Missed Connections

Photo by Jessica Dubé

I was a tomboy as a kid. Seriously. My mom believed that children should play outdoors unless it was raining or unbearably hot, and my dad always preferred to live in secluded areas in the country, so I spent most of my non-school hours entertaining myself (with the help of Chewy, a somewhat wild pit-bull mix). I was a tree-climbing champion who didn‘t mind dirt or bugs.

Now, well, not so much. Unfortunately, with age also came laziness (I’m still working on that wisdom thing). As a college student, I spend hours upon hours looking at a computer screen or reading every week. I do not spend too many hours outdoors enjoying nature, which is a shame. I mean, I chose a school in the Adirondacks. I planned to go hiking, or white-water rafting, or even just walking the trails in beautiful Point-au-Roche State Park. I just… got caught up in things. I forgot to make time and enjoy my surroundings, and it was all too easy to disconnect.

So I propose this: I’m going to do something outside. Not just, you know, walking to class or sitting on the bench in front of my dorm. I want to do something that puts me out of my element.  I can’t believe I’ve never hiked Poke-O-Moonshine! A lot of students have done that during their freshman year.

Now, I don’t want to sound all “city-girl-goes-North-Country,” but I’m from Syracuse. I’m a beginner, and my goal is simple– I just want to feel close to nature again. I would love to remember what it felt like to come back home smelling like the outside, and with all the opportunities the Adirondacks are putting on the menu, there’s no better time.

Got any suggestions or challenges? Let me know.

Get Lost!

A basic Google map showing roads and steams.

Recently there was another incident in the Adirondack Park that has raised safety concerns about the absence of cell phone towers. According to an article published in the Press Republican, a woman in her 60s got her car stuck after walking her dog in Duane, N.Y. It seems that when she went for help, she became lost and was eventually found hours later near the entrance to the Paul Smith’s visitor’s center.

            A passing motorist saw the woman and attempted to call 911 for help, but the call was dropped, even though it was just a mile from Verizon’s new tower. The lost woman suffered frostbite and hypothermia in the 8 degree weather.

            Now, I’m not about to sit here and debate whether or not there should be more cell phone towers in the Adirondacks or to place blame on the woman who was lost. I would like to make this an opportunity to discuss some basic outdoor safety.

            Having been lost in the woods myself, I know that it can be a bit nerve-racking, but it can also be an opportunity for fun and excitement. The old Boy Scout motto of “be prepared” is a bit cliché these days, but it is absolutely true. I’m not suggesting that you need 70 lbs of survival gear in your rucksack. In fact, the best survival tools weigh nothing at all; they’re the knowledge you carry out into the woods.

            For starters, make sure you are dressed appropriately for the weather, not just where you are, but where you are going, since many mountains can be much colder at the top than at the bottom.

            Also, whenever you embark on an outdoor excursion, alone or with friends, make sure that you tell someone where you are going and when you should be back. It can be a neighbor, a friend or a relative. They can even live in California, as long as you call them when you get home. That way, if you aren’t back by your designated time, someone will know to start looking for you.

A topographical map showing mountains and streams. Courtesy of Google

             Next, take a few minutes before you leave to study a map of where you are going. It doesn’t have to be a topographic surveyor’s map, though that will do just fine, any map from Google will work. All you need to look for are roads and streams or other bodies of water, as these make the easiest and most obvious landmarks to use as reference points.

            It is also every easy to get disoriented or to follow the wrong trail, particularly if you hiking on a trail you are either not familiar with or at a different time of year than you normally would. One time I got lost on the east side of Lake George when I accidentally began following a well used deer run that looked enough like the trail I was on. To make matters worse I was following a compass that being thrown off by massive iron ore deposits. Although that is not a typical problem, it is something to consider.

            There are ways to roughly determine north, and from there decide which way you came into the woods so you can backtrack to your car. On that particular day, I knew that the road I had parked on was west of the trails so I walked towards the late-afternoon sun. I’ll admit it didn’t work quite as well as I thought it would, but it got me to a road that I could follow out.

            I’ve since learned that the sun can be used as a more accurate compass than I’d ever imagined. According to “The Backpacker’s Field Manual,” by Rick Curtis, you can use your watch to determine a basic direction. To do this, point the hour-hand at the sun and south will be halfway between the hour-hand and the 12. Although this method is not super accurate, it is better than nothing.

            All of this advice is useless, however, if you panic. Having a proper positive attitude is essential for any survival situation, as panic can lead to hasty decisions that can be fatal. If you have trouble doing this, pretend you are a kid again on a backyard adventure. Sure it’s silly, but at least you’ll increase your chances of survival.

            This blog is far too small to list everything you need to know to survive being lost, but hopefully it inspires you to do a bit more digging of your own. At the very least, maybe if you are lost someday, my words on the subject come back to you in your time of need.

            If you are interested in knowing more about hiking and survival, I highly recommend “The Backpacker’s Field Manual,” by Rick Curtis, director of Princeton’s Outdoor Acton program for basic hiking info. Then for survival information there is “Tom Brown’s Field Guide to Wilderness Survival,” which is an indispensable source on the subject.

Good luck out there.

A lesson in self preservation

The weather in the mountains mirrors human emotion in a dynamic way.  Its mood can shift with a bipolar quality that is startling and seemingly unpredictable, yet there are usually warning signs that can urge even the most intrepid hiker to turn back.  A failed attempt at Porter Mountain last summer made me realize that even under the best of conditions, it is often wise to heed what a temperamental sky is trying to tell me.    

