Postcard from ADK - Cascade and Porter mountains

The morning was crisp, so crisp that my lungs burnt from breathing in the
fresh air too deeply. And the snow was dry and squeaked beneath my hiking
boots, tickling the soles of my feet. But the sun, the sun shone
brilliantly on my face, warming it ever so slightly from the frigid breeze
that greeted all early risers on this glorious day.
And thus I started my first hike of the winter at the base of Cascade
Mountain off of route 73 in New York state.
The trees, of course, are bare, their leaves have already changed to
brilliant reds and yellows a month or more ago and then blown free of their
branches in the brisk autumn winds. They lie now buried beneath the carpet
of snow that beckons to me this morning.
The trail is narrow, winding and steep: my favourite! At times, it is
obvious that the hiking trail is actually a creek, with cascading frozen
waterfalls acting as slippery steps allowing me to climb upwards. Makes me
wonder if this is how the mountain earned its name.
Some of you may not know that hiker, climber and skier aficionados all
affectionately call The Adirondacks, ADK, for short. There are apparently
46 high peaks in the ADKs and its every hiker's goal to summit them all. On
completing the 46th, there must be a celebration of sorts shared at the
peak by all those who have accompanied the champion, champagne or
chocolate-covered strawberries perhaps.
Now this may seem somewhat ridiculous as reaching the very highest and most
difficult ADK peak is akin to a walk in the park compared to The Annapurna
or Everest regions of Nepal or the 46 highest peaks within, say, The Alps.
But as the old saying goes, beggars can't be choosers, so the local
challenge and tradition remain just that and thus an accomplishment worth
celebrating. (I must inform you, for the sake of all ADK enthusiasts, that
some of the peaks require a 15-hour round-trip excursion -- ill-advised for
the beginner!)
Before long the forest of deciduous trees has been replaced completely by
conifers, their branches laden with snow. The trail narrows and ratchets
continually, left here, right there, so that one cannot see the trail at
all beyond a few metres ahead. It is a little magical -- it doesn't take
much to imagine that Bilbo Baggins's front door may be carved into that
immense boulder over there!
After an hour and a half we suddenly emerge from the forest onto a steeply
sloped clearing which provides us with a spectacular view of the valleys
below and the neighbouring mountains as far as the horizon and beyond. The
sky is brilliant in its blue-within-blueness and free of clouds treating us
to unparalleled visibility of 30 or 40 kilometers! I am elated! Really! So
much so, that I did in fact run back down a half-kilometer or more to
encourage the slower hikers in our group to hustle with the promise of the
awaiting vista.
I turned my back on the panorama and continued upwards, back into the now
stunted thicket of trees. Before long, I emerge for there are no more trees
at all. The final 500 metres is bald rock, with windswept, smooth surfaces,
seemingly piled on top of each other by a giant toddler. It is windy, cold
but I am nevertheless in awe of the majesty that surrounds me. Unlike other
summits, the absence of trees provides us with 360 degrees of all natural
beauty. Remarkable that there is no sign of civilisation in any direction
as far as the eye can see! Even stranger, perhaps due to the temperature,
neither a sign of life: not a single bird nor a mouse nor a rabbit. Lots
and lots of rabbit tracks, however, and a leftover carrot or two, but no
sign of the elusive creature.
Here's wishing all your days have their peaks, too!
Barry, the hiker who runs up and the runner who hikes down.
PS. 44 summits to go!
PPS. For the record we all managed to summit next-door Porter Mountain on
the same hike :-)