Floundering about on Gothics, Armstrong, and Lower Wolfjaw 1/10/11

[DSettahr]

Click Here to View Pictures​

Route Taken: From the Garden I took the west side John's Brook Trail to the Interior Outpost, and from there up the Orebed Brook Trail to the col between Gothics and Saddleback, and back over Gothics, Armstrong, and Upper Wolfjaw on the Range Trail, and from there back down to the interior outpost, and back to the Garden on the John's Brook Trail again.

Snow Depth: 2 inches at the garden, maybe a foot at the interior outpost, 2 feet or more at the col between Gothics and Saddleback, drifts of 5 feet in spots on the summit of Gothics, about 2 feet on Armstrong and Upper Wolfjaw

Trail Condition: Very well packed out in to JBL, somewhat packed out up the Orebed Brook Trail, much of the range trail was covered in drifts, up high there were many icy spots hidden by only a few inches of snow, some very treacherous ledges that took me a while to carefully negotiate on the north side of Armstrong

Traction Devices Used: Microspikes in to the Orebed Brook trail, snowshoes from there to the summit of Armstrong, crampons from Armstrong to the wolfjaws lean-to, and microspikes the rest of the way out

My plan for Monday was to do a section of the Great Range. I figured I'd do the Upper Range if the forecast was good, and Lower Range if the forecast promised no views. With a forecast of clouds and scattered snow showers, I decided to attempt the lower range. Rather use the standard winter approach from the Ausable Club, I decided to head up Gothics first from the Orebed Brook Trail, as I'd never seen the cables on this trail and was interested in checking them out.

Early in the morning, I found myself locking up my car and heading in on the west side John's Brook Trail. The parking area had about a half a dozen cars parked in it, and there were fresh tracks going up Big Slide, but none on the John's Brook trail. As there was only an inch of snow or so on top of a well-packed out trail, and as I'd just invested in microspikes, I decided that these were the perfect conditions to try them out.

As I made my way in along the trail, I was treated to a view of the sunrise to the east, and some views of Rooster Comb. The forecast already was shaping up to be wrong, as I caught quite a few glimpses of blue sky, and the patchy clouds were illuminated from beneath by the early morning sun. I made good time in on the trail, soon passing both the Bear Brook and Deer Brook Lean-tos, which were devoid of occupants. Soon I was at the interior register near John's Brook Lodge. Here, the snow about a foot deep, but still the trail had only a few inches of fresh powder on top of the packed out path. The microspikes worked pretty well, although I did have problems with the set on my right foot constantly coming loose.

After signing the interior register, I passed the ranger station and crossed John's Brook to the east side. I have memories of crossing this bridge when I was much younger... in my mind, I remember the gorge beneath the bridge as being impossibly deep, at least 100 feet or more. As I have every time I've crossed this bridge on recent trips, I smiled at this memory as I made my way over the brook, no more than 20 feet below me.

On the far side of the brook, I decided to switch my microspikes for snowshoes. The fresh powder was deeper here, and I was starting to slip and lose my balance enough that the switch seemed worthwhile. At first, the snowshoes were quite cumbersome... since the thaw a few weeks ago, not enough base has built up again yet, and I was able to feel every root and rock in the trail beneath my snowshoes, and sometimes was knocked off balance by an unseen obstacle.

The sky continued to clear as I hiked up the Orebed Brook Trail, and while the temperatures were cold, the rays of the sun felt quite warm. While making my way along the trail, I saw a cabin, wood shed, and lean-to in the woods just across Orebed Brook. I assume it's part of the ADK's John's Brook property, but I didn't think they had any cabins this far upstream. I passed the Orebed Brook Lean-to, also empty like the two lean-tos I'd seen earlier the morning. Soon, I came to the small slide on the shoulder of Gothics. When I last passed by here, nearly 5 years ago, this slide was fresh and quite clear. Now, there's quite a few young trees starting to grow up and reclaim the open scar on the moutainside.

