When I accepted a job in south central Colorado, one of the biggest secondary factors supporting that decision was our proximity to the San Juan Mountains and a new found ability to volunteer at Hardrock. Two weekends ago I helped clear the course across the 28 miles of trail between Silverton and Telluride. The whole endeavor of carrying the aluminum flags, removing orange flagging from trees, and picking up race trash took us just over 10 hours and was INCREDIBLE the entire time, even while getting pummeled with gravel hail. A side note to the runners - we found a mere four tiny bits of trash along those 28 miles, so nicely done!
First, just a few photos from the race. My group was set to clear our section on Saturday, so I got to watch a good chunk of the race which starts on Friday.
[To be clear - I posted a bunch of photos on FB from two aid stations as the leaders went by, and I think many assumed I was also a participant. Believe you me, had I been running this race then I would in no way be able to take photos, and there'd have been a lot of hoopla in the lead up - you'd have known.]
City Hall in Silverton, the race's home base
Race start
Telluride
First finisher Kilian Jornet, new course record holder
Last finisher Amanda Grimes. Yes, that is 47h 51m.
Below are a handful from my time on the course. The nice part about not being an actual entrant is the amount of time you can take to soak it all in!
(Also, to note, none of these are edited - just whatever my phone camera could pick up.)
Above tree line heading up Pitman Basin
My trail mates, Erich and Heath.
From the top of Pitman Cataract Ridge, ~12,600 feet.
From whence we came.
Ice Lake, nearing the top of Grant Swamp Pass
Descending into Grant Swamp Pass, looking down into Chapman Gulch and across as Oscar Pass
I wish a camera could capture the angle of descent... Not easy!
Just below tree line on Oscar Pass, in a short break from the rain and gravel/pebble hail. Looking back at Grant Swamp Pass, which by now had lightning.
We're busting out of the seams to leave NYC. I get temporary relief from my weekends in the Palisades as weather allows, but Nathan isn't up to those distances anymore after a prolonged time off of running. So when he found a last minute car rental for $44 per day, we jumped at the chance.
Originally we decided to shoot big - Slide Mountain in the Catskills, though compromising with our route when accounting for winter ice flows in place of hand-over-foot rock ledges. Definitely did not want to duplicate what we almost got ourselves into last year on Sugarloaf. We'd take the less aggressive route, and this year we were armed with Microspikes and headlamp and extra down poofy jackets and mega-insulated mittens and.... We'd pick up the car at 8am, get on the trail by 10:30 after driving straight there, and probably be off by about 4pm.
Checking weather the night before made us reconsider. Wintery mix to start around noon, predictions of 1-4 inches in the towns, unknown how much intensified it would be in exposed areas along the ridge. Determined to not be completely stupid yet not lose the day, we opted for Beacon, NY. Just over an hour away, with a deli next to the trail head and the food/pharmacy/shelter of town a 2 minute drive or 5 minute walk away, my familiarity with the area, and actually having the map (kind of an important one in winter, right?). We'd hopefully be starting our hike at 9:30 and finished by 1:30, with time remaining to hit up antique stores in Beacon and Cold Spring.
Our departure went without a hitch, and with the cold and predicted weather - not that bad, but people here are very, well, sensitive to the slightest hint of inclemency - we had no traffic issues as though it were an early Sunday morning. We left the car and started at our predicted time, heading up the red Casino Trail as the snow started. It is steep with a handful of switchbacks, having originated as ski slopes back in the day. It runs overall in parallel to old, now mangled Mount Beacon Incline Railway that in its day climbed from 200 feet to 1500 feet of elevation to reach a casino (now just a brick set of walls) up on the ridge, hence the trail name. It's worth it to follow that link and see the pictures of the angled rail cars and the grade of the climb. In summers I usually would come from Breakneck Ridge to finish going down the Casino Trail, and it is steep enough that it is easier on the knees to jog than it is to hike down.
