On Becoming a 46er - or - A Story of Quarantine and Mud Pits

Okay so I know the Adirondacks aren’t exactly the Himalayas, in fact they are just about the shortest mountains I have ever heard of, which given that the whole definition of mountain is predicated upon height makes for quite the caveat, but what they lack in mountain-ness they surely make up for in mud pits. Vast, black holes of soupy boot-death stretching as far and wide as the Everglades, generally centered in the middle of a “trail” and surrounded by an impenetrable jungle. Of course in the really big vats the “trail stewards” attempt a bridge, but it generally resembles more of a boat ramp for redneck squirrels, tempting one down into the muck, begging the questions, “how deep could it really be?” “how much worse could my shoes really get anyway?” and, “why am I here?” 

 

"Hiking" a "Trail"

To be fair, the park rangers themselves don’t even use the word “trail”. Sometimes there is a sign that says “herd path to Couchsachraga [mountain]” but mostly hiking a “high peak” consists not so much following signs or a trail as it is wandering lost through the forest, looking for the supposed top of a mountain in order to stare at more trees and if one is lucky, finding a sad little sign scrawled with a sharpie on a piece of cardboard declaring that though there is nothing apparently distinct about this particular tree, it does in fact denote the peak of the mountain; and that brings me back to my previous question, “Why am I here?” 

"Donaldson" - One of the 46 High Peaks

It all started when Nora and I were looking for a place to quarantine in the fall of 2020 after having left the state of New York for a couple weeks. We came up with a brilliant idea to camp in a wilderness to meet the state requirements. The largest wilderness in New York happens to be the Adirondack Park, which is larger than five states and more wild than Wild Thing herself. Nora decided that not only would we camp, but we would also climb mountains and before we knew it, we were standing at a trail junction with backpacks full of bear canisters, staring at a map, and getting confused about what the “46 high peaks” were, why there were 46, and which mountains exactly they were (after all the name changes and elevation discrepancies over the last 140 years). There was only one way to answer those questions, and that was to climb all of them ourselves. This of course led to more questions, such as, “why is this 4000 foot mountain harder than a 14er?” and “where did the trail go?”. 

 

Don't Slip!

Just a normal trail in the Adirondacks

Despite having our tea-ball stolen by a mink, shivering through nights 20 degrees below the survival ratings on our sleeping bags, and running out of stove fuel and all food except for ramen (which somehow we had enough for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for multiple days), we managed to summit 28 high peaks (plus who knows what else) during our quarantine. And so, like an engineering major who finishes his degree just because he started it, we returned the next chance we got (August 2021) and climbed the remaining 18 peaks, and thus became “46ers”. It all sounds so easy on paper, sitting in a comfy chair and not clinging to a twig on the side of a 40 foot boulder covered in slime with a waterfall pouring down my rain jacket while “hiking” a “trail”. 

 

River Crossing

Lucky to have a ladder on this "official trail"

Changing Colors of Autumn

We climbed every peak you can see in this photo.  Plus many, many, many more

Ausable Lake above the Colvin Range

Lest this somehow inspire you to start your own High Peaks journey, heed this warning from a veteran 46er: Hiking the mountain ranges of the Adirondacks will destroy your shoes, your feet, your hygiene, and your Zeiss camera lens; it will mud-fart on your morale and then laugh a thunder storm at you, it will give you runny diarrhea and leave you lost and rain-soaked in the dark 10 hours from the nearest porcelain toilet, and it will undoubtedly push on you an unhealthy addiction to the trail-less upper half of the state of New York.  Alright, you’ve been warned; make your own choices.  

Split Rock Falls - you can camp here!

Good weather in the Dix Range

The Closing of Hampi

As of last Sunday, Feburary 16th, 2020, Hampi Island is closed.  All hostels, restaurants, and businesses are shut down and ready to be bulldozed within the month.  I was among the last tourists to check out of the last hostel.  This blog is an ode to one of my favorite places in the world. 

I first visited Hampi in September of 2016 and was so enthralled that I would come back eight times over the next three years.  The ancient history, breathtaking landscape, and world class climbing all set in rural India, with village women harvesting  golden rice and shepherds taking buffalo to bathe in the river, created a magic unlike any other place on earth.  Its relative inaccessibility and lack of western comforts ensured that the travelers who made it their destination were a special breed that created a whole subculture of their own; hippies under no obligations or time constraints, open to learning from the local villagers and uniting under the commonality of humanity alone. 

