Thru Hiking: A Bonus Chapter

I had decided that staying in climate controlled environments with soft beds, hot showers and three varying meals a day was simply too cushy. What kind of adventure is that? I had to get as far away from civilization as possible, a walk deep into the woods. Thus the thru hike idea was born. I researched a few options, but primarily wanted to choose one that was achievable in a 10 day time frame. Not too long and not too strenuous, but still remote.

So I stumbled across the Northville - Plaid Trail (NPT) in the Adirondacks. At 134 miles I figured that could be done in 10 days time. We shoved my old car camping gear into backpacks and loaded up on a ton of almonds. Too many almonds, my pack weighed 55 pounds and Kathleen’s who knows.

Wednesday 9/4/24 Lake Placid to Moose Pond - 8.1 miles

We arrived at Lake Placid at 11 AM, much later than hoped. The night before we had hoped to reach Long Lake to drop off our resupply and start hiking around 8 AM the next morning. A slight set back but I was confident we could reach Duck Hole, around 12 miles in that day.

Boy was I wrong. Very quickly, we realized why this trail is considered challenging despite the minimal elevation changes. It’s a disaster. We spent most of the day bushwhacking and route finding. At one point we even lost half an hour after taking a spur trail to a waterfall. We were convinced it was part of the main trail, which then vanished into thin air. In our defense, the spur trail was hardly more than a blip on the map scaled down to show 134 miles of trail.

At long last, we straggled into the Moose Pond camp site as night was falling, 2/3 of our target distance that day. It’s also there that we met Irma and Debbie, decades old trail partners. The hippie dippie Irma told us how between cross country road trips and raising children, they had taken on the AT and countless of the trailless peaks of the Northeast. They offered us gear advice and encouragement. We also got what we hoped would not be a premonition when one asked if we hoped to conceive a child on the trail.

It was also our first experience with a lean-to. Ubiquitous in the North East American backcountry, these are a three-walled log cabin of sorts with one side open to the elements. We laid down our mats and slipped into our sleeping bags.

Before falling asleep, I chatted up our other bunk mate. Unfortunately his name slips me, but he was a wealth of information. Having done the Long Trail, AT, PCT, and Arizona Trail, he confirmed that the NPT was no walk in the park. He however was sympathetic to our plight as it was one of his first thru hikes as well. This was actually a homecoming for him, as he supported his dad on his first thru hike, bringing in much-needed resupplies.

I noticed he also kept all his supplies on hand. While I had hauled out a bear canister  and stashed it several hundred feet away, he assured me the chance of running into a bear was grossly overstated. And that really, he only followed such precautions in the most infested of grizzly territory. At this point, I was feeling like our lean to had become more like a barrel and us the proverbial fish inside, an easy snack for a hungry bear. Too lazy to set up camp, I cautiously drifted off to sleep with the distant sound of beavers slapping their tails against the water.

In fact, it was some of the best sleep I would get on the trip. Perhaps a mix of exhaustion from a long day and the feeling of strength in numbers, knowing we were sharing the camp with a few others. I slept straight through to daylight when the rustling of a brazen chipmunk woke me up.

Thursday

Moose Pond to Ouluska - 9.6 miles

Bidding farewell to Irma and Debbie and long behind the hiking fiend, we hit the trail hoping for clearer paths. Our hopes were quickly dashed as dew soaked leaves soaked our clothes as we pushed through the thicket. Still, we persevered and, soon after, ran into our first of several north-bound thru hikers. We recognized our hiking friend from the night before and with him his dad, now on his second-to-last day before reaching the end of his long journey. Perhaps a few days later, we would have been jealous of someone so close to the end, but at the time, we were still eager to be starting our adventure. After Kathleen commented how the prior nights beaver activity could be mistaken for the sound of bodies hitting the water, we bid the duo goodbye in an awkward silence.

Not long after their departure, we finally reached proper trail…if you could call it such. Still muddy, it was at least visible through the vegetation, owing to the fact it doubles as a horse trail. We took a brief pause to admire the intended destination of our previous night. A brand new lean-to situated above a creek shrouded in native grasses, an ideal sanctuary for birds. A few peanut butter M&Ms and some beef jerky, and it was back to the trail.

