escapee
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- Oct 18, 2003
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On a day hike in September 1999, I had climbed Algonquin, Boundary and Iroquois, then descended the southwest side of Iroquois, towards Marshall, to the top of Iroquois Pass (apparently also known as Cold Brook Pass, according to a sign I saw on the more recent trip). On that occasion, we hiked out via the Indian Pass trail, as Avalanche Pass had been closed by Hurricane Floyd. My account of the trip was eventually published in Adirondac magazine. Frank read it, and suggested I lead an over-night winter trip including this route. We added Marshall to the itinerary to give us two good days in the field.
In the morning, we were breakfasted, packed and on the road before six a.m., at the High Peaks Information Center by 6:30, and signed in and hiking by 6:45. The temperature had been in the 50s in Upper Jay and was in the 40s at the HPIC. A forecast cold front was passing through, and the treetops overhead were tossing in the wind.
Shortly after 10:00 we were above timberline. The temperature had dropped to 30 degrees, with winds living up to the forecast of 35 to 40 mph. Resulting wind chill was about -12 degrees. We put on extra layers, balaclavas, mittens, and I put on my goggles. Visibility in the clouds was little better than cairn-to-cairn. We summitted on Algonquin about 10:30. The unmaintained trail to Boundary and Iroquois was neither obvious nor well-trodden, but we pretty much stayed with it. The snow surface was mostly supportive even off the track. We made the summit of Iroquois shortly before 1:00 p.m. We had determined that a compass course of 225 degrees true, or about 240 magnetic, would take us from the summit of Iroquis to the top of the pass. We started down the northwest face, on steep bare rock, guided by a few cairns. Soon we were on boilerplate snow. Our hopes for easy travel were dashed once we got into the spruce. There was no broken trail, and the slope was a minefield of spruce traps. Many times one of us would break through crotch deep, have to take backpack off to struggle out, take a few steps then break through again. At one point, my right leg disappeared into the jaws of a monster lurking under the spruce. I wrestled with the spruce monster, which had my leg up to my thigh. Through the snow and the branches, I glimpsed its malevolent eye looking up at me, poked it with my ice axe, and deftly withdrew my leg most of my snowshoe before the jaws snapped shut. I pulled my foot out to find the toe of the snowshoe missing. I had to finish the trip on one and a half snowshoes. I got by, and the warranty covered the replacement.
We followed our compasses in the clouds, and found a lump looming up on the right. It looked too small to me to be the Shepherd’s Tooth I had found a few years earlier. As we got closer, we glimpsed the lower part of a much larger rocky protuberance to our left, its top lost in the clouds. This looked much too big. Finally, we got closer still, and the clouds thinned enough for us to see the top of it, not as high as it first looked. This was indeed the Shepherd’s Tooth. We tagged its bottom like baserunners rounding second, and hurled ourselves down the line of drainage between the Tooth and the lump to the right. We staggered from one spruce trap to the next, making abysmally slow progress into the abyss. Under the snow, I could hear a stream running. Our steps broke through the snow, and water began welling up to the surface of the snow, as from a spring. We now struggled down the ravine, trying to stay ahead of the pursuing waters, which threatened to soak us in our spruce traps.
In September 1999, I noted a forty foot waterfall at the bottom of this drainage, with a diagonal cleft in the rock wall to the right, apparently the same one described by Paul Jamieson as a chimney-like rock gully. On the 1999 trip, we went down the chimney, through a lemon squeezer and down a couple of ledges at the bottom. Frank had done this route before in winter, and recalled a similar descent. We were now near the bottom, could see some of Marshall across the pass, and could hear a waterfall on the right. We found our cleft and route down toward the left-hand side of the drainage, next to higher vertical and overhanging rock walls farther left. My conclusion is that the waterfall I found in September 1999 is not the same one we heard in March 2004. Aside from seasonal changes, it should be noted that the 1999 trip was two days after Hurricane Floyd dumped a few inches of rain, and water was likely running and falling in more places than usual. So the trick is, follow the drainage down from the right side (facing downhill) of Shepherd’s Tooth, bearing left towards the bottom. There are sheer drops in the middle and on the right, so before getting to the bottom of the drainage, look on the left for the chimney-like cleft, and descend it like a narrow staircase. It is next to (right of) the high rock wall defining the left side of the drainage. The snow pack made the ledges at the bottom easier to descend than when they were bare. We got off the last of Iroquois, and broke out onto the trail between Indian Pass and Avalanche Pass. It had taken us two and a half hours to go the last 3/4 mile.
We put up the tent in daylight and were comfortably ensconced when the tent rattled under sleet. This changed to powdery snow as the temperature dropped to about 10 degrees. Morning dawned bright and clear, with a few inches of new powder on a re-frozen crust. We started up Marshall and promptly lost the herdpath. We forced a passage through the spruce and cripplebrush, with many a spruce trap. Finally, our route crossed the herdpath, which was as solid and distinct as a city sidewalk all the way to the summit. We stopped to enjoy the views, extending clockwise from the Sewards, to Whiteface, Street, Nye, Iroquois and the Shepherd's Tooth, Colden, Giant, Marcy, Skylight, Redfield, Cliff, Allen, Santanoni and Panther.
