There's more than one way to re-sling a cam!

That moment when you realize no one will be accidentally walking off with your custom climbing gear.

The thought process behind this setup:

Since I've gotten kind of promiscuous (in a non standard use of the term) with my selection of climbing partners. I am relying on my rack as the primary vs the box of chocolates that might show up. Therefore, I didn't want to be without my cams for 2 weeks while I send them off to Yates Gear for re-sling.

I considered the more popular, Blue Water Titan Cord, which is 5.5mm and rated to 3100lbs single strand. It's used to sling hexes and light weight cordelette, but it's slippery stuff, requiring a triple fisherman's with some tails to form a safe loop. 

The other option is Sterling Power Cord, which is also rated to 4800lbs, but with a standard nylon sheath it knots like standard perlon cord. The advantage of the nylon is once the double fisherman's sees a few anchor setups, it should be pretty permanently fixed and not require paranoia of constant knot rechecks. The downside, in double fisherman's configuration, the cord fails via sheath-core slippage. You can tie a triple fisherman's but it won't increase the failure strength by much, just change the mode of failure.

Looking at the single stem Black Diamond Camalot cams I own, it seemed like 6mm doubled over would fit in the stem, making Power Cord front runner.

Next I measured out the length I needed by doing a test run with some 5mm perlon I had lying around. It was more than 24 inches to make similar length loops as the original slings, so to make life simple for the guys at Rock and Snow (rockandsnow.com), I went with 36in. I didn't mind longer loops and this would give me more leeway to tie the double fisherman's, or even a triple fisherman's knot.

Strength wise, I'm not 100% sure on what I'll be getting. Single loop 6mm perlon on Rigid Stem Friends used in the common Gunks tie off is rated to about 8kn (per Wild Country). However, 6mm perlon is significantly less strong than Power Cord and my cord isn't single loop but double loop. Looking at various test of breaking points for the single loop double fisherman's, it seems like 50% is a fair conservative average. Using two loops should decrease force on the knot. As a very conservative guess, unless I'm completely disregarding a key variable, I expect this setup to exceed 12kN. It's very rare (though not impossible) for a top piece to see in excess of 10kN in real world use, but in excess of 12kN is pretty unlikely, and my cord failing might be the least of my concerns by 13kN.

Finally, as a finishing touch, I repurposed the old sling to maintain the color coding and also ensure I clip both strands. Finding my purple, green or yellow Camalot is as easy as the day I brought them home. 

Total cost to resling 4 cams was $15 (vs about $30), and I didn't need to part ways with them for two weeks. 

Please note, this will only work on this style Black Diamond Camalot. Do not try this on wired U stem cams. The reason is the cable can cut the cord or webbing. For those cams, such as my TCUs and Aliens, I will be having them re-slung professionally. 

Also, I do have some concerns with the long term use of Power Cord fatiguing over the edges of the stem hole, this wouldn't be an issue with Perlon. Eventually I'll mail them off, but probably not until the winter. For now I have a really unique and safe setup, that should get me through this rock season.

If you are a physics or materials science expert, feel free to send me a comment as to anything I might have missed about the safety of this setup.

Whiteface Ski Slides, Bananas Gone Ape Poo

Traversing across the upper section of the lower slabs of Whiteface Ski Slide #3.

I once staked my own path to a Christian heaven arguing the absurdity that animals couldn't go to heaven. Because my confirmation teacher was unable to provide any meaningful proof he was more in the know than my own principles, it actually led to me dropping out of confirmation before my 3rd and final year. Anyone can make up a story, and in mine, dogs do go to heaven, and if not, they just become worm food like you and I!

So if I was correct so many years ago, Caney was looking down on us Saturday with a big smile on his face, saying, "how do you like those slabs now." Karma is a cruel bitch, especially when you blindly question the commitment and effort of those who have done what you have not.

A few months ago, George questioned how tough climbing a 5th class slab really could be. "What does it mean to climb a slab", "If a dog could do it, it can't really be climbing," -can it? "Dogs can't actually rock climb." As if rock climbing only involved the vertical pieces of plastic and gri-gri's found in your local gym! Of course it burned me up, mainly because till that point (and till this day) George had never climbed a harder route than Caney. It also burned me because that dog logged more vertical with me than any two humans combined and never put me at risk once, never quit on me, and always impressed me. Even days before he died of cancer that had spread to his spine, he left me thinking how could a cute little 50lb fur ball possibly be that insanely tough. Add in the fact George didn't really understand what exposure was and how it changed everything about a climb, and I was starting to steam on the summit of Slide Mountain on that May Day.

Caney had freakish technique coupled with the arrogance (confidence) of an elite climber, but he also had no fear of heights, exposure didn't scare him. It made no difference to him if we were 10 feet off the deck or 1000ft. It was climbing and nothing more. So, it was ironic that on Friday morning as I started to pull away for the Adirondacks, I went back into the house and grabbed my dog tag that memorializes the best trail canine ever, and Saturday was for him!

Caney before we entered the IPW and spent several days climbing and descending the glaciated peaks in the background.

What plans...

We spent about 3 months planning for the Trap Dike with a MacIntyre Range traverse. A really solid day that bagged five 4000ft peaks, and had Great Range like elevation changes, mixed with semi technical climbing. If you are going to put it all out for a single day of hiking, that would be the trip I'd do!

Then Irene came, the High Peaks closed, roads closed, the Trap Dike and Colden were among the many slides that grew or were entirely new in the Adirondacks.

Much meticulous planning down the drain. Still, my partners wanted to do something "technical" or as they put it, "the more technical the better." With Giant and Dix Wilderness closed as well, my eyes turned to Whiteface.

Slides and summit from the ski slopes.

Though, I personally thought the Dix Range and Macomb Slide was perfect for slide climbing virgins, Whiteface was open for business immediately. To me, it made more sense to plan for the most likely definitive option. Besides, with the exception of Ski Slide #1, most of the slides are rarely climbed. We’d be doing something that not a lot of people do very often, a real adventure. So while I was certain that the Dix and Giant Ranges would open shortly, I decided the bigger adventure would be Whiteface!

Men don’t do 2nd class slides...

Proudly displaying our redesigned grill.

Ironically, while gearing up at the Whiteface Ski Center parking lot, a group of 3 or 4 guys asked us what the easiest slide was. I commented the far left side, Slide #1, is the one you want, but mumbled under my breath (jokingly) that real men don’t do 2nd class slides. John and George laughed with me!

Aim, Colvin and I checked out Whiteface Ski Slide #1 on a recon mission a few weeks ago. Ski Slide #1 was definitely not "technical." It was mostly Class 2 climbing, with cruxes in the 3 range depending on your route selection. Even accounting for the fact we were climbing it just days after Irene dumped up to 8 inches of rain, the wetness just made it a little more scary, but not significantly more difficult. For the purposes of our more technical trip, it didn't fit the description of what my group was looking for. Slide #1 is perfect for dogs, and girls with a fear of exposure, but not a real adventure in the mountains for 3 grown men.

Ski slope ascent.

The best laid schemes of mice and men...

Ascending the lower slabs.

After careful planning everyone was on board, the trip was thoroughly planned, and the route exactly as expected.

Whenever I plan a trip with people that are unfamiliar with the terrain, region or technical difficulties, I try to be as explicit as possible. Though not all the trips go as planned, very rarely do we come across a situation that wasn't thoroughly covered and re-covered. The preferred goal is to be self sufficient when I'm in the mountains. Even a well prepared trip can have a serious accident requiring rescue, but starting out behind the curve is just reckless; putting everyone, including rescuers, at risk for no reason.

Even the band must face the music...

Ascending the lower slabs.

The moral is be careful what you wish for. While still low on the slide and solidly on the 2nd class terrain the chatter became, "how much steeper does it get." Or, "is there a secondary way around it."

Since the goal of the trip was technical slides, I actually never considered any other option but technical slides, and was prepared for anything that involved the slides, including bailing and rapping to the bottom if need be. I definitely wasn't bushwhacking to the top though!

As far as the difficulty of slide #3, I'm quite certain with the right partner and top rope belays, I could have gotten my dog, Colvin, to the top of the slide. He isn't the climber Caney was, but he will climb hard when on belay. So, without question, it was definitely climbable by humans wearing sticky rubber shoes!

Ascending the upper section of the lower slabs.

Committing to exposure...

