping through thick snow-shedding conifers, femur eating holes and blowdown. I began to reflect on explorers such as Henry Hudson and others who searched for the NW passage. At least they had leather clothing to eat. All I had was smelly synthetic underwear.
I, and the reality of both the lay of the land and the blowdown pushed us gently to the north until we cleared the ridgeline that descends northwards directly from Couch and then we pushed west (a bit). As we dropped the snow cover decreased and so did the light. We both were thinking about the day’s objective and between the slower going in the snow, the heavier packs and the ‘lemon’ that I thought our NW passage was turning into we scaled back the objective to the twin Lean-Tos on the south side of the Cold River. As if we had a choice. We arrived at the LT’s in pitch black night and within minutes I was clad in dry clothing and laying in my sleeping bag warming up while my heap of shed wet clothing quickly froze into a lump. After 10 minutes of revival I joined Glen in harvesting firewood and spent the evening drying out all of my gear, especially my boots. Glen’s stuff was mysteriously dry.
The Cold River was 10 feet in front of our LT and it positively roared. This was a constant and sobering reminder of why we had packed crocs in addition to crampons.
When it was time to turn in I began a survival experiment. In order to save weight my sleeping bag was a 15 ounce 40 degree bag.
So, clad in 2 layers of fleece pants and a down sweater I crawled into a vapour barrier liner along with a Nalgene bottle of boiling hot water and hoped I would survive the night. At 4:30am. Glen and I started a conversation and we finished it at 6 by emerging into the newborn day. I had survived!
At 7:00 we were hiking slowly up the horse trail. It was extremely beautiful but extremely wet. The muck was hidden under a smooth layer of snow cover that yielded no clues as to what lay beneath. After stepping on a loose rock I fell into 6 inches of wet muck and completely soaked the fleece of my left leg and enjoyed the feeling of the water as it trickled into my boot.
Every step brought us closer to the crux of our trip. Soon, we would cross the Cold River and we discussed river-crossing strategies over and over again. Suddenly we were face to face with a very wide crossing. Maybe 30-40 yards of knee-deep water flowing gently over a bed of stones. Now it was time to turn off the emotional brain and enter robotic thinking. Quickly, before shivering, take off pack, put on parka, sit on pack, remove gaitors, boots, socks and pants, stand up in underwear, put on crocks, stuff pack with removed clothing. I looked at Glen’s bare feet in his Crocs in the snow while I slipped my nylon booty over-boots over my own bare foot and couldn’t believe this was happening. We shouldered out packs and Glen went first. My feet were already freezing from standing in the snow and then Glen entered the water and said ‘It’s really cold’.
The first 10 feet were a relief from standing in the snow with my nylon overbooties but then the pain set in. All I did was push hard and kept my eye on Glen’s back and the other bank trying not to think about my feet. I was vaguely aware that this was a beautiful river and that it would be nice to stop and take a few pictures – if on horseback.
On the other side it was the reverse procedure: remove pack, take off booties, dry feet with sock cuffs etc. etc. We hoisted our packs and took off down the trail pushing hard. Glen flew and was out of sight around a bend within the first minute. After about 15 minutes I saw Glen coming back down the trail towards me. “We’re at Duck Hole. We went the wrong way!” That was pretty funny. The NPT was wide and open with a wall of tall, snow-clad spruce on each side. The last mile of horse trail prior to the crossing had been badly overgrown and choked with baby balsams so this was a nice switch.
We crossed the bridge at Moose creek just before it empties into the Cold R. and took a look at the Lean-to on the north side, facing into the sun on a little knoll. Home Sweet home! We gathered wood, lay gear out in the sun and crawled into our bags and went to sleep. I slept like a log for an hour (snoring I am told!) and woke up feeling like a million bucks. Our conversation was animated by discussing what it would have like trying to deal with the Cold River crossing.
the night before (original plan) while borderline hypothermic (me anyway) in the pitch darkness while dead tired.
We had a great fire and I went through the gear drying ritual all over again. Glen complained that his left big toe had gotten a tiny bit damp. Aw gee, what an annoyance.
It was going to be cold and clear and I fussed over my boots getting as much water out of them as possible. After filling a Nalgene with boiling water I pulled my damp wool sock over it and watched gleefully as clouds of steam poured off of it. What a great trick!
It was quite chilly, around 10, but with the boiling hot Nalgene, the warm clothing etc. I think I survived the night in my summer bag.