If it weren't for all the ruins, nobody would believe that the humble little village of Hampi, with a population of just 200, used to be the capitol and namesake of one of the largest empires in the world.  Back then (13th to 16th century) it was called Vijayanagar and it controlled southern India from coast to coast.  The infantry alone numbered over one million men and the opulence of the ruling family rivaled any monarchy at any point in history.  It was the Vijayanagara Empire's insatiable need for horses that sustained the entire Portuguese colonization of Goa and it was their terrifying armies of elephants and brass canons that kept Akbar the Great in check.  When the city was finally conquered in the late 1500s, it took five united kingdoms to bring it down and the burning ember memories of its fearsome power drove them to destroy it so utterly that nobody would ever live in it again.  The only remnants that survived did so because they were hewn out of solid granite.  Those ruins now cover an area of thirty square miles.  Most of it has been reclaimed by wild jungle or rice paddies. 

Hampi is home to many species of monkeys, parrots, cobras, crocodiles, and even leopards.  You can still find a lone elephant bathing in the river most mornings.  Much of the terrain is too wild to permanently inhabit, but is a true dreamland for rock climbers.  When Chris Sharma discovered Hampi in the late 90s (the most notable climber in the world at that time), he went on to create a full length film about it (Pilgrimage).  Since then it has become legendary in the climbing world for its unending maze of unclimbed boulders. 

So why is it being shut down?  It depends on who you ask, but all the local business owners fought it so hard that it ended up going to the Supreme Court of India.  The day after the ruling, a procession down the lone street led by a man with a hand drum followed by a crowd of police announced that all businesses must close immediately and would be bulldozed within 20 days.  People were still arriving from other countries with giant backpacks, only to discover that there was no hostel to check into.  Some said that the government wanted the tourist business to go to the more expensive hotels in the nearby town of Hospet.  Some said that there were rumors of illegal drug use and building code violations; or that the government just doesn't like foreigners in general.   Whatever the reason, it's a personal loss to me. 

My favorite - The Goan Corner Hostel

Hampi was a place I could feel my freest.  No cell service, no wi-fi, no cultural expectations from western or Indian society ensured that it was a true refuge of rest where obligations and responsibilities ceased to exist.  The ideal getaway.  For three or four days I could get lost in a world from a different millennium, where the only objective was to pit my mind and body against hunks of solid rock and compete against gravity for the best vantage of the sunset.  Each night I could come back to a comfortable hostel, order a giant serving of delicious curry, and dine under the stars, discussing life with people from different cultures and countries; people who ask more questions than give answers, people who aren't afraid to admit they don't know who they are, people attempting to just be people. 

So goodbye Hippie Island.  Thanks for all the lacerated shins and forearm cramps.  Thanks for the punishing crimps and impossible routes.  Thanks for that feeling in the pit of my stomach when I started a bouldering problem too scary or too difficult.  Thanks for the silence that let me process.  Thanks for the conversations that made me feel alive.  Thanks for the moments of grandiose beauty that brought me close to God.  I hope we meet again. 

Me on my first trip to Hampi in 2016 (thanks Jenna Martin for the shot!)

NOTE: There is still some confusion as to what all is closing.  Definitely everything on the Hippie Island is permanently closed now, but I heard different things when it comes to the other side of the river in Hampi village.  From what I could gather, they wanted to shut all the shops and hostels and even bulldoze the local's homes but as of February 17th they hadn't started that yet.  

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore Trip Report

I wouldn't recommend camping for just any family reunion.  Especially when there aren't any showers.  It has to be the right kind of family.  The kind that doesn't mind going to bed with smores smears on their fingers.  And hair.  The kind that enjoys not having cell service for five days.  The kind that looks forward to a dinner of soggy ramen.  Basically, the kind of family that loathes the rest of humanity enough to tolerate any sort of torture in order to get away from human interaction for a week. 

And where in the States does society cease to exist?  The Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore is an accessible wilderness stretching along the coast of Lake Superior.  It contains hundreds of miles of trails, pristine beaches, dozens of waterfalls and lighthouses, sand dunes, and of course lots of rocks and rock formations.  We chose to camp in 12 Mile campground because of its proximity to the beach. 