Once on the vantage points along the route the wind and snow picked up. I ended up most of the day in wool 200 weight long underwear quarter zip top and pants and my rain shell and winter hiking pants (kind of a light softshell of sorts), plus a wool beanie and Black Diamond Mercury Mitts since my hands are always the only part of me that does not handle the cold. We snapped a few photos, but you are limited to few since stopping for more than one or two minutes resulted in a dramatic drop in core temperature. Means I couldn't take enough time to get the exposure of our "view" to work out, but at least this time I remembered to use the darn thing and my hands would cooperate for at least a minute.
The red Casino Trail passes close to the crest of South Beacon Mountain, which we skipped in lieu of staying warm for the moment in the temporary protection of a more wooded area. It then bottoms out at the yellow Wilkinson Memorial trail along Scofield Ridge. We headed north, and along a series of vantage points had to keep track rather well as to where the trail was supposed to be. The rock outcroppings capping the ridge are great for summer lunches or naps, but with only bushes and no trees to place trail markings they end up painted onto the rock. Once the rock is covered by snow, which by now accumulated to about 2 inches with bits of ice beneath, then it gets tricky. A few are straight forward with large breaks in the bush leading forth. Others, particularly larger outcroppings, were not so clear what with about 50 feet of open nothingness and a dozen possible trail starts on the other side. One of us would keep tabs on our last marker, the other would attempt to guess a line according to the map. The snow at that point was sideways and making the left side of my mouth numb. Had we not found it within fifteen minutes then we would have opted to turn around and head back along where we knew was marked, even if it meant being out for longer than predicted.
The yellow Wilkinson trail made a few zigs and zags before hitting a short connecting blue trail. Blue is not the easiest to see on dark tree trunks in winter, but aside from scanning the environment a few times it was easy to follow. Maybe ten minutes on the blue trail and we found the white Fishkill Ridge. Blue may be been a little hard to see at times, but white, as you can imagine, was all the more fun. Many points here had snow four inches deep. We made our way to the top of Lamb's Hill to another vantage point and outcropping. This one took a good ten minutes to find on the other side, largely because the trees did not start for a good ways down the other side. This one made me happy I had an extra wool sweater, vest and down sweater in my pack just in case. Didn't pull them out, its those moments that hint at the worth of the gear you have or, in some instances, do not have (*cough*cough*Sugarloaf*cough*).
The day continued to be either uphill or downhill. Rarely was there much in between. Did I mention how great Microspikes are? Best. Invention. Ever. We wish we had stock. Heading down from Lamb's Hill we found a few spots with ice beneath the snow. Usually we'd stick, even if after a one-inch slide. At one point Nathan was leading. He stopped, turned to point out another iffy patch, and barely had he turned forward when his feet went out and he gracefully swept onto his right side. I started laughing, my usual response to myself or others falling. Aren't I a great and compassionate wife? But he kept sliding down, rolling onto his back and then his left while sliding backward, nothing within reach to grab.
A six inch diameter tree was the only thing between him and continuing his slide down off the side of the ridge for who knows how far. It caught him at the butt, with a good posterior jolt to the trunk and legs. Once he hit the tree I got serious again, took one step towards him, and before I knew it I too was whisked onto my butt and accelerating downhill with spiked feet headed straight towards Nathan. I couldn't turn or stop or reorient myself. Only thing I could muster was to slide with my feet apart in the splits so that the spikes wouldn't kill my new husband who had managed to not go flying off the edge of a ridge. Apparently I looked like quite the cartoon headed spread eagle towards him. Nathan may be skinny, but thankfully he isn't fragile. Otherwise my butt would have crushed his ribs. Not much else would have saved our fifteen foot slide except full crampons and an ice ax.
Once stopped I was able to roll onto my belly and maintain enough traction to untangle my leg from Nathan's armpit, though I was laughing so hard that I was about to pee myself. (Even now as I write this, I've been in tears from laughing so hard for the last ten minutes. The kittens have no idea what to make of me.) Nathan was concerned for the reality of the little tree and what otherwise would have been a very precarious situation. Me? My concern was getting off the iceflow and onto tractionable ground so that I could relieve myself volitionally and tell this story while retaining a milligram of dignity. Even once safely peeing I was crying from laughing so hard.
