Neil
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Heaven and hell: Lyon and Averill.
The planning of this trip was a bit confusing. It went from a solo through-hike with a 20 km bike spot to a group of 4, including Mink and the famous Marc Howes, back to a solo hike sans the bike spot.
I wanted to do it as a whack of Lyon-Averill and Averill South and noticed that it was a 20 kilometer bike spot from the Chazy lake Road to the Standish Road. Mink lives in the area and was not overly keen of the Averill South–Standish section due to intense hunting action. Then Marc bailed because of the snow and I finally opted for a solo hike from the Chazy Rd over Lyon to Averill and back.
So, at 6:10 EST I climbed up an embankment, crossed under a power line, traversed a narrow band of woods then walked across an old railway bed (now an ATV road) and began my hike. I wanted to put 30 minutes of whacking between myself and the road before dawn so as to avoid taking a bullet. I had blaze orange on my pack, an FRS radio on and a headlamp showing the way.
Imperceptibly, it grew light under very heavy skies and it began to snow lightly. The wind was November raw and it moaned in the naked branches. Icy leaves crunched under foot. The woods were open and the slope gentle and within 50 minutes I made my first checkpoint: a 20-foot cliff of open rock that I had spied on Flashearth.com. I was pleased that my 270 bearing, which I followed closely led me right to it.
From atop the cliff I could discern a few features through the gloom and then I kept moving. The snow depth increased progressively as I ascended and reached a maximal depth of about 4 inches. The hardwood forest gave way to beautiful, mature spruce and birch, which made for very pretty bushwhacking conditions in a winter wonderland. I sensed I was near the summit ridge when the snow appeared to have been chemically sprayed onto the trees and to have become “fixed”. Above me the treetops were waving to and fro energetically. I came to a band of house-sized boulders and cliffs and proceeding through it I felt like I was on some sort of quest in a Tolkien tale.
Then I saw a piece of flagging and a tree whose lower branches had been neatly sawed off flush to the trunk. I slipped through a narrow opening between two boulders and there lay a tent, under a tarp, which was firmly attached to nearby tree trunks with solid straps. What an amazing (likely illegal because of the elevation) camping spot. I figured there would be a cut trail to the main trail and proceeded to follow something, which petered out so I continued bushwhacking into impregnable cripplebush. Long story short, I wandered around up there in the wind for 20 minutes before finally seeing the fire tower. It was plastered in snow and was barely discernable against the leaden sky. It was not a place to have a Sunday school picnic, so I left and immediately picked up a cut trail with flagging. The trail went due south for 150 yards before it petered out over a small cliff. I looked down and saw my tracks! Now I understood, in ascending I had drifted slightly south and hit the summit ridge at its south extremity.
I worked my down to my trail, dialed 230 into my compass and side-sloped around the south-east corner of Lyon until that same bearing led me directly downhill. Randomscooter and I had whacked from Averill to Lyon in 2006 and GPS technology had led us unerringly across the huge saddle-like plateau that separates the two peaks. 5-6 feet of well-crusted snow permitted us to float above the forest floor and the trip was very easy. After I dropped 200 hundred feet the forest floor, as far as the eye could see in any direction, was a sea of tightly-packed, snow-clad spruce trees 4-7 feet in height. It took about an hour to cross it and find more open woods on the slopes of Averill. I stuck to that bearing religiously, knowing it would eventually lead me upwards and onwards. The spruce boughs were soft and yielding and were fairly easy to push through although they hid the blowdown from view. Needless to say I became soaked through and through and had to keep moving to keep from shivering.
Everything became covered in globs of ice: my compass, my zipper pulls, the webbing that held my map case around my neck. Gradually, my position began to feel precarious. My hands were freezing so I removed my wool mittens and shells, which weighed a ton, and put on a fresh pair for a quick blast of heaven. I hit the ridge on Averill after a monumental final struggle through a bad blowdown section and realized I could determine my distance to the summit by reading the UTM numbers off my GPS. I brought my RINO 130 for the FRS radio and although it has no mapping it would give me my elevation and UTM coordinates. By the time it got sat connection I had to move in order to warm up and then when I checked the numbers against the UTM numbers on my map’s margins I saw I was 800 meters from the summit. I was also a very long way from my vehicle and darkness would come early. Well, thought I, “maybe the ridge will be a cake-walk”. It turned out to have a few short cake-walk sections but on the whole it was a struggle. By dropping off to the north a bit and side-sloping it was a little better but if I wasn’t careful I found myself a long ways from the crest so I would angle back up. 30 minutes of slow going and clock-watching later my bearing suddenly led me way downhill into another sea of young spruce. Oops. A lone circle on my map indicated the previous bump. More time passed as I climbed back up and head NW for a bit.