Everyone seemed to have a different appreciation for the beautifully colored rocks.  Mom collected boxes of them.  Pinge arranged them into cryptic messages in the sand.  Copen tested how far he could throw them into the lake.  Story tasted each one individually.  It's hard to explain but the rocks really are one of the highlights of the place. Some other unique features:

• "Clean" sandy forest floor blanketed with ferns, pine needles, and mushrooms
• "Tropical" aqua shore but without that memorable ocean/dead-fish smell
• Lush evergreen vegetation with pockets of pure deciduous trees
• Supposedly the wildlife includes bears, elk, moose, wolves, and bobcats (we didn't encounter any of these but we did see a lot of snakes and chipmunks) 
• I can't speak for all seasons, but in September I didn't see a single mosquito

The campsites:

• No showers but there is a small tap of overly-chlorinated drinking water
• 1 minute walk to a pristine, deserted beach (but water is frigid)
• Sequestered sites in a thick forest with plenty of firewood lying around
• Each is large enough for two or three tents with a fire-ring and picnic table
• Access to the North Country Trail which follows the coast over 40 miles through the entire park
• Pit toilet
• 30 miles from the nearest "town"

We didn't really take advantage of the trail network.  It's kind of difficult to get 2 year olds motivated for a good through-hike.  Besides looking at rocks, we spent most of our time taking idiotic pictures, singing around the campfire, skipping stones, and yelling at little kids.  We did do a couple little hikes though, to some epic waterfalls and the Au Sable Lighthouse - 4 days seemed to be enough time to get a good feel for it though of course there was a lot we didn't get to do (like kayak along the shore); however, that was about the limit for a shower-less family reunion camping trip.  Overall, I would definitely recommend the place to any anti-social family looking for a unique destination in the States.   

Ruby Crest Trail - DHMH #12

Poisonous cacti, tornadoes, broken ribs, an angry miner.  Thankfully, we didn't encounter any of those things on this year's Dan Hoffman Memorial Hike.  Though we did see a Diamondback rattlesnake and Jake got a blister. 

If you stumbled across this blog because you were looking for helpful information about what to expect in the Ruby Mountains, well let me tell you, you came to the wrong place.  Better hit the back button and revisit the google results.  Why?  Because the Ruby Mountain Wilderness is an unknown gem of an outdoor destination which we had completely to ourselves over Labor Day weekend and I promised this old hunter that I wouldn’t go promoting it on social media and make it all popular. 

Normally Nevada is associated with things like dusty desert and mind numbing boredom.  Because normally that's all there is.  And other than a few crystal clear alpine lakes, cascading waterfalls, white glaciers, and lush green forests, the 40 mile Ruby Crest Trail is no exception.  Well, and also that it's about 10,000 feet above sea level. 

It took us four days to shuffle our heavy packs up and down the craggy peaks, ending at Lamoille Canyon.  Though it would have saved a little confusion and a couple minor arguments, we really didn't regret not bringing a map, since the trail was fairly obvious and surprisingly well graded.   We slept in forested campgrounds alongside mountain brooks and despite displaying some of the world's clearest night skies, it also sprinkled on us at one point. 

At the end of the third day we were moving slowly and coming into camp at sunset.  We were near the high point of the trail (about 11k ft) and this surreal golden light illuminated everything around me.  My feet were sore, my stomach was growling, and I was in Nevada, but I felt a real sense of awe and wonder as the temperature started to dip and the sun started to sink.  This is the kind of beauty normally reserved for ginormous crowds at famous national parks or world travel destinations and here it was in this moment, stretching out as far as I could see, only visible by the eyes of myself and a few of my closest friends.

So despite our location being a real bust, the 12th annual Dan Hoffman Memorial Hike of Ruby Crest Trail in Nevada was yet another epic success! 

Peak Lenin - 7134 meters (23,405 ft)

 
I wanted to write a blog about my recent experiences on Mt. Lenin but I wasn't sure who I would write it for.  For other mountaineers who need some guidance?  For friends who are interested in my adventures?  Or a broad application that transfers inspiration from one category to others?  "We all have Lenins in our lives…"  In the end I decided on a lose-lose-lose compromise between the three that is sure to be an unhelpful and un-inspirational. 

