Musings of a sleepy soon-to-be "Adirondacks Kid"

I’ll be waking up in less than seven hours to head to the Adirondacks. I should really be asleep—however, my room is surrounded by a cluster of Friday night parties and since Milbank is currently bumping with tunes, I figure that in lieu of sleep I’ll just write a quick blog post.

This will be my first real foray into the Adirondack park. I’ve had some contact with the park: I was in Adventure Writing my freshman year with Maurice Isserman, and I went on a small hike, followed by a short kayaking stint. Still—the class didn’t really focus on the Adirondacks, but rather on other wildernesses like the Himalayas and adventures like those of Lewis and Clark. Even now, I feel a huge disconnect from the Adirondacks.

I’ve spent my entire life in Seattle, where I’ve grown up hiking those mountains and adventuring on the Olympic Peninsula. I have this great fondness for seeking out remote places, climbing up and over rocks, seeing the world from an elevated and entirely new vantage—everything’s better in the woods. The food tastes better, the air smells crisper, the water more refreshing. I have a profound connection with nature, but not this nature.

I think this "disconnect" started when I was a freshman at Hamilton. I didn’t do pre-orientation, because I had a homestay sister—Anastasia—staying with me for the summer. I thought it would be unfair if I abandoned her to hike for a week through the Adirondacks. When I arrived on campus, I was surrounded by people who described their “Adirondack Adventure” as the best experience of their lives. That week in the woods was all my roommates could talk about. And there I was—I was suddenly the kid who didn’t hike, or kayak, or climb—the kid who didn’t have this connection to wilderness.

I guess that from there I somehow fell into the rut of not being an “Adirondacks kid.” There were the people who did Outing Club, the people who applied to be AA leaders, and then there was me. I felt like I didn’t fit into that crowd because I didn’t get inoculated when everyone else did and it was too late to start. I began to make excuses for why I wasn’t getting outside (and by outside I don’t mean walking from Milbank to the Science Center). I told myself that I had too much work—thoughts like: “I can’t go on 46 peaks if I have a soccer game the same weekend,” or “I can’t spend an entire day kayaking if I have a paper due” or “I can’t join this club if I don’t know anything about the Adirondacks.”  

Long story short, there’s been a lot of “I can’ts” when it comes to this place—at least for me. And yet, I think there is something out there for me. I belong in the wilderness, maybe not all the time Bill McKibben-style, but certainly enough to get my bearings. I never got my bearings before I began my college career, and I am positive that this has impacted me a lot. I began my freshman year off-kilter, and had a hard time adjusting. I have always felt like I was missing a key component of the college transition process and perhaps that was it.

I’m excited for this trip because it gives me a more thorough look at what I’ve only had glimpses of. It is my hope that interacting with this land, its wildlife, and its people will help me to connect more with these woods, and this place in general.

P.S. – Some quick thoughts on the reading:

It seems that the controversy with Phil Brown and the Mud Pond waterway is a classic example of Adirondack “foot in the door” politics. If Brown wins, he sets the precedent that (potentially) all waterways could be made public (under the criteria of “navigability”) and therefore fair game to paddlers like Brown. However, according to the opposition (attorney Dennis Phillips), so-called navigability extends far beyond the question of whether a kayak can fit through the channel: in order to be made public, the waterway needs to be suitable for commerce. (Side note: Phil Brown vs. Dennis Phillips – that is a lot of Phils in one courtroom!). Anyway, this case seems very representative of the land rights disputes that have troubled the Adirondacks since day one. 

P.P.S.

Here's a fun video from outside my roommate's house! Elk might be a rare sight in the 'Dacks but at least they feel comfortable strutting the streets of Colorado. Also if you turn your volume up and listen close you can hear the sound it makes....

46 Peaks!

This year is my first year as an officer for the Outing Club on campus, and so far I have basically spent a lot of my time not sure of where my place is or how I can help with different projects. 46 Peaks Weekend is one of the biggest and most complex weekends of the entire year and I saw it as a great opportunity to really become more involved in the planning of large events for HOC! With the hard work of all the Officers, HOC leaders, and awesome participants we completed a successful 46 Peaks weekend for the first time in 19 years of attempts! Looking back this weekend is one that has its rightful place in HOCistory as the first weekend during which a Hamilton student stood on top of every single high peak in the Adirondacks, it really helps me to appreciate the importance of the wilderness.