Then I saw a piece of faded flagging. Then another and another, perfectly lined up with my compass bearing to the summit. It must have been put there a long time ago because the woods were difficult and the route strewn with blowdown. Ahead, a cliff loomed through the whiteout and a piece of flagging was placed part way up. Had it been a nice summer day I would have scooted up but the rock was ice-covered and I was running out of energy and my safety margin had worm pretty thin. I saw an opening along the base of the cliffs and followed it upwards. My UTM numbers were telling me I had 300 meters to go. I pressed on. Then I ran out of flat ground. Cliffs were above and below me. I peered out towards my goal, which briefly appeared out of the gloom before being swallowed up. It seemed impossibly far away. I tried climbing up a crack but felt unsafe. I thought I could jump down to flatter ground but at the best spot it was still too high. I would have to backtrack and go way around to the north side of the ridge.
I checked my watch. Time seemed to have sped up. I had been under a lot of mental strain keeping it all together in difficult conditions. Maybe I could still make the summit and bushwhack directly from it across the plateau to Lyon and be out safe and sound before dark. Maybe I couldn’t. Then I decided I didn’t mind in the least getting my arse whipped by Averill but there was no way I was risking my hide and made a 180 degree direction turn.
Now I had a new hike in front of me. I followed my trail back down the ridge and this was much faster. No looking around for the path of least resistance, no back-tracking no checking the map and compass. I remembered the horrendous blowdown section and left the ridge earlier following a bearing that I hoped would intersect my path where the woods were more open. These woods turned out to be quite thick and nasty and I doubt I saved any time by the time I picked up my tracks. My speed doubled and after 90 minutes I had rounded the SE corner of Lyon. I could have left my trail, contoured at lower elevation and picked my trail up on the other side of Lyon but I decided sticking with my trail was the best move. Once on the Chazy Lake side of Lyon I felt the mental pressure melt way in a flood of relief and I flew down through the same beautiful spruce-birch forest. The final km seemed to take forever and I popped out on the road 50 feet from my vehicle. I changed into dry clothes and sat back in the heated seats with the heater on full blast and listened to Mahler’s first symphony all the way back to Canada.
In retrospect, one day later, the experience was totally awesome but don’t ask me to go back for Averill until at least 2 days have passed.
The planning of this trip was a bit confusing. It went from a solo through-hike with a 20 km bike spot to a group of 4, including Mink and the famous Marc Howes, back to a solo hike sans the bike spot.
I wanted to do it as a whack of Lyon-Averill and Averill South and noticed that it was a 20 kilometer bike spot from the Chazy lake Road to the Standish Road. Mink lives in the area and was not overly keen of the Averill South–Standish section due to intense hunting action. Then Marc bailed because of the snow and I finally opted for a solo hike from the Chazy Rd over Lyon to Averill and back.
So, at 6:10 EST I climbed up an embankment, crossed under a power line, traversed a narrow band of woods then walked across an old railway bed (now an ATV road) and began my hike. I wanted to put 30 minutes of whacking between myself and the road before dawn so as to avoid taking a bullet. I had blaze orange on my pack, an FRS radio on and a headlamp showing the way.
Imperceptibly, it grew light under very heavy skies and it began to snow lightly. The wind was November raw and it moaned in the naked branches. Icy leaves crunched under foot. The woods were open and the slope gentle and within 50 minutes I made my first checkpoint: a 20-foot cliff of open rock that I had spied on Flashearth.com. I was pleased that my 270 bearing, which I followed closely led me right to it.
From atop the cliff I could discern a few features through the gloom and then I kept moving. The snow depth increased progressively as I ascended and reached a maximal depth of about 4 inches. The hardwood forest gave way to beautiful, mature spruce and birch, which made for very pretty bushwhacking conditions in a winter wonderland. I sensed I was near the summit ridge when the snow appeared to have been chemically sprayed onto the trees and to have become “fixed”. Above me the treetops were waving to and fro energetically. I came to a band of house-sized boulders and cliffs and proceeding through it I felt like I was on some sort of quest in a Tolkien tale.
Then I saw a piece of flagging and a tree whose lower branches had been neatly sawed off flush to the trunk. I slipped through a narrow opening between two boulders and there lay a tent, under a tarp, which was firmly attached to nearby tree trunks with solid straps. What an amazing (likely illegal because of the elevation) camping spot. I figured there would be a cut trail to the main trail and proceeded to follow something, which petered out so I continued bushwhacking into impregnable cripplebush. Long story short, I wandered around up there in the wind for 20 minutes before finally seeing the fire tower. It was plastered in snow and was barely discernable against the leaden sky. It was not a place to have a Sunday school picnic, so I left and immediately picked up a cut trail with flagging. The trail went due south for 150 yards before it petered out over a small cliff. I looked down and saw my tracks! Now I understood, in ascending I had drifted slightly south and hit the summit ridge at its south extremity.
