Zer0-G
New member
Well, with a good night sleep and a full belly once again, Iron Horse and I start our second day somewhat enthused. We dropped our packs at the lean-to quietly so as not to disturb the natives and we headed toward Gray Peak at 6:00 AM.
The beautiful morning sky was full of optimism; we enjoyed it fully as we sloshed through the mud at the beginning of the daily trek. Uphill, of course. Over the planks, as I remembered TuTu from Fantasy Island reveling in his solo chorus “de planks!, de planks!” Isn’t that what he said?
Anyway, shortly we arrive at Lake Tear of the Clouds and headed across the outlet and up the herd path. We were both pleasantly surprised to find the summit so quickly. Not quickly enough. When we had arrived the summit was completely enshrouded in a thick morning foggy mist and no views were to be had. As is our custom, we took a long drink. I touched the sign, uttered my acknowledgements and we headed back down. By the time we were halfway down, the sun was broadly smiling once again. I remember remarking to Iron Horse, “too bad, I am sure the view of Marcy and Skylight would have been grand.” With a sigh and a quick step we skimmed the outlet and trotted down the trail and back to the lean-to. 8 AM, refill the water bottles and onward towards Redfield.
A very nice route! Along the Uphill Brook, dancing in and out of the woods, to the brook, back to the dirt, to the brook again and again. I always enjoy running water. The sound of it, the memories of Siddhartha, YES – And You And I, Sheila Chandra – Weaving My Ancestors Voices. The summit arrived in good time and we enjoyed the somewhat limited views for five minutes or so. Refreshed again and off again. Halfway down, it was time for a water refill and a snack break. Perched now on the rocks, the brook rushing on all sides, basking in the warm sun and enjoying the feeling of the moment that is uniquely born of sitting.
Now, 9:45 sloshing through the mud, on our way to Cliff, we begin to notice the extensive blow down. This path is not so easy to follow. I look up and understand (perhaps) why they might have named this mountain “Cliff”.
Cliff is a very friendly mountain. It wants to make sure you get to know it very intimately. Cliff likes to prod you. Cliff likes to poke you. Cliff does not want you to ever forget who Cliff is so Cliff pokes you again and again and again. Cliff likes to remind you where your hat is supposed to be and how much you really liked the shirt you’re wearing and your lightweight day pack that now has that extra measure of breath-ability.
Now, every time I am on a peak, I like to think of something in my life that deserves to be left up on the mountain. It brings peace to know that the mountain now has that little issue, thought or problem under control and I don’t need to worry about it anymore. Well, Cliff gave me a different experience of that. I was able to leave actual physical pieces of myself up on Cliff. Blood, Sweat and tears for sure remain in Cliff’s care. Being an Ultra light fanatic, I think that lightening my load by this method is a tad extreme!
After summiting, the return trip was eventful as we did manage to get off the correct herd path and decided that in order to get off the peak, we would have to get intimate with Cliff by rummaging through it’s thick shrubbery and blow down for a hundred yards or so to a landmark we identified as a destination where we might come across the path. Well, we found the path again in a few minutes, myself a few ounces lighter once again.
On the way down, we met a party of two coming up. The peak-bagger in the lead looks at me then my legs and said “Well, looks like you’ve sprung a leak”. I replied “yeah, no shit”. Then he summed Cliff up in one sentence. He said “Man, this mountain’s a PR*&K”. “Yup” I said. I laughed about that all the way down. Before we parted ways I mentioned to the other party, “Y’know, some people will look at us after this and call us crazy for doing it. But deep inside we like that. Don’t we.” They laughed in a way that signified they agreed with that. We parted ways.
12 PM, back at the Lean-to. Backpacks and Bear Cans in tow, from the Uphill Lean-to to the Lake Arnold trail, through the swamps over more planks, and more planks and more planks! I must admit, we were not too happy heaving our increased load up these hills for the moment, through the mud, over the planks and with the mid-day sun beating down on our backs. I do believe this is one trail the powers that be forgot about. I am sure, if I fainted, I would be left to be consumed by the mosquitoes and leaches. No one would want to go down this trail to try to find me. Then, pop! All of a sudden a steady stream of people appeared going in the opposite direction. They were lucky, they were going downhill. Up we go, up and up until finally at last we reached the intersection to Colden.
Thankfully dropping our packs and now with our daypacks flitting lightly on our shoulders up we go. Onward to Colden.
Every once in a while, in the middle of humdrum, life flicks a switch and you have no control when that happens. As we arrive at the first little bump north of Colden’s Summit I am immediately taken by the expansiveness of the views presented to me. The summit of Colden – proudly beckoning me to move closer, I continue on, Colden dances in and out of sight. Getting nearer, Avalanche Lake in the distance, I can see the Avalanche Pass trail below and to the right. Standing now on the summit, taking in the glory of the moment, curiously, I take off for a few more moments of exploration. I approach the southern tip of Colden’s summit. I stand there, all is quiet, and I see mountains, lakes, blue skies filled with high billowing white fluffy clouds. I can hear a pin drop. I hear my sons little voice in my head. “Daddy?”; “Yes, Arlo?”; “Did that mountain scratch you again?”; “Yes Arlo.”; “Are you OK?”; “Yes Arlo, Daddy’s Ok.”. I walk back to the summit, I turn to Iron Horse and I say. “Y’know, sometimes when I see things as perfect as this, I realize why I keep coming back. When my boy grows up, and he knows his daddy is a 46r, perhaps he’ll come here too and maybe he’ll think of me and he’ll know how much I love him.”
Later on, a few miles further and a couple of hundred feet in elevation higher, sitting quietly now at Indian Falls, the water gently flowing down, hammocks strung in the trees somewhere out of sight, the Sun is setting behind Algonquin with Wright and Iroquois in full support, the day is ending. It couldn’t be more perfect.