The problem, of course, is exposure. It separates climbers from non climbers. Making a few 3rd, 4th or even 5th class moves with the comfort of a 10 foot drop to flat ground is not very committing, but when you are looking down at 100ft run out falls, followed by a band of tightly packed spruce trees waiting to rip you to shreds and then 100 more feet of 60* slide below that, things change really fast. Basically, when you are looking at death or serious injury, the description of 2nd, 3rd or 4th class in a book becomes entirely irrelevant for that moment. Commitment is everything in climbing, and I've personally shit my pants plenty of times before either committing to a crux move or bailing and handing it off to my partner.

I'm not, at all, making fun of my partners, the slides were wet and slimy in places (expected) and much of the 2nd and 3rd class climbing was polished rock (also expected, and the reason for rock shoes). But the steepest climbing, the class 4 terrain, was actually pleasant. Other than the pine needles interfering with grip at the edges, the rock was grippy and dry going up the center. If I didn't have to fix the lines to the trees, I think the 4th class climbing was not only the most fun section, but also the safest. Unfortunately, I had to move to the edges to fix the rope, which made exiting back to the slide a bit dangerous for me.

George traversing across the exposed wet lower slab on Slide #3.

Raybrook, we have a problem...

John and George below crux pitches of #3.

Being what I thought was over prepared, we avoided a rescue situation, in spite of rescue being, briefly, a serious topic of conversation. One partner, John, wanted off the slab ASAP and decided to bushwhack 600ft through the band of trees in between Slide #3 and Slide #4. That in itself was a hell of an endeavor. Kinda like choosing death by 1000 slices over a single bullet to the head. Me, personally, I’m taking the bullet and sticking to the rock. There was no discussion, he made a beeline for the trees and we didn't see him till the summit.

George also wanted no part of the 4th class slabs, but I was able to get him to finish the slab, rather than take a steep and dangerous 'whack through the trees on 60* slopes. George was pretty sketched after a 10ft slide down some very steep terrain as he -also planning to leave me for dead on the slide- attempted to get to the tree band between slides #3 and #4. He did everything right during the slide downward, and didn't get too scraped up as a result. I then got him to traverse over to the crux pitch via a Prusik and a fixed line.

Once at the base of the crux pitch there was a small ledge for us to change to rock shoes. In hindsight, we changed to rock shoes 50ft above where were should have, and that probably was a factor in George’s uncontrolled descent. We used the ledge to re-organize our gear, have a snack and mentally regroup. He was pretty shaken up, so we took a sizable break.

George was cramping, probably from a combination of nerves, dehydration and lack of electrolytes. He was actually cramping so bad he couldn’t tie his rock shoes himself. I don’t think he was eating much on the slide, so I gave him an electrolyte tab for the cramps as we discussed the options of ascent or descent.

Once we were rested, I was certain George could get up this with the help of the ropes and rock shoes. Traversing across to Ski Slide #1 was foolish, rapping was equally foolish, more so since I'd have to lower him or counter rappel and then we’d still have a long miserable walk down the ski slopes.

George on a headwall.

Unfortunately, the day of cragging I'd planned for Friday didn't happen, so we were a bit behind the curve with climbing and descending techniques. This definitely didn’t help matters. Had we descended, the down climbing on the first pitches was easy enough, but down climbing always seems harder. To me, the best option remained to finish the climb.

By the time we were done with the break, John had made it either to the summit or at least off the slabs via his long bushwhack. In either case he was calling down to us, and we were calling back to him. Apparently the second group on Ski Slide #1 felt we were in trouble, and subsequently left a note on my car noting (incorrectly) that they saw us on Slide #2 and to call them before dark...or else!

I’ve always noted that climbers and mountaineers tend to be very considerate, often without question sacrificing their own trip, their gear, and their own safety to help other people in need. Though I was a little curious as to why they thought we were in trouble, I appreciated the sentiment. John did give them a call back when we were on our way to Lake Placid for dinner.

With George and I still on the slide, the crux pitch -the 4th class terrain- was about 80-120ft of 60+ ० open slab. Starting to trust the gear, techniques and rope system, George eventually calmed down. After two rope lengths of fixed lines, he was able climb above the rope on his own, all while still on the open -runout- 4th class terrain.

I never intended for him to climb above the anchor on the static rope and Prusik, which I was using purely as a fixed line for ascent from below. Nor did I think he would decide to do that. And it was this section, on this setup, that I was actually most concerned for his safety were he to fall. The problem was, once he started out, I wasn't about to explain to him the issues with static ropes and high fall factors, assuming, of course, the Prusik didn't burn through. When you have a rope and you trust it, sometimes it's enough to calm you down to be able to make the moves you need to.

At the top of this pitch, George set up a fixed line for me since I wasn’t too keen on traversing out away from the several feet of pine needle covered slab. Unfortunately, I did not have another Prusik, and the Kleimheist, which I have probably never used in actual climbing, just wasn’t coming out correctly. I later realized the mistake I was making. Regardless, once above the needles the rope became unnecessary and the slab was nice and grippy.

This was the last section which we used the rope, and eventually made it up the remainder of the head wall to the top of the climb. The climbing again got wet and dirty, but also less steep. A few minutes later we had to contend with the heinous bushwhack to the top.

George on old Ski Slide #3. John and I climbed the new Spring 2011 widened section to the left.

It’s a love hate relationship...

Had we been able to traverse to Ski Slide #4 as originally planned and climb it's crux, we only had a short bushwhack to the summit trail. From the top of #3 we had at least 200 vertical feet of steep 'whacking. Two sections were vertical for me, including a vertical wall of moss cleverly disguised as rock, though my partner managed to find ways around them. It seems John also found this camouflaged wall of death, as he confirmed my description of it, and I saw recent footprints while ascending it. It took us about 30 minutes to climb that final 200ft, in comparison, the top of Slide #1 to the summit was a mere 10 minutes.

Though it’s the case on every bushwhack, this one seemed especially rough. The very trees we needed to pull ourselves over mud and moss covered rock slabs were also trying to rip us apart.

Little bushwhack between slab sections. Nothing like the final bushwhack to the summit.

I went left, up the steepest of the slabs/walls. It was an easy 3rd class zig-zag that got me out of the trees and onto drier rock. George when right, and ended up on the trail a few feet to the north. Climb complete!

Final verdict...

George on the lower slabs with another group below.

I personally had a great time. Though, as usual, the trip didn’t go as planned, 2 of us did climb Ski Slide #3. We can put that in the books as a success. I just have #2 and #4 to knock out. We didn’t descend the Lake Placid/Whiteface Brook Slide as planned. Apparently slides are a lot tougher than they appear, and neither of my partners had any desire to revisit one so soon. I didn’t argue much with the group decision to skip the LP Slide descent. I was fine with the 2 mile longer hike out and a bit more of a workout. Plus, while the LP Slide would have given us 30 minutes more of light, we were still bushwhacking in the dark. I’d prefer to just stick to the trail than lose an eye on a night ‘whack.

John on Whiteface

I let the guys take off ahead on the descent because, apparently, I have some issues with falling when I’m keeping ahead or keeping up on descents. After two spills, I gave them a 5 minute lead and met up at the bottom of the descent, about a half mile from the lean-to. I was surprised they were only two minutes ahead of me, and yet I hadn’t fallen once in the 2 miles they hiked in front of me. Within two minutes of catching them, I fell into waist deep ditch, which I threw myself out of and then hopped, skipped, crawled, rolled and flew 20ft down the nearly level trail till I could regain my balance. Fortunately it was the last of that.

After filtering water at the lean-to, it was a non stop trip to the car.

Once we got back to the flat or rolling terrain that is the Connery Pond/Whiteface Landing trail, John and I started alternating between jogging and speed hiking. We ended up averaging a little over 4.5mph for the last 3 miles. I estimated my pack was at 25-30lbs so I was happy with the pace. My body agreed Monday morning after repeating the loaded pack run up and down Lake Road to Ausable Lakes.

Back at the car, 10 miles, 7500ft vertical feet and 11 hours later, we were primarily concerned with dinner. Lake Placid Pub and Brewery was out, and Wise Guy’s in Lake Placid was in for a well earned burger and beer!

Sunset over Lake Placid from Whiteface Mountain.

Lessons learned...

1. It’s been a wet summer, and a wet few weeks. I would personally avoid the Whiteface Ski Slides in summers like this. This is the sort of endeavor best suited for a drought year like the summer of 2007.

2. Known but reinforced. You are only as strong as the weakest member of your group. Always plan around that. Never underestimate the challenge based on your least experienced members comfort level.

