Meet Gregg and Deia - February 22, 2009

This past weekend I attended the Adventure Travel Expo in DC. Although our hearty tree-embracing buddies fom NOLS and AMC were in attendance the majority of vendors seemed to be pitching "luxurious" travel packages to "exotic locales," oh that most irritating of oxymorons: "upscale adventure" (see "Outside Go"). I'm sure ziplining through the rainforest from the window of a five star hotel and traversing the Alaskan backcountry in an RV has its own particular magic to it but I Chinatown bussed on down to DC for something bigger. Well, primarily I wanted to hang out with my wonderful mom before she heads back to the Philippines but I also went to listen with keen intensity to Gregg and Deia's story.

Across the Andes

Deia Schlosberg, 28, and Gregg Treinish, 26, were the first people to thru-hike the entire 7,800 mile (+/-) length of the Andes along its skyscraping spine. Deia was also the first woman to walk South America. It isn't simply the scale of the task that is so epic, it was their style and purpose in doing it that makes the feat all the more affecting. For much of the journey they were without adequate topography maps and GPS. Through one section of Peru the only maps they had to go by were the scale generally found on classroom walls. By their own estimate they bushwacked half of the distance, often through nearly impenetrable vegetation, ice cold glacial waterways and deep muddy bogs. They regularly endured typhoid fever, stomach virii and other severe ailments. They set off on their "7,800 mile trek toward understanding" with the intention of learning from the experience of peoples who've used a variety of sustainable methods of living for centuries and in some cases have only heard tales of gringos. It was heartening to hear how genuinely warm, giving, funny and curious people they came across were (and how often they pointed Deia and Gregg in the wrong direction). One photo displayed a mountaintop adobe brick hut house attached with a solar panel, a striking marriage of traditional and modern methods. Another slide showed the devastating environmental and social consequences of ubiquitous copper mining in Chile. In one moment I found particularly moving Gregg shared his surprise when he discovered a conservation effort he once admired had actually displaced people in Patagonia. Their odyssey even contained a worthy romantic subplot: Gregg proposed to Deia at the lighthouse at the end of the continent. (She accepted.)

In person Gregg had an infectious humility and smile. I was glad to get to share with him how thinking of their trials helped me push through my own, microscopic by comparison. If heroines and heroes are simply ordinary people that do extraordinary things in service of a calling much larger than themselves, well then my netdwelling friends, meet Gregg and Deia.

(Photos from AcrossTheAndes.com)

My Apologies, Harriman: February 17, 2009

Look Harriman, I'm sorry. I realize I've been dismissive in the past, seeking higher climes when you were looking the other way, more contour lines, steeper cols and broader vistas. Frankly put our relationship isn't where it should be and I am owning up to my part in this equation. After the time you showed me this past weekend how could I not? You may be in the shadow of the Shawangunks and the Catskills, but you too contain multitudes. Thank you, and after this St. Valentine's day I must reaffirm it: I love you.

Okay, I was introduced to a little bit of magic in Harriman State Park on President's Day. The Lichen trail off the Long Path crosses a section of the park that was the site of a devastating fire, leaving a broad ridge of exposed granite and eerie remnants of destruction. It's a Canal Street experience of being above treeline, as you can see from Google's privacy-shattering super spy satellites (this might be a clever way to choose hiking destinations - not all tree huggers actually like to be around trees).

Let's just hope you still love me when I attempt your 26 mile Suffern-Bear Mountain traverse.

Mid-February Catskills Swelterer: February 11, 2009

50 degrees in mid-February on a Catskills 3500 footer? Check.

Wittenberg Mountain may not exactly split the clouds at 3,780' but it will always hold a certain sentimental value in my heart for being my first hike after contracting a nasty bout of freedomofthehillsitis a couple of years ago. Check out four seasons on Wittenberg's wonderful throne-like summit peaking over the Ashokan Resevoir (yes, this is where Conan - the Cimmerian, not O'Brien - would chill, pop bottles and praise Crom if he were visiting). Left-to-right: spring, summer, fall, winter:

Despite a bareboot-beaten and sticky trail snowshoes were the order of the day to the top and back with a few butt-happy glissades coming down the scrambles. The day was so uncharacteristically mild I was gloveless and down to just a base layer for most of the day. In other seasons the Burroughs Range trail up Wittenberg is sheltered by foliage the entire way up save for a majestic peek at part of the Devil's Path nearing the summit. We were thankful for the forest "droppin' the top" to reveal once hidden views.