I had hoped that, somehow, the prior day was a fluke. That our pace was not only what I initially calculated and that lost miles would be made up for. I pushed us to keep up what seemed to be a faster pace, and in the green tunnel, I swore we were almost there, when probably we were only 3/4 of the way to our destination. At around 9 miles, we reached a clearing with some rusted metal pails. I’d been so excited to see anything manmade, I burnt all my final energy jogging up to it only to realize this was a memorial to an old hermit of the woods. The lean-to was another impossibly-long 0.6 miles away. I cursed the hermit’s ghost for tricking me. Then, quickly apologized, hoping he wouldn’t sic some wood spirits on me in the night.

At long last, we stumbled into camp and dropped our packs into the lean-to. With not a soul in sight, we stripped down and jumped into the river running along side. Only two days in, we already could feel the building up of grit and grime. We splashed around in the hip deep water as the sun set before assembling our tent. Despite me having slept decently well in the lean-to, Kathleen had not been able to shake the nagging fear of bears all night. In an attempt for some better rest, she hoped a nylon cocoon would put her more at ease.

Just as we finished up our camp chores, an older man walked into camp. A northbound hiker, he told us his name was Lucky and that he’d hiked over 20 miles that day. He couldn’t be sure just how many as he had, at one point, gotten turned around and hiked the wrong direction until seeing the same handkerchief twice. I guess it’s a glass half-full kind of luck.

Impressed as I was by Lucky, I realized our trip was not going to play out as I hoped. Our pace was far too slow to cover the whole hike in 10 days. So I stared at the map and came up with my plan. We would spend five days hiking to Long Lake, our first resupply town, then the remaining five hiking to Piseco, originally our second resupply. In doing so, we would cut off at least two days of what seemed to be topographically-boring terrain. I was sad to accept the loss of the achievement, but I’d rather Kathleen and I enjoy our first thru hike and hopefully many more.

With our new plan in place, we fell into a deep sleep.

Friday

Ouluska to Shattuck’s Clearing - 7.0 miles

The revised plan allowed for us to reduce our daily mileage. The goal was to stick to sub 8 mile days. This day we would be doing a paltry 6.2 miles along the river we had just camped beside.

We meandered through the woods with peeks of the water here and there but again got lost in the tunnel of green. I had hoped somehow that there would be more distinguishing landmarks, but for hours at a time, it was impossible to tell exactly where we were between camps. We kept on walking, knowing something lay ahead, somewhere.

That something was Sewards Lean-to. The most beautiful view we had seen yet. Here, the river cascades over smooth rocks, forming a natural slide into a deep bowl shaped waterhole below. Deciding to go for another plunge, we approached the edge and counted down before leaping into the icy depths of the aptly named Cold River below. Immediately, as our heads went under, we gasped from the cold shock. Kathleen attempted to retreat the way the entered, and I began swimming to the far side of the hole, figuring the more gradual slope would foster a quicker exit. But as I went to push my way up to dry land, my legs gave out below me. I planted my feet and pushed again only to have the same outcome. I had not accounted for the slick texture of the algae-covered granite below the water’s line.

Now panic began to set in. I was at the easiest egress point, yet I was stuck in the water. We had left our underwear on in the infinitesimally small chance that a hiker might pass in the miles of wilderness, and now that small hope could be our only salvation.

I took one more deep breath and looked at the rock in front of me. Doing my best to channel the zen of Alex Honnold, I envisioned how he gripped the rocks in Free Solo. I scanned it over, and there was a thin ridge the width of a pencil. I locked my fingertips overtop of it and used the advantage of the slick rock to slide my body up like a gangly pale seal. At last I was out!

Much to my surprise, Kathleen was also sitting on a narrow perch just above the water on the other side. She called out to me that she needed help getting higher. After helping her up the domed rock, she explained that she had initially gotten out with ease but slipped back into the water halfway up the stone slab, leaving her with some gnarly rock burn on her butt and hip.

Still, we were both glad we had survived the ordeal and joked about how stupid we had been. At least, we wouldn’t have been butt naked when they found our bodies. We soaked up the sun and briefly celebrated before carrying on. There were more miles to cover that day.