We hiked down to Lake Colden, and took Avalanche Pass, walking on the lake between sheer rock walls so high, we had to crane our necks to see the bright blue late winter sky above. The longest, steepest uphill part of the trip, from Marcy Dam to the HPIC, took what seemed like most of the day. We were out shortly after four p.m.
In the morning, we were breakfasted, packed and on the road before six a.m., at the High Peaks Information Center by 6:30, and signed in and hiking by 6:45. The temperature had been in the 50s in Upper Jay and was in the 40s at the HPIC. A forecast cold front was passing through, and the treetops overhead were tossing in the wind.
Shortly after 10:00 we were above timberline. The temperature had dropped to 30 degrees, with winds living up to the forecast of 35 to 40 mph. Resulting wind chill was about -12 degrees. We put on extra layers, balaclavas, mittens, and I put on my goggles. Visibility in the clouds was little better than cairn-to-cairn. We summitted on Algonquin about 10:30. The unmaintained trail to Boundary and Iroquois was neither obvious nor well-trodden, but we pretty much stayed with it. The snow surface was mostly supportive even off the track. We made the summit of Iroquois shortly before 1:00 p.m. We had determined that a compass course of 225 degrees true, or about 240 magnetic, would take us from the summit of Iroquis to the top of the pass. We started down the northwest face, on steep bare rock, guided by a few cairns. Soon we were on boilerplate snow. Our hopes for easy travel were dashed once we got into the spruce. There was no broken trail, and the slope was a minefield of spruce traps. Many times one of us would break through crotch deep, have to take backpack off to struggle out, take a few steps then break through again. At one point, my right leg disappeared into the jaws of a monster lurking under the spruce. I wrestled with the spruce monster, which had my leg up to my thigh. Through the snow and the branches, I glimpsed its malevolent eye looking up at me, poked it with my ice axe, and deftly withdrew my leg most of my snowshoe before the jaws snapped shut. I pulled my foot out to find the toe of the snowshoe missing. I had to finish the trip on one and a half snowshoes. I got by, and the warranty covered the replacement.
We followed our compasses in the clouds, and found a lump looming up on the right. It looked too small to me to be the Shepherd’s Tooth I had found a few years earlier. As we got closer, we glimpsed the lower part of a much larger rocky protuberance to our left, its top lost in the clouds. This looked much too big. Finally, we got closer still, and the clouds thinned enough for us to see the top of it, not as high as it first looked. This was indeed the Shepherd’s Tooth. We tagged its bottom like baserunners rounding second, and hurled ourselves down the line of drainage between the Tooth and the lump to the right. We staggered from one spruce trap to the next, making abysmally slow progress into the abyss. Under the snow, I could hear a stream running. Our steps broke through the snow, and water began welling up to the surface of the snow, as from a spring. We now struggled down the ravine, trying to stay ahead of the pursuing waters, which threatened to soak us in our spruce traps.
In September 1999, I noted a forty foot waterfall at the bottom of this drainage, with a diagonal cleft in the rock wall to the right, apparently the same one described by Paul Jamieson as a chimney-like rock gully. On the 1999 trip, we went down the chimney, through a lemon squeezer and down a couple of ledges at the bottom. Frank had done this route before in winter, and recalled a similar descent. We were now near the bottom, could see some of Marshall across the pass, and could hear a waterfall on the right. We found our cleft and route down toward the left-hand side of the drainage, next to higher vertical and overhanging rock walls farther left. My conclusion is that the waterfall I found in September 1999 is not the same one we heard in March 2004. Aside from seasonal changes, it should be noted that the 1999 trip was two days after Hurricane Floyd dumped a few inches of rain, and water was likely running and falling in more places than usual. So the trick is, follow the drainage down from the right side (facing downhill) of Shepherd’s Tooth, bearing left towards the bottom. There are sheer drops in the middle and on the right, so before getting to the bottom of the drainage, look on the left for the chimney-like cleft, and descend it like a narrow staircase. It is next to (right of) the high rock wall defining the left side of the drainage. The snow pack made the ledges at the bottom easier to descend than when they were bare. We got off the last of Iroquois, and broke out onto the trail between Indian Pass and Avalanche Pass. It had taken us two and a half hours to go the last 3/4 mile.
We put up the tent in daylight and were comfortably ensconced when the tent rattled under sleet. This changed to powdery snow as the temperature dropped to about 10 degrees. Morning dawned bright and clear, with a few inches of new powder on a re-frozen crust. We started up Marshall and promptly lost the herdpath. We forced a passage through the spruce and cripplebrush, with many a spruce trap. Finally, our route crossed the herdpath, which was as solid and distinct as a city sidewalk all the way to the summit. We stopped to enjoy the views, extending clockwise from the Sewards, to Whiteface, Street, Nye, Iroquois and the Shepherd's Tooth, Colden, Giant, Marcy, Skylight, Redfield, Cliff, Allen, Santanoni and Panther.
We hiked down to Lake Colden, and took Avalanche Pass, walking on the lake between sheer rock walls so high, we had to crane our necks to see the bright blue late winter sky above. The longest, steepest uphill part of the trip, from Marcy Dam to the HPIC, took what seemed like most of the day. We were out shortly after four p.m.