Higher up, the trail got steeper, and the snow deeper. I had been following tracks that were a day or two old since crossing John's Brook, but as I gained elevation, I began to encounter quite a bit of snow that had drifted across the trail, obscuring the old tracks. Before long, there was no denying it- I was breaking trail, for all intents and purposes. I could still see the old tracks in places, but for the most part they'd been obscured by the drifting snow. I never saw any sign of the ladders on this section, as they'd been buried beneath the snow. Additionally, I encountered quite a bit of ice. It was quite obvious that sections of the trail were large ice flows hidden beneath the snow, and I was glad to have use of my friends Evo Ascents.

At the junction with the range trail, I stopped in the clearing at the old lean-to site and snapped a few pictures of the false summit of Gothics, looming above me, and then headed east up the range trail. The old tracks must've gone over (or come from) Saddleback, as I saw absolutely no evidence of any previous hikers in the snow, which continued to deepen, and I found myself breaking trail through knee-deep drifts of snow. My going slowed somewhat, but I was still making good time up the mountain.

All morning, I had been thinking about the cables bolted to the mountainside, and was eager to see what challenges awaited me when I reached them. For everything I've herd about them, they were kind of anticlimactic... The vicinity of the cables was so open and wind-swept that there was hardly any snow and ice to be seen. While the cables certainly aided my ascent, I'm sure that I would've had no difficulties here even without them. I never even felt the need to switch from my snowshoes to my crampons. The first cable was sheathed in plastic, which was a bit hard to grip with my gloves, but all the cables above had a rubber coated which was much easier to hold on to. I did find a solitary boot print that had managed to keep from being obscured by the wind.

While I climbed, I snapped some excellent pictures of the scenery behind me. Saddleback dominated the view, but I could clearly see Haystack and Tabletop to either side of it. As I gained elevation, clouds started to move in, and it was really neat to watch the bank roll in over the top of Tabletop, and then flow down like slow-moving water into the valley beyond. By the time I'd reached the top of the false summit of Gothics, most of the Great Range to the west had been completely enveloped in cloud cover, and the murky fog was quickly headed my way. I did have some excellent views from the false summit of the true summit as well as Pyramid, Sawteeth, Colvin, Blake, Nippletop, Dial, and Dix, Armstrong and Upper Wolfjaw to the north, and some of the lakes to the south.

In the small col between the false summit and the true summit of Gothics, I found myself breaking trail through more knee-deep snow. I could only hope that when I reached the trail junction ahead of me that I would find a well-broken out trail. Unfortunately, this proved not to be the case, and beyond the junction, I pressed forward through deep drifted snow. It soon became obvious that I was walking on several feet of fresh powder on top of a well packed spine of ice, and any step off the trail resulted in my entire body plunging into the snow. The closer I got to the summit, the deeper the snow got. I can't recall ever having broken trail before in chest deep snow, but I can now cross this off my “to-do” list. At times, I was truly floundering, an my struggles to move forward and stay upright were taxing me quite a bit. Some spots were simply a field of deep snow, and I had no idea where the trail was or whether my next step would be into a spruce trap, of which I encountered quite a few. Every step was exhausting, as I planted my foot I had to exert energy to maintain balance, and as I lifted each foot, I had to exert energy to lift all of the snow that had piled on top of my snowshoes. I did find a stride that minimized the amount of snow collecting on my snowshoes, by keeping my knees straight and lifting my feet backwards, most of the snow quickly fell off each shoe as it was lifted up for the next step. Needless to say, I was loving every minute of it, and I think I may have even been humming a tune or whistling to myself as I plodded along.

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Continued...

 

[DSettahr]

By the time I reached the summit of Gothics, the clouds had moved in and completely surround the peak, obscuring any chance at a view. I did take a few photos of the summit before moving on. Even beyond the summit, the snow remained quite deep for some distance, and, incredibly enough, I found myself breaking a sweat while descending the mountain, something else I don't think I've ever done while hiking. Eventually, though, the depth of the snow subsided, and soon I was once again on a well broken out trail with only a few inches of fresh powder on top. After pausing to give thanks to the mountain gods, I continued north on my way towards Armstrong.

