Caressing Nippletop and Turning Dial 12/22/10

[DSettahr]

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Route Taken: Up the Gill Brook Trail to Elk Pass, up Nippletop, return over Dial and Bear Den Mountains

Snow Depth: Varied from about an inch in St. Huberts, to about 8 to 12 inches in Elk Pass, to about a foot and a half on the summit of Nippletop

Trail Condition: Broken out the entire way and easy to follow, some drifts were starting to obscure the trail on top of Nippletop, and it was obvious that only one person had recently traversed the trail between Dial and Nippletop

Traction Devices Used: I put on Snowshoes after passing the junction where the trail to Elk Pass split off from the trail up Mt Colvin, and used them all the way until about halfway down the descent off the shoulder of Noonmark

Due to prior obligations, I'd been unable to hike on the first day of winter. Instead, I set my sites on the 22nd, the day after the solstice, for my first peaks of the coldest season of the year. I'd decided this winter to work on my winter 46 in a more or less east to west fashion, with a few exceptions. Having also made the decision to finish my winter 46 with a traverse of the Dix Range, I found myself planning an ascent of Nippletop and Dial Mountain.

I'd previously hiked these two mountains back in September of 2006, and had done so by traveling the loop clockwise, beginning with Bear Den and ending by coming back through Elk Pass and descending over Indian Head to Lower Ausable Lake. I decided to traverse to loop in the opposite direction this time, partially for the variety of a different direction, and because I remembered the terrain between Nippletop and Elk Pass to be quite steep, and would rather ascend than descend this section in the winter.

And so the early hours found me making my way past the golf course in St. Huberts in the faint morning light. I could see Hedgehog and Snow Mountains across the greens, and behind me, the lower slopes of Giant Mountain rose up and disappeared into the clouds. In contrast to the summer months, when the Ausable Club is a center of activity and motion, the buildings were silent this morning, with darkened windows eerily staring across the snow swept lawn as I passed by. I signed the register at the gatehouse, waved to the gatekeeper, who was reading the newspaper inside the front room, and started up the road.

In past, I have myself categorized Lake Road in the Adirondack Mountain Reserve to be one those “Great Adirondack Death Marches.” I often viewed it as an open road that served solely as an obstacle to be overcome before getting to one's intended destination (or returning to one's car!). Perhaps it was the fact that I've not been up Lake Road since New Years Day of last year (when I climbed Sawteeth), or perhaps it was the fact that I did not have the shuttle bus of Ausable Club members constantly roaring past while I trudged up the road on foot, but the road on this hike did not take on that characteristic. Instead, I find myself quickly making good time through a pleasant forest that was silent as the gray skies slowly increased in brightness. The road itself was covered in less than an inch of snow, and I proceeded in the wake of a myriad of footsteps from hikers on previous days just fine without the aid of snowshoes or traction devices.

I soon reached the turn off for the Gill Brook Trail, and left Lake Road behind. The going along Gill Brook was easy, and the snow covering was still quite thin, and I continued on with just boots. Gill Brook itself was mostly frozen over, but here and there I could see running water through open spots in the ice. Before long, I reached the junction with the cross-over trail from Lake Road, from which more foot prints arrived to join the uphill path.

From here, the trail started to gain some serious elevation. The going was still quite easy, and while I passed some icy patches, the snow cover was still quite thin and I encountered nothing that I couldn't handle alright with just boots on my feet. As I climbed, I passed the cross-over trail to Indian Head, which showed a solitary set of footprints that were obviously pretty old. Beyond this trail junction, I crossed over from the AMR property onto state land, and soon passed the three designated campsites that lie along this portion of trail. These were all spaced across bit more than a quarter of a mile on the trail, and were all well marked on the trail. The first was across Gill Brook to the east of the trail, and looked like it hadn't been used in some time. Beyond, the second campsite was on the west side of the trail, and I judged that it had recently been occupied, based on the numerous footprints in the snow as well as the impressions from where people in tents had slept. The third site was, like the first, devoid of any signs of disturbance in the snow. What I found interesting about the third site was that in addition to the “Camp Here” disc, it also sported a “No Fires” disc. I was only aware of a fire ban in the Eastern High Peaks, and this campsite was without questions located in the Dix Mountain Wilderness, a different management zone that, to my knowledge, has no fire ban. Is there a fire ban in effect for this area? Perhaps only for these campsites? Perhaps, even, a ban only for this particular campsite, as there was no such disc at either of the other two?

Not too far beyond the third site, I passed the junction with the trail to Fish Hawk Cliffs (there sure are a lot of junctions along this stretch of the trail!). From here, it was only a short distance to the next junction, where the trail into Elk Pass split off from the trail up Mt Colvin... at least according to the map. This short section of trail features a significant amount of uphill climb, and seemed to take much longer that I had reasoned it should. I even pulled out the map to check and make sure I hasn't missed the junction and was inadvertently climbing Mt Colvin instead of Nippletop! As near as I could tell, however, I was on the right path, and my map checking skills were reaffirmed when I found the junction a mere one hundred feet beyond where I pulled out the map, and took the trail on the left towards the east.