The visible track of ice down the trail was the full path we slid. The tree just to the left of middle was what saved us.
A better view of how much further we may have fallen, with the trail and our locale of fall/catch obscured here by the trees in the panel second from the right.
Regrouped, we made our way along the rest of the white and picked up the small yellow connecting trail that led back to the car. Mid-yellow was tricky when crossing a forest road. The tree that had two markers indicating the direction of a turn had been split between the two markers. One marker was on the remaining stump, the other was twenty feet away on the top half of the tree laying sideways across its neighbors. For those marking trails, this is where having one or two immediately following the turn is a good thing to confirm the trail and back up your original mark. Took another ten minutes for this one.
Regrouping from the fall. (Actually, he just wanted his picture taken sitting on the little bridge. We were in good spirits.)
Somewhere along the white trail, post-slide.
Just before reconnecting with the base of the original red Casino trail we encountered a woman out hiking on her own. She wore hiking boots, but she was really slow going on comparatively flat ground. Another score for our improvement over last year. By the time we made it back to the rental car we totaled three and a half hours. The snow and sleet had in the last hour turned to freezing rain and bits of actual rain, so we were happy with our timing. A little reorganizing while the car warmed up, and into town we went.
Turned out that most places were closed. Not sure how many of them may be closed on Mondays anyways, but it seemed that many places either stayed closed or closed early due to "inclement" weather. On the sidewalks and streets everything seemed fine to us, and for the rest of the day we didn't encounter anything hairy, but so goes the NYC-sprawl's reaction to weather. We managed to find a place with a veggie burger, but no antique stores were open. We found one that would have been awesome, and through the window saw two old wooden tool boxes that would have been great to organize some of Nathan's fountain pens and smaller items. Next time, I suppose.
We still hit up Cold Spring, only a few towns away. Closed, closed, and more closed. We couldn't think of anything else for which to use the car, so opted to call it a day and return home. The drive back was wet but not icy, though from the way others were driving you'd have though otherwise. We were surprised at how empty things felt at 4:30pm, which is usually when rush hour is developing well. Meant that the whole way home was as eventless as the drive up pre-snow/wintery mix.
In all, our time on the trail amounted to around 7.5 miles with more than a few thousand feet of cumulative gain, and our time getting to/from the rental agency and through the town of Beacon amounted to another 6.5 miles. Our route ended up being just a hair different than the suggested South Mount Beacon/Scofield Ridge, the only difference being that we skipped the little crest of South Mount Beacon. Having all the right gear makes for all the difference between arriving home satisfied with your day and arriving home thankful to be alive.
Last Sunday was spent day hiking in the Catskills. John was able to borrow a friend's car, Nathan had the day off from work (hark!), it was my last day before starting affiliation 3 -- 'twas set to be a magnificent day spent outdoors on rock stairwells going up and down and up and down. Just my kind of time away.
We had a three hour car ride to ponder the day. With about an hour to go John crooned that we could expect "thirty degrees and not a cloud in the sky." Hmm. My assessments before packing made it look like a 40 degree day, which is much different. My pack held a ball cap and a beanie, down sweater, agile gloves, wool long underwear, extra socks, lunch, a full 2-liter Camelbak, my point and shoot digital camera, headlamp with working batteries, toiletry back-ups and necessary wallet items. I thought about this a little longer, realizing I was already a little chilled in the car. Cue wool long johns added to my person. (Learning to change quickly and efficiently in the backseat of a car in high school through all the sports/dance/activity changes still comes in quite handy.) As we rolled into the park area and wound through the roads to our trail head the temperature dropped another ten degrees. Add beanie and gloves, prep bag so that we can get moving fast to build body heat.
After about ten minutes the trail finally starts climbing for real, fingers are still a bit cold but my circulation is building. We came across an overlook where slate pieces were stacked into a structures such as a stairwell (to where we could not tell) and a "room" with multiple chairs. You can see it in the YouTube video. Not too much longer we hear cracking ice as we near a pond. I slowed thinking it was a large animal on the other side of the pond dipping a paw or hoof repeatedly. Turned out to be the ice cracking from the sun. A beaver presence was nonetheless heavily present. John noted the craftsmanship and resulting texture of the wood from the beavers' work, handing Nathan a long stick as an example.