3. I would not recommend climbing a runout 3rd or any 4th class climb with exposure without first spending at least a day outdoor rock climbing. You can work on basic skills and techniques far better in the controlled environment of a rock crag than 600ft off the deck. Obviously, climbing on a top rope isn’t the same as soloing exposed 4th class terrain, but it is something to help put perspective on your climb.

4. Starting out over-prepared sometimes means you end up plain old prepared. Self sufficiency is a cornerstone of mountaineering and should always be the primary goal. I actually didn’t expect to be in the situation we were almost in, but I did think about it as a worst case scenario. In the end, it saved us a call to Ray Brook for DEC assistance off the mountain.

5. While rock shoes could certainly be justified for the crux pitches, I’m inclined to think a good pair of sticky rubbered approach shoes could be better provided you are experienced at climbing slabs and slides. This is because you often travel between wet moss and mud, followed by dry steep rock slabs. Switching shoes is impractical, but often a rock shoe isn’t right or a boot isn’t right for the terrain.

6. Do not underestimate slabs/slides. Unlike vertical or overhanging rock, they tend to not discriminate based on the climbers BMI (fat factor), but they require complete and total trust in your sticky rubber shoes and footwork. No pulling jugs, no false sense of security as you strong arm your way up. They are in a sense the perfect starting point for technical climbing, as they force novice climbers to realize how important the feet are in ascent. Climbing is often thought of as a world of upper body strength, but the reality is good footwork is the foundation to all

7. Exposure changes the game. A lot of trails in the High Peaks have similarly steep slabs but with only a 10 or 20ft fall potential. Looking down at 100-400ft or more of unbroken fall is a game changer in terms of mentally conquering the climb. Anyone planning a slab or slide climb should really consider their own tolerance for exposure before committing to a long climb.

8. Rock shoes, helmets and ropes. Whiteface Slides are steep enough that knocking rock loose could be a problem, however, the helmets actually helped with the bushwhack. Necessary? Debatable, but probably not overkill if your group isn't being careful to check for loose rock. Rock shoes (or sticky approach shoes) on the other hand were pretty much a requirement. The slides are seemingly polished, and the extra traction is never a bad thing. Ropes and harnesses, and the ability to use them can keep things from getting out of control.

Slideshow of additional images from the 2011 slide climbs on Whiteface Mountain. All images with Pentax K-5 DSLR and DA 21mm Limited or FA 43mm Limited lenses. 

Taking Dix from both ends can leave you with a Whiteface!

Following our removal from the Dix Wilderness by the DEC, we had to find alternate plans for the remainder of our vacation. Slide climbing had always been on the agenda for the second half of the trip, so with 3 major slide filled wilderness areas closed, my eyes turned to Whiteface.

Approaching and descending from a ski slope would seem to be easy. As you drive by them on the road you see grassy fields that look like a pleasant way to ascend and descend a mountain. Perhaps Whiteface is different than other slopes, but it was anything but a leisurely walk.

The ascent was fine. We actually took the Stag Brook Trail -lower and upper- which gained about 1500ft or so. This was in the trees, on a trail parallel to the beautiful rushing Stag Brook with it’s numerous waterfalls and cascades. I don’t know if Stag Brook is typically dry in summer, my guess is that it normally doesn’t flow quite this much. But following hurricane Irene, it was quite full and beautiful.

At the top of Stag Brook trail, we began the ascent via the ski slopes. Immediately the 80+F (26C) heat with high humidity became an issue. Mid summer heat and humidity in September, on a shadeless open slope = fun times.

The slopes are actually quite pretty, many wildflowers and butterflies to be seen during the ascent. We could also see our objective quite clearly. Both the summit of Whiteface and the slide bowl -or as my wife refers to it, the hell hole.

It was about 4pm when we finally got to the base of the slide. Slides 1 and 3 are immediately visible in the bowl. Just bear left and start up #1, #3 is slightly to the right (center). #2 two splits near the upper half of #1, and #4 appears to require some bushwhacking to gain the base, but nothing heinous. My next trip here I will be doing Ski Slide #3 and then traversing over to Ski Slide #4 to summit via the crux pitches of #4. For this trip though we just did the easiest of the four, #1.

The slide was relatively dry as a whole, but there were many wet sections and many streams of water flowing down. Mixed in were a few slimy sections. For this reason we zig-zagged around a lot of the slide seeking the driest terrain versus the easiest terrain. Typically, I look for the harder climbing on class 2, 3 and 4 terrain to make things interesting, but this time we ended up on steeper and drier sections because of necessity. Oddly, I usually feel like the climbing is easy, but on this slide I felt like it was steeper and more dangerous than the trip reports suggested. I might be getting soft, or I might just have been concerned about Colvin.

Colvin climbed the class 3 slide with relative ease, but because of his extreme concern and loyalty for us, he put himself in dangerous positions several times by returning down from difficult sections to “assist” or encourage us. There were 3 sections where I roped Colvin. He was wearing his Ruff Wear Doubleback technical climbing harness, and I used a hip belay and 8mm static cord to give him a little assistance over some fairly steep sections that were above significant runout. In these sections, I felt a fall could become dangerous beyond the initial impact. It’s quite funny, really, but he is very comfortable climbing while roped. Whereas my last dog, Caney, who was a much better climber, almost human good on technical terrain, did not like being roped up.

The mental crux of any of these longer semi-technical climbs is the exposure. There are sections of trail throughout the Adirondacks with slabs this steep, or even steeper, but few involve looking back down at hundreds, or even 2000ft, of unbroken fall beneath you. There were few sections on this slide where there was potential for fall for even a novice climber with a grasp of fundamentals, but if a fall were to happen, it could be fatal. I would say that if you were to fall on the first 200-300 vertical feet of the slide, you could potentially fall all the way to the bottom without stopping depending on your path during the fall, though more than likely you would stop. The higher up you got on the slide, the less steep it became. In many spots any sort of significant fall was near impossible, and it was just like hiking any steep, slabby trail.

Falling on a slab climb or slide is actually quite serious. More serious in my opinion than a beyond vertical rock climb with good protection. When you fall it’s not a matter of if you will hit something, but how far you will slide before you stop. Skin and rock don’t mix well. Even a minor fall can lead to weeks of healing. That said, I’m a confident, and I hope, a good friction climber, slabs have never bothered me, and I enjoy climbing them. Generally speaking, people either love or hate slab climbing. There is no middle ground.

The left side of slide #1, though not extreme left, is more ledgy with verticalish steps of 3-10ft. Staying towards the center is more a mix of ledges and slab, while far right is mostly smooth slab. In dry conditions, the right side seems like it’s the best route for friction climbing. In wetter conditions, the center left gives a nice mix of rest ledges with secure stances, dry friction, and good positive holds.

The extreme left, which would be on the treeline, is very wet, muddy and also slimy. I would not consider this an option unless it was already raining and you were using the trees for assistance. Even then, you might be better off towards the center or right sides.

While the easiest of these slides are really glorified hikes, and the hardest are technical rock climbs, I’d recommend people have some climbing experience before undertaking them. Also, I see a lot of hikers bring ropes with them while hiking, but few actually know how to use them. Figuring out a rope 750ft off the deck of a slide really isn’t the ideal place. Though I brought a rope, I did not bring human harnesses. I could have made a diaper harness from the webbing I had, but I think it’s a good idea to have harnesses for novice climbers and 100ft of rope, along with some webbing. Coincidentally, I did notice an old sling with a rappel ring on tree that had long since washed away. Apparently someone either descended the slide or got sketched and bailed on it.

When Aim, Colvin and I reached the top of the slide we were on the right side of the slide. We were greeted by a wet 15ft slab of about 45*, which was above a 5ft shelf. We scanned for a herd path before committing to the upper section but did not see one. I climbed the crack to avoid the slab itself, then I belayed Colvin up the slab. The left-center looked easier, like it went further into the trees, but it was also wet and I preferred the safety of the crack system in the slab above us.

Once at the scrub line, we did a quick check for a herd path of any sort. One could not be found. Knowing Aimee’s desire to be done with the slide and get to the summit, I let her forge a path through the cripple brush. About 10 long minutes later, we climbed the last 150 vertical feet to the power cable path, and ascended to the summit station. Having escaped any sort of injurious behavior on the ascent to this point, I promptly fell into a crevice while entering the tourist section of the mountain.