From here, the trail offered a little bit of respite from the uphill climb as it angled into Elk Pass. I was now high enough that the snow had deepened to several inches, and I made the decision to pause and put on my snowshoes. It was the first time this season that I'd had reason to wear them! And good thing I put them on, too, as just beyond I encountered several icy patches that would've been hard to negotiate without the aid of the crampons on the bottom of my Denali Evo Ascents. The snow continued to deepen as I climbed up into Elk Pass, and soon I found myself trudging between drifts nearly a foot deep. The trail itself, however, continued to be well broken out by the hikers who'd come before me.

In Elk Pass, I paused for a bit to take pictures. The two beaver flows between which the trail winds it's way were both frozen over and covered with drifts of snow. Above me, I could see plenty of ice clinging to the cliffs on the slopes of Mount Colvin. The terrain on both sides of the passed slopped up steeply to quickly disappear into the clouds, which also blocked any view that I might've had through the pass to the north or the south. On my previous visit to Elk Pass in 2006, I remembered seeing a designated campsite in the vicinity, but I saw no sign of this site today... presumably it and the trail to it were buried in undisturbed snow. The wind here was not strong, but was still carrying along at a good pace, enough for me to have little desire to stand still for very long.

In the pass, I was pleased to see that the beavers had repaired the dam on the upper flow, and I can now relate this story without guilt: On my first and only other visit to Elk Pass, over four years ago, I'd stopped to check out the upper beaver flow and the dam, which was situated right alongside the trail. In doing so, I absentmindedly reached out and plucked a single stick from the dam... the “keystick” I suppose you could call it, as apparently, it had been supporting the entire dam! The mess of sticks and branches collapsed around me as a torrent of water (Picture Here) rushed out and made its way down the trail... there was no stopping it, and as the water continued to flow, it ate away more and more at the dam until the entire pond was draining! I quickly hurried on down the trail, and was simultaneously delighted and horrified to hear shrieks of surprise behind me as others were suddenly confronted with the flow! If any of you out there are reading this, sorry!

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Continued...

 

[DSettahr]

Beyond Elk Pass, the trail continues quite steeply up the western slopes of Nippletop. I encountered a few more icy patches, but for the most part, the trail was covered in snow. The snow itself continued to get deeper and deeper as I gained elevation, but the going was easy as the trail remained broken out the entire way. As I climbed, I found myself taking breaks to gain some respite from the relentless uphill. I also noticed that the trees were starting to gain a covering of rime ice as I approached the higher elevations. This incredibly steep section of the trail would turn out to be the toughest part of my day! At one point, higher up, the trail started to level off and I thought I might be nearing the summit... As soon as I thought this, however, yet another steep section appeared out of the fog and mist. “Of course!” I thought to myself. “I've crested to the top of the breast, but still need to climb the nipple itself!”

I had said it jokingly, but this may vary well have been the case (it was hard to tell for sure in the clouds) as I soon found myself making my way towards a trail junction and a sign that was completely covered in rime ice. I brushed off the ice, and discovered that I was at the junction with the side trail that leads roughly a quarter of a mile to the true summit. Soon, after a little bit of downhill and some more uphill, which was quite insignificant compared to what I'd already climbed, I was standing at the summit.

In contrast to Elk Pass, the air on the summit, while not still, was moving long at a reduced clip. Presumably, Elk Pass causes air currents to funnel together, and speed up as a result of trying to force more air through less space. Being well in the clouds, however, I found myself faced with absolutely no view. What I could see were the trees and snags within no more than a hundred feet, all covered and camouflaged by a dense layer of snow and rime ice. I snapped a few photos of the forested, icy, and desolate summit, and headed back to the junction.

As I was starting to get quite hungry, and the granola bars which had done an excellent job of keeping me going all morning weren't quite enough sustenance anymore, I elected to have lunch at the junction. I quickly consumed one of my two sandwiches, some chocolate covered pomegranates, and hot chocolate. This was the first winter high peaks I'd climbed carrying a thermos, and, in retrospect, I can't understand how I managed to climb 15 of them previously without one. Being able to have piping hot hot chocolate was just the pick-me-up and energy booster I needed for the afternoon!

Standing still to eat lunch had made my hands quite cold, and so soon I started off down the ridge towards my next destination, Dial Mountain. The going along the ridgeline was quite easy, nothing too terribly steep downhill or up. While the trail up Nippletop had been well trampled by recent footsteps, the trail to the north was, despite being well broken out, devoid of any recent obvious traffic save for a single set of snowshoe prints. Dial Mountain itself turned out to be a barely perceptible blip on the ridge when ascending from it's larger brother (sister might be more appropriate in this case!) to the south. I'd noticed on the map that there wasn't much uphill from this direction (another reason I'd chosen to ascend Nippletop first), but was still not expecting to reach the summit after only one quick, short section of steep uphill.

