#7 & #8: Dial & Nippletop, April 2016
Dial & Nippletop: The “Best Learning Experience” Hike
Ahhh...Dial & Nippletop...an experience I will truly *never* forget. For a lot of reasons. Most of them not-so-positive.
I had definitely been infected by the fever by this point in our hiking quest. I could NOT wait to get back to the mountains (they were calling, and I HAD to go!!). I had heard all the advice about avoiding the Daks during mud season, but I figured that it had been a fairly warm spring, and that by late April, we would probably be OK up there.
Boy, was I (sorta*) wrong.
I mean, we didn’t die out there. We didn’t get seriously injured. But we sure learned a lot of invaluable lessons on this hike. In the interest of sharing all I learned that day, I’m going to stray a bit from my typical blog post style, to best convey the big take-aways of this hike.
Lesson #1: Skip the shoulder season.
“Shoulder season,” for those who don’t know, usually refers to spring and late fall--in other words, not the peak season for hiking (or snowsports). The spring version of shoulder season is also known as “mud season.” This is because of all the snowmelt from the winter running down the mountains and into the valleys, making much of the trails and terrain muddy (or even an outright stream). The other very important thing I learned on this hike is that, in the Adirondacks, mud season can also mean a TON of snow and ice at higher elevations (I know, I know, we should have realized...and I mean, we KNEW, we had our microspikes, but we didn’t really KNOW, y’know?). More on this later...it’s just that this lesson is SO important, that I want to give it the proper emphasis by leading with it.
This hike began from the Adirondack Mountain Reserve gate (St. Huberts parking lot). I was eager to bag a couple of peaks on this excursion, so we settled on Dial and Nippletop for our effort. To date, this was going to be our longest hike, mileage-wise, AND the hike with the most elevation gain that we had ever tackled. Which brings me to...
Lesson #2: Know your limits.
It’s not that we truly exceeded our limits on this hike. It was more the combination of different factors that made this hike, in retrospect, feel a little out of our comfort zone (see Lesson #1).
Still, everything was going pretty well at first. The first (relatively small) problem I personally encountered was once we turned off the Lake Road onto the Leach trail to start ascending the Noonmark shoulder. As I was trying to keep pace with Ryley, who was in the lead, I soon felt like my heart was going to hammer out of my chest. I finally admitted to Ryley that I needed to stop for a few minutes and calm down a little bit. Yes, I was pushing myself a little harder than usual, and yes, it had been a couple of months since we’d done a big hike like this, but still, I was mystified by how my fast my heart seemed to be racing. After a while, it finally dawned on me what could be compounding this problem:
Lesson #3: Don’t overcaffeinate!
It took me about 27 years of my (at the time) 29-year life to finally figure out, “Oh hey, it turns out, I’m super-sensitive to caffeine!” Because of our early morning wake up call that day, I had actually forgotten this hard-learned lesson and inadvertently overcaffeinated (1 Starbucks protein espresso coffee + 1 20 oz hot coffee from Stewart’s + 1/2 a bottle of Mountain Dew). OK, maybe this particular lesson is more personal to me--but if you want to expand it to be more inclusive, I could re-phrase it: Know your body, and understand how to fuel and regulate yourself effectively. This experience became the hike that made me carefully consider what food and drinks I would consume, not just during the hike, but also before and after.
We decided to slow our pace down a little bit at that point, and soon I was feeling much better. We enjoyed the slightly meandering path the trail took toward the top of the Noonmark shoulder--it wandered back and forth through a beautiful pine glen for a bit, and was, shockingly, a sort of switchback-style design (which, for the Adirondacks, is pretty much unheard of). We were feeling good--the weather was incredible blue skies, we were making good elevation gains, and pretty soon, we reached the open, rocky summit of Bear Den Mountain, where we caught our first views of the day. To the west was the Great Range, and to the east, the Dixes. Truly breathtaking. We stopped to take it all in and take some photos before continuing. (If we had been paying closer attention, we might have taken note of the bits of snow still visible on some of the Great Range...remember Lesson #1?)
Pretty soon, we continued our climb up Dial. Just as we were about to start the ascent, we ran into a couple coming down from the direction we were headed. They seemed slightly frazzled and almost immediately asked us, “Do you guys have crampons?” Ryley and I sort of looked at each other and told them that we had our microspikes in our packs. The couple, at this point, told us they didn’t think we should continue without proper crampons or snowshoes, that they themselves had just tried to go up with only microspikes. (Up until this point, there wasn’t even a hint of snow or ice on the trail we were on, so Ryley and I must have been looking at them like they were nuts...) We thanked them very much for the warning, but said we were going to try our luck and see how it went.