In comparison to the climb to the summit of Gothics, the ascent of Armstrong itself was barely noticeable. I did catch a few glimpses of the slides on the east face of Gothics behind me through the clouds and blowing snow from the col between the two peaks. Armstrong itself, thankfully, was lacking in the deep drifts of snow that had been present on it's taller neighbor to the south, but as the clouds were still present I didn't have much for views from this peak either.

Descending the north side of Armstrong is where the real fun began. It's been nearly five years since I first traversed this part of the range, and I had no memory of the north side of Armstrong being so steep. I encountered ledge after ledge, all of which were covered in slick ice hidden beneath a few inches of snow, and some of which required me to examine the precipice from above and carefully plan out my descent.

Immediately after I had just cautiously picked my way down one particularly treacherous drop, I encountered the real show stopper- a 20 foot ledge covered completely in snow and ice, with no visible way down. To either side of the trail, the ledge got taller and steeper; it was obvious that there was going to be no bushwhacking around this one like I'd done with the ledge just below the summit of Colvin a week earlier. And, just as with that obstacle, this one really made me question the wisdom of hiking alone in winter, as I had visions of myself lying crumpled in a broken heap at the base of the ledge, waiting hours, perhaps days, before I was found. There was no turning back here, however, and I had no choice but to find a safe way down.

While breaking for hot chocolate and granola bars, I examined what lay before me. Near the top of the ledge, a single log protruded from the snow... it looked like it might be one of the stringers to a ladder. If there was a ladder, however, it was buried deep beneath the snow (and perhaps the ice), and I saw no other sign of it. There was a bit of a drop even before the spot that the log protruded from, and even just getting to the ladder (if it existed) would be tricky with all the ice beneath the snow. I approached it several times, turning back each time because the footing beneath my snowshoes kept getting too loose for comfort as I approached the steep part of the ledge.

I decided that it was ice ax and crampons time, and quickly switched out my footwear and pulled my ax from my pack. With the ax as a third point of contact on the steep slope, and my crampons biting into the ice much more efficiently than the snowshoes had, I was better equipped to handle the ledge, but was still quite sketched out by the situation I found myself in. I gingerly inched my way out on the ledge until I was above the log, and then dug my ice ax in to get a good grip on the ice. Carefully, I made my way backwards down the ledge to the log, each time I shifted my feet praying that my ax would keep it's grip on the ice, and each time I shifted the ax to a new position, praying that my crampons would maintain their hold. With baby steps, I slowly made my way down to the log, and soon I was able to grab a hold if it. I continued to make my way backwards down the slope, still employing the same method. At one point, I thought my feet had made contact with a rung, only to discover that it was the other stringer, proving beyond a doubt that there was indeed a ladder hidden beneath all this snow. A few feet below the second stringer, my feet finally made contact with the topmost rung! I breathed a sigh of relief and made my way down the ladder. As I did so, I brushed off as much snow as I could so that others might not have to suffer the same uncertainty as I when faced with this obstacle. There was indeed quite a bit of ice on the ledge as well, and in parts the ladder was almost completely enveloped in it, but once I'd found that first rung, climbing down the ladder itself was quite easy.

In all, that single 20 foot section of trail had taken me nearly an hour to traverse. I decided to keep my crampons on for the time being, as the snow cover on the icy trail was quite thin here, and it turned out that there were several more ledges below the ladder that they were useful on. I never saw any other ladders on the north side of Armstrong, but I believe there are several more. They must've all been buried beneath the ice and snow as well.