So we did, passing through yet another gorgeous site named Cold River 2. It featured another swimming hole (lesson learned) and a bridge, the only place you could cross the river without risking hypothermia. On the other side, lay our target Shattuck’s Clearing.

Per the map, Shattuck’s Clearing was a well-trodden and maintained tent site to spend the night. What we found was a field of juvenile pine trees poking through the ground and their elder ancestor laid out over what was once a picnic table. Perhaps we should have expected a level of neglect given the status of the rest of this trail.

With no hope of reaching the next lean-to by night fall we doubled back to the one we just passed.

Saturday

Shattuck’s Clearing to Kelly Point - 8.4 miles

It was disappointing to set out in the morning, knowing it was our third time covering the first mile or so. But it went fast. We were following the rivers and streams downhill now toward Long Lake. The name of both the very long lake we would be following for the next two days and of the town we would stop at, at its southern terminus.

The downhill approach allowed us to hasten our pace as that evening was supposed to be our only storm in an uncharacteristically-long stretch of sunny days for the Adirondack wilderness.

In fact, we made great time but the storm overtook us. The rain moved in as we reached the lake. We settled into a lean-to at the northernmost section of the lake and admired the romantic atmosphere of water droplets percussing on the dark lake.

However, we were committed to advancing as much today to make the next day all the more manageable. So on we pressed into the weather. I had hoped the dense tree canopy would protect us. Instead, it seemed to funnel every droplet in a hundred yards onto the trail and onto us. Even with my rain jacket, I was soaked through, and with each step, my feet sank so deep, the mud would eclipse my Darn Tough socks.

I tried to think of Lucky, who, when asked how he was able to walk so much, said “it’s easy you just put one foot in front of the other.” I wish I had his mindset because in this moment, I wasn’t sure I could do this. To make matters worse, we were once again lost, and it was getting dark and cold.

After I had thoroughly given up, ready to lie down in a puddle and wait for hypothermia or drowning, Kathleen got a bit of service. The elusive lean-to we were searching for was just another half mile ahead.

We sloshed into camp, and I into the lake. I figured I was so wet already, walking fully clothed into a lake couldn’t make me any wetter, but maybe I’d be a little cleaner.

We hung our clothes to dry inside the lean-to and set about making a fire. Given the rain, that was no small feat, but ever-resourceful Kathleen realized the shelters also protected the ground beneath them. We were able to harvest enough twigs to get a small pilot flame going, which in turn dried out surrounding branches before they were added to the fire.

Absolutely exhausted and anticipating another bout of rain in the night, we set up in the lean-to. Only to be quickly mobbed by a family of mice the moment the lights went out. Begrudgingly, we set up the tent within the lean-to and passed out.

Sunday

Kelly Point to Long Lake - 4.8 miles

The following day was a breeze because we had a light at the end of the tunnel. Our first resupply had changed from a quick pick up to an overnight stay in our itinerary. We bustled the last few miles to town, meeting one man who warned us of treacherous bridge crossings and a French Canadian couple who offered us free weed. We let them know we appreciated the hospitality but did not partake, sorry y’all.

However, we were more than happy to take the lift into town we were offered shortly thereafter. A man with NJ plates had passed us a few hundred yards before, doubling back after a woman and dog exited the car. He explained that he would have stopped sooner but he needed to kick the other passengers out. Not so much the dog, but his wife could have a temper. On the quick lift into town, we learned that not only did he have a sister who lived in Virginia Beach but that he lived in Westfield, NJ, one town over from my home town. What a small world! We thanked him for the ride and hopped out in front of the Adirondack Hotel.

This was our accommodation for the night. A cozy cousin of the famous hotel in The

Shinning. After passing a stuffed black bear and moose head, a series of wood paneled hallways led us to a wallpapered bedroom, overlooking the lake and a sea plane dock. The shared bathroom down the hall called to Kathleen who ran off as soon as she could to shower.

Showered and refreshed, we used the remaining daylight to check out the town. First, a Buffalo Bills themed bar, which served up the best mozzarella sticks we have ever had in our lives. Then, Hoss’s General Store where the abundance of varied items caused reverse culture shock following less than a week in the woods. They had it all from survival tools to Christmas ornaments.