The summit of Whiteface had been in the clouds for some time while we were on the slide. When we reached the summit things hadn’t improved. Views were 20 feet tops and the sun was just about to set. A few quick summit photos and then we pulled out the map. I took a compass bearing for the ORDA trail we planned to use for descent. In hindsight, this wasn’t necessary, the summit station viewing area is marked with direction markers for tourist to use when viewing the distant mountains. However, the only other time I’d been to the summit of Whiteface was skiing to the top in the winter and I had no idea where the trails were, as the ski route simply goes up the summer tourist road. Better to be prepared while in shelter than dealing with a map in 30 mph winds and fog. We headed south for the ORDA trail, pretty quickly we spotted yellow blazes, and were on the ORDA descent trail.

All I can say about the ORDA descent trail is HOLY $h!%!!! Wow! I was expecting some sort of paved tourist descent to the ski lifts, but this trail was in fact steep and interesting. It even had ropes set up to lower yourself down at least 3 sections. Though only one was really necessary.

Unfortunately, this was the end of the interesting part of the day. Descending down the ski slopes in complete darkness, strong winds and occasional fog was interesting only in that we were not able to just plunge down the steepest slopes for a rapid descent. Having my mini headlamp, clearly anticipating a shorter day, I couldn’t see more than 30ft, so we took the longer moderate ski trails towards Little Whiteface, and then began a direct descent from Little Whiteface. (Coming back a few weeks later, I could see just how steep Niagara was, and was glad we didn't plunge down it's slabby decent).

Along the way, we crossed paths (literally) with a porcupine. While that was exciting in a horrific train wreck sort of way -we hate porcupines- the highlight of the knee busting, ankle twisting, back aching, filling loosening, brain jarring descent was seeing what I believe was a Fisher pop up in the grass about 50ft from us. His tightly spaced eyes and head movements led me to believe he was a predator, most likely a cat or weasel. He was directly downwind from the porcupine, and my guess he was hot on that bully of an animals tail...or rather head. 25 head bites later, that porcupine was going to be Fisher dinner.

The descent went on forever, and finally at almost 9 hours into the day we arrived back at the car. I’m not sure of the total mileage, but I’d guess it was only about 6 miles. The total ascent/descent was 7500ft, which equates to well over 1000ft per mile. What really took so long was the ankle breaker scree on the ski slope descent. It was like walking on baseballs placed neatly on top of golf balls. That night and the next day, we felt like we’d done three times that distance. Even Colvin slept most of the next day. I’ve done 20 mile, 12,000ft gain and loss hikes this year and barely been sore the next day, so I was truly surprised how punishing the ski slopes were!

All in all, it was a good day and a great adventure. Add this to your options for life outside the High Peaks Wilderness, but do yourself a favor, trust me on the ski slope brutality and figure out another way down the mountain! Even if you have to carry a sledge hammer to the summit to break your own femur with and call for rescue, it will be better than descending the ski slopes!

Thinking out loud, the Great Range Traverse

Winter storm over the the Adirondack Great Range

“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.” - T.S. Elliot

I've been planning to do a Great Range traverse this summer for some time. Ideally it would be early to mid September under cooler temps. However, with Aim being away and Caney's death anniversary in late July, I started thinking it would be a wonderful way to honor him.

Last summer, on the 1st anniversary of his death, we paddled 13 miles upstream on the wild Oswegatchie River to his favorite swimming section, spreading his ashes for the first time. We then hiked deeper into the Five Ponds Wilderness and spread his ashes at two interior ponds. He loved being in the wilderness more than any human I know, so it was fitting he was released back to some of the most remote wilderness in the eastern US. Spreading more of his ashes over the 8 summits that make up this immense day hike would also be fitting for Wonder Dog.

At the same time, it will be a good way to knock out one of the countries hardest -if not the hardest- loop day hike out with my next generation trail dog. Sort of a remember the past, live for today type thing.

For a long time, I wouldn't even consider traversing the Adirondack Great Range or White Mountains Presidential Range in summer for two reasons. 

1. Anyone with two legs and a little fortitude can complete either hike in summer. 
2. I hate the heat and dehydrate incredibly quickly.

I drink about 1.5-2.0 gallons a day and still lose several inches off my waist. while hiking Dogs, especially black ones, do poorly in summer heat as well. There comes a point where you have to either drop off the spine of the Range to get water, or carry enough to last the day. At 8 pounds per gallon it starts getting pretty ridiculous.

Normally I filter my water as I go, never carrying more than 2-4 liters when possible. Often I get by with as little as 1.5-2 liters between water sources depending on the temps, humidity, terrain, distance and confidence in the source. Unlike the Presidential traverse, there are no water sources, and no places to buy milk, cookies and dog treats. Nor do you get a reprieve from mother nature to enjoy air conditioning at some summit building, or get a foot massage while hiking the Great Range.

However, while the Presidential traverse might be easier due to more bailout and water options, it's a lot tougher on a dogs paws. And since we tried and failed at the Presidential traverse last spring, I felt it was time to put the more paw friendly one in the bag, even if it meant being quite ordinary and doing it in the summer.

Still, I've got some serious reservations about the water situation this dry summer and it is going to require an unseasonably cool day, along with a 4am start for us to have a fair chance at completing it. Perhaps we are being a little ambitious in the timing.

Can I See Your Papers, Finding the Ultimate Trail Dog Is Easier Than You Think

Caney, a shelter rescue, on the hike out after 3 days of ascending the most technical trails in the Northern Presidential's.

Recently, while checking a forum for my lost trekking poles, I noticed someone asking where they could buy a Chocolate Lab to share their love of the trail. Everyone has their reasons for doing different things, but there is almost no way to justify buying a Lab from a breeder. This is one of the most over bred and common dogs available. Everyone loves Labs, big, lunky, dumb but highly trainable, lazy and loyal. The best trait of Labs, in my opinion, is they are a good dog for weekend warriors. They are content to lay around all week, but will hike/swim till either you stop, or their paws fall off on weekend outings.

Beyond that, there is entirely no reason to buy a "trail dog". The majority of trick dogs, agility dogs and even Search and Rescue  (SAR) dogs are shelter dogs. As a matter of fact, it's arguable SAR dog training is probably the most mentally and physically demanding of all dog training...hiking an average Class 2-3 trail should be cake for the average dog! Exceptional dogs should be able to climb 4th and easy 5th class, but I have yet to see a breeder advertising climbing dogs.

Health, durability, and breed specific traits:

It used to be believed that purebred dogs were healthier and more prone to living long lives. However, it's now widely accepted that mutts are healthier. There is a simple reason for this, Darwin's theory on natural selection and evolution is clearly at play in mutts. Recessive genes are weeded out quite quickly as weak animals die before they are able to reproduce. Not to mention, no one is breeding sickly mutts, but many home breeders and puppy mills do breed weak and sickly pure breeds. They then sell them off to unsuspecting neophyte dog enthusiast. They are able to sell these dogs because of a precious (yet entirely meaningless) AKC lineage paper, and you are stuck with an awful dog that probably will end up in a shelter or dead on the street. The best "trail dog" in the world is probably in a pack of strays on some Indian reservation in the Dakotas. So if you care about durability and longevity, head out to the reservation and get you a stray!

Unless you are a show dog trainer, or you need a dog to perform a very specific task, or perhaps need a hypoallergenic dog, there really is no reason to buy a dog. Just because a dog has it's "papers" doesn't mean it has good traits or will be a good dog. For instance, not all Border Collies have a strong herding instinct. And believe me, if you live in a suburban neighborhood, where the only thing to herd are kids and cars, you do not want a dog with this instinct. However, if you are a rancher, you probably do want that very same dog.

Most people breeding aren't breeding traits, they are breeding breeds! The best breeders don't sell dogs for $50, $100, 200, 500, $750, etc, these dogs are $1500-2500 or more, have just one litter a year, and they are dogs with winning heritage at some aspect of their breed, whether herding, working, protection/law enforcement, etc. These dogs aren't being bred for their looks, rather they are bred because they have a strong pedigree of traits or physical prowess.

So where am I'm going with this? It's simple, you should never buy a dog from a pet store, puppy mill, or home breeder, because there are millions more dogs in this world than people to take care of them. Buying from home breeders just encourages breeding. And it's not the breeders fault. If I want to make a few thousand dollars extra a year, I might consider buying 2 "pure bred" Border Collies with papers and breeding them. You say, "if they are already born, it's not hurting anyone to buy them." Yes it is. It's enabling. If you wait till those puppies hit 6-9 months, chances are they will be in a shelter or given away for free. A few litters later those breeders start to lose interest in losing money on shots and feeding, they eventually toss in the towel.

