Whiteface Hike, 2009

"You're traveling through another dimension -- a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination (and various trail landmarks). That's a signpost up ahead: your next stop: the Tourist Zone!"

The pictures:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/7231131@N04/sets/72157621930041145/

OK, so I have to first come clean. If it wasn't for all the touristy stuff at the summit of Whiteface, I would have never found the love I have for the Adirondack High Peaks in the first place. I do have to say that even as a kid I did climb the two tenths of a mile to the summit from the parking area. It wasn't just the view that enthralled me, but rather the hikers that appeared out of no where from one of the summit trails. I was most impressed with their achievement, and I'm sure they enjoyed every bit of the awe I expressed to them. One day, I would hope that such a favor would be returned.

When Deb and I first climbed Whiteface and Esther, it was on a very overcast day with the summits blanketed in clouds. Because of the weather, they weren't allowing tourists up the Whiteface Memorial Highway. Despite the "above the clouds" view we got at the summit, we had shared it with only two weather scientists stationed at the research center. When we returned with Nick and Angela a couple of years later, life came full circle. We approached the summit to cheers, congratulations, and - as I expressed over two decades before - looks of awe from those who had driven to the top. And now here I am, another decade beyond that climb, with high hopes for this new group of climbers to have the same life affirming experience. Well......

It was an early start for all of us. But, unlike the Algonquin hike, I was the only one who got adequate sleep. The drive was ripe with anticipation and the breakfast at Howard Johnson's quick. We started on the trail by 8:30am, and walked promptly into the annoyingly steep mile long hike up Marble Mountain. After a stop for pictures and bug spray we pressed on. The trail continued it's steep ascent along the ridge of Lookout Mountain and it seemed like forever before we came up to the Esther trail junction. Only a couple of miles to go. Paul and I caught up with Matt, Frank, and Erin at a newly cleared ski run. It didn't seem like much longer and we were at the base of the highway retaining wall. I knew it would prove irresistible to Frank and Matt. I figured they would try to climb it. And, true to form, Frank got kinda.....stuck. Yes, it was pretty funny.

The final ridge walk to the summit was spectacular, despite the man-made reminders everywhere. The mountain falls away down into the valley with Little Whiteface and the ski center dramatically. It actually plays with your eyes, and pictures do not do it justice. Paul and I heard cheers from the tourists as our younger hikers rounded the corner past the summit buildings a few hundred yards ahead of us. As we approached, we were met by a couple from Florida with whom we had a very pleasant conversation with. But then, we dropped our packs in the middle of the zoo. Holy cow. Easily, over 100 people on the summit, all clambering to get their picture taken next to the quaintly, mountain-shaped summit marker. College girls doing yoga. A party for a 46er who just finished his 23rd round of the 46. Babies crying. A kid on crutches. All of this wouldn't been too bad, except that certain members of our group actually suffered dirty looks over a little mud and sweat while in the gift shop line from clean, pressed, and arrogant motorists. It takes all kinds...

After about an hour of the chaos and a couple of cold drinks we started back. Esther proved to be better than I remembered. The big bog in the col between Lookout mountain and Esther now has some narrow log bridges to help negotiate it. The hike down was exhaustively long. Marble mountain proved just plain painful. As we disrobed our gear, I was relieved to find my toes still intact. I have to agree with Matt, that - all in all - this trail was really pleasant hiking. Even the mud was better than what we dealt with on Algonquin.

The burgers were tasty at R.F. McDougall's on the way home. Considering everyone except for me got only 3-4 hours of sleep before this 11 mile hike that included 4 mountains, 2 above 4000 feet. Way to go, guys.

Algonquin Hike, 2009

I came. I saw. The mountain kicked my ass.

Lately, it's been a challenge to post a large amount of pictures with my posts. So, to see the pictures from the hike, feel free to link to my Flickr photo set of the hike:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/7231131@N04/sets/72157621932444248/

So, into the fray I go….

My Adirondack 46er quest began long ago. A product of a childhood love and fascination with the Adirondack high peaks, I was nudged into the journey by a patient of mine from about 20 years ago. Over the last two decades I’ve stood atop 10 of the 46 original “high peaks” – most of them more than once. Since I ruptured a disc 4 years ago, I’ve been out of commission when it came to high peak hikes. This was mostly due to my own fears. Sometimes when life gives you a really good kick in the ass, it’s easy to let the fragility engulf you.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the 46ers, I’ll bring you up to speed. On one of the original Adirondack geological surveys, there were 46 of the mountains that were over 4000 feet in elevation. Since those who climb mountains often have to find obscure reasons to explain why they desire to do so, the idea of a challenge to climb all the peaks above 4000 feet sounded good enough. Ironically, the survey was redone in the 70’s and found that 4 of the peaks were actually under 4000 feet, and one mountain that was previously believed to be under the 4000 foot benchmark – MacNaughton - was exactly 4000 feet. The original 46 list held despite the new information. Naturally, no self respecting 46er would accept such honors without also climbing MacNaughton….despite the “rules”.