We returned to the hotel and awaited our last treat for the day. The arrival of my friend Jobin! The first of our friends to join a leg of our travels. He is an Eagle Scout who could not pass up the chance to witness us floundering on our first backpacking adventure. Although he didn’t seem to mind such a luxurious night either as we all knocked out in our plush beds.

Monday

Moose River to Carry - 4.3 miles

The next day started as a sort of puzzle. After watching some sea planes take off, we began the process of shuffling cars. First, we drove Jobin’s car to my car in Lake Placid. Then, both to Piseco. Then, my car to the Cedar River Flow.

At last, around 3 PM, we started hiking now the three of us. Well, at least three, as we kept coming across what was clearly the tracks of a moose hiking our same trail. We only had to catch up to him. To my chagrin, we reached our camp for the day, where the hoof prints entered the water, without a moose sighting. The evidence of flattened grass made me hopeful moose used this as a den at night and that they would be awaiting us in the morning.

Not to be left disappointed wildlife did arrive in the rodent form. Moments after dropping our packs on the wooden planks of the lean to I heard a rustle. In not 3 seconds a rotund brown mouse the size of a hamster had chewed through my ziplock bag and begun pilfering raisins. I snatched my bag away and commenced a very literal game of whack-a-mole as the mouse popped up out of each nook and cranny in the wooden construction. At one point it even appeared between Jobin and Kathleen as if it too was a spectator in where the chase would lead us next. In the end no mouse was harmed and we accepted defeat hanging out bags from the many nails left for likely this exact reason.

Tuesday

Carry to Cedar Lakes 2 - 6.1 miles

The following day was fairly uneventful. Trudging yet again through the green tunnel all day, Jobin probed with questions that led us into our minds. He saw this hike not only as a chance to poke fun at our novice but also as an opportunity for him to get away from the daily hustle and bustle and do some soul searching. We talked aspirations and how we would plan to achieve these imaginary futures. Not that long after, as I write this, already some of those ideas have drastically changed. As Kathleen’s mom puts it, though, life is what happens when you’re making plans.

We finally broke out of the tunnel to a lake. Two in fact. One, much larger, was Cedar Lake. Near its midpoint a smaller beaver pond tricked through the dam like sand through an hour class. Over this bottleneck was a narrow railless bridge. On one side, a beach. On the other, our lean-to for the night.

After watching Jobin shiver in the cold water and a sunny nap on the beach, we began gathering twigs and sticks. We brought them back to camp and assembled a veritable mountain of kindling. As dusk turned into night, we set it ablaze and admired the bonfire as it roared. Jobin also showed us a bit of Boy Scout magic, tossing in a branch of shriveled brown pine needles the popped like a string of firecrackers.

Satisfied that the fire was controlled, we stepped away and back to the bridge. A very different experience at night. Despite the chill and wind, we were all glued to the wooden boards admiring the night skies. Without a moon or cloud in the sky, and no lights for miles, you could make out the faint haze that was the Milky Way even with your bare eyes. I took a picture, but my iPhone could never do it justice. I could have stayed there all night, but a distant cracking had Kathleen eager to retreat to our tents. So the two of us zipped away, and Jobin opted to spend the night in the lean-to tending to the dying embers.

Wednesday

Cedar Lakes 2 to West Lake 1 - 5.8 miles

The morning started like any other. Pack up camp and start walking south. Kathleen was in the lead when she suddenly stopped. Ahead of us a large man with a gray ponytail had stepped out of the thicket, almost like some apparition.

We immediately came to our senses, figuring he must have just stepped off to pee. We called out to let him know we were coming his way, unsure that he’d seen us. He glanced back and then immediately looked away down trail. As we approached, he busied himself with his glasses, wiping them with his face tucked down and away.

Given the infrequency of seeing anyone we’d gotten accustomed to stopping for a chat when running into another person. We asked him how his day was going and got a curt “Very well. Have a good day.”

Taking the cue that he didn’t want to be social, we carried on. Half a mile later, all of us in unison turned to one another and commented on how strange that interaction was. We couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly- coming from the woods, the lack of warmth, or the obscenely large pack. All of it could be explained rationally, but together it gave us all the heebie jeebies.