A frozen beaver pond, and Nathan's new stick friend.
Pretty sure these beavers are better organized that many humans could ever be.
Nathan and the stick became fast friends, so much so that he brought it with for the rest
of the hike. Reminded me of my brother Sam when he was a little
tyke. If he was into a new toy he'd end up cradling in his sleep for
half the week.
From there the trail curved around the lake and led upwards. Small bits of ice were evident between rocks here and there, but nothing seemed all that significant. I may have grown up in Missouri's ice filled winters and attended undergrad at Iowa (which, admittedly, is more powder than ice), but I sure as hell do *not* get along with ice. Get that? That's N-O-T. At all. I am on fall precautions around ice, quadruply so if its black ice. I made a joke referring to this to explain my odd trajectory choices to John, and Nathan proclaimed he never worries about ice after growing up in the Syracuse area.
And then the comedic gods aligned.
*Slip*shuffle*boom*, Nathan was on his butt. I had the pleasure of witnessing the entire event without a blink. Legs slipped forward and to the right, landing semi-mermaid on the outside of his left thigh after bonking a knee on the way down. But the stick? Held aloft so that it never hit the ground. "Don't worry, guys, the stick is okay."
Nathan used the stick the entire time, alternating between a substitute for Stretch Armstrong arms and taking it for a walk like the habit of many a cane user. (Insert finger wag for those who know they should use their assistive device properly but do not.) John and I preferred bilateral hand grabs on the trees and rocks. The vertical had become quite fun, more a hand-over-foot stairwell. We were gaining elevation fast, and yet so was the amount of ice around us. There's one shot in the video of where the ice was enough that I pulled out the camera. After that it continued to thicken into solid ice around us, though with plenty of rocks or brush sticking out for foot holds. The temperature felt like it was dropping, and using my hands on so many cold boulders took them from chilly to cold to burning very quickly.
I don't know if the true peak was marked or if it was on a slightly different route, but we did pass a sign once things flattened out that was quite satisfying (for an east coaster with proximity issues, that is):
Atop Sugarloaf Mountain.
And at 3500 feet, this was the view of the neighboring hills:
Scenic view from 3500 feet.
The temperature dropped further, in part from the elevation but in part due to quick-collecting cloud cover. We saw one or two snow flakes, wondered if it was from the air dealing with moisture content more than true precipitation. The ice underfoot, however, became a steady path that swathed the entire trail. The surrounding vegetation was thick enough that we could not move through anywhere aside from the trail, so we forced ourselves through pine branches and sought whatever bits of snow may have existed atop the ice. I think we covered a half mile in thirty minutes to get to our intended scenic view on the other side of Sugarloaf. My hands were on fire from the cold. I stopped and pulled out the down sweater. It's hard enough to hike with your hands tucked into your pockets, let alone when you are on fall precaution and atop a lobular, multi-inch thick ice slab.
Here's where the "Aha!" moment struck. Multiple warm days into the 50s and 60s, lots of melting, followed by 24 hours that went sub-freezing. Ooooh, right, it is January and we are winter hiking. Another blonde moment of genius added to the list. But to my credit, all three of us were fooled by the previous week to a certain degree -- no Microspikes, no emergency blankets, only one stove between us (John's), only two headlamps between us (John's and mine), no extra warm descent mittens.
And then that damn stick. Nathan would wait for me to catch up, as I had transformed from the quickest to the weakest link, then walk behind me for a bit, probably assessing for mental changes. Then I'd see the stick sliding along the ice, creeping past me from behind. If Nathan were to have fallen again, he'd need a twelve foot radius for that damn stick. So having it pull a classless pass -- think those who call "LEFT!" on a public track for no other reason than to gloat over their speed -- made me even less at ease. I told him to keep clear of me with that stick, so he'd shuffle and hop along the ice like it was nothing until he was out of sight (meaning about 40 feet ahead).
