By Bethany Garretson
Day 2: Sunday, August 7
Start: Santanoni lean-to area
Mountains: Panther, Couchsachraga, Santanoni, Allen
Miles: 30
Camp: Flowed Land:
On the summit of Panther, I felt like I was the only person in the world. Somehow, I’d been plucked up and placed in another universe – a universe where the clouds rose from the hollows and hugged the mountain peaks. An hour ago, I’d left camp in the fading twilight of dawn and now, the sun was rising. The night before, while slurping down a packet of pad thai, I had wondered, How am I going to get up and do this all over again?
Somehow, the mind and body found a way. One of the first lessons on trail proved to be: Your fear of tomorrow is usually worse than what tomorrow brings. After a handful of espresso beans, I made my way down to Couchsachraga. Now, many 46ers complain about this mountain. Not only is it below 4000 ft, it’s notorious for its swamp. The name Couchsachraga roughly translates to ‘dismal wilderness’ and once at the shrubby summit, you turn around and retrace your steps to Time Square (a place where the trails for Panther, Couchsachraga, and Santanoni meet).
I sang as I pushed through the cobwebs. The trip to Couchsachraga was long and peaceful. The trail was dry and even the swamp was easy to navigate. On the summit, I watched rain clouds towards the west and threw on my pack cover. The rain stayed away and I was grateful. A pair of hikers came around the corner and I stepped to the side. We exchanged “good mornings” and both agreed it was a beautiful day to be in the mountains.
At Time’s Square, I hung right and headed for Santanoni. As I navigated the rocky terrain, I thought of my younger sister Mallory. Last October, we’d set out to hike Santanoni on a 70 degree, sunny day to find snow and ice on the summit. It was a different world – and that is what spurs my deep passion for mountains. They twist and turn you, pick you up and pull you down, chatter your teeth, numb your toes, and remind you you’re a mere mortal. Once Mallory and I descended into the warmth of the hardwood, we laughed about how cold we’d been. Already, it was a fading memory.
Thinking of Mallory, it was fitting that on the top of Santanoni I turned on my MP3 player and on shuffle, the first song to play was “Further up the Road” by Bruce Springsteen. Now, you don’t have to know the song or the artist to understand it’s about journeys, leaving behind the ones we love to pursue our dreams, thinking of them in solitude, and the moment you’ll be reunited. It’s incredibly powerful when a melody blends perfectly with the landscape. I rose to my feet and headed down the mountain with a smile.
At 11am, I reunited with Andy and our puppy at camp. I boiled a cup of water, fixed a mountain meal, refilled my water bottles, took off my shoes, unfurled my ground pad and lay in the sun. While the meal hydrated, I stretched and took a bit of video footage for CNN digital. I liked the idea of doing a video journal to capture the trip and now with a day behind me, I was more invested in the task. I set up the camera on a stump and talked about the morning and what the rest of the day looked like.
Allen Mountain was the next on the list and a huge mental hurdle for me. Four years ago, almost to the day, I’d been on a strenuous multi-day backpacking adventure in the Allen area when I became severely dehydrated. The whole week had been in the 90s and the humidity was off the charts. My mind was foggy and simple tasks like tying a shoe became impossible. Luckily, Andy was with me and recognized the signs and knew exactly what to do (even though I was being combative and refusing to drink water because just the thought of it made me nauseous). We made camp for the night, I lay in a nearby stream and fueled up on salts and sugars. The experience was tough and I was disappointed in myself. I was mad that I’d gotten to that state – that I hadn’t properly hydrated and nourished my body. At Santanoni camp, I took a big bite of Cuban beans and rice, took a swing of electrolyte enriched water, strapped on my visor, and vowed I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
There is a sacred element about Allen – a feeling, a tingling sensation that raises your neck hairs. It’s almost as if a presence guards the mountain. Solo and tired, I was thinking of heat exhaustion and spirits of the woods. The trail was quiet at 4 in the afternoon and I longed for a friend to laugh with.