The next morning my boots were rock hard so we had to light the fire so I could soften them up, slap a toe warmer in and struggle into them. The long walk out to Coreys was excellent. The sky was a deep blue and Seymour and Seward were all lit up bright and white in the sun. At one little crossing we were in the open and had a direct view up to Sawtooth 3. Between the Blueberry Lean-to and the Calkins junction we ran into a group of five hikers. Because there was no broken trail through the snow in from the TH you could read the curiosity in their faces and they asked us where we were coming from. “Oh, Couchie”. Then Glen described the river crossing and I watched them thinking, “these guys are nuts”. That was good for a brief conversation and then I asked the leader if he was Dave from Montreal and he said yeah, and are you Neil? It’s a small ADK universe. (Dave is the guy who made the photo quiz of the 46 high peaks that was so difficult.)
We got to the parking lot at around 1PM and all that was left was the 60 mile drive to get Glen’s truck at the Santa TH.
For me this trip was also a study in gear and lightweight winter hiking and camping techniques in early winter (ie. wet and cold) conditions. Glen is a black belt winter traveler and I picked up a lot of tips and tricks from him. My pack weight was down to under 25 lbs for 2 nights but for real deep winter cold I would need to purchase a few items. Like a sleeping bag for instance and plastic boots. Also, it was easy to get around in the woods to gather wood because down low there was only a few inches of snow of the ground. Try it out with 5 feet worth! Quick morning starts at temps around zero with no fire would require more detailed organization and doing things in a strategic order. Not moving camp every day would facilitate things. Anyhow, all in all, it was a great trip and great experience.
We didn’t do any slide climbing as originally planned and we still have to go back and search for the Northwest Passage.
There was peakbagging and rose smelling going on on this trip. We started up the trail to Bradley Pond at 7am. There was ¼ in. of snow but that increased steadily as we walked through the mess of the BP trail. At 8:30 we made the turn to the Santanoni direct expressway (old-new) and proceeded to climb into the deepening snow. The trail was easy to follow in spite of the snow cover. Whenever we were in doubt as to where the trail went we managed to spy a beige trail marker (cut-through deadfall) and kept on going. I descended this trail with Mavs a few days after the OSI purchase on a scorching day in June and never thought I’d be climbing it in full-on winter conditions a scant 5 months later. Whenever there was some bare rock beneath the snow it was very slippery with a too-thin layer of ice and I wondered whether the crampons were a waste of weight.
We had hummed and hawed and deliberated over our gear as the weather situation degraded leading up to the hike. We had planned our itinerary over a two-week period and it was heavily influenced by a couple of previous hikes in ideal autumn conditions. The planned route was irreversibly tainted with fanatical enthusiasm and a subtle touch of mental illness. It involved 2 slides and 2 bushwhack ascents in the Sewards. So, after carrying our overnight winter packs to the summit of Santa we made a quick about-face and headed to Times Square. Neither of us had ever done the route from Santa to TS over an unbroken and snowed-over herd trail and we lost and found the trail many times. After Panther we headed to Couch. We dropped our packs in the final little col before the summit of Couch, made a quick round trip (losing the path once or twice while we were at it) and when we got back to our packs the temp had dropped a good 10 degrees for some unknown reason.
I was cold. All I had on was a thin base layer and a very (Go-)light wind breaker. Before starting out I had hemmed and hawed and finally I put a pair of waterproof rain pants on over very thin synthetic long-johns in anticipation of conifers that would willingly shed gallons and gallons of wet snow. Now I was paying the price because I was soaked by my own sweat. Instead of going back to TS we dialled 330 into our compasses and dropped off the ridge-line in search of the NW passage to the Seward Range. This bearing made no sense to me but this was Mastergrasshopper’s baby and since he has accompanied me on so many of my projects I aided and abetted him as he led us into a morass of side sloping through thick snow-shedding conifers, femur eating holes and blowdown. I began to reflect on explorers such as Henry Hudson and others who searched for the NW passage. At least they had leather clothing to eat. All I had was smelly synthetic underwear.
I, and the reality of both the lay of the land and the blowdown pushed us gently to the north until we cleared the ridgeline that descends northwards directly from Couch and then we pushed west (a bit). As we dropped the snow cover decreased and so did the light. We both were thinking about the day’s objective and between the slower going in the snow, the heavier packs and the ‘lemon’ that I thought our NW passage was turning into we scaled back the objective to the twin Lean-Tos on the south side of the Cold River. As if we had a choice. We arrived at the LT’s in pitch black night and within minutes I was clad in dry clothing and laying in my sleeping bag warming up while my heap of shed wet clothing quickly froze into a lump. After 10 minutes of revival I joined Glen in harvesting firewood and spent the evening drying out all of my gear, especially my boots. Glen’s stuff was mysteriously dry.
The Cold River was 10 feet in front of our LT and it positively roared. This was a constant and sobering reminder of why we had packed crocs in addition to crampons.
When it was time to turn in I began a survival experiment. In order to save weight my sleeping bag was a 15 ounce 40 degree bag.
