adktyler
Active member
The original plan was to meet up with Pinpin and Oncoman to hike Stewart in the Sentinel Range last Friday. This is relatively early into my winter 100 highest hiking, so I was hoping to learn as much as possible from these hugely experienced hikers. With 3 ½ months of training, I was pretty confident in my ability to keep up with these two gentleman, even with their reputation. Yet, it was to be a trip where again I was humbled by my limitations. Just in case you think that I usually fail on hiking trips, I have made several other successful climbs this winter. But they’re relatively boring, so I don’t write TRs about them.
I began the day by getting my car stuck in the parking lot off of Route 86. Oncoman had to help dig me out, and essentially coach me though the driving process as I continued to do the same thing over and over again expecting different results each time (the definition of insanity, as my girlfriend says). After I finally dislodged my car from the deep snow, and we arrived at the rendezvous location down the street, we were informed by Pinpin that he couldn’t hike that day because of an injury. So Oncoman and I set out early that morning minus one strong hiker.
In spite of the deep snow, we made pretty good progress traipsing along the brook. We delineated off Oncoman’s course a few times, but he quickly adjusted to the errors and set us on the straight and narrow once again. In less than two hours we were half way to the summit, and Oncoman commented that I was a stronger hiker than him, and in great shape. This proved to be a premature comment in light of the impending scenario.
Once we hit the actual climb towards the summit ridge, the real work began. At points the snow was up to my chest, and the angle of incline was so steep that I felt as though I was climbing up a waterfall of snow. Our pace slowed considerably, and with every quarter of an hour it seemed the woods became more thick and unforgiving. Lacking a firm snow base, we constantly plunged though the snow up to our knees, thighs, and waists. I bet there was more than three feet of fresh, heavy, snowman-making snow up there.
As we neared the false summit, my body was slowly shutting itself down. My legs cramped up, in spite of being quite hydrated. Our rate of movement had also slowed to below a quarter of a mile, a pace that would barley give a snail a run for its money. On a quick rest break, Oncoman took a few calculations, and figured it would take us about four hours to traverse the final half mile to the summit. Soon there after, I came to grips with my inability to continue. And so it was that a little after 2:30pm I uttered the words, “Pierre, I think I may need to head back.” It had taken over seven hours to hike two miles, and I didn’t think I could physically handle an additional four hours, plus the return trip to the cars.
I struggled with why I wanted to turn back. I was ruining a kind stranger’s hiking goals, and I better have a damn good reason for doing so. Was it that I was a big wimp, and didn’t like to be a little cold and have a few leg cramps? Did I just loose interest in bush whacking though rather thick spruce and deep snow? Was it that I felt defeated by this older gentleman’s impressive endurance? Was I just being a wimp? Or was it that I didn’t think I could handle the physical struggle for another four hours? That I knew deep inside of me that I was pushing myself too far? That my body was telling me with its innate sense of judgment that pressing on would be unsafe for me? I honestly couldn’t answer the question, and in the midst of being indecisive, Oncoman made the decision for me: we turn back. He reminded me of the quote in his signature line, “getting to the top is optional, getting back down is mandatory.” I will never forget that quote because of this experience. His wisdom and selflessness was an inspiration to me, and I hope it will be for others as well.
I still felt bad as we trudged along back to the car. He was an extremely experienced hiker, who was kind enough to let a twenty-one year old random stranger come along on his hike, and that kid let him down. He was very understanding and gracious about the whole matter, which almost made me feel worse. When we arrived back at the car, goodbyes were said, and he told me he was going to try again tomorrow, since the trail was already broken out. I haven’t heard back from him yet, but I hope he succeeded in his endeavor!
Situations like this always make me more determined for the next time. Determined to plan ahead better, think more, remain calmer, become more humble, train harder, make better decisions, and be more mature. I will be back for Stewart and hopefully as wiser and more able ADK hiker. Maybe Oncoman will even let me join him on a hike again someday! In the world of Adirondack bushwhacking, anything is possible.
Here is a short video of the climb, hours before we even neared the summit of the false peak: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WdLXbodW6XA
I began the day by getting my car stuck in the parking lot off of Route 86. Oncoman had to help dig me out, and essentially coach me though the driving process as I continued to do the same thing over and over again expecting different results each time (the definition of insanity, as my girlfriend says). After I finally dislodged my car from the deep snow, and we arrived at the rendezvous location down the street, we were informed by Pinpin that he couldn’t hike that day because of an injury. So Oncoman and I set out early that morning minus one strong hiker.
In spite of the deep snow, we made pretty good progress traipsing along the brook. We delineated off Oncoman’s course a few times, but he quickly adjusted to the errors and set us on the straight and narrow once again. In less than two hours we were half way to the summit, and Oncoman commented that I was a stronger hiker than him, and in great shape. This proved to be a premature comment in light of the impending scenario.
Once we hit the actual climb towards the summit ridge, the real work began. At points the snow was up to my chest, and the angle of incline was so steep that I felt as though I was climbing up a waterfall of snow. Our pace slowed considerably, and with every quarter of an hour it seemed the woods became more thick and unforgiving. Lacking a firm snow base, we constantly plunged though the snow up to our knees, thighs, and waists. I bet there was more than three feet of fresh, heavy, snowman-making snow up there.
As we neared the false summit, my body was slowly shutting itself down. My legs cramped up, in spite of being quite hydrated. Our rate of movement had also slowed to below a quarter of a mile, a pace that would barley give a snail a run for its money. On a quick rest break, Oncoman took a few calculations, and figured it would take us about four hours to traverse the final half mile to the summit. Soon there after, I came to grips with my inability to continue. And so it was that a little after 2:30pm I uttered the words, “Pierre, I think I may need to head back.” It had taken over seven hours to hike two miles, and I didn’t think I could physically handle an additional four hours, plus the return trip to the cars.
I struggled with why I wanted to turn back. I was ruining a kind stranger’s hiking goals, and I better have a damn good reason for doing so. Was it that I was a big wimp, and didn’t like to be a little cold and have a few leg cramps? Did I just loose interest in bush whacking though rather thick spruce and deep snow? Was it that I felt defeated by this older gentleman’s impressive endurance? Was I just being a wimp? Or was it that I didn’t think I could handle the physical struggle for another four hours? That I knew deep inside of me that I was pushing myself too far? That my body was telling me with its innate sense of judgment that pressing on would be unsafe for me? I honestly couldn’t answer the question, and in the midst of being indecisive, Oncoman made the decision for me: we turn back. He reminded me of the quote in his signature line, “getting to the top is optional, getting back down is mandatory.” I will never forget that quote because of this experience. His wisdom and selflessness was an inspiration to me, and I hope it will be for others as well.
I still felt bad as we trudged along back to the car. He was an extremely experienced hiker, who was kind enough to let a twenty-one year old random stranger come along on his hike, and that kid let him down. He was very understanding and gracious about the whole matter, which almost made me feel worse. When we arrived back at the car, goodbyes were said, and he told me he was going to try again tomorrow, since the trail was already broken out. I haven’t heard back from him yet, but I hope he succeeded in his endeavor!
Situations like this always make me more determined for the next time. Determined to plan ahead better, think more, remain calmer, become more humble, train harder, make better decisions, and be more mature. I will be back for Stewart and hopefully as wiser and more able ADK hiker. Maybe Oncoman will even let me join him on a hike again someday! In the world of Adirondack bushwhacking, anything is possible.
Here is a short video of the climb, hours before we even neared the summit of the false peak: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WdLXbodW6XA
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