Back to the quest. Sometime in the beginning of this year I was able to shed the apprehensions of past injuries and lose some weight. Time to get back to the task at hand. With my nephew Frank going off to college this fall, I felt some urgency in getting him up Algonquin – a peak that sparked his interest back 5 years ago when we climbed Marcy with his dad and cousin Matt. Paul couldn’t make it for this trip, but Matt was really eager to get back to the Adirondacks. It’s definitely in Matt’s blood – he can’t help it. Unfortunately, this will probably be the only peak I can climb with Frank this year, but Paul and Matt will be along for two other hikes.

The guys stayed overnight at the house so we could get an early start in the morning. Despite the disappearance of the Denny’s in Watertown, we managed a quick and decent drive to the Adirondack Loj and were on the trail by 7:30am. As I expected, I was fine until I had to start going uphill. We made it to the big waterfall in good time, and after a rest break I released Matt and Frank to go on ahead of their gasping and wheezing uncle and go hike Wright peak. Been there, done that anyway. About to the 3 mile mark, I started feeling like I was walking in flip-flops. Crap. I guess even a really nice pair of hiking boots will fall apart after 20 years. I pulled out the duct tape and did my best to put the pieces of my footwear back together. This will prove to be more than just an inconvenience as the day wore on. Eventually, it would slow us down so much that we finished the hike as dusk closed in around us. I met up with the guys at timberline and we continued to Algonquin's summit. Yup. Just as I remembered it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s absolutely beautiful up there but a little crowded on an August day. Still, there’s a surreal, “different country” feel that can’t be explained. 12:30pm. Not bad considering I’m old, fat, out of shape, and losing the soles of my boots.

At this point, I’m not sure that I didn’t go from being a die-hard hiker to just an idiot. I mean, there was Iroquois just over Boundary Peak. It didn’t look far. How hard could it be? Well, when your boots are being held together by duct tape and cord it could prove to be harder than it looked. Yup. That trail sucked. Granted, it wasn’t a maintained trail so I have no one to blame, but man! In most places the trail was only about a foot wide through thick scrub that did a number on your arms and legs. When it did open up, it was usually because no plants could survive in that depth of mud. We got a great look at the trap dyke on Mt. Colden from Iroquois peak and headed back after a little break. I got so tired that I just walked right through the ankle deep mud instead of the rock-branch-mud-slip ballet we usually do.

There was really only one point that I actually got nervous about my safe return. The gravity of the boot debacle became more annoying over worrisome as the comments from fellow hikers rolled in. If I had to hear one more crack about how my boots had seen better days or how lucky I was that I had duct tape (although I would think “smart” was more like it – it wasn’t like someone packed my daypack for me). I think one couple felt my icy lack of amusement when the husband prodded the wife to take a picture of my boots. It was good spirited, but not really what I wanted to hear at that point.

Did I mention that we ended up with a beautiful day and Frank and Matt logged in three new peaks? We had a really good time, sharing a whole lot more with each other than any of us probably expected. I survived better than I expected, although I did take the next two days off from work because the trauma my feet suffered and over all sore muscles. Yup. It’s good to be back in the high peaks again. See you in two weeks.

A VERY muddy muddler

White fly patterns - Could we have a winner ???

You've probably heard of fabled insect hatches across the country. For some eastern rivers it's Hendricksons and Green Drakes. In the mid west it might be Hexagenias. Out west you have Salmonflies and San Juan Worms (ok, just kidding on the worms). But in my little neck of the woods - the West Canada Creek to be exact - we have a little known mayfly called the white fly. Also known as the white miner, the white fly is in the drake family of mayflies. It's cousins are the green drake, brown drake, golden drake, and the hexagenia limbata. Those mayflies tend to be the largest of the stream born mayflies, living in the slower, silty areas of the river. The white fly is the smallest of the group, ranging in the #12 size. Adding to the white fly's mystique is that it's common to have a prolific population in one river and be non existent in another similar river a few miles away.