Almost as soon as we parted ways, we encountered the snow and ice the couple had been warning us about. It wasn’t very deep yet, nor was it covering the entire trail. However, we did stop to put our microspikes on, and immediately felt very confident about continuing. We kept saying to each other that those other two hikers must not have much or any winter hiking experience, or just didn’t feel confident in their skills. (Our skills, on the other hand, were OH, SO well-developed, what with a total of two winter ascents under our belts...! Ha!) We kept moving and all was going well. Only one little thing was bothering me slightly at this point...the call of nature. (Hey, I had overcaffeinated, remember? Another unfortunate side effect of that decision was now coming back to haunt me...) I mentioned this to Ryley and he said we could stop for a few minutes to take care of business. I started looking around for a good place to go...but suddenly, everywhere I looked there was snow and ice. I decided I just didn’t want to deal with digging a cathole through the snow and ice at the moment, and told Ryley it wasn’t urgent, I could wait until we could find a spot with a break in the snow cover.
Lesson #4: When nature calls, just answer the call.
As I soon learned, there may or may not always be a better spot or opportunity to go. As we continued, I kept my eyes open for a good spot. To my dismay, the snow and ice cover was only getting deeper and more prevalent with every step we took. Oh well, I thought, it’s still not THAT urgent...but the truth was, I was not very comfortable and it was just one more thing making the hike challenging.
By the time we reached the summit of Dial, it was getting close to lunchtime and Ryley began to eat his sandwich and drink a summit beer. When he asked me why I wasn’t eating or drinking anything, I reminded him of that call of nature I had never answered earlier...it was still not a very big deal, but there was no way I was going to push it by drinking a beer at this point!
The views from Dial were great, almost as great as from Bear Den. I actually prefer the Bear Den view somewhat, since from that open summit, you can see the mountains on either side of the ridge. On top of Dial, you can only see the Great Range off to the west.
Soon enough, it was time to continue on to Nippletop. We just had to get through the two or three “bumps” described in the guide book. I could tell my energy levels were suffering a bit--at least, they didn’t match Ryley’s--since I hadn’t had much of a snack at the Dial summit. But I popped a few energy gummies and it got me through it. (Remember Lesson #3: Know your body.) It took a while, but we eventually made it over all the bumps and reached the junction with the Elk Pass trail. At this point, the snow and ice was ever-present, and the trail itself was becoming a somewhat mushy snow-spine. At the junction, we encountered a group of hikers who had come up from Elk Pass. Since we were planning to descend that way and make a loop out of our hike, I asked them how the conditions were.
Lesson #5: Always try to get some beta from fellow hikers--and actually use it.
Their response was that Elk Pass was, and I quote, “A luge track.”
Let me repeat that: A...LUGE...TRACK...
Hmmm...that, combined with their expressions and attitudes, didn’t sound too good to us. But, what the hell, we figured, those other hikers who had warned us on our way up Dial about the snow had been wrong, maybe these guys were also just exaggerating. We mentally shrugged and figured we’d just have to wait and see on our way down. We still had our sights and minds set on the Nippletop summit at that point, and so, we didn’t give that much thought to the descent in that moment.
From the Elk Pass junction, we gained the Nippletop summit quite quickly and easily, and, finally, I decided that it was definitely past time for my lunch and summit beer. We sat on the rocks facing west, admiring the dizzying views of Colvin and Blake, seemingly far below us, and the Great Range beyond that. You’re right up on a ledge on that summit, so it really does feel like you’re staring down into this steep abyss, a sheer drop of the mountain face blanketed by pines. It’s a little intimidating, but mostly, it’s magical. You’re literally above it all--even the birds flitting from treetop to treetop seem far below you. The treetops themselves seem like a fuzzy carpet. Whenever I’m in a place like that, I always think of the title of a William Eggleston photography book, “The Democratic Forest” (I’d first made the association when visiting Yosemite). Everything--the whole world--seems to become equalized by the sheer scale, the sheer vastness of everything before your eyes. It’s truly transcendental.
After spending some time enjoying the view and our lunch, we decided it was finally time to head down. (Again, if we had been paying more attention/if we hadn’t been so blown away by those amazing views, we might have taken the big mud puddle near the Nippletop summit as a symbol of what was to come...) We quickly reached the junction with the Elk Pass trail. As we glanced down, we took note that it was pretty snowy and icy, but it still seemed pretty do-able, from where we were standing. Ryley did remind me that those hikers had called the trail “a luge track,” and suggested that maybe we should just go back the way we’d come. I stubbornly refused, however, citing that 1) we’d have to re-do all those bumps, 2) those other hikers we’d met on Dial had been wrong about the snow, maybe these guys were exaggerating too, and 3) we could always start down a little ways and come back up if it seemed really dicey. (Remember, Lesson #5: Get beta--AND HEED THE WARNINGS.) Ryley, although somewhat reluctant, ultimately agreed, and off we went.
Well. To this day, I cannot think of a better descriptor for that trail than the one the other hikers had used--the Elk Pass trail was A LUGE TRACK. The trail was very steep, and literally a sheet of ice, that, in some spots, was covered in a melting, mushy snow that was only making each step that much more treacherous (the mushy snow could slide out from under your feet at any time). We must have descended maybe 100 feet before we realized, this was not a good decision, and it would probably be better to go back the other way. But, as we turned back and looked back the way we had come, to climb back up even 100 feet or so of that icy trail seemed incredibly daunting.
Lesson #6: Trust your instincts. A little struggle now is worth it to save yourself a LOT of struggle later!