For those of you familiar with the swishy sound of synthetic outerwear when moving really fast, you may substitute this for the forthcoming onomatopoeia: *swish*swish*shweee*shploop*, then silence.... John: "You okay?" Nathan: "Yea, I landed on my abdomen." John: "How's the stick?" Nathan: "It's fine. I think I bruised my elbow..." Kinda sad I missed seeing that one, but I was just fine with my slow and cautious pace.
The top of Sugarloaf is worn into a soft curve, much like the tops of
nearby mountains you can see from the pictures. Our route would make
one big loop, and at this point we were traversing the top of Sugarloaf
from a southern-ish to northern-ish exposure, simultaneously doubling
the amount of ice and adding a strong, cold wind and some flurries to
the equation. Just when I was about to get despondent we found the teenie path to the overlook marking the midway point of our route.
From the halfway point across the top of Sugarloaf Mtn., >3500 feet.
The wind removed most niceties about the view. Not quite enough pine in the
right growth pattern to make a wall against the wind unless you were
small enough, i.e. the size of a little terrier, to squeeze through the
inner forest. John make quick tea so we'd have something warm to drink
while we ate. I wasn't even hungry, but if I was going to stay warm
then adding calories would be pinnacle. It would only take one more
shift towards true winter conditions for our fun day hike to turn into
straight up survival mode. I also added my second layer of socks, tucked in my shirts, and marched in place until we were able to get moving.
We picked up the main trail and continued to crawl along the route as planned. Temperature dropped more, wind picked up more. Eventually we struck a natural boulder stairwell where the trail starts a long and steep descent. Aside from the large boulder obstructing our view beyond the first drop-off, it was ice about a foot thick with few trees to assist us. In the forest to each side offered a similar drop-off with ice layered atop the snow. Nathan thinks we can make it down. I think it is imminent death since we are without crampons and ropes. Cue muttering about the damn stick and cavalier invincibility. John pulls out the map to see if distance is a factor at this point. We had to factor in the remaining daylight, which was just enough to backtrack our ascent route but only if we left immediately. My mind was now in full on survival mode -- I am going to be at my clinic at 6:45 a.m. come hell or high water, f***ers. I hurled myself to the other side of the trail to get a view beyond the first boulder, and I saw at least 30 feet of an ice climbing route in place of the trail. No way in hell. I called made the executive decision, and if my voice didn't somehow convey it then my face surely did.
The hike back across the top of Sugarloaf to the southern-ish exposure was pretty much like the first pass, though we crawled at perhaps .1mph faster since we were more determined. The little elevation changes were down this time, so the trees became our friends while we got onto our butts to ease and/or slide our way down various passes. It all looked incredibly different from this direction, so we didn't remember what obstacles we'd have to tackle in reverse -- though we knew everything was guaranteed to be better than that potential reverse ice climb sans tools. Nathan still -- still! -- used his stick while grabbing trees with the other hand. My hands finally stopped burning since they got to participate for an hour on mostly trees rather than cold rock.
I did not realize I had no photo or video documentation of the Sugarloaf ice flows until we made it back to the true descent. What passed as tricky before was now downgraded to a pretty decoration, and only then did my camera even occur to me. Probably better off that way, lest I'd have dropped it down the ice flow of doom due to painfully frozen and clumsy hands. We were now out of the wind and into "warmer" temperatures, and we estimated that matching our ascension pace would give a 15 minute leeway before it was dark. Off we went. I was in a much better mood and no longer fearing for my life. Nathan let us talk about things other than the stick, though we still teased him about it.
When we got back to the beaver pond, it looked like true winter returned while we were nearly getting stuck atop a mountain.
Beaver pond, late afternoon.
We passed the slate cliff-side modular hang out and were nearly back to the car when we spotted a gnome, face pointing towards Sugarloaf, body en route with the trail towards the car. It was not there on the hike in. A local may have a sense of humor, but really I think he's smiling that we didn't get our asses handed to us in a self-induced emergency situation. Plus, the slightly underprepared blonde on fall precautions did not, in fact, have any fall or any threat of a fall. So there.
Mr. Gnome.