I led my first 46 Peaks trip this year, a 15 mile day hike up Mount Colden, in and out of Adirondack Loj, and I have never been more excited to share the Adirondacks with a group of new students! For two of my participants it was the first time they had ever summited a mountain before, and the feeling of pure joy and accomplishment was something that I was so happy I got to share with them. The role of the Outing Club on campus has become more and more clear to me as I spend more time working in it, it is for those moments when a Hamilton student accomplishes something they never thought was possible, or experiences the wilderness for the first time. That is one of the most special things about the Adirondacks for me, that they are accessible for people of all ages and experience levels, so close to many homes and very manageable for day hikes or week long trips!

On Sunday after my day hike was over, I stayed in the Adirondacks, more specifically in Lake Placid with the other Officers to help support the final 46 Peaks trips. Since, I had only ever been up in the Adirondacks to hike I had never really gotten to experience the really special part of the Adirondacks that is the towns and people who live there. Wandering around Lake Placid, sitting on the beach, and eating lots of good food I loved this alternate view of the Adirondacks.

Why do I climb mountains?

This past weekend I willed myself to traverse one of the most unrelenting mountain ranges in the country, the Great Range of the Adirondacks. 25 miles, nearly 18,000 feet of elevation gain (and loss), and rated the 3rd hardest day hike in America by Backpacker Magazine, behind Mt. Hood and the Pemi loop in New Hampshire: the only hike I've ever been more flogged by. Fortunately I did neither trip in just a day for that would be masochistic, although the idea has some appeal to me.

Graced with the best weather in the Hamilton Outing Club's 46 peaks weekend in history, Anne McGarvey and I set across this range in search of 8 summits, spending our first night under the stars at Marcy Dam, where I ran into a co-worker and good friend from my summer job in New Hampshire. She was out for the night with her friend since they were "orphaned" on parents weekend at St. Lawrence. The next day they ran into the Hamilton Group ascending Mt. Colden as we battled the masses ascending Marcy. It most certainly is a small world.

The Summit of Marcy was a zoo. We didn't spend much time there; we enjoyed the view, got a picture with our banner, and continued on to Haystack. Ironically, no clouds were split by Tahawus on that day. There is where the trail started showing its true colors. We quickly dropped down about 1000 feet in just over a mile before going nearly all the way back up. This was repeated between the next two summits, Basin and Saddleback. The blazing sun, 30 pound packs, lack of water, and merciless slopes took their toll on us up and down. Sometimes we could get to a section of trail and wonder whose idea this was. There were dozens of sections where we literally climbed - not hiked - to continue on. We sustained falls, scrapes, and the raw soreness induced by the flogging of the slopes. As I write this even my hands feel sore. From Saddleback, we looked back and saw where we had come from:

We spent the first night camped on the Ore Bed trail between Saddleback and Gothics and cooked dinner with the seemingly vertical slope of Gothics staring us down. The daunting task, aided by fixed cables, was accomplished by headlamp the next morning by 6am. As we ascended, we saw lamps at the summits of Mts. Marcy, Algonquin, Giant, and Dix. The were all thinking the same thing we were: this day will be a glorious day.

We watched the sunrise from the summit of Gothics. While I am not religious, the following poem by e.e. cummings sums up my feelings:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e. cummings
1894-1962

The silence preceding the sunrise was deafening, yet liberating. The early wakeup and painful ascent of the steepest slope I have ever climbed without rope was suddenly nothing. As the sun crested the horizon, the air moved around us as if the mountains were acknowledging the new day. All my aches and pains were wiped away at that very moment. The crisp air cleared my thoughts as the golden light flooded the valley and the yellow, red, and orange leaves rustled in the breeze.

The rest of the day was similar to the last: up and down and merciless. However, we still enjoyed each moment to its fullest, feeling how lucky we were to traverse this Great Range, regardless of how painful it may have been to feel. We completed our summits, but took away a much more rewarding experience. Before I embarked, I could not have told you what compelled me to confront such a daunting task or how it became part of me and changed me, but now I can tell you why I enjoyed it even though it was one of the most physically and mentally challenging tasks I have completed. 