The white fly hatch is also a little...well....unique. The hatch starts in the later half of August and runs through the first week or so of September. What makes it unique is that it will start down stream initially, and every day work it's way up river. The trick is being on the water in the right spot at the right time to catch the hatch. And I do mean HATCH. I would say that of all the hatches I've experienced, the white fly hatch - when I get it right - is truly a "blanket" hatch. It can be awe inspiring. You're fishing, the sun is going down, and suddenly you notice a bunch of ghostly, grayish white mayflies silently flying up stream. They hatch out of the water and into flight so quickly that you rarely see one actually coming out of the water. It can get so thick that it reminds me of snow being blown in a cross wind in front of your face.

As with any prolific hatch, the curse is that the fish have too much food to feed on. You may make the perfect presentation with the perfect fly and the fish will simply slurp the surrounding flies because they're everywhere. Naturally, we blame the fly and come up with new patterns every summer to do battle with. This year is no exception:

http://www.jprossflyrods.com/staff/the_deanes_list/entry.php?id=578
http://www.jprossflyrods.com/staff/the_deanes_list/entry.php?id=580
http://www.jprossflyrods.com/staff/the_deanes_list/entry.php?id=581

Back to the tying vise. I'll see you on the water...

July 13th: Evening on West Canada

You know you have a good friend when they sacrifice themselves as a reason to go fishing. I mean, I've had some perfect days to go fishing on my own, but the guilt of getting the "to-do" list done holds me back all too often. On the other hand, if my friend wants to go fishing then I'm obliged. It's kind of a law of nature or something.

There's too much nice water on West Canada Creek. I can't stress that enough. Even when the fish don't comply, it's still really fishy water. We decided to try out the "yellow gate" run - a designated parking/fishing spot down the road from the catch and release section on route 28. You can't miss it. An average sized barn really close to the road and a small dirt drive - through a yellow gate, of course - to a quiet parking area and a few small trails to the water. The river is wide here, and deceptively fast. We only had a couple of hours on the water, and the fish weren't really into taking our flies. Near the end of the night, there was a decent light cahill hatch that got some fish rising. Once again, I hooked up on a fish that wasn't a typical resident of this area of the river. I landed an 8 inch brook trout. Go figure. The water was 62 degrees, and the air felt about the same. Oh well, not a great catching day again, but good to get out. The beer was cold and the wings hot at the Hotel Moore on the way home. y the way, they run a Monday night special - a pitcher of beer and 24 wings for $11.95.

June 20th: The Litte River

So, Bob had his eye on The Little River for a while now. It's about a 15-20minute drive from his camp outside of Pticarin, NY. Route 3 crosses over it, and from the road it looked like pretty sweet H2O. We actually fished it at an area where we had to hike in about 1/2 mile to get to the river - granted it felt more like a mile on the way out. Also, I am not allowed to disclose the exact location of the parking spot and the trail to the river. If you want to check it out, I'd be happy to take you up there some time........but then I'd have to kill you, of course. Sorry, not my rules.

This was my first time packing in my gear to a fishing spot. I know you westerners do it all the time, but we easterners are usually spoiled with...roads. Still, it was nice to get off the beaten track. The river is on the small size for a river, more like a large stream in some areas. The promise of native brook trout kept those quirky smiles on our faces as we geared up. Given that this was a typical Adirondack river, the wading was pretty easy. The fishing was slow at first, but then Bob got things going with a couple of hook ups. I had luck on a big, bushy Adams Wulff. All in all, the brookies were small but accomodating. After lunch we were welcomed back to the river by a couple of ravens as we worked our way down stream. The fishing slowed but the relaxation was abundant. At one point I just sat down on a rock in the middle of the river and took it all in. Not a banner day of catching, but add in the Adirondack setting and just plain beautiful water and it was a great day. We packed out in the late afternoon and joined our wives back at the camp for a cocktail. Finishing out the day with Bob and Karen's family proved to be as fun as usual. It's amazing to me how one, day-long outing can feel like a full weekend.

June 6th, 2009: The Black River with Bob's TU buddies

5:30 am. Bob and Karen's house. Good coffee. Nice Landscaping stones. Probably a little too early.

7:00 am. Boonville Burger King. Crap. Still too early. More coffee.

7:30 am. Bob's TU buddies are all on time, and it's on to the Black River. We drove down into Hawkinsville and took Edmonds Road to the closed bridge and impromptu parking/picnic area. It was here that Dave planned to set up lunch in the afternoon. Bob gave a quick rundown of the waters and fly strategy for the day as I sluthed the hatches and bug activity on the bridge. Bob wanted to hike up stream a half a mile and work our way back to the bridge. It sounded like a good idea, but I wish I looked at a topographical map first. I'm sure that the deer and imaginary mountain goats handled the trail fine, but I was petrified. Nothing like a 1 foot wide trail of sand and rotted wood on a 45 degree incline sloping down 50 or 60 feet to the river below. Mom? Thanks for buying me the "studded" Simm's Freestones.