That’s when I began to see small red maple leaves. They were so delicate and vibrant at the same time. Instantly, I felt my mother with me and I heard her say, “I have a good feeling about this.” Every time I saw a red leaf, my uncertainties and fears were replaced with positive thoughts. For example: “What if I can’t do this?” Was replaced with, “So what? You are doing it.” And, “What if there’s a troll that lives at the bottom of the waterfall?” Was replaced with, “That would be pretty cool!”
By the time I was ascending the waterfall slide, I was in a zen-like state. Over the red rock, a clear line of water flowed. Moss clung to the roots of cedar trees that grew along the banks. Once I gained enough elevation, I was able to look out over the high peaks. I sat down in the middle of the slide and thanked the mountain for allowing me to be a part of it. At the summit, I untied an owl feather from my pack and placed it on a pine bough. I stood back, placed my hand on my heart and made peace with Allen. The feather twirled in the light breeze and I felt invincible. Eight down, 38 to go.
Day 3: Monday, August 8
Start: Flowed Lands
Mountains: Marshall, Redfield, Cliff
Miles: 15
Camp: Campsite on Colden
In the depth of the night, the temperature fell to 40 degrees. In my makeshift sleep system of a fleece liner and emergency blanket I woke with a chill and pulled on my quarter zip fleece and hat. A few hours later, my alarm sounded and I groaned. Damp hiking clothes hung in a nearby balsam tree and I shuddered at the thought of putting them on. I flipped on my headlamp, pulled over a stuff sack of gear and grabbed my journal. Today was a light mountain and mileage day and I was in no rush. I’d even debated about sleeping an extra hour, but decided against altering my morning routine. Andy slept in a nearby tent while I wrote. Bullet point style, I began to capture the first 48 hours of Climb it 4 Climate.
Fitful sleep and thunderstorms the night before the hike
Struggling to find flow on Seward
Janet and Pin Pin surprise on Seymour
Red leaf magic on Allen – peace, feather, cedar and blue flowers
Today, Andy would hike out to South Meadows, get in a car, drive to Paul Smith’s and update the world on my whereabouts. Around 6am, I crawled out of my cocoon and made a beeline for my bear canister. I brushed my teeth and walked out to the edge of the Flowed Lands. If you ever get an opportunity to spend a few nights in the High Peak’s back country, I highly recommend this area – it’s stirring, grand, and gives you a sense of why some fought so hard to make the Adirondacks a state park. Plus, Hanging Spears Falls is a 10-minute walk from camp and too spectacular to pass up. While I stretched on the sandy banks of the Flowed Land, fog lifted off the water and morning light touched the highest peaks while the valley remained dark. The tent unzipped and Andy stepped out to fix a cup of coffee. Tahawus refused to get out of bed.
“Only six more miles, little buddy,” I said. Our little terrier was a trooper and had many miles under his legs, logging about 15 a day. I packed up and once every piece of gear was stuffed in, I did a few jumping jacks and switched my comfy poly layer for my hiking clothes – covered as they were in 48 hours of sweat and mud.
“Ah! Let’s go!” I strapped into my pack and jogged out of camp. The cold air and damp clothes were invigorating and gave me an early morning shot of adrenaline. Headed towards Marshall, I sang random lyrics of random songs that flowed in and out of my head – everything from Disney to A Tribe called Quest to Meatloaf ballots. Andy laughed at my strange morning montage and we said goodbye at a lean-to near the base of Marshall.
“Meet up at Beaver #1?” Andy asked, in reference to a lean-to perched on the edge of Lake Colden with an epic view of Algonquin and the rocky summit of Colden.
“Yep, sounds good,” I said.
“Happy trails, B.”
“You too,” I said and watched Tahawus tug against his leash. During Climb it 4 Climate, Andy had dual roles: One as a media specialist for PSC, armed with a camera and notepad, and the other as an interested husband and passionate hiker who wanted to be on trail. When he emerged from the woods, he would update five different networks and contacts who were covering the story, post photos to the Facebook event page, and return texts from various family members. He was an incredible coordinator and I was thankful for that, because it allowed me to stay focused putting one foot in front of the other. 48 hours in, the outside world seemed far away.