Cummings thanks God for this most amazing day because that day stimulated his senses to their fullest extent. Whatever stimulation that might be, it reminded Cummings that he was alive and experiencing the world in a wonderful and enlightening way. I still cannot tell you how this trip changed me or made me a "better" person. 

I will continue to climb mountains because the swim is chillingly refreshing

I will continue to climb mountains because I revel in the painful ascent - and descent

I will continue to climb mountains because the mountain is never easy to conquer

I will continue to climb mountains because I live in the moment

I will continue to climb mountains because it makes me feel alive. 

Mt. Colden

This past weekend I summited Mount Colden with a group from the outing club as part of HOC's 46 peaks weekend. This was my first time hiking Colden and my first time back in the High Peaks since last spring so it was interesting to see a region of the Park other than the 90 course. We left before daybreak on Saturday and the first hour of our drive was foggy and dark--I was driving and I was having enough trouble following the road so I didn't take in much of the scenery. However, once I switched to navigating, the sun came out, and it seemed as if the world had turned to autumn overnight. The leaves on the trees were brilliant shades of orange, yellow, and red, which seemed especially vivid in the bright sunshine.

We arrived at what the trail signs called the "Adirondack Loj" by midmorning--there were so many hikers out that day we had to park a mile from the trailhead! I thought it was interesting how we discussed in class today that hiking a mountain is an ideal way to see the process of forest succession without waiting in one spot for a very long time. Looking back on the hike, the trail along the first section of our route was lined with small hardwoods. However, as we ascended, conifers made up more and more of the forest. By the start of the alpine zone at 3500 feet, the landscape was rocky and mostly barren excepts for a few species low-growing conifers.

The view from the summit was spectacular, even though we were certainly not on the highest summit nearby. Mountains surrounded us in every direction but Mount Marcy, the highest peak in New York, stands out in my recollection of the view. This was an ideal time of year to see the continuum of boreal forest throughout the Park because the bright leaves on the deciduous trees contrasted with the green hues of the conifers. It was striking to see the reds and oranges change to green at higher elevations.

Although there were many hikers out that day, we were the final day hikers to reach the summit, so we had the summit mostly to ourselves. This had me a bit worried--we actually hiked the last couple miles in the dark, navigating by iPhone flashlights. From the summit we could see the ski jumps from the 1980 Olympics in Lake Placid. To me this was yet another reminder that although the Park contains a lot of undisturbed land, evidence of human impact is almost always visible.

View from the summit of Mt. Colden.
Note the concentration of hardwoods in valleys and conifers at higher elevations

Succinct Succession

      Recently, my biology class ventured into what is referred to as a mid-successional field in order to gather data on plant biodiversity in different marked "quadrats," or measured square areas. The field is in fact owned by Hamilton, and was purchased from a farmer who had clear-cut the land in order to plant corn only about five years or so ago. In order to reach the mid-successional field, we needed to cross through an area of what is called a primary successional field. After further discussing in detail the significance of succession in the Adirondacks today, I thought it very fitting to share my results of the lab and try to provide some tangibility. Firstly, it was very easy to tell which was primar and which was mid. Stepping out of the van, not one foot from the paved road, began the 6 inch tall plateau of small plants. baneberry, woody sedge grasses, weeds, and grasshoppers covered the football field sized area. After we crossed that patch, we reached the Mid area, where we were instantly at eye level with the subject, a four to six foot tall area (with a perfectly straight edge against the primary area) filled with goldenrod, various berry bushes, milkweed, and....bees! In a one square meter area, the mid successional area, which was likely five years old as opposed to the likely two year old primary succession area, had an average of 8.3 species within it, as opposed to the 6.5 the primary had. That's more than a 20% difference. But an old growth forest has hundreds of species, not 4 or eight! So we can really see how big of an impact clear-cutting has on old growth forests in the Adirondacks. The shear amount of time it takes to return to its original state is certainly a burden on the environment, and all the more reason that this type of information needs to be brought to a more public attention.

