A winter expedition in the High Peaks Wilderness

Student-planned and executed trip involved a trek up Mt. Marcy

By Zachariah Morehouse

Last semester, I enrolled in a course called “Winter Expedition.” It is an optional course within SUNY Potsdam’s Wilderness Education minor and is considered by many to be the most difficult outdoor experience the program offers, due to its highly dynamic environment, coupled with extreme cold and intense physical exertion.

Despite the perceived difficulties, I wanted to take the course – mostly to prove that I could. Four days in the High Peaks Wilderness, backpacking through several feet of snow and summiting the tallest mountains in the state.

Forming a plan

Our class met once a week throughout the fall semester. We learned about the cold weather environment we would be entering: The hypothermia-inducing temperatures, the caloric battle between exercise and food, and the essentials of proper layering while moving in the High Peaks. We also used the time to plan our trip. We created itineraries and presented them to each other, highlighting both the strengths and weaknesses of the proposed trips. We voted on the best itineraries and combined their features to create the final plan for the trip. We’d hike into the High Peaks Wilderness, using Marcy Dam as our base camp. On our second day, we’d summit Mt. Colden. On the third day, we’d summit Mt. Marcy. On the fourth, we’d hit Wright Peak if we were able, and then leave the field that same day. 

First day

The night, I felt the familiar dread that always sat in my stomach the day before a trip. I was also excited. I’ve been on every outdoor trip the minor could offer, including assisting and leading trips full of amateur students. I knew I could handle it.

Early in the morning, we set off to travel through the Adirondacks and into the High Peaks Wilderness. At the trailhead, we adjusted our backpacks and attached our sleds. As we hiked in, my opinion was once again proven that the Adirondacks are most beautiful in the wintertime. The trees were covered in snow, and there was a lonesome quiet that settled around us throughout our hike. When we got to Marcy Dam, we found a campsite and buried the stakes of our tents in the snow. That night, we constructed a couch for ourselves, using the snow as our material. We all sat on the couch and cooked our dinners (my girlfriend and I ate hotdogs and mac & cheese, the dinner of true outdoor warriors). Sleep was difficult, but it was manageable.

Climbing Colden

Our second day in the field set the standard for what our wintertime mornings would be like. Warm and cozy inside our sleeping bags, not wanting to move a muscle, dreading the inevitable need to begin the day and start moving. It felt like a race; how fast could I get my mountaineer boots on before I was miserably cold? As soon as I was dressed for the day, we made breakfast, hung our bear bags on a cable system, and divided the group gear between ourselves. 

We left camp at 5 a.m., ensuring that we’d have enough time to summit Mount Colden and return to camp before dark. We chose to travel through Avalanche Pass and up the southwest trail of the mountain. Crossing that frozen lake was the scariest thing I’d ever done. Even as my friends took pictures of the famous Trap Dike, I stared at my snowshoes praying that the ice would hold. Little did I realize that I would do something even scarier in only a few hours. When we reached the junction of Colden, we popped up the ascenders to our snowshoes and began to climb. At first, the way was manageable, like every other mountain I’d climbed. Over time, however, the slope increased, and the trail dragged on for what felt like forever. It would be my first peak of the 46 High Peaks, but only if I made it to the top. Every step became its own challenge, and I engaged in mental warfare with my mind, cursing myself for taking the class, and cursing myself for wanting to quit. 

Eventually, we made it to the barren stretch of Colden. Most of the rock was covered in slick ice. After switching our snowshoes for microspikes or crampons, we continued, climbing the old wooden ladder. It felt like entering another world. The wind whipped at us and made it impossible to communicate. We did the best we could to help each other up the mountain, but it became harder once we realized we couldn’t find the trail. We found the best paths we could up the rock, staying low to the ground so that the wind wouldn’t throw us off the summit. Eventually, when we made it to a safer patch of rock, I took a moment to look around. The mountains around us were massive, and yet we were above many of them. I felt out of place and oddly claustrophobic, the colossal peaks surrounding us. We continued up, many of us sinking through the snow as we scaled the summit. At some point, we made it. We didn’t waste any time, however, and we cut back down the mountain as soon as we found the northeast trail. Despite the fear, I already told myself that I could do it again. The rest of the day blew by, everything was easy compared to the violent summit – a completely different wintertime than the calm and quiet entrance to the wilderness on the previous day.

The big push up Marcy

I dreaded the third day – the Marcy day. With the fearful experience of Colden, and now the physical exhaustion I felt that morning, I knew that the day would be long and difficult. I wanted a break every five minutes, but I pushed myself to continue. Every once in a while, someone would need to readjust their snowshoe bindings, and I mentally fist-pumped, grateful for the two minutes to catch my breath. After hours of hiking, one of the student assistants on the trip said we’d made it almost halfway. Suddenly my dread and exhaustion went away. Halfway up, already? Now, I was invigorated. The inspiration helped me with the rest of the climb. When we reached the final push, right before the barren rock, one of my classmate’s snowshoes broke completely off his foot. We tried putting him in microspikes, hoping he could follow our packed trail to the summit and back. He fell through the snow immediately, all the way to his hip. After helping him up, our professor switched snowshoes with him and told us to summit and then head back down. That last stretch wasn’t necessarily difficult, but the visibility made things challenging. I could only see maybe a 100 feet ahead of me, and I was worried that at any moment we’d lose sight of each other. Every time I thought we were close to the top, another bulge of rock emerged from the cloud we were in. Eventually, we reached the top, posing for group photos, appreciating the achievement we’d made. Then, we hiked back down the way we came and met back up with our professor. 

Making a tough choice

With a broken set of snowshoes, we realized we had to make a decision. Do we summit Wright Peak in the morning, or do we leave early? With the equipment malfunctions and our deteriorating bodies, we all agreed that the best thing for our safety was to leave in the morning, without summiting Wright. I was disappointed at missing out on the third peak, but I knew it was the right choice. At this point, I was so tired and my thoughts were filled with hot showers and warm beds. 

We left in the morning, knowing we didn’t accomplish the entire itinerary, but we were proud of accomplishing what we did, and for each day to go as smoothly as it did. Despite the unpredictable circumstances, we persevered and climbed two high peaks during the wintertime. It was challenging, but the experience was well worth it and made us all better leaders.

SUNY Potsdam student Zachariah Morehouse is an intern with Adirondack Explorer.