Pros of getting a shelter dog:

1) Puppies are cute, they have to be or we'd probably kill them for all the havoc they wreak. Most shelters don't have "true" puppies, and that in itself saves you from a lot of expense! A lot of these dogs come vaccinated and neutered, saving you time and money! Shelters that do have real puppies usually adopt them out before they are even born; sight unseen. We were at one shelter where a woman was taking the train and then a cab from NYC, 4 hours upstate to claim her puppy. It's crazy, and should tell you how dumb it is to be puppy crazy.

2) Getting a young non puppy or adult dog has it's advantages. You can often get a good idea of the temperament of a 6 month old dog or a 5 year old dog, but puppies are very tough to figure out for the novice dog trainer. By getting an older dog you also won't end up with an adorable puppy that turns out to be a not so cute adult dog. Remember #1, we tolerate puppies because they are so darn cute, once they are adults that puppy cuteness has worn off. When we were looking for a new dog, my wife kind of wanted a puppy, but I just looked at them and wondered how they were gonna look, how their temperament was going to be; and most importantly, how many extra months it would be till they were ready for some real training.

3) Pound puppies are rarely problem dogs, many came from good homes that cared for them but were forced to give them up. Allergies, money, living situation, death, or change of careers are all non problem dog reasons why some dogs end up in shelters. Besides, you don't want to hear my tirade that problem dogs are the result of problem people, do you? A lot of adult shelter dogs are house broken to boot. And lets face it, training a dog can be fun, but cleaning up accidents is never fun!

4) No one will ever ask you for your dogs "papers" on the street, but if you must have a specific breed, there are many breed specific rescues. Dogs at these rescues are evaluated for temperament and health, and then they are matched to good homes based on an extensive application process. In a sense the breed specific rescue is what a real breeder would do. Analyze traits and temperament and match them to the needs of the buyer. Of course your local shelter probably has a few of those puppy mill purebreds to. One more thing "rescues" do like a real breeder, if at any point you decide the dog isn't for you, they will take it back. Yes, real breeders will take your dog back without question, so do rescues. Try that at the pet store, puppy mill, or home breeder!

5) You are doing a good thing for several reasons. You are rescuing a dog that could be put to death, you are opening a space for another dog at that shelter, you are not giving puppy mills and amateur home breeders profits to continue to over breed. I'll state this again, if you buy from a puppy mill or home breeder, you are the problem!

6) Think about the money you are spending to buy a "pure breed", now think about the millions of dogs in shelters. If you rescue a shelter dog, you could donate the money you saved paying a breeder to keep more shelter dogs alive. Shelters aren't free, there is no such thing as free medical care, and dogs do get put to death.

7) Within a few months of spending time training and playing with your new dog, teaching him/her how to hike, swim, behave in a boat, climb up ladders and rocky trails, etc, you will not care one bit if it's the breed you thought you wanted in the first place.

Cons of getting a shelter dog:

The biggest reason I can see for buying or seeking a specific breed is getting the best likelihood of the traits you prefer in a dog. The problem is, part of the dog expressing those traits is the way it is trained and nurtured. Buying a specific breed guarantees nothing, it only increases your chances. If you buy a dog from parents of the finest trail dogs in the world, and lock it in a closet for 3 years, good luck on the trail! However, as expressed above, unless you are buying from a top breeder who specializes in the traits you desire, you are always playing Russian Roulette.

Colvin, a shelter rescue, on the south summit of Saddleback Mountain. The trail that was ascended to this point is considered by many the most technically difficult in the Adirondacks.

Where to rescue from:

There are many options. With the Internet you can literally browse dogs from all over the country and have one shipped to you for a reasonable fee. Colvin cost $175 to ship from Arkansas, which was a very fair price. The South typically has more rescues than the North. In combination with lower human population, lower spay/neuter compliance, and more kill shelters, they will often ship dogs up north to keep them from being euthanized. Many rescues and shelters will send you videos of the dogs you are interested in, as well as additional pictures. They will cat, dog, kid, leash, and car test. They will do almost anything you need them to do to make sure it's the right dog for you. They'll even take the dog back if it's not the dog for you. This is also something a top end breeder will do, but not a puppy mill.

It's kinda funny, really, these people (rescues and shelters) will bend over backwards to get you the right dog, but instead many people will play Russian Roulette with a "pure breed" from the equivalent of a shady used car salesman! Does that make sense?

The beauty of all of this is, while you are doing a really good thing, you are in many ways getting a more customized dog than you would have gotten had you bought a puppy for $500 from the woman down the block at 6 weeks old.

If you've been offended by any of this post, well, the truth is ugly, but it's the only way to combat a serious and somewhat solvable problem.

Keep an eye out for some guidelines to selecting and training a trail dog in a future blog post. I'm no expert, but you'd be surprised at how many people get a puppy and toss a 15lb pack on it's back, then head off to hike the Great Range, without any thought to the undertaking.

Colvin, a shelter rescue, leading the way up the summit of New Hampshire's Mount Adams under full winter conditions. Despite dozens of humans attempting, he was one of only three total individuals to summit on that particular day.

Steep and Treacherous: The southern approach to the Adirondacks Saddleback Mountain

Colvin on the northern descent of Basin Mountain with Saddleback and the Gothics in the background.

I’ve always felt that people who have experience technical rock climbing (on real rock) tend to not have issues on rough sections of trail. For those people, the featureless rock that hikers see is filled with giant “jug” holds for the hands and feet. The southern approach of the Adirondacks Saddleback Mountain via Basin Mountain is a great example of this.


If I haven’t made it perfectly clear throughout the years, I avoid the High Peaks like a case of syphilis -especially during the warm months- and I pick my winter forays with some care as well. So quite often, my experience in the Adirondacks High Peaks Wilderness is one with a winter perspective. As a matter of fact, I’ve been up Marcy several times, but never when there wasn’t multiple feet of snow on the ground. I have no idea how hard the trail is in the summer, though I assume it’s pretty beat up and rough due to how often it is climbed.


Suffice it to say, I’ve never climbed the south face of Saddleback via Basin in all my years of hiking during the summer months, though I have been up Saddleback in the winter on several occasions.


How is it? Absolutely fun. It’s probably the best trailed hiking in the Adirondacks. Steep, technical, but the hard sections are either too easy or too short to really make you say, “wow, that was hard.” Add in the fact that Colvin isn’t Caney on the steep and technical sections; he doesn’t love climbing steep technical rock like a mountain goat or dipping his front nails over the edge of 1000ft cliffs. I note that because my difficulty rating includes assisting Colvin. These were generally short boost followed by encouraging and challenging him to climb the correct route. Nevertheless, they were an additional level of effort that most human hikers would not need to put out, unless they were climbing with children or novice mountaineers.

Yellow line indicates the trail routing.

I’d rate the hardest sections as low 5th class (upper 4th to 5.0-5.1 type terrain), and while there is a risk of a long fall (or rather slide), it’s not what you’d call exposed. There is never more than a few feet of air under you, or 30ft of super grippy slab below you. Steep it is, treacherous it is not. I’d personally rate something steep and treacherous, if while on it and assisting a 50lb dog, I felt any sense of fear or worry that we were getting ourselves into something that might be difficult to get out of. Perhaps I don’t have the common sense to feel that fear, but based on the amount of times I’ve shit my pants leading technical rock climbs, I’d say I am often too aware of what can go wrong. At no point did I feel that way. As a matter of fact, once Colvin was safely on the steep slabs above the craggy lower section, I descended a bit and reclimbed it via the more technical options.

Colvin on top of Saddleback, Ausable Lakes and the Colvin Range in the background.

I was actually a bit disappointed at how easy it really was, and I was prepared for Colvin to have more trouble with the terrain. He was wearing his Ruff Wear Doubleback technical climbing harness, and I had a 40ft 8mm static line. I never even considered breaking out the 40ft rope. Had it been steeper, I could have slung a boulder with two 10 foot tied slings that double as leashes, or wedged a frost knot into a crack to haul Colvin over the steep sections. Or just simply short roped him up the hard sections.



Although I enjoyed Saddleback, the highlight of the trip was watching Colvin finally get it on the 20ft ladder up Basin. Though I climbed the rungs of the near vertical ladder with with him, and held on to his assist loop just in case he panicked or slipped, he ultimately climbed the ladder without my assistance. We spent quite a bit of time on ladders a few days before on the Stimson Trail on Noonmark Mountain, and it was gratifying to see him finally get it.