The beautiful morning sky was full of optimism; we enjoyed it fully as we sloshed through the mud at the beginning of the daily trek. Uphill, of course. Over the planks, as I remembered TuTu from Fantasy Island reveling in his solo chorus “de planks!, de planks!” Isn’t that what he said?
Anyway, shortly we arrive at Lake Tear of the Clouds and headed across the outlet and up the herd path. We were both pleasantly surprised to find the summit so quickly. Not quickly enough. When we had arrived the summit was completely enshrouded in a thick morning foggy mist and no views were to be had. As is our custom, we took a long drink. I touched the sign, uttered my acknowledgements and we headed back down. By the time we were halfway down, the sun was broadly smiling once again. I remember remarking to Iron Horse, “too bad, I am sure the view of Marcy and Skylight would have been grand.” With a sigh and a quick step we skimmed the outlet and trotted down the trail and back to the lean-to. 8 AM, refill the water bottles and onward towards Redfield.
A very nice route! Along the Uphill Brook, dancing in and out of the woods, to the brook, back to the dirt, to the brook again and again. I always enjoy running water. The sound of it, the memories of Siddhartha, YES – And You And I, Sheila Chandra – Weaving My Ancestors Voices. The summit arrived in good time and we enjoyed the somewhat limited views for five minutes or so. Refreshed again and off again. Halfway down, it was time for a water refill and a snack break. Perched now on the rocks, the brook rushing on all sides, basking in the warm sun and enjoying the feeling of the moment that is uniquely born of sitting.
Now, 9:45 sloshing through the mud, on our way to Cliff, we begin to notice the extensive blow down. This path is not so easy to follow. I look up and understand (perhaps) why they might have named this mountain “Cliff”.
Cliff is a very friendly mountain. It wants to make sure you get to know it very intimately. Cliff likes to prod you. Cliff likes to poke you. Cliff does not want you to ever forget who Cliff is so Cliff pokes you again and again and again. Cliff likes to remind you where your hat is supposed to be and how much you really liked the shirt you’re wearing and your lightweight day pack that now has that extra measure of breath-ability.
Now, every time I am on a peak, I like to think of something in my life that deserves to be left up on the mountain. It brings peace to know that the mountain now has that little issue, thought or problem under control and I don’t need to worry about it anymore. Well, Cliff gave me a different experience of that. I was able to leave actual physical pieces of myself up on Cliff. Blood, Sweat and tears for sure remain in Cliff’s care. Being an Ultra light fanatic, I think that lightening my load by this method is a tad extreme!
After summiting, the return trip was eventful as we did manage to get off the correct herd path and decided that in order to get off the peak, we would have to get intimate with Cliff by rummaging through it’s thick shrubbery and blow down for a hundred yards or so to a landmark we identified as a destination where we might come across the path. Well, we found the path again in a few minutes, myself a few ounces lighter once again.
On the way down, we met a party of two coming up. The peak-bagger in the lead looks at me then my legs and said “Well, looks like you’ve sprung a leak”. I replied “yeah, no shit”. Then he summed Cliff up in one sentence. He said “Man, this mountain’s a PR*&K”. “Yup” I said. I laughed about that all the way down. Before we parted ways I mentioned to the other party, “Y’know, some people will look at us after this and call us crazy for doing it. But deep inside we like that. Don’t we.” They laughed in a way that signified they agreed with that. We parted ways.
12 PM, back at the Lean-to. Backpacks and Bear Cans in tow, from the Uphill Lean-to to the Lake Arnold trail, through the swamps over more planks, and more planks and more planks! I must admit, we were not too happy heaving our increased load up these hills for the moment, through the mud, over the planks and with the mid-day sun beating down on our backs. I do believe this is one trail the powers that be forgot about. I am sure, if I fainted, I would be left to be consumed by the mosquitoes and leaches. No one would want to go down this trail to try to find me. Then, pop! All of a sudden a steady stream of people appeared going in the opposite direction. They were lucky, they were going downhill. Up we go, up and up until finally at last we reached the intersection to Colden.
Thankfully dropping our packs and now with our daypacks flitting lightly on our shoulders up we go. Onward to Colden.
Every once in a while, in the middle of humdrum, life flicks a switch and you have no control when that happens. As we arrive at the first little bump north of Colden’s Summit I am immediately taken by the expansiveness of the views presented to me. The summit of Colden – proudly beckoning me to move closer, I continue on, Colden dances in and out of sight. Getting nearer, Avalanche Lake in the distance, I can see the Avalanche Pass trail below and to the right. Standing now on the summit, taking in the glory of the moment, curiously, I take off for a few more moments of exploration. I approach the southern tip of Colden’s summit. I stand there, all is quiet, and I see mountains, lakes, blue skies filled with high billowing white fluffy clouds. I can hear a pin drop. I hear my sons little voice in my head. “Daddy?”; “Yes, Arlo?”; “Did that mountain scratch you again?”; “Yes Arlo.”; “Are you OK?”; “Yes Arlo, Daddy’s Ok.”. I walk back to the summit, I turn to Iron Horse and I say. “Y’know, sometimes when I see things as perfect as this, I realize why I keep coming back. When my boy grows up, and he knows his daddy is a 46r, perhaps he’ll come here too and maybe he’ll think of me and he’ll know how much I love him.”
Later on, a few miles further and a couple of hundred feet in elevation higher, sitting quietly now at Indian Falls, the water gently flowing down, hammocks strung in the trees somewhere out of sight, the Sun is setting behind Algonquin with Wright and Iroquois in full support, the day is ending. It couldn’t be more perfect.
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