Nonetheless I've never found the shortage of vistas tiresome on this peak. The beauty and diversity of the interior forest route rivals any I've seen and the nearly 2,400 feet of ascent involved over 3.9 miles sure as hell adds to the parade. This past summer I was caught on Wittenberg in a fierce electrical storm that brought down a large tree on the trail not far from us (see photos below). It was a little strange then seeing the same tree marked "162 years old" knowing that I was there for its demise: me, mere mortal, not having yet lived a fifth of its lifespan. Aside from a friendly snowshoer and his alpine-capable canine companion we had the mountain to ourselves, a rarity for sure from Woodland Valley. Zeus gave us a break too, the 30% forecast precip never rearing its head.

Forecast Lesson Learnt: NJ Highlands, February 8, 2009

As the scene above and my homey Dan Davis to the right indicates, we hit a little snag on an attempt of the NJ Stonetown Circular hike adjacent to the Wanaque Reservoir. A forecast of a high of 50 degrees and precip under 20% led some of us to come unprepared - cotton, sneakers and no shell nor traction - for the chorus of winter rain and light hail that greeted us at the top of Windbeam Mountain. Fail and bail, but lesson learnt. (Yes, learnt, "learned" implies we won't make the same mistake again.) Forecasting is simply not an exact science. Ironically last summer Dan, a few others and myself were turned just short of Wittenberg's summit by an unexpected and ferocious electrical storm that downed large trees along the trail within a mile of us. Better to be prepared than suffer the consequences (and resort to throwing a smoothie at Nicholas Cage's head out of frustration afterwards).

Summer Recap: Acadia National Park, July 2008

For my 28th birthday last summer I joined my sister, brother-in-law, a few of their friends and my then 8 month old niece Kaya on a camping trip to Maine's Acadia National Park. I'd never been to Acadia before and was a bit perplexed by Acadia's acute popularity given its relatively vertically-challenged character, at least juxtaposed to the lofty reaches of neighboring Baxter State Park and the White Mountains. Nonetheless I was excited to spend my annual solar rotation over beer and roasted marshmellows under a boundless star-studded Northern sky and in proper company. It was also Kaya's inaugural camping trip. One of my sister's friends turned co-conspirator and I also hoped to make successful contact with an intelligent alien race using makeshift tinfoil "conductor" hats. No such luck (not enough foil or Coors Light?), but I did learn to wonderful surprise that elevation ain't everything - Acadia is the IED for real (click on the photo to the right for proof).

Trying to get the most out of the day I picked an 11 or so mile circular route that would take me from Blackwoods Campground to Acadia's signature landmark, Otter Cliff (photo at top of post), Thunder Hole and to the summits of The Beehive, Champlain Mountain, Huguenot Head, Dorr Mountain and the highest point on the Eastern seaboard, 1,530' Cadillac Mountain, respectively. Acadia is supposedly the first point the sun rises in the US and I made sure to catch dawn on the shore near the campground. What a jawdropper, photo below, upper left. While being a park heavily trafficked by tourists using the expansive Park shuttle system Acadia also has no shortage of trails with rugged ascents and daunting scrambles. My personal favorite was the Beehive with its ludicrously narrow ledges and stomach-churning exposure (photos: right, below). Ludicrous!

So what Acadia lacks in elevation it more than makes up for in sharp reliefs from sea-level to summit. Figure A: check out the poorly cropped photo to the right of me descending Champlain Mountain. The camera was tilted on a rock when I took the photo - I rotated it later to show the actual gradient of the slope (trees growing vertically for reference). Despite being some 4,000 feet lower than Adirondack high peaks the feeling on Acadia's summits, notably the southern ridge of Cadillac Mountain, was similar to the feeling of being above treeline in the Adirondacks: boreal vegetation, exposed rocky ridges and unending views. Oh, and with the added novelty of the Atlantic Ocean in full view.

There was a funny moment when I emerged alone from the punishingly steep col between Cadillac and Dorr Mountain onto the summit of Cadillac, only to be surrounded by literally hundreds of tourists who had driven up the autoroad to the top. Initially it inspired mixed feelings of accomplishment and resentment at the overdevelopment of wilderness but that quickly gave way to gluttonous euphoria after raiding the summit gift shop for ice cold PowerAde and Snickers ice cream bars - a scaled down Mount Washington experience. The final trek down the southern ridge of Cadillac back to Blackwoods Campground was otherwordly; the ocean far below dotted with glaciated stepping stones for giants, the sun's waning rays taking a final waltz on its slowly calming surface.

Whether you're an overweight fannypack-rocking tourist, a hiker or rock climber seeking punishing trails and cliffs with the ocean roaring beneath the magic of Acadia truly lies in its variety: few places rival how much it offers in such little area. Even Kaya couldn't complain bundled inside her tent. And maybe...just maybe, you will make Contact.

But you don't have to take my word for it.