We made it to the car with no problems. After the few minutes needed to pack up and roll out we already needed headlights. Luuuucky....
I left out the video I took of Nathan putting the stick into the car to bring home, largely because you couldn't tell the significance of the stick unless you heard the story. And the only video of the way down was a small shot from when I noted my hands had warmed up again and I no longer felt like death was imminent. John's reaction had been "This? You're videoing this???" Quite the understatement.
My planned route intended 14 miles by the string (measured on a flat map and thus lacking the additional mileage due traveling at an angle while gaining/losing elevation) as my run followed by a 4 mile hike out with the boys from Lake Wanoksink to the train at Sloatsburg. Nathan, who is nearly recovered from his last race earlier this month, still feels it a little. Hence recruitment of John, to pace Nathan and give him a day of slower and yet still long miles. For all parties the intention was a good time out and nothing more.
John and Nathan on the train
The Pine Meadow red trail began a mile from the train station and was relatively unmaintained until getting close to the visitor's center a mile in.
Residual from the previous night's rain helped clean the bug spray from our shins.
At the split with a yellow marked trail I continued straight while the boys headed north. Not too much later came the orange marked trail that in either direction offers nice elevation. I intended to go north, as the vertical gain becomes more of a rock scramble to lead to the top of Halfway Mountain (1200 feet). But when I soon hit the orange trail I saw this in front of me -- up! -- and the idea of checking which direction this headed never occurred to me.
Which way? Up! 'Cause up is where the fun is.
Supposedly I'd hit a scenic view very soon, once 1/3 up the side of Halfway Mountain. I found one, and felt proud of myself for remembering my directions without use of my map. At this point my map was still stored in my hydration pack, as was my camera, and since I was already taking the pack off/on/off/on to take pictures I became too lazy to take it off again for a map check. Didn't seem pertinent unless I were to encounter an unexpected turn or crossing, since thus far everything went according to plan. Little did I know that I was actually headed south.
First scenic view, believed to be the unknown view from part way up Halfway Mountain when in fact this was Russian Bear to the south.
I expected to merge with yellow and blue marked trails before continuing on blue. I didn't remember what elevation changes to expect in the mean time, and -- since for some reason I love wild grasses -- was happy to find the trail single track decline through a meadow of sorts.
Wild grass. Love it.
I kept my eye out but saw no other trail crossings. Did I miss them? Well, I thought, if so then I'll keep on until this trail hits Lake Sebago and turn northeast on trails paralleling my original route. Not so tough to miss a lake. Instead of a lake I hit another view, ten times better than before. Oh, maybe the add-on trails weren't well marked and I only now his the second un-named scenic view labelled on the map? Came a bit later than I expected. Then again, plotting via mileage by the string means you could have double the distance between two points than you expected. Okay, onward ho.
This was actually Ramapo Torne, overlooking the town of Ramapo and, in the far distance, the New York/New Jersey state line.
I continue along, but then realize that the orange seems never ending. I should hit the lake straight on, so where is it? Meanwhile I have lovely vagary to guide me between small painted markings on trees. This is when I remember how old grad school has made my eyes, as I keep having to stop at one marking and scan for the next one, because I could imagine three route from where I stand.
If you see a "maintained trail" in this, then you need to be my eyes from now on. Psha.
Soon I get an ingenious idea. My wallet items are in a ziplock type of dry bag that is likely big enough for my camera and, once folded in half again, my map. I'll swap the wallet stuff into the map's cheap plastic ziplock. Behold! I no longer have to remove my pack for pictures and map checks. True genius at times. This is when I hear my more sarcastic friends in my head asking "So, tell us the name of your blog again...?" I hit a downhill and wondered if again my interpretation of distances was incorrect and I was now heading downhill towards Lake Sebago.
Whence I came.
Whither I continue.