Not long after, we ran into another southbound hiker. Also gray haired but this lady gave off the aura of a benevolent witch, at worst, or an aloof yogi as she munched on dehydrated fruits while lying on the ground. We mentioned to her our surprise to find another southbound hiker, seeing as we’d met two this whole trip and both were the same day. She seemed equally surprised to hear there was another, but then nodded when we mentioned the ponytail man. She added that they’d stayed at the same campsite north of ours the night before, but he had equally few words for her. He wouldn’t even say the direction he was going, let alone his name.

At this point we were sure this ponytail man was up to no good. What did he have to hide? He was now behind us, and with no way but forward, we put pep in our step. Our saving grace would be putting as many miles between us as we could.

Our progress was halted by yet another encounter. This time two sharply dressed forest rangers coming down the path. I must admit those uniforms look pretty cool. While I’m not sure they had accomplished much on their night in the woods, what a great job to get paid to go camping. Jobin asked them their trail names.

At this point he had bestowed us with our own as well. He was clapper (he claps very quickly). Kathleen was mischief (ever the trivia fiend, she had taught us a group of mice is called a mischief). I was Tito (Yugoslavian and authoritarian on the trail). The male ranger told us that he had no such name, but the female ranger told us she would need to explain. Her name was Carpet Cookie, and we all chuckled at the innuendo. She assured us though that the name arrived from a wholesome game of catching thrown cookies in one’s mouth. Nothing sexual about it, or so she claims.

They warned us of the infamous patch of trail ahead, and we bid one another adieu. Sure enough, when we arrived to the legendary section, it was as promised. A beaver pond had flooded an entire field leaving a lake where the trail had once been. Already rerouted once, the trail now skirted in the water’s edge forcing one to log and boulder hop or walk through knee deep muck. Fortunately, the section was brief, and we were quickly out of it.

The reward for our trials and tribulations that day was well worth it. We had made great time, and with a shorter day overall, we had reached camp while the sun was still high in the sky. Not just any camp. It was set on the edge of a huge lake with crystal clear water and hulking granite boulders poking above. The smooth surface of the water reflected the forested hills around, which had already started to turn hues of oranges and reds.

The water was cold, but the sun was hot and summer was fleeting. So we took our last chance for a swim. Jobin and I swam to a small rock outcropping in the middle of the lake and admired just how far you could see into the depths below. It was like standing on the precipice of a canyon. We dove in over and over until the black flies chased us back to land.

Wanting to make the most of the spectacular view, we slept in the lean-to watching the sunset.

I’ve forgotten about the events of the day but had a brief scare in the middle of the night. While I was able to get restful sleep most nights, it was light to put it lightly. As such, I thought I had a pretty good sense of the comings and goings from our wooden shelter. You could imagine the shock then when I saw a dark human figure standing over Jobin’s sleeping bag. I was jolted awake and lunged for my can of bear spray when I realized that the figure above Jobin was Jobin himself. Luckily for him, I was pretty slow on the draw.

Thursday

West Lake 1 to Spruce Lake 1 - 6.9 miles

Our second-to-last day and we were certainly feeling the trail. For me, it was the physical fatigue. Not so much my muscles, but my spine and leg bones felt like they were being ground to a power. For Kathleen, the toll was mental. Unable to get a single good night’s rest due to anxiety of wild animals, she was exhausted.

It was perhaps this fatigue and a lapse in judgement that would soon cause our most serious mishap on the hike. We had stopped to rest at another bridge, over yet another creek, next to yet another beaver pond. I spied a set of three stepping stones leading out to a flat rock platform on the lake and figured I’d check it out. If I was lucky, maybe I could spot some beaver or otters in the pond.

One step, two step, and on my third step the rock flew out from underneath me. Earlier in the hike, I might have saved myself, but in my fatigued state, I came crashing down in the six inches of water and jagged rocks below. I jumped up as quickly as I could, but it was clear the damage was done. My right shoulder was throbbing, and I’d gashed open my left hand. A flap of skin hung off as I stood on the stone platform, which mockingly was covered in animal poop.

I got my shit rocked on shit rock. It’s funny to say now, but at the time I was very worried I’d catch some obscure infection days from medical care. Kathleen and Jobin helped snip off my detached skin and bandaged me up as best they could. Thankfully, the shoulder injury didn’t seem to react to the pressure of a backpack, but there was no way I could use that arm to push off of anything.