Feeling a bit intimidated, we decided to just keep going down. We slowed to a crawl. It truly felt like even the slightest misstep could mean certain death. One wrong move, I thought, and we could go sliding down this steep mountain, right off the trail, cracking a skull on a tree below (our friend’s dad had once slid down an icy Adirondack trail in the winter and knocked himself unconscious for a few minutes...the story seemed to reverberate in my skull the entire descent). I have literally never been more grateful for the investment I’d made in my hiking poles--to this day, I firmly believe they paid for themselves in that one afternoon. Ryley was kicking himself for deciding to leave his ice axe in the car, back at the trailhead, that day.
(Lesson #7: bring the extra gear. Better to have it and not need it, than to NOT have it and NEED it.)
Every step of the way was like a negotiation: carefully examine the terrain for a good foothold, test the spot you’re eyeing with a hiking pole and/or your foot, carefully plant your foot firmly to make sure you have traction with your microspikes, find your balance...repeat, repeat, repeat...for two miles we went through this. Never once, until we reached the valley floor, did that trail get any easier.
By the time we reached the valley, our spirits were broken. I mean, we were literally changed people by this time. The breathless, magical feeling of the Nippletop summit was replaced by a deep despair, our mental resilience was almost nil. And we still had a six-mile hike back to the car (I had been convinced it was only three miles back to the car, until we reached a sign at the bottom of Elk Pass that broke my heart, informing me it was three to gain the Lake Road, and three more once on the Lake Road).
Well, at least it would be mostly flat from here, we thought. What we failed to take into account was that, precisely because it was flat, this part of the trail would be muddy. Like, that black, boot-suckin’ type of Adirondack mud, the kind that has incredible suction and can make it easy to pull your foot right out of your boot just for trying to take a step (technically, no, that didn’t happen, but we came close a couple of times). The kind that can make you slip and fall onto your butt and get mud all over your lower half (yes, that did happen). The kind that can make your friend tell you, for the first time in several years of friendship, to “shut up” just for asking if they’re OK (yes, that happened, too--I decided, at that point, that speaking was strictly unnecessary for the next few miles, until we reached the significantly drier Lake Road...).
Muddy and exhausted, both mentally and physically, we finally reached...the Lake Road. Another three miles to go... I was feeling all right, all things considered, by this point, feeling reassured by the sight of the road, knowing it was fairly smooth and flat and also, dry. I began to pick up my pace, but I soon realized that Ryley was not keeping up. I dropped back for a bit and hesitantly asked if he was all right, and got some sort of minimal response about how he was tired and this was the pace he could manage. I tried to stay with him at this slower pace, really I did, but after a while, I just couldn’t take it. I was eager to get back and it felt like moving this slowly was only exacerbating how tired and sore I was feeling--better to get it done quickly, like ripping off a band-aid, I thought. Eventually, I started walking at a bit faster pace, and would stop and wait for a few minutes for Ryley to catch up before continuing. I know I probably shouldn’t have done this, a good hiking partner would stay together, but since speaking was also still seemingly off the table at this point, I was feeling some “mountain madness” setting in and started whistling and humming to myself to pass the time. I figured it’d be kinder to spare Ryley my off-key musical medley that featured tunes as varied as Gogol Bordello, Rancid, and The Allman Brothers Band (here, I’m confident, was my first good decision of that afternoon...).
(Lesson #8: Respect your hiking partner’s/partners’ limits, both mental and physical.)
Finally...FINALLY...around 6 or 7pm, we made it out of the woods and reached the car. Only one problem we still faced? The 5+ hour drive home to NJ/Long Island. After the day we’d just had, the greatest physical and mental endurance test we’d experienced to date in the Adirondacks, we faced this final insult of having to bang out a 5-hour drive home. We debated whether we should hit the Noonmark Diner for some coffee, food, and also to use their bathroom (remember that earlier lesson about the call of nature...yeah, I still hadn’t answered it), but rather than backtrack even the 10-15 minutes it would take us to get to the diner, we decided to say “F*** it,” and just hit the Northway and headed home.
Lesson #9: Never try to bag some High Peaks the same day you have to drive 5 hours to get home.
All in all, this is still one of among the best and most memorable hikes in the Adirondacks I’ve done. I don’t use either term in the traditional sense, but this hike, to me, was an invaluable learning experience. It’s often important to learn what NOT to do, just as much as what to do.
A few final lessons:
Lesson #10: Learn from your mistakes.
Lesson #11: Learn to laugh at yourself and your mistakes.
Lesson #12: Mistakes always make the greatest stories in retrospect (as long as no one was gravely injured or killed).
*I say “sorta” because, ultimately, we were, actually, fine by the end of the hike.
Post-Script: For what it’s worth, I still to this day often struggle to remember some of these lessons. Unfortunately, I’ve repeated some of these same mistakes since that day (notably, not listening to my partner’s suggestions about backtracking the same way we’d come up the mountain, and not trying to bag high peaks the same day we have to do a long drive home). Still, I like to think I’m a stronger, better hiker overall because of Dial and Nippletop.
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