While being lower than Nippletop, and with a distinct thinner covering of snow and ice (but still nothing to laugh at in itself), I still had no views when I scrambled atop the summit boulder on Dial Mountain. Again, I took what pictures I could, before climbing down and continuing on my way. I'd originally intended to consume the rest of my lunch here, but I was still going strong and felt no need for a second lunch, as hobbits would call it. Accordingly, I quickly continued on my way, carrying on down the ridge.

With the continued loss in elevation, the snow cover endured in it's decline. Before long, I was passing through areas with a coating of snow only several inches thick. I did start to encounter icy patches again, however, and so I kept my snowshoes on for the duration so as to easy my travel across these spots as well as the slippery snow in general.

Just as the trail was starting to turn back uphill to begin the ascent of Bear Den Mountain, I encountered two hikers headed south. Both were wearing stabilicers, and indicated that they were headed to Dial Mountain and no further. It was already getting somewhat late in the afternoon, and with only a few hours of daylight left, I hope they made it out without needing to resort to headlamps to light their way for too long.

As with Dial Mountain, the ascent of Bear Den was much shorter and less demanding that I'd expected. I passed the summit, marked with a trail sign but with no view whatsoever, and continued on. On the northern slopes, just as Noonmark started to come into view through the trees, I encountered some of the worst icy patches I'd seen all day... I was glad to still be wearing my snowshoes, although some patches were bad enough to force me to turn around and descend slowly and carefully while facing backwards for a bit.

Not too long after I first spotted Noonmark, the burned area on its southwest slopes also came into view. This fire, ignited by a careless campfire, was one of the worst in recent Adirondack history, resulting in a crown fire, something that is quite rare in nature and can be quite devastating. The fire, in fact, so bad that those working to suppress it were forced to use dynamite to clear a fire line through the woods. When I'd previously passed through this area in 2006, the burned over area was still quite devoid of large woody vegetation, and the ground cover consisted primarily of bushes and grass. Things have changed significantly in 4 years, however, and the area is now covered dense new growth. These younger trees, primarily species of maple, are crowded quite closely together, and are locked in fierce competition for sunlight. It's quite clear that in a few years, as the growth continues, many of these young trees will die as they lose to fight for radiation to their nearer neighbors... should be interesting to see what things look like again in 4 more years time!

The views from the shoulder of Noonmark, however, are still preserved in that the soil has been completely stripped from the exposed rocky outcrops. According to the map, the trail climbs directly against the gradient to the outcrops. What I encountered, however, was a trail that had been re-routed since the fire, allowing me to ascend to the ridge via some well placed switchbacks. What was the greatest elevation gain of the day since climbing Nippletop turned out to be easier even that Dial or Bear Den had been!

In my memory, the view from the exposed outcrops of the Great Range and Dix Mountain is quite spectacular. What I saw on this trip, however, was a bit different. Both the upper slopes of Dix and the Great Range were hidden in clouds... in fact, I couldn't even pick out the individual mountains of the Great Range, so low was the cloud cover! Still an awe-inspiring view, however, and the best I'd seen of the day seeing as both the summits of Nippletop and Dial had been socked in with clouds.

The decent down off the shoulder of Noonmark went quickly. The trail here alternated between level sections and steep downhills. It's funny how Noonmark can seem like such a formidable mountain when climbed on it's own, yet when descending it after summiting two high peaks, it's status in one's head is relegated to “dinky.” Soon, the snow covered was reduced to less than an inch, and I made the decision to finally remove my snowshoes. Judging from the foot prints in the snow, most others had reached this same conclusion before I did, although I did see one set of snowshoe prints indicated someone who was more of a snowshoe die hard than I. Without the shoes, the trail was somewhat slippery, but nothing that couldn't easily be handled with some careful footing.

Soon, Lake Road itself was in view again, and not too long after rejoining the road, I was back at the gatehouse. As I signed out, a quick glance at the entries in the register revealed that only a few groups had gone in after me, which I found to be kind of surprising. I would've expected that more people would've been eager to take advantage of an early winter peak or two (or three or four!). After signing out, I made my way back down the road. I was back on the road and driving again no later than 3:30 in the afternoon!

All in all, an excellent and tiring (but in a good way) day!

 

[1ADAM12]

Very informative thank you

 

[Tom Rankin]

Very informative thank you

Yeah but for a second I thought I was on the wrong Board!

 

[DSettahr]

Yeah but for a second I thought I was on the wrong Board!

Haha! The idea for the name came to me about midway through the hike...