This one was a bit tougher than I expected. Nonetheless, I was on the trail at 9:30and back at the car at 3:15. I would've gotten there at 9:00 had I not picked up a hitchhiker walking south on route 30 a few miles south of Tupper Lake. He looked tired and a little spooked and told me that he was doing the Cranberry Lake Fifty and got chased by a coyote (!) that morning. He'd been on the go since daybreak and came out on the main highway near the Horseshoe Lake road shortly before I saw him. He was a student at the ranger school in Wanakeena and that's where he wanted to get back to. I guess he had a trail map but no road map. Apart from being a ranger in training, he'd been in the army, and he's also a 46R. Strange story. Whatever. So I gave him a lift back to Tupper and left him on headed west on route 3 over in the west end of town. Back to Puffer; my route was clockwise, past Puffer Pond and up the north side, then down the west ridge. Climbing up from the outlet of the pond was not bad at all; steep but fairly open. After gaining the top of the ridge and heading west toward the summit I had to skirt the base of a long 100' cliff until I found its weakness (there's always one.) This one was a steep, narrow, mossy couloir. After that the going was easy. The viewless top had a small patch of open ground and even a reasonably comfortable trunk to sit on. But only for a moment, because as soon as I stopped I was beset by those nasty little anklebiters that look like small house flies, same as on Fishing Brook. After that, I thought the hard work was done. I expected the descent to be easy. HAH!!! The young evergreens that Spencer thought were so cool are no longer the endearing youngsters of four years ago. They are now in the full flush of a thuggish adolescence, with the decaying prickly carcasses of their elders piled helter skelter and interwoven among their feet. Let me tell you how thick it was; I paused in the thick of the first impenetrable wall of needles, stuck my hiking stick in the duff, and put on my long sleeved shirt, bandanna, goggles, and gloves and then spent several anxious moments searching for my stick. I had not moved a single step, and the stick was within less than arm's reach. Very much like the Sentinels, especially Stewart. When by myself in places like that I go by the precept is that the only rescue to even think about would be a self rescue so I was proceeding at chicken pace, not that I could've gone much faster anyhow. It did eventually get better, and then it got a LOT better. I encountered the unnamed brook that goes due west toward the south end of Kings flow and it is a contender for the title of prettiest brook in the Adirondacks. Truly, a dream to walk in. The streambed, which looks like sandstone, is wide and smooth and gently sloping. I was hesitant to trust it after tripping the light fantastic on the Nippletop slide recently, but quickly discovered that even where it was moist and mossy it was like walking on Velcro. There were still some rough patches but nothing remarkable and presently I came out on the red trail and thirty minutes later back at the car.
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