A bushwhack up the ‘other’ Split Rock Mountain

Climb near Split Rock Falls is more challenging than it seems

By Tim Rowland

Standing at Split Rock Falls south of New Russia in front of a chain link fence that apparently dates back to the Neo Silurian Period, you can make out a mountain in the not-too-distant distance. Unremarkable in summer, in winter this 2,000-foot prominence gleams with snow-white snow indicative of open cliffs.

It didn’t look too high or too far as we stood chatting with a gentleman from South Glens Falls who was shooting video of the falls. He comes up to the mountains to photograph the scenery, then plays the videos for people who are physically unable to get out there on their own.

He seemed dubious about our planned ascent and asked if we had adequate provisions for such a journey. As we discovered, he wasn’t wrong to think this would be a bit of an arduous ascent. I should have listened, because Split Rock Mountain falls into my personal dictum that no summit hike that starts at a river is going to be a piece of cake.

The more famous Split Rock Mountain is over on Lake Champlain, of course, and this lesser-known Split Rock only came on my radar when I was reading an article by Peter Biesemeyer on local bushwhacks that appeared in the ADK’s Adirondac Magazine. It turned out to be a good tip, although it took us a bit of finagling to find the sweet spot.

Related reading: Lake Champlain’s Split Rock is a good holiday hike

Driving 1.8 miles north on Route 9 from its intersection with Route 73 (Malfunction Junction) you will spot an ancient road on the right blocked by boulders that marks the beginning of this journey. Peter recommends parking at the wider, safer pullout on the left that’s reached at 1.5 miles, so that’s what we did.

The old road is established enough that it appears on some maps, including the Gaia app. Although unmaintained and frequently crossed by blown-down trees, it’s easily followed for the most part, although other roads branch off of it here and there, and higher up it is hard to find in a couple of places.

Still, it’s quite pretty as it gains elevation through a hardwood forest, showing evidence of past civilizations, including old stonework and the remains of an old farm pond back off in the woods.

Climbing steadily, the road has a few twists and turns but generally maintains a southeastern course for half a mile. Here, another road forks off to the left, while the “main” road switchbacks to the right and continues to climb more steeply.

The summit at this point is off to the northeast (your left) while the road heads almost directly south (to your right). Stick with the road. Even though it’s heading in the wrong direction, it will provide an easier climb to the summit ridgeline.

At one mile the road largely fades away and you will bump up against a private property line. This is your cue to turn left and head straight up the ridge toward the summit. Bushwhackers at  this point will recognize the drill — climb steadily but not horrifically up the ridgeline until you hit that last quarter mile at which point the terrain points almost straight up and the woods grows thick with beech whips and profanity as you scramble upward in a posture not unlike those evolutionary charts where the hominoid is halfway between a man and a chimp.

We knew the west-facing cliffs were around there somewhere, but something that looks so obvious from the valley floor can be a rat-bastard to find when you’re up top surrounded by thick forest.

Not knowing what else to do we headed for the summit, which we reached in two miles, knowing it wouldn’t prove anything — and it didn’t — hoping to get our bearings in such a way as to be able to locate the cliffs. We knew they were below us, somewhere to the west and not wanting to miss them we went another tenth of a mile north past the summit before dropping down about 50 feet in elevation and turning back to the south. We were finding some obscured views to the south but nothing great and, frankly, were having some pretty uncharitable thoughts toward Biesemeyer, when up and to our left we saw that heavenly light representative of an absence of trees. A difficult but quick scramble brought us out on wide open rock with a view dominated by Rocky Peak Ridge and environs, with other High Peaks visible to the south, along with New Pond and the West Champlain Hills near the Adirondack Coast.

We could even make out the Boquet River and the icy falls far down below — the place where we had so recently gazed up at these same cliffs assuming the climb would be a piece of cake. Back home examining the map, we had actually passed within 500 feet of these cliffs on our way up and wandered around for better than a quarter-mile unnecessarily. Although wandering in the summit woods is never a bad thing.

But for a more direct route, after climbing the first steep pitch up a draw, continue climbing more moderately and then make a left hand turn to the northwest instead of proceeding to the summit. If your app has satellite imagery, the cliffs are apparent, if somewhat faintly.

Or you can do it old school like us and just mill around for half an hour until you luck into a decent view.