I head down for a good 15 minutes and then, lo! I hit the blue trail. I check my map, look at my accrued time -- slow moving or underestimated distance? -- shrug my shoulders and carefully take a right turn. I worry that it'll be a much longer day than expected should I go for the full plotted course, particularly since I started with only 2 liters of fluid. The blue trail was flat and rather unremarkable, save for a doe sighting, so I took comfort in making up for lost time. In my head I was pondering whether to take the next forest road southeast so that I didn't end up farther than I could safely travel in one day. Then the blue hit a red trail that ran perpendicular. Yes, still on course! Wait, the blue bottoms out, but the map says its supposed to continue for another mile. Oh dear. Map check.
I was still quite confused, stood there for a minute trying to figure it out. Where's the lake? This was supposed to actually hit the lake when meeting the next trail, but that's only if I was still on orange. Wait, yes, I was on blue and am now at red. I then heard cars and a couple motorcycles coming from straight ahead. Hang on, none of the roads are supposed to go through here. Ohmygoodness, have I landed across on the east side of the park by Hwy 202? No way. It sounds like a parking lot, there'll be an official map with location labelled, right?
I head up the red trail the 1/8 of a mile and, wait... wait for it... wait for it.... Synapse! I've seen this before. Could it be? Noooo, I didn't end up at the visitor's center did I? I get closer and realize that, yes, that is exactly what I did. I look at the map, trace the orange trail south past two scenic views, follow it's swoop westward, see the blue, follow that north and northeast. I did a loop. A friggin loop when there's miles of trails headed everywhere. Sonofabitch.
Is that the...? Yes, Miss Smartypants, that is the visitor's center back at the start. Think you're sooo clever, "I don't need no stinkin' map, I got it all up here" *tap*tap*. Sigh.
Well, I said aloud to the bugs and the bushes, at least I know where I am, and at least I'm still within distance of the rendezvous.
And so off I went on the same start as before. Pine Meadow trail marked red. Only this time I chose the yellow route that cuts along the north edge of the creek so that I wasn't technically retracing my steps. Yellow turned to white, which was a rock mess. The picture below does no justice to the lots-of-boulders surface requiring a horizontal rock scramble. I just didn't have the heart to take a picture of the evil stuff because I was so over that section. There's nothing useful about a rock scramble unless you go up or down, or unless you are skirting an actual body of water. Pointless judgements, but whatever. Grumble grumble grumble. Oh right, this is why I need to run with people, because then you don't wanna give up so fast once taxed. Mental note.
White trail, also not clear aside from being able to see the next white marker over yonder. Grumble.
I made it to the red trail, somehow the Pine Meadow trail that spontaneously jumped sides of the creek. The surface under foot helped my mood, and again I reassured myself that I knew where I was, and this was a good thing since I left my phone at home. I don't get service in the mountains anyways, and I sweat enough that ev-er-y-thing needs to be okay covered in sweat or needs a dry bag. But not having it made me worry while I was in trail limbo land. The first small lake, Pine Meadow Lake, should be very soon, which means the rendezvous lake, Lake Wanoksink, was very soon thereafter. I looked forward to the swim to help dissolve what grumbles I had left.
Staying positive. Did I ever mention that my latest love is a visor? Hate the logo, but it does its job well. More like a sweat band with a brim. Which is what a "sweat ball," as Nathan calls me, needs.
Within five more minutes I hit Pine Meadow Lake. Aaaah. This time landmarks appeared in an expected amount of time.
Pine Meadow Lake. Super nice to camp next to, according to John.
I find a likely looking forest road, have a good feeling about it, and pull north toward what I hoped was the Lake Wanoksink. It was, and that's where I landed. I saw two shirts drying on a bush that looked quite familiar. I saw John sitting on a log, having just come from a swim in the water. I immediately de-geared, hung my sweaty shirt out to dry after wringing it out. Twice.
Lake Wanoksink. Whew.
Nathan had gone for a running lap around the lake. Expected time 10 minutes. John saw him across the way within 5, but after that hadn't seen him for a half hour. This lake does not have a trail along its edge like at Pine Meadow, so we hoped that he didn't fall in while bushwhacking or veer too far away if vegetation was too thick. He arrived ten minutes later, having bushwhacked for 45 minutes.
Nathan pauses before a swim.
