I’d left work and done the drive to Keene Valley the night before, arriving in the public parking lot around midnight. It was a beautifully, clear Adirondack night so I happily threw my ground cloth down, spread out my bed roll and sleeping bag and climbed in. I star-watched for twenty minutes or so before nodding off
I went to the Noonmark Diner for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. and was at the trailhead for Mt. Esther and hiking by eight.
My stomach was bothering me on the drive over and as I pulled into the trailhead parking lot, my eyes searched the area for a privy. None was to be found. Bears shit in the woods. Desperate hikers in empty parking lots and no sign of human life around squat by the side of their car quickly, planning to dig a cat hole and bury the remains when time isn’t of the essence. So that’s what I did.
And about half way through the ordeal…naturally…another car pulled in and with 30 spots to choose from, selected the one next to me…naturally. I scrambled to return to some form of full dress and stood just as a beautiful, young female hiker was emerging from the passenger side of the car. She noticed me standing up from behind the right front fender of my car and I was hoping she just figured I’d squatted to tie my shoes or something. We said our ‘helloes’ and little else since they were French Canadian and didn’t seem too conversant in English. This allowed me a chance to sneak off into the woods, as I should have done in the first place, to dig a cat hole and finish my business with some modicum of dignity.
The climb I was doing would be my 34th of the 46 peaks in the Adirondacks above 4,000 feet. Mt. Esther is on the trail to Whiteface, the famous Olympic ski mountain and the one I planned to climb last. This meant I’d be covering the same trail again someday, which was okay but easily something I could have done on the same day and managed a two-fer. It was a steady and steep trail for the first hour and my pitiful conditioning was taking a toll. I was sweating profusely and breathing heavily, but I trudged on. To my surprise, I overtook the young couple from Canada. I’d looked them over in the parking lot, and they’d looked super fit. The woman however, was sitting on the side of the trail and looking rather exhausted. Maybe I wasn’t doing so badly after all.
I reached the peak two and a half hours after starting on trembling legs. I ate a Clif bar, downed 32 ounces of Crystal Lite, took some pictures, and visited with a family from Rochester before heading back. The trip back took almost as long; descending is easier on the lungs but harder on the legs and caution is necessary to keep from falling. Round trip, I’d covered about ten miles. I dropped into the creek just off the trailhead and tried to wash away the sweat and grime of five hours of difficult hiking.
I called Donnie to let him know I was on my way to our rendezvous point on Cranberry Lake, but didn’t make it there until 4 p.m. I loaded my camping gear into his fishing boat and we were off to explore the many islands on the lake looking for an isolated camping spot. Many of the islands are so small that camping isn’t possible since you need to be 150 feet from the water to pitch a tent.
We ended up on Joe Indian Island with a perfect campsite. The bugs were merciless though, so I pitched the tent for sleeping. We boated into Dead Creek Flow for Wanakana and the Pine Cone Restaurant where we got burgers and fries before returning to our campsite just as the sun was setting.
Hike duration: 5 hours.
Training Heart Rate: 100-160 bpm.
Calories Burned: 3000.
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