Mountaineers come in all shapes and sizes but their motivations are even more wide-ranging than their parka sizes.  However, one thing they all seem to share in common is a propensity to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about why they are climbing the mountain they are on.  There are enormous books with entire life stories dedicated to solving this philosophical puzzle, but the best explanation I have heard came from a wise old Russian man sitting on the bench across from me in Camp 1 (he was at least 50).  His nose was burnt to a crisp and he had been walking like a constipated duck and that could only mean one thing - he had summitted the mountain and returned down.  So everyone crowded around and he told us, "A mountain peak is like a small seed that gets planted in your brain and grows until, as hard as you try, you can't NOT climb it."  And that describes my relationship with Lenin perfectly.  Three years ago somebody told me about a 7000 meter peak in the country of Kyrgyzstan that didn't require any permit or royalty fee or LO or even a visa and I just couldn't NOT climb it. 

Basecamp - 3600 meters (11,800 ft)

Camp I - 4400 meters (14,400 ft)

Camp II - 5300 meters (17,400 ft)

Camp III - 6100 meters (20,000 ft)

I actually never intended to climb Lenin solo.  From three months before the trip, clear up until I was in Camp 1 (4400 meters - 14,450 ft) I was looking for people to team up with.  "Surely somebody else has no friends?"  Apparently not.  After I finally gave up I did find a rope of Poles (the ethnicity, not the object) who were gracious enough to let me clip on to their rope for the dangerous climb from Camp 1 to Camp 2.  I most likely would be typing this from the bottom of a crevasse right now if I hadn't met them, so I was more than happy to alter my schedule a little to join.

I also never intended to climb it in just nine days, but I kept getting bored sitting in my tent alone eating ramen and so at each camp I thought, "eh, I feel acclimatized enough, I'll just leave a day early."  And that's how I ended up sitting on top of Peak Lenin at 7134 meters (23,405 ft) five days ahead of schedule.  I had a lot of leftover ramen.

The Peak!  (there was nobody to take my photo so I just took Lenin's)

   

My advice for Lenin:

• Don't listen to any of the advice from backpackers or cyclists in Kyrgyzstan
• Don’t hire a guide
• Don't hire any horses or porters
• Don't go through an agency
• Don't plan anything before you arrive
• Don't pitch your tent too close to the melted snow wall in Camp 2 (it's the "bathroom")
• Buy 40 30 packs of ramen in Osh beforehand 

Also, don't listen to the "Tourist Info" guys in Osh.  Despite what they say you can indeed get a marshrutka to Sary Moghul and it will only cost $5 - saving you a $200 taxi ride.  In fact, as long as you already own all your own gear, and are willing to lug it up on your back, the cost of this mountain is negligible.  For those of you that don't climb Himalayan peaks as often, the normal bare-bones cost of climbing this high of a peak in any other country is at least $5000, and that's without a guide or gear. 

On a more serious note (just in case somebody actually does get inspired by my budget estimate) I will add a disclaimer.  Lenin is actually a quite dangerous peak.  It witnessed the largest mountaineering disaster ever recorded on a mountain when 43 climbers died in an avalanche in 1990 and still many people die each year due to altitude sickness, crevasses, exposure, etc.  While I was on the mountain 12 people either died or were seriously injured (like two broken legs and a broken arm).  On summit day, just 500 meters from the top, I came across a man who had gone blind (this happens when your goggles don't have enough UV protection) and had to rescue him off the peak.  So yeah, I recommend working your way slowly up to a 7000 meter peak.  If all your mountaineering experience is from the state of Michigan this probably isn't a good idea. 

The view of Tajikistan from 22,000 ft

Headed down the glacier

The way back to Base Camp

Some people consider Lenin to be the easiest of the world's 7000 meter peaks (there aren't too many to choose from since every one of them is located in Asia).  Well I think those people must have been on snowmobiles.  I had to spend nearly a week in Osh sitting and eating cheeseburgers just to recover.  Plus the tips of my fingers are still numb from summit day, now over two weeks ago.  Still, I can't complain too much, at least I was finally able to cut down my mountain-seed brain-tree. 