Wednesday's Assignment is Not Easy

If you were like me and you thought that finding northern species of trees in the Glen and around campus would be easy, you're wrong. All three glens are dominated by beach, hemlock, and some maple: few other species of trees are easy to spot. The evergreens planted on the dark side are primarily Norway Spruce, which isn't a native species and is widely cultivated for use as Christmas trees. When I thought about it, I couldn't remember ever noticing a birch tree or a long needled white pine. Since oaks (favorite of the squirrels), hickories, and chestnuts aren't really Adirondack trees, it may be much more difficult to find a cool tree than you might think.

However, running around the glens does reveal something else interesting. As Onno mentioned today in class, there are a variety of different forests and maybe even stages of succession in the three glens (Rodgers, Root, and Kirkland). Unfortunately my picture of Rodgers is a little dark since I spent too much time looking at the trees in Kirkland, but it still gets the point across.

On the left is Kirkland and Root is on the right. Root seems much wetter in general, and supports a variety of shrubby plants, including the giant rhubarb-like plants you can see at the bottom right (if someone knows what they're called please tell me!). Kirkland doesn't support nearly the quantity of shrubs, instead many little trees grow everywhere making the woods denser.

Rodgers is a completely different animal: there is an almost complete lack of any lower story growth. All of the trees are big and even though there is a lot of dead wood on the ground, relatively little grows in it. Running through you almost feel exposed since you can see so far between the trees.

Perhaps these differences are indicative of how the land was once used: from the accumulated garbage, including the famous car in Kirkland and bits and pieces of barbed wire along the edges of many trails, we can infer that once the woods might have once been fields. I think it's interesting that such a wide variety of forests exist on one campus.

Also, the obligatory picture from 46 peaks weekend:

View of the bottom of Lake Champlain from Rocky Peak Ridge

Cougars in the Adirondacks

I found today's discussion on the reintroduction of wolves into the Adirondacks really interesting, so I decided to do some more research. Since it seems that most people have given up on reintroducing wolves, though, I instead focused on an article about cougars. Rather than asking whether mountain lions have already returned to the Adirondacks, "Biologist: Cougars should return to eastern United States" examines how cougars might affect the ecosystem of the northeastern forest.

Some cougar advocates argue that reintroducing cougars would help to secure the sustainability of the forest. The article argues that "Without significant predators, prey species can have the same effect on a landscape as cows ... The overabundance of white tailed deer can threaten the sustainability of eastern forests." Furthermore, biologist Laundre believes that the Adirondack's deer population could support between 200-400 cougars.

The article also addresses the generally negative public attitude towards cougars. It states that, though cougar attacks often generate a lot of media coverage, there were actually only 10 cougar related deaths between 1991 and 2003.

The Power of Mountains

Breakneck Mountain
Cold Spring, NY

Our discussion on Friday about the role of mountains is one that is tangible to understand for many of us. This past summer I was hiking Breakneck Mountain, a mountain overlooking the Hudson River by West Point in my hometown area. The entire way up was basically a vertical wall of rocks. Just when you think you can see the top of mountain, another wall of rocks rise above you. Once I finally reached the top, I witnessed miles up and down the Hudson River, one of the most beautiful sites I’ve ever seen.

It is understandable that the Adirondacks is a popular destination for mountain hiking. The feeling I got after conquering that mountain is not easily attainable. It is tiring, strenuous, and compelling all at the same time. It is addicting. One of the most beautiful parts of being at the top of a mountain is being able to appreciate your settings. My area is very mountainous, much like the Adirondacks. When driving or walking through the Adirondacks, it I hard to fully appreciate the immense forests and lakes that surround you. Not until you get above the tree line can you actually visualize the lakes and forests working together in the landscape. It is a similar feeling as looking out the window when flying in a plane. Seeing life going on underneath your feet is humbling. It gives you an outside perspective, almost as if you are just part of the mountain, looking down on the complicated, daily lives of everyone else. Mountains allow us to take a step back and look at everything humans have created and then compare this directly to everything humans will never be able to recreate. As the more technologically advanced we get, it is now more important than ever to succumb to the landscape and acknowledge its superiority.