As I reached the col between Armstrong and Upper Wolfjaw, the dusk began to fall. The climb up Upper Wolfjaw went quickly, and my crampons came in handy yet again on some of the icier spots. I was somewhat bemoaning having darkness arrive so soon, and it was obvious that I'd lost too much time in the deep snow on Gothics and negotiating the ledge on Armstrong, and that I wasn't going to be climbing Lower Wolfjaw before making my way out. As soon as I reached the summit of Upper Wolfjaw, however, any complaints that I might have had about the approaching darkness evaporated when I caught sight of the view. The clouds had all but evaporated, and I'd reached the summit with perfect timing to watch the sun set over Basin Mountain. So bright were the final rays of the sun that the outline of the mountain itself was lost in the glare. To the west, I could see the MacIntyre Range illuminated by the setting sun, whose rays were also visible on Giant and Rocky Peak Ridge to the north and Noonmark to the east. Soon, as the last light faded behind the Great Range, the stars above me started to make their presence known.

In my memory, the descent from Upper Wolfjaw down to the col between to the two wolfjaws was also steep, and it was, but without any of the treacherous, tricky ledges that I'd encountered on Armstrong. Every ledge I came to was no taller than I was, and all were easily negotiated by stepping carefully or sliding down on my butt. Even though the sun had set, I was aided by the longer winter twilight and was able to proceed without a headlamp for some time. I'd been hoping to not need one until I reached the trail through the col, and almost made, but was forced to admit defeat a little ways before the junction.

I probably could have switched back to snowshoes at the junction in the col, but kept my crampons on until I reached the Wolfjaws lean-to. Either traction device was acceptable, as the trail still had quite a bit of ice beneath the snow. It was quite dark by the time I reached the lean-to, and here I decided to stop for lunch and to switch out my crampons for microspikes.

The rest of the hike out went smoothly in the darkness, although I was beginning to feel a bit sore. The microspikes continued to slip off my right foot, and eventually I simply took them off on that side. This gave me a chance to evaluate their performance, with one foot on and foot off, and they certainly do make a difference. When I reached John's Brook again, I saw fresh snowshoe tracks that had come in from the Garden, disappearing into the woods towards one of the designated campsites. These were the only fresh signs of other hikers I'd seen all day, not counting the tracks up the Big Slide trail I'd viewed that morning.

On the way back on the west side John's Brook trail, I saw something odd in the woods... a flickering orange light, some distance away. It looked like the light of a fire, and seemed to be coming from across the valley, on the other side of the brook. At first I thought I might be nearing the garden as was seeing a house light, but I'd not yet passed either lean-to on the trail and was still some distance from the trailhead. I know that there is some private property scattered along John's Brook, but are there any privately owned cabins in the vicinity? Perhaps it was a group camped on state land, having an illegal fire.

I returned to the garden at just after 8 pm, nearly 13 hours after I'd started out. Definitely a log and tiring day. In retrospect, I should have hiked these mountains in the opposite direction, simply to ascend the north side of Armstrong rather than descend it, although coming down the cables on gothics might be a bit tricky in winter. It seems that starting and ending at the Ausable Club is the preferable method for hiking the lower range, unless one wants a challenge. Ice is still an issue in many spots, and crampons are definitely still a necessity on many of the peaks. There is a lot more snow again, especially high up, but in places where only an inch or two of snow obscures the ice, things are even more treacherous as you can't see the ice until you're already standing on top of it. If the winds up high continue, I imagine that it won't be long before my broken trail is obscured, and the trail will need to be re-broken again even without significant snowfall.

 

[blacknblue]

I've long wondered what the descent off the north side of Armstrong would be like in the winter. Now I know. Thanks for the trip report.

Great set of pictures, too.

 

[Tom Rankin]

Great work, and great pics!

 

[bryan]

awesome trip report. great pictures. sounds like a hell of a day. having done that route once in late summer i'm trying to picture what some of those scrambles would look like covered in snow and ice. real tricky i imagine. thanks for posting.

bryan

 

[DSettahr]

I just realized that in the title of this thread, I typed "Lower Wolfjaw" instead of "Upper Wolfjaw." Shame on you all for not noticing my error before I did!

 

[Tom Rankin]

I just realized that in the title of this thread, I typed "Lower Wolfjaw" instead of "Upper Wolfjaw." Shame on you all for not noticing my error before I did!

Hey, what do we know if you ran over there or not?