As far as Saddleback, it was over far too fast, and just wasn’t hard enough. On the flip side, it was, almost without a doubt, the hardest climbing (on a trail) in the Adirondacks. Be careful in making assumptions though, while it was the hardest officially trailed terrain, those wanting tougher challenges that fall into the gray area of technical rock climbing and hiking can still be challenged in the Adirondacks. Just look around when on an Adirondack summit at all those wonderful expanses of bare rock, the slides. Those slides offer even more challenge, without the benefit of a blazed trail or step by step directions, yet they are generally non technical enough that specialized ropes and climbing protection can be left at home for all but the most difficult slides. Be forewarned though, having 1000ft of 60* slab under you as you approach a headwall might not be officially 5th class terrain, but it carries all the same risk and challenges.




Was Saddleback worth the price of admission ($7 to park), including all the rules, regulations and crowds that come with the High Peaks? Hell yeah! But for full disclosure, I picked a good early season weekday and was on the trail at 6:50am -which was later than planned. I saw just 1 person on the trail till my last 2 miles of the day (5 people in total)! Had there been 100 people climbing those mountains, creating a wilderness conga line, I’d probably not have felt like we were on any sort of remote adventure!


So there you go, a little more sensible perspective about the steep and fun trail over Saddleback.

Underhill Under Snow, Mountaineering On the Good Side of Mt. Mansfield!

 

I’ve been planning this trip with George for quite some time, but like all good trip plans there must be options B, C, D, and the nuclear option as a fail safe. And of course, safety of the group is always the most important priority. All too often a group forgets that it is only as strong as the weakest and least prepared members, and this is when bad things happen.

After doing the Franconia Ridge last October, George mentioned that he wanted to try Mount Washington in winter. Though Mount Washington via the Lions Head route is technically no more challenging than any other walk-up winter mountain anywhere, it does require the same gear as all higher mountaineering objectives, and there is a better than average chance you’ll need and use all of it, rather than just stow it in your pack “in case”.

Looking for something a little more moderate, that also potentially had a higher success rate and lower commitment ratio, while still getting him a taste of winter, this trip came to mind. Mount Mansfield is one of Vermont's few true alpine summits, and while the mountain is by my standards ruined due to roads, radio towers and ski resorts, it’s still a beautiful mountain with plenty of wild character on the northern, western, and eastern slopes to keep even the most puritanical of us happy. While it’s heavily used in the winter, it’s possible to avoid other groups of people by taking less traveled paths.

Though George had wanted to test out some winter backpacking/mountaineering, he had absolutely no experience beyond some tiny taste of the Northern Presidential’s late April last hurrah of winter, followed by 2 sunny, windless 60F summit days on that same trip. George had never really traveled in a winter mountainscape, he’d never been on snowshoes, and I’m not really sure if he used crampons on any of our previous shoulder season hikes.

Maple Ridge

The trip objective was Mount Mansfield and it’s various summits via Frost Ridge, Maple Ridge, the Wampahoofus Trail, the Long Trail, and Sunset Ridge; finally looping back on the CCC road and back down the Frost trail. The trip was around 15 miles over 3 days, not too hard. Actually, this trip is a good day hike in the summer months. We would break the trip up with 2 nights of hut camping at uninsulated summer huts. Ambient temps in the hut would actually be colder than pitching a tent, but we’d have some space to spread out and relax, and also the shelter of the hut to pack and organize our gear; not to mention the fact we wouldn’t have to split the 8-10lbs that a 4 season winter mountaineering tent weights.

Friday we got a leisurely start, not leaving my place till 10:30am (i won’t bore you with how blessed I am to be able to leave at 10:30am and still have a full day in the mountains, refer to pretty much every other blog post where I do that). We arrived at the Mobil in Underhill at 1:30pm, changed and drove the last 10 minutes to the summer trail head. The road to the summer trail head was covered in several inches of fresh snow and ice, but was passable without resorting to 4WD. After putting our boots on, and doing a final gear check, we were on the trail by 2:45pm. My original plan was to be on the trail by 1:30-2pm at the latest. I really didn’t see this as a problem because the planned hike was less than 5 miles and we could always shorten it if need be. Besides, if my group finished a hike in the daylight, the world would surely spin off it’s axis and kill us all.

In hindsight, we should have just jogged up the Butler Lodge Trail, but I’ll be honest, what transpired was a lot more fun. Being out on an adventure, versus sprinting to a camping location, is why I strap a 50lb pack to my back and trudge up a mountain. If that wasn’t the case, I could just pull my car into a car camping site and camp without all the effort.

The Frost Trail started out pretty well, well packed but nice soft snow. George commented that his borrowed snowshoes and plastic mountaineering boots were actually pretty comfortable on the snow. A good sign for our travels.

At this point Colvin had been doing shuttle sprints for about 15 minutes. Running full blast for about 20 meters and then turning around and sprinting back. He had a weeks worth of energy he was determined to use up before we really started hiking. 

Once we got to the Tear Drop intersection, the trail was now mostly unbroken. As a matter of fact, we started down what I assume was the Tear Drop briefly, before realizing that we were starting down a ski trail.

1st viewpoint looking west

I quickly pulled out the map and altimeter, we definitely weren’t at the CCC Road trail intersection yet, so we backtracked and ended up turning hard left on a small icy rock slab/ramp. From this point onward we were breaking trail the rest of the way. Everyone that had hiked the trail to this point was probably skiing the Tear Drop ski trail.

We did fine till the first view point picking our way from blaze to blaze, definitely not following any sort of trail, but the forest was wide open, and travel was easy.

First viewpoint looking South

Once we got to the first viewpoint on the Frost Trail, we lost the blazes. I was pretty sure the trail broke left over what would probably be rock in the summer, and then looped back right. Trails are always built over solid rock whenever possible, rock doesn’t erode or wear down like forest duff and vegetative surfaces, and trail builders are cognizant of this. However, we couldn’t find a blaze, most likely they were on the rock under snow and ice, and also on trees BELOW the snow. At this point we were hiking above the trail and into the tree tops. There was in spots over 6-8 ft of snow on the ground, with 92 inches at the snow stake that records official snow depth on the mountain.

Map work

I pulled the GPS out and located us, I then looked at my waypoints on the printed maps. I don’t have one of those fancy modern GPS with built in maps, and honestly I don’t want one because the maps suck on those GPS units. One day they will have something useful, but until then my system is the most efficient. For me it’s easy to read and navigate with a paper map, using the GPS to get my general location, and then set a bearing using my compass and/or line of site. I don’t envy those who walk with the GPS in front of them trying to line up the waypoints. Mountain terrain is rarely simple, and you often have to zigzag to avoid dangerous terrain or impenetrable forest cover. Besides, navigating like that puts your faith entirely in the electronics, whereas my system only uses the GPS to determine initial location. Once I have that information,  I can use the map and grid to determine a bearing to my next point.

Once we figured out where we were, I set a bearing towards the high point on the ridge line below the CCC road intersection. George was understandably a little uneasy going cross country. The last time we went cross country bushwhacking we were headed for the Eagle Slide in the Adirondacks. We ended up not climbing the slide because we ran out of daylight after our herd path turned out to be headed towards Bottle Slide, and we had to bushwhack through the thickest of forest back towards Eagle. What ultimately happened was we wasted 1.5 hours getting back to Roaring Brook, which in hindsight we never should have left in the first place! However, unlike our summer excursions in the dank spruce gardens of the slopes of the Adirondacks, this was open terrain where we could move just as fast off trail as on it. As a matter of fact, being able to pick our route through the more open terrain was actually our fastest snowshoeing of the trip.

Staying on bearing and on the ridge line, after about 15 minutes of hiking we got to some rocks that had a blue blaze on them. I’m pretty certain George felt a lot better seeing things were going smoothly.

Emboldened at the site of the blaze we just continued going cross country till we regained the trail some time later. Of and on we couldn’t locate a trail, cairns or blazes. At this point the ridge was quite definable, and the terrain was mostly easy.

When arrived at the first rocky sections, we removed the snowshoes for the first time and scrambled up the rocks. George was hiking off the snow for the first time in his borrowed plastics, and after going from snowshoes to snow clogged rubber on quartz, your footing feels kinda slick. It always feels weird when you take off the snow traction, and climbing a slabby quartz rock face in rigid plastic boots is certainly not easy. Ridig boots, plastic or otherwise, do best when the terrain gets steeper and more technical.