Autumn Leaves: Identifying Trees in the Fall

Today in class we talked about identifying climax forests by their composition of trees and other plant species. When the leaves change in the fall (i.e. exactly what is happening now), it offers an unique opportunity to identify trees based on the color of their leaves. This means that we could look at a mountain- or hill-side and be able to know a little bit about what type of forest it is.

First, the basics. As Carl E. Palm explains on SUNY Environmental Science and Forestry's website, leaves change colors as a result of chemical processes that take place in the tree as the seasons change from summer to winter. During the summer, chlorophyll (this is the chemical that is responsible for photosynthesis) gives leaves their green color.  Leaves have yellow and orange pigments along with the green of chlorophyll, but for most of the year these colors are masked by chlorophyll and green coloring. In fall, days get shorter and the temperature drops, so photosynthesis stops. The chlorophyll breaks down, the green color fates, and the other pigments become visible. Simultaneously, other chemical changes may occur, which form additional colors. Temperature, light, and water supply can affect the degree and duration of fall colors. Low temperatures can make reds more brilliant, but an early frost mutes these colors.


A website called Forestry Education lists which types of trees typically turn which colors:

Red: Red Oaks, Maples, Sweetgum, Dogwood
Yellow/Orange: Hickory, Ash, Maples, Yellow Poplar, White Oaks, Beech, Birch, Sycamore

ALSO,
Evergreen (don't change colors/loose leaves): Pines, Spruce, Firs, Hemlock, Cedars


Knowing what colors tree species turn can help identify trees (next weekend in the Adirondacks!), which can help us determine the age of a forest.

Change in an ancient place

Although I didn't hike one of the 46 peaks, I spent this weekend on the Stillwater Reservoir in the western Adirondacks. The fascinating thing about Stillwater is that, as a reservoir, it drains significantly over the course of the year. Although I've always known this, and have seen the effects, this is the first year that I've actually visited the lake multiple times over the course of the summer and actually witnessed the change for myself. The dam at the bottom of what used to be the Beaver River, now Stillwater Reservoir, provides flood control for the Black River valley as well as power through a hydro electric facility. After seeing the incredible difference in exposed landmass this weekend, and discussing the concept of succession in class today, I'm incredibly curious at the implications this constant flux of extremely high and extremely low water levels has on the growth of plants in the area. The plant life on islands within the lake (of which there are very many) is mostly made up of conifers, while the surrounding mainland appear to be mainly hardwoods with some conifers mixed in. This leads me to believe that while presumably many types of trees were seeded on the islands, for some reason the conifers took hold better than the deciduous trees, but I would love to know why. The first picture is from my trip this weekend, the second is from my trip in mid-July. The water had dropped over six feet vertically between trips.

Infertile to Protected

We have talked a good amount about why farming failed in the Adirondacks. The reasons for this agricultural failure are manifold, including thin soil, early frost, not optimal size of soil, high variability of soils, the acidic soil and so on. If all of these factors add up to land that the colonists deemed inhospitable and downright bad, it begs the question what is good land? I think the answer to this question changes with time and social constructions of what is good, but in the days of the European settlers of Northeastern America good land was agriculturally productive land. This seems to be true for most western, capitalist societies but there are and were philosophies that value other lands such as sacred lands of Native American tribes or extremely manicured and balanced gardens in many Asian cultures. In these examples both the sacred land and the garden, as well as agriculturally productive land, require human protection and maintenance to some degree. I find it very interesting and impressive that the Adirondacks, which had been deemed infertile and impassable for so long, rose to a similar level of human appreciation as farm land and sacred land to receive man's protection and maintenance.    

A Little History of 46 Peaks

Yesterday, for the very first time, Hamilton completed its goal of summiting all of the 46 peaks over 4000 feet in one weekend. According to Andrew Jillings, the Hamilton Outing Club has been attempting this goal every year since 1995 but we have never quite made it. Things happen: leaders drop at the last minute, bad weather prohibits groups from making the top, students get sick and need to go back to campus, etc. To have 21 or 22 trips happen without a hitch is remarkable and very improbable... but this year it finally happened, thanks to unusually perfect weather and an extremely committed group of students (see Steph's post below).

