7.20.12 - 7.22.12
I do not know how to begin. I wouldn't even be sure that I am telling the truth except that I have a nice red/purple bruise on my thigh and some random bug bites popping up here and there.
After attempting to get a few hours of sleep last week Thursday night, my friend Kylee and I were roused by my alarm clock playing classical music at 3:20AM. Not long after that, we and six others were sitting in cars and driving East. This was the start.
The first end was hours later in a parking lot across the entire state. There, after dreaming about a good sub since 8:00AM, I stuffed three peanut butter sandwiches into my stomach. At the moment that seems like gluttony; in reality, it was a good thing that I ate that much.
Eventually, we eight excited individuals had packs strapped to our backs and solid shoes on our feet. We said a much needed prayer together, took a few fun pictures, and headed off through the parking lot towards our second start.
Here's a little more reality: we were 0.9 miles down the trail when I thought we were halfway there. My judgement of miles was very poor then; now I know better. Miles go on forever and ever and ever and ever.
The entire length of our hike that day was 5.6 miles through beautiful woods, past impressive cliffs, near cool, damp caves, and by deep, cold mountain water. This path, as we got into higher elevations, also became consistently more rocky as we got further along. We were up and over and down and through as the rocks turned to boulders.
Finally, 4-ish hours later, we made it to our second end. I was a little tired, a little sore, but with excitement still being fed by the sights. My brother was determined to go climb a mountain after we reached the campsite, so he and three others left to hike (or crawl) up their very tall rock. As they tackled that, Kylee and I let our feet revive in the cold lake.
My dad asked us to prove our chef skills and make a gourmet dinner of chicken slop for the group while he and Kevin set up the tents: canned chicken, gravy, and instant mashed potatoes all made in boiled lake water on a little stove.
Our very tired mountain climbers were pretty happy to see the meal. Very, very happy. And so was I. No matter what it was, food was food. The yogurt-covered raisins in the trail mix, a special treat, became currency, I think.
Our first day finished with a visit from our resident ranger Christopher Robin (alias Logan) who told us to take down the tents and sleep in the lean-to. We got some warnings of his friend Pooh (a sow and cubs that roam every night), and some advice where to dump our bear cannisters. We nodded and listened and took great precaution, to Chris's satisfaction.
Then Wesley stopped by (we don't know his real name, but he looked like the missing person), eating some bag of intense hiker food and wearing a bright orange puffy coat. He was another advice-giver (in between his "colorful" language), and, again, we took it to heart. We think there is some conspiracy that he is a part of, and we have some good theories, but we're not certain what it exactly is.
At the end of some major clean-up of the tents and lean-to, we climbed into bed. It was 9:30PM at the very latest.
And bed was the worst part of the whole trip. After a long night of flipping and turning and shivering, with pressure ulcers forming on my hips every hour or so, I was just about done with the camping. But then, I opened my eyes to see a misty-coloured sight just outside the lean-to. Of course, I was freezing and still really tired, but it was a mesmerizing glimpse.
Somewhere between 5-6:00AM, at least three or four of us were up walking about, taking pictures, and boiling water. Then finally, after a bit of waiting for our sleeping beauties, we had pancakes. They definitely looked like cakes in a pan, but remember what I said about food?
Wesley showed up early on his way back to civilization. Apparently, by his surprised tone, he had expected us to be already out and about the misty mounts, but he was coming by just in case we hadn't left yet. Why did he visit? He was just stopping by to get toilet paper from us. We generously gave him a handful of squares and said goodbye.
Our third start began not long after. Today we would reach the highest point in New York.
I'd love to sit and describe all I saw. There were mountain streams that raged and tumbled through the rocks, filling deep, clear pools down below. There were short evergreen trees crowding a narrow stone path, winding steeply up towards the summit. There was the alpine level, where no trees could grow, where the exposed rocks were speckled with green lichen and a little bird sang us a beautiful little song. And, above all, there were the miles of peaks stretched out far into the horizon, big and grand and vast.
