Harbingers of fall

American mountain-ash berries. Photo by Phil Brown.

We should be hitting peak foliage soon. Last weekend, I climbed the slide on East Dix and saw lots of color, mostly yellow, in the forest. But what really caught my eye were the succulent red berries of the American mountain ash.

 E.H. Ketchledge, in Forest and Trees of the Adirondack High Peaks Region, calls the mountain ash “one of our loveliest trees.” In June, it blossoms with clusters of white flowers. In the fall, the flowers transform into berries (actually, they are pomes, a false fruit) that resemble cranberries. The fruit can last into winter.

 ”A stalk of mountain-ash ‘berries’ lightly coated with fresh snow in October seems to mark the end of each growing season on the higher slopes,” Ketchledge writes.

 He also writes: “The fleshy seed is heavy, and it can travel great distances only via the stomach of the Canada jay or a few other birds.”

As its name suggests, the mountain ash grows on our upper slopes, along with balsam fir, red spruce, and paper birch.  But the name is misleading in one sense: this tree is not a true ash. Its narrow leaves, arranged in pairs along the branch, resemble those found on true ash trees, thus accounting for the common name.

 As a story in the next Explorer will point out, an invasive insect, the emerald ash borer, threatens to destroy all the ash trees in the country. (Less than 5 percent of the trees in the Adirondacks are ash.) Fortunately, the insect does not attack mountain ash.

Cliffs at the top of the East Dix slide. Photo by Phil Brown.

Climbing the Whiteface slide

Jeff Oehler climbs the Whiteface slide above Lake Placid. Photo: Susan Bibeau

Last weekend, I climbed the Lake Placid slide on Whiteface Mountain with Sue Bibeau, who designs the Explorer, and her husband, Jeff Oehler. We paddled across the lake, went up the hiking trail for two miles, and bushwhacked up Whiteface Brook to the slide. The round trip took ten and a half hours, including a stop for refreshments in the summit restaurant.

The mountain takes its name from this slide, which exposes the white rock (anorthosite) that constitutes the peak. At least, that’s the explanation I found in Peaks and People of the Adirondacks, by Russell M.L. Carson (1926).

Carson also relates that Bill Nye, a celebrated guide (for whom another High Peak, Nye Mountain, is named), cut the first trail up this side of Whiteface in the 1800s. The original route brought hikers to the slide. I’m glad this is no longer the case, for one of the delights of slide climbing is solitude in a wild setting.

Incidentally, the trail between Whiteface Landing, where we stashed our canoes, and the lean-to on Whiteface Brook has been rerouted in recent years. It used to cross the brook three times and now does so only once. Alas, the new trail goes through some of the worst muck I’ve seen in the Adirondacks–and that’s saying something. DEC is aware of the problem.

Look for my story about our adventures in the Explorer. Sue took some great photos, including the one of Jeff above.

Climbing the Eagle

Nearing the top of the Eagle. Photo by Phil Brown.

In the Adirondacks, we don’t have much terrain above tree line, but for those hikers who want to experience a little exposure, we do have slides. These are formed when a rainstorm saturates the thin soil on a steep slope and washes away the vegetation, creating a scar of bedrock and a natural pathway to a summit.

Perhaps the best slide climb in the Adirondacks is the Eagle on the west cirque of Giant Mountain. It’s the only slide given five stars (the highest rating) in Adirondack Rock: A Rock Climber’s Guide. The book calls it “a great introduction to East Coast mountaineering.” It’s 1,300 feet and rated fourth class.

I climbed the Eagle yesterday (6.25.09) for the third time. The first time I wore hiking boots and picked my way up by the easiest routes possible. The other two times I wore rock-climbing shoes, which made the ascent much more enjoyable. I was able to scramble straight up the rock without much fear of slipping.

Rock shoes or approach shoes are recommended, because if you do slip, you’re likely to tumble a long way. Since my first ascent of the Eagle, I have done several fifth-class roped ascents on Wallface, Poke-O-Moonshine, Rogers Rock, and Chapel Pond Slab. These all required friction climbing similar to that on the Eagle. As I ascended the Eagle, I found myself thinking, “Hey, this is just like rock climbing–except I don’t have a rope or a helmet.”

So if you’re thinking of doing the Eagle, don’t undertake the trip lightly. It’s much steeper than most slides in the Adirondacks, such as those on Whiteface, Dix, and Nippletop.

I did the trip solo yesterday. I’m embarrassed to say it took me nine hours. I was on the Roaring Brook hiking trail for the first mile or so. I then began a long bushwhack up the brook, which took me more than three hours. I later discovered that I could have saved a lot of time by continuing on the hiking trail and picking up a herd path that leads to the brook. I’m not sure when this herd path was established. I didn’t notice it on my earlier trips several years ago.

When I got to the base of the Eagle, I changed into my rock shoes. With these on, I felt confident going more or less straight up the face. The rock doesn’t have an abundance of cracks, but it has plenty of pockmarks and tiny ridges and bulges for grip.

I spent about an hour on the face. This includes stops for lunch, photos, admiring the views, and changing into and out of my climbing shoes. As you ascend, you can see most of the High Peaks–all unbroken wilderness–as well as parts of Lake Champlain and Vermont. The golf course of the Ausable Club is conspicuous in the valley below.

At the top, the slide narrows into a slot between the trees. This takes you to a boulder with a flat top, a good place for changing shoes or taking in the scenery. From here it’s less than a minute to the hiking trail. Turn left, and you’ll be at Giant’s summit ledges in maybe two more minutes.

The descent by the trail is only 3.6 miles, but it took me two and a half hours. It’s steep and often rocky or muddy, so it’s hard to make good time on this route. On this day, I was further slowed by tight-fitting boots that jammed my toes going downhill.

I’d wager that fit and experienced climbers who shorten the bushwhack by taking the herd path could do the Eagle in five to seven hours, depending on how much of a hurry they’re in. But even if it takes nine hours, it’s worth it.        

I bushwhacked up the valley in the center of this image. Photo by Phil Brown