My drive to the Porter Mountain trailhead took place during the most ideal of mornings.  I remember looking up and seeing large, puffy white clouds framed by an open, deep blue sky.  It made me feel welcome, like an inviting smile.  “Come.” it said to me.   “Get to know me today.”  The air was warm and the breeze was telling the black flies to stay away, protecting me from annoyance and pain.  Everything felt right, and I decided it was a good day to take my time.

The thickening gray above Giant. Photo by Shaun Kittle.

Approaching Porter from the Marcy Airfield requires an ascent of a rugged little cobble called Blueberry Mountain.  It probably took over an hour for me to reach the first of Blueberry’s many open rock stretches, and as I turned to enjoy the view I noticed some pale gray clouds collecting in the sky to the south.  I interpreted this as some late afternoon showers, something I was prepared to cope with on the final leg of my return.   It was nothing to worry about, because the skies above were still compelling me to come closer.

Several vistas later I was standing atop Blueberry scanning the ridge I was to follow up Porter, whose summit was now in clear view.  Up above clouds were racing by, the way thoughts pass through the anxious mind in a moment of panicked frenzy.  My mind, however, was calm.  So far the day had been superb, so it seemed a shame to turn my back on the mountain.  There was, after all, still a backdrop of blue in the sky, and the distance I had to cover was a mere two miles.  In hindsight I realize I had ignored obvious warning signs.  This was no passing mood—the sky was telling me to stay away, that today would not be my day.

It took me a little while to find the faded paint blaze that marks where the trail reenters the forest.  After I finally discovered the opening, I took one last look over my shoulder and noticed I could no longer see the rocky top of Giant Mountain across the valley.  Thin wisps of mist had cloaked the summit and were beginning to stretch down into the great cirque that characterizes Giant’s western flank.  I now only had memories of the view that once was.  Common sense dictated a retreat, and the thought had crossed my mind, but for some reason I couldn’t stop.  I had to try to go a little farther, just in case the weather miraculously improved. 

Turning my back on logic, I began the steep descent into the soggy col that separates Blueberry from Porter.  Entering the vegetation at the bottom of the col is like walking into the throat of some tremendous beast.  It is extremely wet and dense, and it gives a true sense of being closed in.  I caught few glimpses of the sky as I fought my way through this miserable stretch, and was shocked by what was waiting for me on the other side. 

My mind snapped into focus, and I immediately turned around and began a speedy retreat.  I plowed through the throat of the beast, ignoring the sharp branches that tore at my skin and whipped my face.  Upon returning to Blueberry’s naked dome, I saw that the stage had been set for a full-scale downpour.  Everything to the south had been consumed by darkness and a flash of lightning, quickly followed by a burst of thunder, reaffirmed that I was now in the wrong place at the wrong time.  The mountain which lies just east of my vantage point, the aptly named Hurricane Mountain, was also beginning to vanish.  I was being surrounded by the storm.  The good times were over, I had my fun.  It would be a mad dash to safety from here on out.

Charging down Blueberry, my objective became simple—get past the exposed sections of trail before the lightning could punish me for my lack of reasoning.  The entire experience was frightening, as every bolt that split the sky was closer and every shout that followed was more deafening than its predecessor.  The frequent views I had previously enjoyed now instilled fear.  The sky above was no longer amicable, it was enraged.  There were no signs of wildlife; no chirping birds, no scurrying chipmunks.  Even the trees were different; they were swaying violently and I could hear their branches clacking together.  It was as if everything that was good on this adventure was turning against me, and I longed to be back in the shelter of the valley below.

Looking south from Blueberry. Photo by Shaun Kittle.

The descent became a race against the elements.  The details are scattered, and all I clearly remember is jogging across every exposed section of trail, hoping my haste didn’t cause an injury.  The forest below never seemed as close as the lightning, my breath never seemed as heavy as the wind, and my heart never beat as loud as the thunder.  I was running out of time.

When I finally set foot onto flat ground, I felt a surge of delight fill me.  I was finally off of the mountain, but I still had a half mile to go.  As I approached a brook the sky lit up and crackled, refreshing my memory that lightning does strike trees, and I was surrounded by them.  I could hear rain, but it was not upon me yet.  I switched from a jog to a run, with nothing but the sound of the impending downpour to keep me focused on the task at hand. 

Minutes later, I was standing at the trailhead.  I was almost there, but there was one more obstacle to overcome.  Between me and my car was about 100 feet of dirt parking lot.  I was now a lightning rod.  Raindrops began slapping against the ground and the wind was fierce.  It was cursing me, mocking me.  The tiny mountain on the other side of the valley was the only feature I could see—everything behind it was gone.  I removed my keys from my backpack and got ready to run.  I took a deep breath and FLASH!  A bolt of lightning struck the backside of the tiny mountain and I was off before the last grumble of thunder echoed into oblivion. 

I wasted no time getting into the sanctuary of my car, where I rested, quiet and relieved.  The full brunt of the storm hit and I just sat there, enjoying its brilliance and waiting for it to pass me by.  From this vantage the lightning was stunning, and the thunder no longer seemed to be clapping in anger.  Instead, I felt like it was applauding me.  I sighed, and realized I had learned my lesson the hard way.  Sometimes it is better to appreciate the intense nature of things from a safe place.  In life, as in with the mountains, there is no shame in turning your back on something that can only bring you harm.