Ever onwards, we reached Spruce Lake. The last major body of water we would be encountering on our hike before we wrapped up the next day. The lake was so long and offered such impressive scenery that it had three separate lean-to sites along its banks. We arrived at the first and ran again into the sagely witch lady from the days prior. She mentioned off-hand how she’d been reading the lean-to’s log book and seen mentions of people using a shovel to paddle around a dilapidated canoe at the lake’s edge.

Immediately, Jobin was inspired. He proposed that rather than walking the remaining miles to the most distant lean-to, we could get in this duct-taped monstrosity and paddle over. Erring on the side of caution, though, Kathleen and I wished Jobin the best and opted to walk it. Ending up in the water ourselves was one thing. But risking our packs going down with the ship was too tall an order.

As we limped into camp, Jobin awaited us with an eager question. Had we heard the gunshots across the lake? We had not and dismissed it as hunting activity. Several signs had warned that the trail in this area crossed through hunting reserves, but as long as you stuck to the trail, safety was all but guaranteed.

Moreover, we were amazed the canoe had turned out to be “sea” worthy. Won over by its doggedness, we even joined Jobin on its return journey. The camp we would be staying at had several much more intact canoes with which we were able to ferry Jobin back after returning the old one. Along the way, we also encountered a pair of loons, unbothered by us they continued diving for fish and singing their eerie call.

Our last night in the woods. I walked Kathleen to the outhouse, which tended to boast not only more walls but more spiders than its thunderbox cousin. She was still afraid of animal encounters, so I kept guard. As she finished up, we heard a thunderous noise in the distance getting louder by the second. Soon, it was all around us, rebounding of the rocks and trees. And just like that it was gone.

We could hear Jobin shouting from the lean-to if we’d seen that. We said no, but we had heard it. He said it was a helicopter, but he couldn’t make out the details from the trees. It looks like it had been scanning the lake’s edge, passing over low.

Kathleen and my minds began to spin. Was it orange? Was it black? Maybe it was search and rescue. Or maybe it was a police helicopter looking for someone. Someone like ponytail man.

I started making a story in my head. We had all gotten the same strange feeling around this guy. Maybe the gut had noticed something the eyes had missed. And what could someone need such a large pack for?It was twice the size of mine!

The more I thought, the more my blood ran cold. The last northbound hikers we had seen were the two rangers the same day as ponytail man. Had something happened between them and the trail closed? The unfortunate few of us locked in with a madman. What if those gunshots had not been hunting activity? I’m no hunter myself, but I figured it was a one and done activity, you hit or missed and that was it. Though Jobin had specifically said the word “shots” not “shot.” It all seemed to add to a very sinister picture in my sleep-deprived brain.

Dark was upon us, and as real as the threat of ponytail man felt, the prospect trekking through the night in our current states would also spell disaster. So we built what little creature comfort we could. We shoved the tent inside the lean-to. It may not stop a bullet, but at least it would be harder to aim at us.

I laid there desperately trying to sleep. Not so much to get the needed rest, but to more quickly reach morning and the possibility of leaving this place far behind. After what felt like hours, I looked at my phone and announced it was not even midnight yet. Kathleen and I groaned at the prospect of 6+ more hours of this torture.

Friday

Spruce Lake 1 to Piseco - 9.5 miles

At some point, I must have dozed off because I woke with a start. I had to get to that thunderbox now. I called on my good fortune that I wouldn’t be stepping out into some sort of perverse trap and unzipped the door. After an otherwise uneventful visit to the loo, I was back ushering the others out of their tents and back on the trails.

Kathleen needed little prompting. She was ready to go and practically jogging down the trail. Her head on a swivel, she was always looking back to make sure there was not someone else in pursuit.

That morning we covered 9.5 miles in 4 hours. Our best pace of the trip on our last day of the trip. That’s the power of adrenaline I suppose. Exiting the woods, there was nothing awry. No police tape cordoning off the entrance. No squad cars or swat teams. I chuckled at how silly the threat seemed now, but how real it felt in the moment.

At long last, we were done. It was not the entirety of the Northville Placid trail, but we had done in excess of 90 miles by my estimates. That was no small feat, and awaiting us was cooked meals, soft beds, and most importantly hot showers.