The trail up Marshall followed a river that has a deep, clear water hole surrounded by green moss and cedar trees. Passing by, I restrained from unclasping my pack and jumping in. On the slide, my calves were tight and I sat down to stretch. The discomforts of hiking shifted throughout the day. First, it was getting out of a warm sleeping fleece, then it was putting on stinky clothes. Once up and moving, it was my pack as it rubbed against tender sections on my collar and hip bones. When I began ascending, that discomfort was trumped by sore muscles. In the ragged, steep sections my mind focused on breath and getting enough oxygen to my body. On the downhills it was a subtle soreness in my knees and ankles. I grabbed my left foot and pulled my head towards my knee. I shook out my legs, broke off a piece of Cliff bar and chewed slowly. It was odd, but I hadn’t been hungry on trail. I scheduled myself to eat something every hour and made sure I drank 1 L of fluid every 2-3 hours, totaling 6-7 L a day.
A hermit thrush sounded on the summit of Marshall and I leaned back against a tree to enjoy its company. With the first summit of the day under my legs, I looked forward to having camp time at the lean-to. At this point, my mind was on auto-pilot: Ascend, descend, and repeat. Beaver #1 lean-to was unoccupied and I emptied my pack and hung every piece of gear to freshen in the breeze coming across the lake. Out of camp, I set up my pocket rocket and pulled a Jamaican jerk chicken and rice mountain meal from my bear canister. Before the hike, I’d read reports of black bear activity in the Lake Colden area. Last night, at the flowed lands, I’d seen bear tracks in the sand and overheard a few campers talk about a bear walking into their camp. With a bit of hesitation and curiosity, I glanced around as the water boiled.
After lunch, I loaded my day pack and returned to the trail. The approach to Cliff and Redfield from Lake Colden runs along the Opalescent river. A two-mile section – it takes you across an extension bridge, up wooden ladders fastened to sheer rock faces, and along steep river gorges where a curious hiker could get in fatal trouble. The afternoon was beautiful and I plugged in my earphones. On the summit of Redfield I looked out at remote Allen country and knew that today I’d crossed over into the heart of the High Peaks. By the time I reached Cliff, it was barely 2pm. I bounced my legs back and forth as I ate the last of my chicken and rice and pondered what I’d do with the rest of the day. Already being miles in the backcountry, these usually strenuous 20 mile day hikes were quite enjoyable (not to mention many miles less).
Back at camp I took off my shoes and waded into Lake Colden. I looked up at the mountains I would climb tomorrow and smiled. Day 3 was done. Andy joined me around 6pm, bringing news and well wishes from the outside world. I was sitting by the lake, finishing my dinner.
“Lots of people are climbing and posting,” he said. “Your mom and sisters say hi! Oh, and your aunt and uncle did Cascade and Porter with Steph and Lauren. And Hanna’s already done five.” Hanna Cromie was a recent PSC alum and one of our Osgood Pond 2015 Semester students. By hiking five mountains, while I was on trail, she raised $500. (While I was attempting the unsupported thru hike, any PSC community member who hiked brought in $100 per high peak). I told Andy about my day and took the last bite of Mac and Cheese. It was comforting to know others were in the mountains and on their own journeys. With a full belly and light heart, sleep came easy that night.
Read Part 1 of Bethany’s article here!
Bethany Garretson, an environmental studies Instructor at Paul Smith’s College, got her first taste of the Adirondacks on fishing trips with her grandparents. Outside of the classroom, she spends her time hiking, traveling, practicing primitive skills and writing. Bethany has completed the Northville-Placid Trail, three rounds of the Adirondack 46 High Peaks, and is an Ultra Saranac Lake 6er. She’s passionate about community change models and advocating for environmental and social issues. Most recently, she completed a human energy project called Climb It 4 Climate, during which she hiked all 46 High Peaks in 2 weeks to raise funds for PSC and awareness towards our changing world. She strongly believes in the power of the mountains to heal and teach one to be resilient.