I worked my down to my trail, dialed 230 into my compass and side-sloped around the south-east corner of Lyon until that same bearing led me directly downhill. Randomscooter and I had whacked from Averill to Lyon in 2006 and GPS technology had led us unerringly across the huge saddle-like plateau that separates the two peaks. 5-6 feet of well-crusted snow permitted us to float above the forest floor and the trip was very easy. After I dropped 200 hundred feet the forest floor, as far as the eye could see in any direction, was a sea of tightly-packed, snow-clad spruce trees 4-7 feet in height. It took about an hour to cross it and find more open woods on the slopes of Averill. I stuck to that bearing religiously, knowing it would eventually lead me upwards and onwards. The spruce boughs were soft and yielding and were fairly easy to push through although they hid the blowdown from view. Needless to say I became soaked through and through and had to keep moving to keep from shivering.
Everything became covered in globs of ice: my compass, my zipper pulls, the webbing that held my map case around my neck. Gradually, my position began to feel precarious. My hands were freezing so I removed my wool mittens and shells, which weighed a ton, and put on a fresh pair for a quick blast of heaven. I hit the ridge on Averill after a monumental final struggle through a bad blowdown section and realized I could determine my distance to the summit by reading the UTM numbers off my GPS. I brought my RINO 130 for the FRS radio and although it has no mapping it would give me my elevation and UTM coordinates. By the time it got sat connection I had to move in order to warm up and then when I checked the numbers against the UTM numbers on my map’s margins I saw I was 800 meters from the summit. I was also a very long way from my vehicle and darkness would come early. Well, thought I, “maybe the ridge will be a cake-walk”. It turned out to have a few short cake-walk sections but on the whole it was a struggle. By dropping off to the north a bit and side-sloping it was a little better but if I wasn’t careful I found myself a long ways from the crest so I would angle back up. 30 minutes of slow going and clock-watching later my bearing suddenly led me way downhill into another sea of young spruce. Oops. A lone circle on my map indicated the previous bump. More time passed as I climbed back up and head NW for a bit.
Then I saw a piece of faded flagging. Then another and another, perfectly lined up with my compass bearing to the summit. It must have been put there a long time ago because the woods were difficult and the route strewn with blowdown. Ahead, a cliff loomed through the whiteout and a piece of flagging was placed part way up. Had it been a nice summer day I would have scooted up but the rock was ice-covered and I was running out of energy and my safety margin had worm pretty thin. I saw an opening along the base of the cliffs and followed it upwards. My UTM numbers were telling me I had 300 meters to go. I pressed on. Then I ran out of flat ground. Cliffs were above and below me. I peered out towards my goal, which briefly appeared out of the gloom before being swallowed up. It seemed impossibly far away. I tried climbing up a crack but felt unsafe. I thought I could jump down to flatter ground but at the best spot it was still too high. I would have to backtrack and go way around to the north side of the ridge.
I checked my watch. Time seemed to have sped up. I had been under a lot of mental strain keeping it all together in difficult conditions. Maybe I could still make the summit and bushwhack directly from it across the plateau to Lyon and be out safe and sound before dark. Maybe I couldn’t. Then I decided I didn’t mind in the least getting my arse whipped by Averill but there was no way I was risking my hide and made a 180 degree direction turn.
Now I had a new hike in front of me. I followed my trail back down the ridge and this was much faster. No looking around for the path of least resistance, no back-tracking no checking the map and compass. I remembered the horrendous blowdown section and left the ridge earlier following a bearing that I hoped would intersect my path where the woods were more open. These woods turned out to be quite thick and nasty and I doubt I saved any time by the time I picked up my tracks. My speed doubled and after 90 minutes I had rounded the SE corner of Lyon. I could have left my trail, contoured at lower elevation and picked my trail up on the other side of Lyon but I decided sticking with my trail was the best move. Once on the Chazy Lake side of Lyon I felt the mental pressure melt way in a flood of relief and I flew down through the same beautiful spruce-birch forest. The final km seemed to take forever and I popped out on the road 50 feet from my vehicle. I changed into dry clothes and sat back in the heated seats with the heater on full blast and listened to Mahler’s first symphony all the way back to Canada.
In retrospect, one day later, the experience was totally awesome but don’t ask me to go back for Averill until at least 2 days have passed.