Another half hour later the boys' clothes were nearly dry. I was able to wring mine out again, but at least they were getting somewhere. John comments that I arrived looking like I had already swam through Pine Meadow Lake en route the rendezvous. Nathan calls out "Sweat ball!" My shoes are still soaked from the runoff due to gravity. The air has become cooler within the last half hour too, and we realize clouds have rolled in.
Ooooh, maybe we'll get the rain I've been hoping for all week.
Within minutes it begins to rain. We wait it out beneath the canopy of trees though of course get wet. John foresees it as a light deluge, a common northeast phenomenon of rain blowing in strong only to be gone within ten minutes. "I bet its in its last hurrah." Nathan isn't frustrated by being wet again, though does find it ironic. I'm actually grateful to feel a slight chill. This day was the tail end of the 104 degree heat wave; only a high of 92, but nevertheless 80 degree rain felt magnificent. The rain lightened up to a sprinkle. "See? Good old northeast patterns," says John. We begin our 4 mile return hike to Sloatsburg, following the red Pine Meadow trail (that I have become so familiar with) that will take us the entire way. And, of course the rain picks up again. Made me smile. "So much for your last hurrah, John."
We stopped at Pine Meadow Lake on a bit of a detour to check on an area John particularly enjoys. The rain by then let up again, proving that this was the actual end of the storm. In proper northeast fashion, this was the sky at the time, with enough of a change from left to right that it messed with the exposure on my cameras auto setting:
Pine Meadow lake. To the left, blue sky. To the right, gray misty haze and soaked boys. Straight ahead, a rock split that reminds me of front teeth (of which I forget its name). Worth viewing big.
From there we continue on, make it all the way the Sloatsburg without problem. The sun came out again, and at a point all the rocks around us in direct sunlight were steaming off the rain. Within minutes some areas appeared as though precipitation never happened.
Past the visitor's center (the third pass for me, thank you) the tree canopy was a bit thicker and thus the ground remained a little slick in places. I mainly took videos of the hike out, since I wanted to spare everyone the Blair Witch Project type of bounce-bounce-nauseating-shake-shake from running. At a point I caught Nathan on camera with a little slide/trip off a rock. He stayed on his feet, looked back at me since he could probably hear me snickering. A few seconds later I hit the same rock and, as I probably deserved, slip and fall. Caught myself with my hands, only injury a little bruise on the side of my knee. Well, and a little shot to my pride, assuming there was much of it left following a day of getting fooled by the orange trail. Anyways, my slip was also caught on film.
In Sloatsburg we had nearly 2 hours before the train, so went to the tavern for burgers.
John followed this face by saying "I haven't had beer in a while. That's really good!" I believe it was Yuengling.
We sat outside by request, especially because we preferred to not sit in the A/C for so long while still wet. Eyeing direct sun on the opposite side of the porch, we laid out shoe and socks to dry. Small town, Sloatsburg, so not many people entering/leaving the place. But the 4 groups who left during our time there were all baffled by it. "Shoes! Why are shoes there? And socks? Funny." Two people actually looked up and saw us over yonder on the porch and made the connection, though they still found it bizarre. These residents obviously were not the type to travel by foot either through town or through their local trails.
They sort of got dry. Sort of...
We left with ten minutes to spare before the train arrived, and since the platform was a mere 200 feet from the tavern we had time to stand in the sun and finish drying off our backsides since they were still a little wet.
Once home I remeasured my actual route. My loop of orange from trail head to visitor's center version 2.0 came to 7.11 miles in about an hour's time. Pretty good considering the elevation and terrain. All in all the day came to 17 miles by the string when including the mile stretch from train to trailhead each direction. Here's a summary of the day. As always, this version (posted via link) cuts off the edges. For the full, better experience follow the link to the actual YouTube video. I think the HD quality was automatically removed due to the file's size during upload, but it still turned out pretty well. I was also happy to find that my computer came with a video editing program (iMovie) and I didn't need to download some weird open source program. This was my first edit to any video, so enjoy. I hope to make more videos via editing in the future.
[Edit: Nathan unknowingly did as all males in my family do when a camera is around -- stick out his/their tongue in protest. Classy.]