Off trail ascent

We made it up the slabs,  then shortly after we were back in the trees crawling on our hands and knees through the tree canopy on multiple feet of snow. This was the first, but not the last, of these hands and knees through the tree canopy antics. The snow at this point was windblown and hard, and bare booting was the best option as we scaled up and down rock slabs and snow drifts. Once again we lost the trail, just taking the path of least resistance to remain high on the ridge as we pressed onward. We probably hiked about 3/4 of a mile off trail before finally regaining the trail for good.

We eventually regained the trail and hit the CCC Road intersection. From this point the trail was scrub, and pretty well defined with cairns and just the gap of the vegetation. We made good time to the Rock Garden trail.

Ah, the Rock Garden. There are many many trails in the mountains that are made simply to torment weary hikers looking for a shortcut. The Rock Garden just looked like one of those trails on the map. It reminded me precisely of the Cornice Trail in the Northern Presidential’s. It looks so inviting to avoid the 500ft over the summit of Jefferson on your way back down the Caps Ridge trail, but once you are about halfway on the Cornice, you realize it would have been easier and shorter to go up and over the summit. Well, the Rock Garden probably was equally craptastic in the summer, but in the winter it was just a lightly traveled borderline bushwhack, that cut across what was in spots very steep terrain. It wasn’t only the pushing through the trees that sucked, or the need to crawl on our hands and knees wearing snowshoes with 50lb packs, but the fact that every single tree was covered in 3-4 inches of snow. Each time we pushed through the forest it dumped all that snow down our jackets and on our packs. Wearing a hood just made me feel claustrophobic, and I hate not having peripheral vision, so every few feet I got a cold snow shower down my jacket!

Still not sure how heinous a gradual downhill trail can be:

Me: “Oh, we’ll be lucky to get down this in the light (it was just before 6:30pm). I figure 1 hour at best, maybe 1.5”
George: “.7 miles, mostly level to downhill, I think an hour is way to much.”
Me: “remember the Cornice?”
George: “Yeah, you think it will be that shitty.”
Me: “worse”

So 1.5 hours of semi bushwhacking through the tree canopy, on what was a mostly down but occasionally up traverse across the drainage, getting spun around several times, we finally got down to the hut. In hindsight, continuing up the well defined Maple Ridgem, and going back down the also rarely traveled Wampahoofus trail would have been a faster option. The terrain was more open and it was entirely downhill, rather than traversing a contour line on a gradual descent with a few short ascents mixed in to keep things interesting.

One cool thing on the Rock Garden was a chasm in the rock about ¾ of the way down. There were hanging curtains of ice over it that created almost an ice cave between a cleft in two rocks. Unfortunately it was dark by this point, and we couldn’t get a photo of it. It would have made a great photo if we were there an hour before, with the setting suns golden rays hitting the ice curtains.

Sunset over Lake Champlain

So much for an easy 1st day! Of course, what would a hike with me be like if we actually got to camp in the light and could relax? It would seem like an alternate universe for sure!

We got to the hut at about 8-8:15 and quickly found that we were melting snow. I expected at this time of the year the creek that is next to the Butler Lodge to be our water source. However, if it was running, it was under several feet of snow and possibly ice. Without an ice axe or a shovel, there was no simple way to get to it. I always assumed melting snow was going to be our primary source of water and we quickly moved to begin that slow process.

Melting enough snow for 3 people (uh, more like 2.5 people) takes several hours. By now our short day turned into a pretty long day and we were in bed by about 12:30am, just about the time it had begun snowing quite heavily.

We woke up Saturday morning to 3-4 inches of fresh powder on the ground, more in spots where the wind blew it, as well as more falling. We didn’t have a big day planned, about 3.5 miles from Butler Lodge to Taft Lodge on the other side of Mount Mansfield, though almost 2 miles of it was exposed ridge line. We were officially woken up by a couple who stopped by the hut to have their morning coffee before continuing their day. They mentioned they rarely made it up the Frost/Maple Ridge trail in winter because it is so rarely traveled and so difficult to follow. I think George and I both felt pretty good for making as good of progress as we had the day before.

Sunset at Butler Lodge

 

We got up and began melting snow and storing water. Had breakfast and began packing.

By the grace of God, George was completely packed an hour before I was. This has never happened before, and I was a bit concerned, you know the whole alternate universe thing! Since I wore insulated leather mountaineering boots, which didn’t have removable liners (vs. double plastics which George borrowed from Aimee), and I didn’t sleep with the boots in my bag, I had to heat up 2 water bottles and put them inside a waterproof stuff sack with the boots. I then put the sealed stuff sack inside my sleeping bag and folded it over to create as much insulation as possible. I’ve never done this before, but it worked perfectly. My boots were not only melted out, but warm when I put them on, despite the sub 20*F ambient temperature in the hut.. The downside is you need about 30 minutes of free time, as well as 2 hot water bottles to do this. Also, since my sleeping bag needed to go into my pack from the top I couldn’t pack my pack till this process was done each morning.

By the time we got on the trail it was about 2pm. The snow had stopped falling and the conditions on the ground were absolutely beautiful. 4-6 inches of fresh powder, without a snowshoe track on the trail because of the wind; what a treat this late in the season. However, the wind was brutal, and it was colder than the day before with more fleeting burst of sun.

As we hiked towards the Wallace Cutoff and the Long Trail, and on to the summit ridge, I began to question the safety of going up on the ridge. Two weeks ago the wind conditions were similar, but it was much warmer and we were somewhat protected from the wind based on the direction and the summits blocking some of it. Going up to the summit of Mount Mansfield meant even more exposure than in the Presidential’s. Mansfield is a freak of a mountain, because nothing around it is close to it’s prominence it gets severe winds similar to Mount Washington. There was absolutely nothing north or west of use that would help shelter us from the winds. Beyond that, we would be exposed and committed to the ridgeline for nearly 2 miles.

At this point I hadn’t even put on insulated gloves or any of my insulating layers, I was still wearing my wet and frozen Gore-Tex glove shells from the day before. Nevertheless, I could feel how cold the wind was through the trees, something that typically doesn’t bother me. Thinking about the air temperature mixed with the wind chill I became concerned whether George and Colvin would be ok. George had the gear to safely get to Taft Lodge Saturday, but Sunday was actually forecast to be even more windy! Because our route back to the car traveled North and West, we would be committed to walking directly into the wind for the whole day Sunday as well.

2006 Mansfield group, including Wonder Dog

Colvin certainly would have lead the way, but I had been in a similar situation in 2006 with a hiking group, and my previous trail dog. That day we hiked over Sunset Ridge towards Taft Lodge into 70+mph winds and ambient air temperatures below 0F. Caney was forced to endure those conditions for a shorter duration, and we were lucky he didn’t get frostbite. As a matter of fact, I got frostbite on that trip on my covered face because an inch below my goggles was exposed to the biting wind. It was so brutal on that day in 2006 that we were forced to abandon our plans. We bailed off the summit ridge into a gully, and bushwhacked through waist deep snow to the Cliff House where we emergency bivied.



I made the decision that it just wasn’t safe for us to make the trip, George didn’t argue, and we then decided on what Plan B was. We could hike to the Taylor Lodge, which was about 3.5 miles away through the lower elevation forest. Or we could go back to Butler, unpack our gear, and day hike to the summit.

We both liked Butler Lodge and we were the only group there, so we decided to stay another night and go for the summit.

We got back, spoke with a group of hikers at the lodge, and exchanged opportunities to snap group photos for each other. Once back inside the hut we then unpacked most of our camping gear, had lunch, and repacked for the summit.

We began up the Wampahoofus Trail for some ways, but not too long after beginning the ascent towards Maple Ridge we lost the trail. There was a blaze right behind us at foot level but nothing else to be found. After 10 minutes of fighting spruce branches and crawling through the snow, we decided to just ascend the path of least resistance. It was open above us, and the trail had to go in the direction of the more open forest. We got to an open area where we could see the terrain above, I pulled out the GPS and from our location took a bearing to the closest landmark, the rock tunnel.. The rock tunnel on the Wamphoofus Trail, just before the Maple Ridge intersection, was about 700ft away at a bearing of nearly true north. I assumed it was the rock wall I saw some ways up, and we ascended to that over open snow slopes. We continued to traverse up and across the very steep slope that culminated with an ice flow.