The tradition of the "46 Peaks" began with Robert and George Marshall and Herbert Clark, who climbed the 46 high peaks between 1918 and 1925. The three of them believed that the peaks they chose were the only 46 peaks in the Adirondacks over 4,000 feet tall. By 1948, the peaks had become established enough that the people who climbed them all formed the "Adirondack Forty-Sixers" club, who petitioned to have all of the peaks nationally named and recognized. Only after the club was formed based on those 46 mountains did scientists realize that four of the peaks--Blake, Cliff, Nye, and Couchsachraga--were actually shorter than 4,000 feet, and that there is another peak called MacNoughton that is 4,000 feet tall but is not recognized as a part of the 46. Regardless, the 46 peaks that Clark and the Marshall brothers climbed are still the official peaks that thousands of people (and a few colleges) have set their sights on.

Robert Marshall and Herb Clark

http://adirondackdailyenterprise.com/

The fact that the 46 peaks have not changed to reflect new knowledge shows that ascending all of the mountains is about tradition more than about actually getting to that elevation. Today, there are over 8,000 people in the official 46ers Club and countless more who have completed them all but choose not to be a club member. Colleges like Hamilton and St. Lawrence choose to attempt these peaks because they are an Adirondack tradition, not because of the elevation gain. Congratulations to all of the Hamilton students that played a part in our success this year!

 

Photo credit to Rachel Lannino

Source: http://adk46er.org/

APA Exploration: Maps on Maps!

As I was exploring the APA's website, I noticed a tab on the left that said "maps/GIS." What I stumbled upon was a great plethora of maps of the Adirondack Park, tracing everything from wireless availability in the park to places that are within a days drive of the park. I loved browsing through all them. Maps are great because they can give you the same amount of information as a paragraph or two, but in such a succinct and visual way! After taking a quick look at the wireline and wireless maps (just for fun), I clicked on the this map showing the 2010 Census Population of Towns within the park. What jumped out at me right off the bat was the fact that the couple most populated towns seemed to be roughly in the middle of the park, instead of on the outskirts. I figured the more populated towns were to more likely be on the outer edges of the park where they would be more accessible to potential homeowners. I also thought it was interesting that the most populated towns were not nearly the biggest towns in terms of square meterage. Some of the towns to the south of the most populated towns, such as Long Lake and Webb, were larger in terms of their land space, but smaller in terms of population.

Another map that I found interesting was the forest preserve map. This map shows not only the increased amount of forest land that has been preserved, but also shows the increased boundary of the park in 1890 vs 2002. I had never really thought about how much the actual boundary of the park has grown in these past 100 years. It would be interesting to overlay this map on top of the census population of towns map to see how development and establishment of towns effects the forest preserved lands.

Maps from: http://apa.ny.gov/gis/index.html

46 Peaks Weekend

It is inevitable that the Adirondacks as a human creation are dependent on the land. Following the trail out of the Adirondack Loj last Saturday, the effect of the land shows in the trees, in the views, and in the inhabitants. Beginning in the valley, the hardwoods dominated the evergreen spruce and pine, especially along the fertile streams and rives cutting through the highlands. Ground vegetation is largely leafy and colorful in the autumn chill, populated by a large variety of mammals and a great number of humans. The Adirondack Loj road was lined with cars this weekends, extending miles back towards Route 73; the Loj itself overflowing with backpackers, both heading out for the day and returning from a multiday expedition. The situation began to change approaching Marcy Dam. The casual day hiker embraced the foliage and turned back to the comfort of Lake Placid and Keene, while a fair number set camp for the night. And a smaller, but still significant population continued down to the fork, where I followed up towards Lake Arnold and Mt. Colden, high above the valley floor. There, the trees changed to become spruce and pine and high elevation moss, accommodating harsher and harsher soils. By 3,500ft elevation marker, the forest was noticeably spruce and pine, shorter than their low elevation relatives. And by the summit, the limited development was just as clear as the tree differentiation, with Lake Placid standing as the only sizeable settlement within sight. The McIntyre Range dominated the far away settlement, and its clear from the summits of High Peaks that human development, even in the modern era are still out of reach: the slopes too extreme, the peaks to tall and evidently less fertile than the river lowlands.