So, clad in 2 layers of fleece pants and a down sweater I crawled into a vapour barrier liner along with a Nalgene bottle of boiling hot water and hoped I would survive the night. At 4:30am. Glen and I started a conversation and we finished it at 6 by emerging into the newborn day. I had survived!
At 7:00 we were hiking slowly up the horse trail. It was extremely beautiful but extremely wet. The muck was hidden under a smooth layer of snow cover that yielded no clues as to what lay beneath. After stepping on a loose rock I fell into 6 inches of wet muck and completely soaked the fleece of my left leg and enjoyed the feeling of the water as it trickled into my boot.
Every step brought us closer to the crux of our trip. Soon, we would cross the Cold River and we discussed river-crossing strategies over and over again. Suddenly we were face to face with a very wide crossing. Maybe 30-40 yards of knee-deep water flowing gently over a bed of stones. Now it was time to turn off the emotional brain and enter robotic thinking. Quickly, before shivering, take off pack, put on parka, sit on pack, remove gaitors, boots, socks and pants, stand up in underwear, put on crocks, stuff pack with removed clothing. I looked at Glen’s bare feet in his Crocs in the snow while I slipped my nylon booty over-boots over my own bare foot and couldn’t believe this was happening. We shouldered out packs and Glen went first. My feet were already freezing from standing in the snow and then Glen entered the water and said ‘It’s really cold’.
The first 10 feet were a relief from standing in the snow with my nylon overbooties but then the pain set in. All I did was push hard and kept my eye on Glen’s back and the other bank trying not to think about my feet. I was vaguely aware that this was a beautiful river and that it would be nice to stop and take a few pictures – if on horseback.
On the other side it was the reverse procedure: remove pack, take off booties, dry feet with sock cuffs etc. etc. We hoisted our packs and took off down the trail pushing hard. Glen flew and was out of sight around a bend within the first minute. After about 15 minutes I saw Glen coming back down the trail towards me. “We’re at Duck Hole. We went the wrong way!” That was pretty funny. The NPT was wide and open with a wall of tall, snow-clad spruce on each side. The last mile of horse trail prior to the crossing had been badly overgrown and choked with baby balsams so this was a nice switch.
We crossed the bridge at Moose creek just before it empties into the Cold R. and took a look at the Lean-to on the north side, facing into the sun on a little knoll. Home Sweet home! We gathered wood, lay gear out in the sun and crawled into our bags and went to sleep. I slept like a log for an hour (snoring I am told!) and woke up feeling like a million bucks. Our conversation was animated by discussing what it would have like trying to deal with the Cold River crossing.
the night before (original plan) while borderline hypothermic (me anyway) in the pitch darkness while dead tired.
We had a great fire and I went through the gear drying ritual all over again. Glen complained that his left big toe had gotten a tiny bit damp. Aw gee, what an annoyance.
It was going to be cold and clear and I fussed over my boots getting as much water out of them as possible. After filling a Nalgene with boiling water I pulled my damp wool sock over it and watched gleefully as clouds of steam poured off of it. What a great trick!
It was quite chilly, around 10, but with the boiling hot Nalgene, the warm clothing etc. I think I survived the night in my summer bag.
The next morning my boots were rock hard so we had to light the fire so I could soften them up, slap a toe warmer in and struggle into them. The long walk out to Coreys was excellent. The sky was a deep blue and Seymour and Seward were all lit up bright and white in the sun. At one little crossing we were in the open and had a direct view up to Sawtooth 3. Between the Blueberry Lean-to and the Calkins junction we ran into a group of five hikers. Because there was no broken trail through the snow in from the TH you could read the curiosity in their faces and they asked us where we were coming from. “Oh, Couchie”. Then Glen described the river crossing and I watched them thinking, “these guys are nuts”. That was good for a brief conversation and then I asked the leader if he was Dave from Montreal and he said yeah, and are you Neil? It’s a small ADK universe. (Dave is the guy who made the photo quiz of the 46 high peaks that was so difficult.)
We got to the parking lot at around 1PM and all that was left was the 60 mile drive to get Glen’s truck at the Santa TH.
For me this trip was also a study in gear and lightweight winter hiking and camping techniques in early winter (ie. wet and cold) conditions. Glen is a black belt winter traveler and I picked up a lot of tips and tricks from him. My pack weight was down to under 25 lbs for 2 nights but for real deep winter cold I would need to purchase a few items. Like a sleeping bag for instance and plastic boots. Also, it was easy to get around in the woods to gather wood because down low there was only a few inches of snow of the ground. Try it out with 5 feet worth! Quick morning starts at temps around zero with no fire would require more detailed organization and doing things in a strategic order. Not moving camp every day would facilitate things. Anyhow, all in all, it was a great trip and great experience.
We didn’t do any slide climbing as originally planned and we still have to go back and search for the Northwest Passage.