Cameras can't capture experiences like these. My writing gives only a shallow glimpse at the rise and fall of the land, the pain and excitement we felt. Experiences certainly must be experienced.
So, I skip to 12 miles and a few hours later when we finally made it back to camp with food in our heads--our third end. On the summit we ate a lunch, discovering how delicious celery can be and wishing there was more to be had. Down the summit, in a way to avoid thinking about the pain, we still discussed food; fruit, such as peaches, was our top choice. But spaghetti works too, and we were equally excited for that. We each had two bowls, excluding my brother who wolfed down three.
Stargazing was on the to-do list for this night, but there was plenty of time to kill and our stiffness to beat. Two members of our party decided to sleep right then and there, but the rest of us went on a little hike around the lake, checking out the Interior Outpost as we went along (cozy little place, that).
Of course, it got dark on us, and I was the only one without a light. Somehow, even though the rocks beneath my feet started disappearing in front of my eyes, I still made it through without doing a face-plant into the mud.
Suddenly, close to the end of the hike, we heard a chorus of screaming echoing across the lake. It was fairly eerie, except that we had a pretty good guess what campsite it was at. One thing we knew for certain: Chris would be coming by soon.
Sure enough, a few minutes after we returned to the campsite, Chris walked by wondering if we knew anything. We continued to send him on his way; though, I must admit, he seemed to know what site it was too. Later, he stopped to tell us that a campsite (we guessed it) was cooking food late and had peanut butter sitting around. The bear cubs took the peanut butter and scrambled up some trees. Mama bear didn't end up doing anything, but Christopher Robin is around, remember.
We, however, were undisturbed by any bears. Bear-free, we (meaning six of us) stayed awake to see the stars. First we sat facing East, looking over the lake, disappointed at the bright horizon and the lack of stars. But, turning West, I pointed out the brightness that was just beginning to peep out here and there, and then the satellites flying by. Fairly soon, our dusty galaxy filled up the center of the sky, and we caught some of its comets burning.
Of course, clouds began rolling in, so we headed to bed. Turns out, it began to rain that night.
The next morning, our final morning, we got up a little later, though not by too much by all means. Breakfast was unexciting, being only oatmeal (blegh), but eventually I gulped it down and retreated to the rocks on the lake. Kylee joined me there, and we basked like mermaids.
Voices from above, however, caught our attention. A man in a white tank-top somehow ended up popping up in our camp asking if we saw the bear. When my dad answered no, the man replied, "They took our peanut butter!" (Actually, he said that twice, sounding like it was the most unexpected thing in the world.)
Guess what group arrived at our site on their way out.
When Ranger Chris showed up at the campsite, he was not happy. He told the people there that, first thing the next morning, they had to move out.
Kylee and I, hidden down on the rocks below, smirked and chuckled at the campers, now dubbed the "Jansporters" by their Jansport backpacks. Here are a few more treasures that we heard as they walked around the lake:
"Do you think they're fishing down there?" -- in reference to Kylee and me sitting on rocks without fishing gear of any kind.
"Did you see all their bear cans? They've got, like, 500." -- we had six (verses them having zero), and it's required to have them.
Last bit about the Jansporters: as we were leaving, all strapped up and geared to go, we passed both a sleeping bag and a six-person tent. These articles were seen by Kylee and myself in the hands (not the Jansports) of the Jansporters. Carrying them 0.2 miles must have been too much, because they dumped them as they went along. We picked up their things and dropped them at the Interior Outpost for Chris. Again, dear ranger was not a happy camper.
Moral of the story: follow rules. They didn't take our peanut butter....
And that was the trip, really. The way back was uneventful, only tiring, and at some points we were basically crawling over every rock and root in our path. I ached all over, I was sweaty, my shoulders were pinched, and my feet were aflame. The loj was the most beautiful sight in the world by the end of that 5.6 mile path. This, most thankfully, was the final end.