By about the 1/4 mile mark the trail got off of the "cliff" and leveled out into a bog area. Although there were posted signs, there was also a public fishing sign among them. Naturally, we followed the instructions of the public access sign. Let me just say that this river is beautiful. And incredibly fishy.And very fisherman friendly in access, casting clearance, and even stream bed traction. It just made you want to explore all day, because around every bend was even more nice water. The day's statistics: air temps in the upper 60's to low 70's, water temps from 60 to 66, and the water level was low and clear. We found a smooth pool book-ended with some pleasant riffles with fish rising. I hooked up on one but found the fish to be all too picky. We continued down through the pocket water. Bob brought up a small mouth bass and lost a nice fish. I landed a few more small stockies and lost a few flies in the process. Despite the multitude of hatches, the key was skittering a bushy fly through the pockets. There really was too much nice water to cover and it was getting to be lunch time.

Lunch was great. Thanks Dave for cooking and organizing. Thanks everyone for all the food. If only we had some chopped onions to go with the burgers...

We decided to finish out the day at the pool below the bridge. Figuring out what they were feeding on proved to be difficult at first, because there were a few caddis and midge species about, as well as march browns, cornuta olives, light cahills, and quill gordons in various stages throughout the day. Once Bob got a rusty spinner on it was obvious what they were taking. I just want to go on record as saying that although I lost count of how many fish I caught, I really didn't catch that many ;)

As usual, a great day with the guys. The Black River did not disappoint today.

Muddler

May 23rd continued...

OK, so I got too wrapped up with trying to post the pictures and lost track of the actual story. Here's the recap of the day...

Bob had discovered this upper section of the East Branch of Fish Creek on a recon mission disguised as a rock quest for his wife Karen's landscaping projects. Bob is cunning like that, and he has a super-human ability of looking on a map and being able to visualize how nice a body of water looks. Too bad his telepathic powers don't allow him to get into the minds of the trout. It would've helped that morning. The East Branch of Fish Creek is beautiful, but the brook trout didn't get the memo that they were supposed to feed ravenously on what ever I threw at them. I'm sure it was a problem with the DEC home offices, because the brook trout on the upper West Canada Creek didn't get the memo either. I mean, they're brook trout for God's sake. They don't get as big and aren"t as hardy as other trout species (I know - they're actually a char and not a trout, but for argument sake stay with me). The only thing going for them is their vibrant colors and the penchant for eating any fly thrown in front of them. Stupid fish, jeesh....

So, Bob hooked up on a brookie and I had two hits but no takers. Time for an early lunch and then on to the upper West Canada Creek. Wow. Beautiful water...again. Stupid brook trout...again. Bob brought up 4 more. I couldn't even get a hit on a wooly bugger. Hmmm. Maybe I'm underestimating Bob's telepathic powers. Fortunately, the black flies were everywhere, making the experience even more enjoying. If it wasn't such a beautiful place and my favorite river, I might have gotten a little discouraged. OK...well.....how about the lower West Canada.....

We decided to try a few spots on the lower West Canada that had been mentioned in Paul Keesler's book. First spot? McDiermid's run. We followed the map in the book to the access trail. Wait.......no trail? Posted? Crap. OK.... well.......how about Powers Bend? Ah-ha! No black flies! smart stockies that hit most flies and strike indicators for good measure! Woot!! Both Bob and I scored doubles - meaning a fish on the indicator fly and one on the dropper fly at the same time. We both lost count of how many smart stocked browns we caught. Bob even got into a nice 16 incher.

We took a break to rest our backs, grab a bite to eat, and call the wives. Had a nice conversation with a guy vacationing in the area, and lost the pool to some spin fishermen that descended on the spot like raccoons to road kill. Oh well. We decided to finish out the day at the run below the Trenton Falls bridge. No other fishermen there - go figure. A Saturday night on Memorial Day weekend and we had it all to ourselves. We both got into some decent fish, including a 16 inch rainbow trout that slammed a golden stone nymph I was swinging through the run.

All in all, a great day. A little slow at first, but the good old West Canada Creek saved the day. Too bad about Fish Creek, but something tells me we'll be back. It looks too good to only fish once....

Tight Lines,

Muddler