Bonus recommended gear list:

• 4 season tent (or if necessary a $90 Walmart tent and a shovel to build snow walls around it)
• 0 degF sleeping bag (but you'll have to combine it with every layer you brought and maybe light your cookstove at night in your tent)
• Crampons
• Plastic mountaineering boots (seriously, don't skimp, I saw two guys with legs frozen from the knees down)
• Ice axe (despite their popularity ski poles will not help you self-arrest)
• Harness and rope - 7mm, 20m is fine
• Ice screws, descender, and jumar (there are maybe 5 to 10 fixed ropes but I actually didn't use any of them)
• Gators
• Two 500g fuel canisters and a JetBoil (or more snow walls around your stove)
• USD - because in basecamp there are some folks who will sell you a hot dinner for $10
• Serious sun protection (or just get roasted)
• Really really warm gloves and stuff (think -20 degrees with a 70 mph wind)
• Dark Ski goggles - so you don't go blind for four days like Vadim did
• A gigantic pack - to fit all your ramen in
• Insulated water bottles or a thermos (because otherwise it will freeze solid in like 10 minutes)
• A little strap-on foam seat pad thingy (I didn't have one but I saw people with them just sitting wherever they wanted in the snow with perfectly dry butts and I was jealous)
• Snow shovel
• Insulated sleeping pad
• Watch or alarm clock - for those 2AM alpine starts
• Headlamp with extra batteries (I guarantee it will somehow turn on inside your pack for an entire day)
• Lightweight journal - to help you vent about the hell of getting out of your sleeping bag to pee at night

Montana's Glacier National Park: DHMH 2018

NOTE:  I realize this post a little tardy.  I just realized I had written but never posted it.  The events in this blog transpired in August of 2018. 

Wolves oh wolves oh can't you see?

Ain't no wolf can sing like me

And if it could then I suppose

He belongs in Idaho

     - Josh Ritter

Forest Fire Smoke

Fire.  Columns of smoke billowing from voracious orange tongues, filling the sky with black cumulus clouds of ash, consuming all in its path and leaving a wake of devastated barrenness and faint memories of verdant pine forest.  Thus was the condition of the northern lands of Glacier National Park, the ill fated destination of the 11th annual Dan Hoffman Memorial Hike.  What could a small Chevy crossover filled with six men do against the raging inferno?  Nothing.  Except turn its pump-assisted wheel south toward the mountain ranges of central Idaho.  We stocked up on coffee, shifted our butt cheeks a few inches forward, and extended the multi day drive.  To Idaho. 

Idaho

A mild genius was once credited with defining insanity as the repetition of the same thing while expecting different results.  If that holds true then every one of the nine men of this year's memorial hike were mentally ill.  In fact, just about any definition of insanity would likely support that theory, though I suppose some would argue that many of them blindly expected not different, but the same results.  Giant blisters, sleepless nights, undercooked oatmeal, chafed posteriors.  Though it is true the location had changed.  The Sawtooth Mountains contain a unique blend of grey craggy peaks, crystal clear lakes, and verdant pine forests.  They are remote but filled with over 350 miles of trails and unlimited backcountry campsites.  Much of it is a wilderness area, meaning the only access is by foot.   

Dan, Kory, Kevin, and Tucker

Sawtooth Wilderness

Up at Toxaway Lake we awoke to a chorus of songbirds extolling the virtues of the alpine forest and meadows of wildflowers and their crisp backdrop of grey peaks.  A golden sun warmed our tents and beckoned us out into the cold morning air.  As the former Chevy crossover prisoners arose from their sleeping constrainments, our consciousnesses simultaneously expanded to include new possibilities, an unexperiential doorstop being removed from that crack between the hinged door and the immobile floorboards.  The breath in our throats burned with cold.  Like it was dang cold.  I went back to bed. 

Toxaway Lake as seen from Toxaway Pass

Eating Breakfast

Break-time on the Trail

Sorry about your luck Ryan

And so continued the four day loop hike.  Gorgeous vistas and awe inspiring adventure interposed with infected blisters, a damaged rental car, and a shortage of instant coffee.  Which I suppose is the point.  Seeking out adversity with friends, knowing that it will naturally have to bring a few moments of pure, blissful, present-tense life and that deep feeling of overwhelming gratitude.  The 11th annual Dan Hoffman Memorial Hike of Glacier National Park the Sawtooth Wilderness, another epic success! 

Bryan's Campsite

The trail down

Good thing Tim wasn't there...

7 reasons to go backpacking in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains:

1. Nobody ever goes there (well unless Glacier and Yellowstone have been closed due to fires)
2. It's only 5 hours from a major airport …. Like Boise
3. The Sawtooth range alone contains 57 peaks over 10,000 ft!
4. There are more than 350 miles of trails and nearly 400 lakes
5. You might see a Wood River Sculpin or a Grouse Whortleberry
6. It contains four of Idaho's scenic byways
7. There's supposedly trout in the lakes

Oh, and it's a good place to celebrate forgotten birthdays