Yet I am so totally going again next year!
After attempting to get a few hours of sleep last week Thursday night, my friend Kylee and I were roused by my alarm clock playing classical music at 3:20AM. Not long after that, we and six others were sitting in cars and driving East. This was the start.
The first end was hours later in a parking lot across the entire state. There, after dreaming about a good sub since 8:00AM, I stuffed three peanut butter sandwiches into my stomach. At the moment that seems like gluttony; in reality, it was a good thing that I ate that much.
Eventually, we eight excited individuals had packs strapped to our backs and solid shoes on our feet. We said a much needed prayer together, took a few fun pictures, and headed off through the parking lot towards our second start.
Here's a little more reality: we were 0.9 miles down the trail when I thought we were halfway there. My judgement of miles was very poor then; now I know better. Miles go on forever and ever and ever and ever.
The entire length of our hike that day was 5.6 miles through beautiful woods, past impressive cliffs, near cool, damp caves, and by deep, cold mountain water. This path, as we got into higher elevations, also became consistently more rocky as we got further along. We were up and over and down and through as the rocks turned to boulders.
Finally, 4-ish hours later, we made it to our second end. I was a little tired, a little sore, but with excitement still being fed by the sights. My brother was determined to go climb a mountain after we reached the campsite, so he and three others left to hike (or crawl) up their very tall rock. As they tackled that, Kylee and I let our feet revive in the cold lake.
My dad asked us to prove our chef skills and make a gourmet dinner of chicken slop for the group while he and Kevin set up the tents: canned chicken, gravy, and instant mashed potatoes all made in boiled lake water on a little stove.
Our very tired mountain climbers were pretty happy to see the meal. Very, very happy. And so was I. No matter what it was, food was food. The yogurt-covered raisins in the trail mix, a special treat, became currency, I think.
Our first day finished with a visit from our resident ranger Christopher Robin (alias Logan) who told us to take down the tents and sleep in the lean-to. We got some warnings of his friend Pooh (a sow and cubs that roam every night), and some advice where to dump our bear cannisters. We nodded and listened and took great precaution, to Chris's satisfaction.
Then Wesley stopped by (we don't know his real name, but he looked like the missing person), eating some bag of intense hiker food and wearing a bright orange puffy coat. He was another advice-giver (in between his "colorful" language), and, again, we took it to heart. We think there is some conspiracy that he is a part of, and we have some good theories, but we're not certain what it exactly is.
At the end of some major clean-up of the tents and lean-to, we climbed into bed. It was 9:30PM at the very latest.
And bed was the worst part of the whole trip. After a long night of flipping and turning and shivering, with pressure ulcers forming on my hips every hour or so, I was just about done with the camping. But then, I opened my eyes to see a misty-coloured sight just outside the lean-to. Of course, I was freezing and still really tired, but it was a mesmerizing glimpse.
Somewhere between 5-6:00AM, at least three or four of us were up walking about, taking pictures, and boiling water. Then finally, after a bit of waiting for our sleeping beauties, we had pancakes. They definitely looked like cakes in a pan, but remember what I said about food?
Wesley showed up early on his way back to civilization. Apparently, by his surprised tone, he had expected us to be already out and about the misty mounts, but he was coming by just in case we hadn't left yet. Why did he visit? He was just stopping by to get toilet paper from us. We generously gave him a handful of squares and said goodbye.
Our third start began not long after. Today we would reach the highest point in New York.
I'd love to sit and describe all I saw. There were mountain streams that raged and tumbled through the rocks, filling deep, clear pools down below. There were short evergreen trees crowding a narrow stone path, winding steeply up towards the summit. There was the alpine level, where no trees could grow, where the exposed rocks were speckled with green lichen and a little bird sang us a beautiful little song. And, above all, there were the miles of peaks stretched out far into the horizon, big and grand and vast.