As we reached the rock band, we cut across the base of the cliff, fighting our way through the trees to more open ground above. I kept sliding back down the slope because my pack would get caught on trees. I pushed up and through the snow, the trees would literally throw me back and I’d lose my balance, sliding back down the slope. While this was arduous, we were also concerned with a long fall down the slope, which was steep enough that if not a controlled glissade could have been a dangerous fall. Eventually,  I just used the trees for hand holds and for steps to propel myself through the steep snow.

I went straight, George cut left, and while I thought there was a blaze in front of me, I lost it in the trees. George, however, confirmed it was in fact the trail, which we’d found after about .3 miles of off trail climbing.

Within a short distance George, who was leading the way, lost the trail again. There was again no sign of a blaze, but Colvin continued on. I told George to follow Colvin, but make sure he didn’t blindly follow him. As George put it (and Regan before him, and Roosevelt before him), “trust but verify.” Colvin was correct though, as he had been each time he pushed ahead over the last 2 days. He is developing quite a sense of where he needs to go, I am very very proud of how well he has developed into a great trail dog.

We finally reached the tunnel, which was pretty much on course for the bearing I had set. George found a shortcut but wasn’t sure we were on the trail. We backtracked and sure enough the trail went through the tunnel on the other side of the wall we were at. Both routes were cool, but the tunnel was more fun!

We were now just 200ft from the Maple Ridge, climbing up and around rock bands, caves and cliffs. There were some very cool sheltered alcoves in the rock bands that I made note of. After one last battle with the spruce on our hands and knees, we were on the ridge proper. It was now after 6pm. I'd set a 6pm turn around time, but the summit was just .2 easy miles above us.

If you are a mountaineer, then you know that turning around that close to the summit is almost impossible to do, and even though our turn around time had passed, the descent was going to be fast and fun, and we’d have had plenty of time to get back to the hut before dark. Unfortunately, George doesn’t have that mountaineers summit sickness, although Colvin has acquired it from me. Both of us could smell the summit and wanted up, (you can see Colvin has no plans to turn around in the video). I told George that he could wait for us in the shelter of the tunnel. We’d only be about 20 minutes.

Since I often hike alone or with my trail dog, I rarely have to make decisions I don't want to partake in. Generally speaking, I don't care if it's dark, cold or I have way further to go than I expected. I'm always willing to change my plans on a whim just because I feel like it. However, when you're hiking with other people you have to consider the entire group, even if it's really not your ideal choice. The problem was I’d promised Aimee I wouldn’t leave George, even though I was quite willing to break that promise in this situation. I also needed to remove my snowshoes and put on crampons that were buried in my pack. The process was going to take 10 minutes in addition to the ascent and descent of the .4 miles round trip. I gave in to all the signals that it was time to turn around, and Colvin, George and I descended together.

The descent was in fact fast and fun. There were a few spots it was tricky but all of us had a good time glissading down the mountain. Colvin was concerned for us, but he got to run really fast in the deep snow.

We were back at the hut well before sundown, actually 20 minutes from when we turned around. This included clearing as much of the tree canopy as we could while on the trail. Even with the summit we probably could have been back by sundown.

Although we didn’t get the summit, I (we) had an awesome time forging a path towards the summit in the beautiful winter conditions and an even more fun time on the descent.

Saturday night was the same as Friday. Melting snow, hydrating, and eating a good dinner. My tortellini and smoked salmon, with olive oil and parmesaen sauce, was definitely better than George’s freeze dried beef stew. After dinner we just relaxed for a bit, before we knew it the time was pushing 1am.

Saturday night was clear and cold, but beautiful star filled skies were above us. If not for the strong winds we could have spent more time outside the hut enjoying the stars.

The winds pummeled the hut all night, and actually made it quite drafty inside. The hut is somewhat well sealed, but there are definitely gaps in the logs and roofing in spots. Snow and wind can force through the shutter style windows as well.

Sunday morning arrived and it was 12F inside the hut, blustery outside. We were in no rush to get out of our sleeping bags. George survived the drafty night, while Colvin and I slept quite well. I did, however, seal my sleeping bag on Saturday unlike Friday where I slept with it partially open. Colvin was wearing his K9 TopCoat Cascade suit, and his Primaloft sweater.

We burned the last of the fuel on both our stoves, about 37 total ounces over the 3 days of melting snow and cooking. This seemed like way more fuel than we should need at 4oz/person/day for white gas, but I realized Friday night we’d been lazy and just let the stove boil each pot rather than pour it off once it was melted. I think we used about 6 ozs more fuel than we should have needed.

We finally were packed at about 3pm, unfortunately I left my phone up at the hut and for some reason thought about it about 10 minutes down the trail. I unpacked everything on the trail and couldn’t find it. Then I realized I heard something fall behind the shelf when I was packing. George went back to the hut, and I followed behind him after repacking my pack. Sure enough it was behind the door where I thought it fell. Lesson learned, triple check the hut before leaving!

The hike out to the trail head was mostly down hill, with some level stretches throughout. However, the snow was perfect for snowshoe glissading when off trail and across the forest. George descends much faster than me, and my old man back can’t deal with the jarring of on trail descents. Packed out snow is just a little softer than the summer trail, before the snowshoe crampons bite with each step. In winter, when the ground is covered by deep snow, cutting switchbacks is perfectly acceptable. Technically there is no damage to the land, which is the primary reason to avoid it the rest of the year. I’d cut down through the forest in the steep sections and link back up with the trail. After one section where we had to re-ascend about 20ft to the trail, George stopped following me and just stuck to the trail. Fortunately this was the only time I had to re-ascend to regain the trail.  I was able to actually stay in front of George with this method rather than haul ass to keep up with him.

Scary glissade through the trees

Not counting the 15 minutes we spent going back to the hut (a 300ft ascent), we descended the 1.7 miles to the car in 35 minutes.

A stop at the Underhill Mobil to change, clean up, feed Colvin, get a snack; and then we were off to the Vermont Pub and Brewery in beautiful downtown Burlington, Vermont. Burlington is a nice little city, and it has amazing views of the Adirondacks across Lake Champlain, the sixth Great Lake.

The food at VPB is standard pub fare at a fair price, nothing special. If you order right it can be pretty decent. However, the reason you go to any brewpub is generally not the food but the beer! VPB has a great collection of ever changing beers, and we each had two pints. For the non beer drinkers, VPB also has locally brewed hard ciders.

I had a half and half of the Handsome Mick’s Irish Stout and another dark beer that doesn’t appear to be on the web menu. It was good! Then I had a citrusy IPA that was even better, a great IPA in fact! George had two different beers and both were very good.

The pulled pork po’boy was nothing special. In the defense of VPB, I am a BBQ aficionado and we (my wife and I) seek out great BBQ whereever we go. So if BBQ isn’t something you are passionate about, don’t be alarmed, what I got was quite edible, just not special! George said his burger was delicious! And my sweet potato fries were also quite good. Dessert was Ben and Jerry’s Vanilla on an Apple Crisp. This was ok as well, but it reminded me why I almost never get dessert anywhere.

If you haven’t figured it out, this was a really fun trip where we accomplished absolutely nothing in the sense of typical hiking/mountaineering goals. However, we had a great time and George got to experience real winter. Honestly, he probably learned more than he would have on a $500 two day guided trip, so I suppose we actually did accomplish a lot. Just like with anything, you can read a lot about winter backpacking and mountaineering, but it's not until you get to apply the principals of travel, conservation of warmth, staying cool and dry, hydration, and all the other little things that you really understand what it's all about. Not sure he is going to be dropping $1500 anytime soon to fully outfit himself for winter mountaineering/backpacking, but he definitely got an idea of what it was all about, and I think he had enough fun that he might come back out again for something similar.


Colvin continued to impress me with his progression. Going from Caney to Colvin has been both easy and hard. I had a perfectly capable trail dog, Caney, that was just a genius at navigating technical mountain terrain almost without any prompting from me, simply because he loved the challenge of solving the problem. Colvin, though, just gets better and better every single trip, every single month, and this was the 1 year anniversary of his first winter overnighter in the Northern Presidential's. He has come so far in that time. In the videos you can see how he is no longer a follower but a concerned leader with confidence in his abilities. You can see how concerned he is for George, and he is getting good at finding the trail, even under 6ft of snow!. It’s very satisfying to see that, and helping him progress has been a learning process for me as well. We worked on climbing the hut loft ladder Sunday morning, and he climbed to the top on his own (with me spotting him). He’ll be climbing ladders and technical rock faces this summer, I'm sure of it!