A peak less traveled:Catamount

For me, one of the most alluring features of the High Peaks is climbing the open expanses of rock that characterize the region’s tallest mountains. It is no wonder that so many hikers share the same sentiment and flock to the summit of Marcy or Algonquin as the Adirondack summer rolls along. For this reason, I have often sought refuge from the human entrenched peaks by opting to climb smaller, lesser known mountains. My favorite of these little gems is Catamount, a short hike that offers all of the rock scrambling rewards of its lofty brethren—for half the effort.

The beginning of the path up Catamount is almost as difficult to find as its

A unique rock chimney is one of the many exciting aspects of a hike up Catamount. Photo by Shaun Kittle.

namesake, the mountain lion. But unlike the elusive cougar, there is evidence of the trail; one just has to know where to look. Unlike most trailheads in the Adirondacks, there is no big wooden sign to mark the trail—just a well worn path that juts into the thick green forest like a splinter. A trail register let my hiking partner, Tim, and I know we had found the right spot. We signed in and began our journey up one of the Adirondacks most overlooked mountains.

It only takes a few minutes of walking to experience a dramatic change in the forest composition at the base of Catamount. An otherworldly setting, reindeer lichen blankets the ground like a crusty layer of snow, and Tamaracks stand tall and crooked, their long branches gently dancing in the breeze.

Tamaracks are among my favorite trees in the Adirondacks. They are the only deciduous conifer in the area, which means their soft needles turn a lovely shade of burnt-autumn orange before descending to the forest floor come winter. Just past this unique stretch the trail dips and meanders into a hardwood forest, laden with stately white birch. It is here that the climbing begins, and it only gets steeper as it gains elevation.

Tim and I took a couple of short breathers as we made our way up the rock garden path. During our second break we looked through the treetops and saw the summit—an ominous mound of granite freckled with stunted evergreens. My heart rate increased with anticipation, and as I remarked to Tim, this is where the hike gets good.

After a little more elevation gain, and even steeper terrain, we reached a level area where the forest gives way to open rock. From there, Catamount’s smaller summit is in full view. It looms above like a sleeping giant, and its rocky slopes offer no promise of an easy ascent. Easy is overrated, however, and this is best characterized by the rock chimney that stands guard at the base of the summit.

The second of many great views on Catamount. Photo by Shaun Kittle.

The chimney is an awesome geological wonder. It is here that an intrusion of rock eroded over the course of a million rainy years, leaving a narrow passage in the granite that leads precipitously up to the second awe-inducing view. Tim and I clambered up the chimney, laughing and commenting on how enormous Whiteface is. After we emerged from the stone gate, we lingered for a moment and reveled in our surroundings—the steep terrain above, the road, now just a twisting chalk line far below, and the gritty rocks we were precariously perched upon. It was all too perfect, and we had it all to ourselves.

The next section of trail is one of the best in the Adirondacks. Care must be taken, as Tim quickly learned when he was forced to retrieve his water bottle after watching it roll down the mountain, headed for oblivion. Care must be taken here, as the use of both hands is often required to navigate the various sections of open rock. The trail is marked with cairns, small piles of rock that serve as beacons for the intrepid hiker. The exposure on Catamount can be understandably intimidating to those who are afraid of heights, but for those who seek such grandeur, there are few better places to find it.

We made the first summit and relaxed in the shadow of the higher, second summit. The true summit. After a snack and some enlightening conversation regarding the woes of modern society, we pushed onward, bound for the top and fully invigorated.

The final push up Catamount is much like the first, there’s just more of it. Tim

Tim enjoys the view from Catamount's first summit. Photo by Shaun Kittle.

and I took our time and enjoyed ourselves, an easy task in such a playground of open air. At the top we relaxed and tried to name the High Peaks that stab the horizon to the south. I had left my map in the car, leaving us no resolution, but it was okay. To the north we agreed upon Silver Lake Mountain, with its cliff-laden ridge, and Union Falls Pond, which stretches past in the broad valley to the west. Whiteface is there too, its presence impossible to ignore.

As we made our way back to the car without encountering another soul, I was relieved to know that Catamount is still as I remember it—a rugged, solitary little mountain that offers big rewards for those who take the time to find it.

A Lyon of a Mountain

Lyon Mountain from Route 374 in Dannemora

On the northern most edge of the Adirondack Park, just to the west of Chazy Lake, lies a sleeping giant. This formidable peak will reward brave hikers with sweeping views from the Adirondacks to Montreal. But at 3,830 feet, with 1,790 feet of vertical ascent, Lyon Mountain is not for the faint of heart.

When my wife, Andrea, and I moved to Plattsburgh in 2005, Lyon Mountain was the first mountain we climbed. Although the trail was only 2.5 miles long, reaching the decaying fire tower was a steep, rugged, and rigorous trek. Finding the unmarked trailhead was a feat in itself, but it was nothing compared to the trail ahead.

The trail opens with a gentle walk for a few tenths of a mile, providing the illusion of an easy walk through the woods. But things changed as it abruptly began its steep ascent up a rocky old stream bed, which didn’t end for two miles. This climb took us more than two hours and left us as broken as the old fire tower when we finally reached the top.

This is me by a stream on the new trail.

A lot has changed in five years. Although the trailhead is still unmarked, a new path has been cut into the side of this massive mountain. Rather than the direct approach of the original trail, the new route makes a detour through a vibrant and healthy birch forest and hikers can now enjoy a well made path marked with red trail makers and loaded with switchbacks.

This new trail adds another hour or so to the hike, but meandering through a forest loaded with wildlife more than makes up for it. On our hike, we encountered at least a dozen toads, several streams, a snake, a downy woodpecker, and a healthy growth of Lady Slipper flowers.

One of a dozen toads on the new Lyon Mountain trail.

Although the original trail is still open for more ambitious hikers, don’t think you’re getting off easy on this new path. Just as it detours off of the original trail, it joins up with it again near the top, making sure everyone gets a taste how steep and rocky the old route is. After a few hours of winding up the mountain, joining up on this path seems to be a cruel joke, but hikers are rewarded with a stunning view of Chazy Lake and the Champlain Valley, which will stay at their backs as they pick their way up the old trail.

Fear not, however, as this only continues for about half a mile where the trail levels out in a thickly wooded area. As it continues across the top of the mountain, the newly repaired fire tower and bald peak come into view. The ultimate reward after this rigorous hike is the stunning 360 degree view. From the tower, you can see the High Peaks in the south, Malone and its farms and windmills to the northwest and on a clear day, so I’ve been told, Montreal to the northeast. Thanks to Canadian wildfires, it was not a clear day.

Lady Slipper flowers may be endangered but they seem to be doing well here.

If so inclined, hikers can continue on south of the tower through a thick pine forest to the end of an old logging road that runs from the top of the mountain to Route 374 on the bottom. I love hiking and truly enjoy the rigors and challenges a good trail has to offer, but few things are more defeating than learning I could have driven to the top of the mountain—which is why you’ll never see me on Prospect Mountain in Lake George again. I don’t think you can drive up this road but either way it’s a sad thought, to say the least.

As is our tradition, Andrea and I ate our lunch on top of the mountain before heading back down. I tell you, no gourmet meal in the world tastes better than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the top of a mountain.

After our lunch we made our way back down to our car, sweaty, bug bitten and happy. All in all, our trek took us about four hours and it was worth every second. I highly recommend this peak.

The Adirondack's can be seen from this beautiful souther view.