Cameras can't capture experiences like these. My writing gives only a shallow glimpse at the rise and fall of the land, the pain and excitement we felt. Experiences certainly must be experienced.
So, I skip to 12 miles and a few hours later when we finally made it back to camp with food in our heads--our third end. On the summit we ate a lunch, discovering how delicious celery can be and wishing there was more to be had. Down the summit, in a way to avoid thinking about the pain, we still discussed food; fruit, such as peaches, was our top choice. But spaghetti works too, and we were equally excited for that. We each had two bowls, excluding my brother who wolfed down three.
Stargazing was on the to-do list for this night, but there was plenty of time to kill and our stiffness to beat. Two members of our party decided to sleep right then and there, but the rest of us went on a little hike around the lake, checking out the Interior Outpost as we went along (cozy little place, that).
Of course, it got dark on us, and I was the only one without a light. Somehow, even though the rocks beneath my feet started disappearing in front of my eyes, I still made it through without doing a face-plant into the mud.
Suddenly, close to the end of the hike, we heard a chorus of screaming echoing across the lake. It was fairly eerie, except that we had a pretty good guess what campsite it was at. One thing we knew for certain: Chris would be coming by soon.
Sure enough, a few minutes after we returned to the campsite, Chris walked by wondering if we knew anything. We continued to send him on his way; though, I must admit, he seemed to know what site it was too. Later, he stopped to tell us that a campsite (we guessed it) was cooking food late and had peanut butter sitting around. The bear cubs took the peanut butter and scrambled up some trees. Mama bear didn't end up doing anything, but Christopher Robin is around, remember.
We, however, were undisturbed by any bears. Bear-free, we (meaning six of us) stayed awake to see the stars. First we sat facing East, looking over the lake, disappointed at the bright horizon and the lack of stars. But, turning West, I pointed out the brightness that was just beginning to peep out here and there, and then the satellites flying by. Fairly soon, our dusty galaxy filled up the center of the sky, and we caught some of its comets burning.
Of course, clouds began rolling in, so we headed to bed. Turns out, it began to rain that night.
The next morning, our final morning, we got up a little later, though not by too much by all means. Breakfast was unexciting, being only oatmeal (blegh), but eventually I gulped it down and retreated to the rocks on the lake. Kylee joined me there, and we basked like mermaids.
Voices from above, however, caught our attention. A man in a white tank-top somehow ended up popping up in our camp asking if we saw the bear. When my dad answered no, the man replied, "They took our peanut butter!" (Actually, he said that twice, sounding like it was the most unexpected thing in the world.)
Guess what group arrived at our site on their way out.
When Ranger Chris showed up at the campsite, he was not happy. He told the people there that, first thing the next morning, they had to move out.
Kylee and I, hidden down on the rocks below, smirked and chuckled at the campers, now dubbed the "Jansporters" by their Jansport backpacks. Here are a few more treasures that we heard as they walked around the lake:
"Do you think they're fishing down there?" -- in reference to Kylee and me sitting on rocks without fishing gear of any kind.
"Did you see all their bear cans? They've got, like, 500." -- we had six (verses them having zero), and it's required to have them.
Last bit about the Jansporters: as we were leaving, all strapped up and geared to go, we passed both a sleeping bag and a six-person tent. These articles were seen by Kylee and myself in the hands (not the Jansports) of the Jansporters. Carrying them 0.2 miles must have been too much, because they dumped them as they went along. We picked up their things and dropped them at the Interior Outpost for Chris. Again, dear ranger was not a happy camper.
Moral of the story: follow rules. They didn't take our peanut butter....
And that was the trip, really. The way back was uneventful, only tiring, and at some points we were basically crawling over every rock and root in our path. I ached all over, I was sweaty, my shoulders were pinched, and my feet were aflame. The loj was the most beautiful sight in the world by the end of that 5.6 mile path. This, most thankfully, was the final end.
Yet I am so totally going again next year!
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