The Grouch Who Stole Winter: Adirondacks, March 21, 2009

(Above: Looking to Mount Marcy from the summit of Mount Colden, 4,714') It's been 22 years since I decided to traverse the earth solely by foot, bike and sail, to forego all motorized forms of transport in protest of a massive oil spill I witnessed as a teenager. 17 of those years I spent entirely silent, vowing not to utter a single word so that I could finally listen to those of others. I taught college courses at this time assisted only by emphatic gestures and an impassioned sense of purpose. I even became a UN Goodwill Ambassador and co-authored legislation regulating oil transport. Okay, I did not, but John Francis did all of the aforementioned and I strongly urge you to listen to his story (and not simply because Will Smith expressed a desire to portray him in a film based on his extraordinary life). Okay, moving on...










(Above: ice splendor en route to Avalanche Lake, photos by Andre Grotto and Rachel Shields)

Warning: Slightly misanthropic diatribe ahead. Vernal Equinox passed last week, aka the Grinch That Stole Winter. Look okay, I know you're all so frickin' relieved the blanket of winter has been lifted, the City roused from its dormant state with a promise of long-sleeve permitting temperatures, frisbees in parks, homies on stoupes, lovers on benches, flowers in bloom. Yeah, f@*k you too. I like winter. I like winter a lot. And I fully acknowledge biases inherited from being born within visible distance of both the Adirondacks and Canada (you can see Russia from my house!). There is a tangible magic in the great white silence that falls upon the world between the drop of the last autumn leaf and arrival of the first petals of Spring. Sure, Spring is orgasmafriggintastic in the City but in the hills it means blackflies, mosquitoes, ticks, rattlesnakes, mud, thunder, impenetrable foliage, allergens and the arrival of the most heinous of all creatures: throngs of other hikers. Alright I'm being a bit sarcastic here. I appreciate that many people hike primarily for the social experience but I think the biggest reason I enjoy hiking after the physical challenge is getting the chance to sort through the cacophony that builds in my head during the workweek; to exist in a zen like state with my cabeza floating freely about like a balloon. The primacy of the task at hand brings the rest of the world into acute focus. Winter just feels the most conducive to this end: the world opens up and quiets down in a way that pulls the childhood sense of wonder out of you and slaps you silly with it. I'm sure come September in the Whites or Rockies my hypocritical ass will be all "Hell yeah I'm so glad it's not winter yet!" but until then...


















The trip: Now that I've gotten completely off track I'm going to turn down my usual grating verbosity and let Andre and Rachel's lovely photos do most of the rappin' (yeeeah boooyee). I decided to go on one last (de facto) winter trip to the 'Daks with a band of notorious rapscallions, er, a few ambitious members of a group I'd hiked with previously. For reality's sake let's call them Anna, Andre, Susanna and Rachel (no need to change their names since that is a measure reserved to protect the innocent). These kids were an irreverent set of troublemakers, proper company for sure. We stayed at a quaint Keene Valley hostel, pigged out on ridishulous Noonmark Diner pies, quibbled, quobbled and hobbled up mighty Mount Colden via the Loj to Avalanche Lake and over to Lake Arnold under crystal blue skies no Crayola could capture. Maybe Photoshop on a nice flat screen monitor, but still, quite beautiful (the last time I was on Colden's summit with Karen we were greeted with a 360 degree view of a gray overcast wall). Just a wonderful and fulfilling day overall with the exception of managing to stick a crampon point into my right leg while glissading (yeah, brilliant).













We plodded up Noonmark Diner's namesake mountain the following day but were turned away from the summit due to time constraints. Nonetheless the views of Giant of the Valley and the Great Range were intoxicating (or drunkinating as my friend Derek would say). Susanna traversed steep ice and conditions she'd never been on before with worthy intrepidation. Rachel feigned Pacific Northwest pride while being secretly humbled by the quiet majesty of our Laurentian Shield peaks. Andre led the charge with poise and grace worthy of an Olympian. I followed with the grace of at least a Special Olympian. Anna kept the bunch warm with good (and no shortage of bad) humor. All in all, hats off to everyone and may Jah bless us with safe passage to great and lofty heights this Spring.

Lawdamercy.