Mountainside View

Variety Pack

1^st - 7^th March, 2008

by Jay Harrison

The snowfall made ice climbing in these parts difficult to get to and not terribly good once you got to it, so I've spent the past week or so just wandering around exploring a bit. On top of that, I'm very busy on various other projects and school, so I've had to grab outdoor time in chunks when I could. I did manage to finish a Norway post I started a month or so ago, placing my account all of one full week into the trip; so at my current rate of progress there I should be done in oh, another year or so. The upshot of all this is, I haven't done any major grand trips to write about, lately. This post is a compiliation of several trips I've taken in the past week. I'll cut the chatter down and let the pictures do the talking.

Griffin Falls, 1^st March

On Saturday, the first of March, the sun came out, making all the snow of sparkle. I had very little time but decided to drive out to Griffin Falls and perhaps snowshoe to Auger from there.
Upon my arrival, the sky quickly darkened and it began to snow. I parked along Route 8, not certain my car could get out of the short access road. Walking down to the bridge, I noted that the weather was very unstable.
As a couple sleds drove by, I stepped off the snowmobile trail and immediately was up to my thighs in snow. I stomped out a small area and put on snowshoes graciously lent me by Beaver Brook Outfitters - my own shoes were broken - then began wandering back toward the river.
There is a small vertical wall on the north side that I thought might have some ice on it, and since it is very close to the road, even though it is small, if the ice was good it would be worthwhile. It was not to be. Because the cliff lies so close to running water, it gets a sticky ice glazing, which then holds snow. The entire vertical wall is plastered in snow. It might have been an interesting experiment, somewhat perhaps along the lines of Scottish ice climbing, but with no top-rope anchors available and no protection, it wasn't what I was looking for.
In the short while I was at Griffin Falls, perhaps a half hour, two snow squalls passed through. Each dropped a noticeable accumulation in a matter of minutes. The second one sent me fleeing back to my car, concerned that I might not be able to get home in the deteriorating conditions.

Auger Falls and Eleventh Mountain's West Flank
2^nd March

Sunday was dependably sunny, so after church I joined several Adkforummers, meeting them at Auger Falls. By the time I arrived, they had already scoped out the potential ice climbing situation. There was none. Well, there was one possibility, but it entailed crossing a narrow ice bridge at the top of the falls, reaching across the torrent to a deeply furrowed ice wall, sinking tools in and committing to a literally "do-or-die" jump onto an overhanging ice wall about 7 meters high. Any fall would be lethal.
We walked out together, enjoying the view along the river until we came to the field east of our cars. The rest of the gang drove to Redhawk's for a fine spaghetti dinner; I was itching to find some ice. I drove back northeast to the Siamese Ponds trailhead. I figured I might get up and do a close inspection of those cliffs I'd seen on Eleventh a short while before the big snowfall.

I forgot my camera on this jaunt. After snowshoeing up past the height-of-land, I spotted the most likely looking ice line, dropped down into the gullies that divide the trail from the mountain, wallowed up out of them and higher onto Eleventh's western flank. It turns out, I was almost to the most promising lines during my last excursion here. I had turned back just shy of seeing them. Too bad, because it would have saved me a lot of trouble. What had looked like viable 30+ meter lines turned out to be eight meter mediocrity. The one thing I can say is, unless it's a high-ice, low-snow year, this flank of Eleventh doesn't offer anything worth the effort.

Rocksport, 3^rd March

At the beginning of this year, I organized a Monday night rock gym get-together, which is hosted by Rocksport, so we went there the next day; "we" being my oldest daughter, who was home from college, Amber, a good friend and past work associate, Ryan, my constant companion for these events over the last few years, and myself. It looked like it would be a quiet night at first, just the four of us, as the BI folks are away this month, but Ken and Zack Prader came along, with two others from their church, and a big group from a nearby church happened to come along that night, also. So it was a busy. We had fun, pumped our arms with traverses, bouldering moves, and a top-rope or two.
Zack and I are real close to pulling off the roof problem we've worked on for two months now. We each make it to holds above the overhang's lip; now we have to work out how to shift from the upside-down to the vertical climbing mode.

Crane Mountain, Southeast Flank Walk
Thursday, 6^th March, 2008

Thursday morning dawned crystal-clear sunny. I had an appointment in the afternoon, so I decided to make use of the early hours by snowshoeing out to the Waterfall Wall and walking north to the Northernmost falls, scoping potential ice routes. When I started, I could stay mostly on top of the crust, but it looked like the sun would soften the surface enough to lose that advantage as the day wore on.
The Waterfall Wall was still climbable, but barely: water cascaded behind several gaps in the ice, and the usual exit was too far gone to climb; one would have to stay right, heading up through the steeper section of that side of the cliff.
Walking north, I saw that the Graphite Corner, a 5.9 rock climb, has some ice on it and there appears to be a lot of ice higher up the mountain. Perhaps this would be a good day trip sometime, though it is hard to tell exactly how hard and long something is until the tools are searching for placements.
The Northernmost Fall's left side was in the best shape I've ever seen. This flow is 9 meters high and about the same width, sloping upward on the right; offering three distinct options for ascent. It would probably go at solid 4. The water course has changed in the past year, from once flowing mostly in the corner to now running down the buttress.
In any case, the flow was too hard for me to solo, and I wasn't sure of the time, so rather than attempt anything, I headed back home, arriving by good fortune just in time to make my appointment.

Crane Mountain Summit Hike
Friday, 7^th March, 2008

Friday morning was a rerun of Thursday: sunny and warm. The weather report promised a change later, and looking outside showed a hint of high-level moisture, so I decided to make use of the morning once again. This time, I headed up Crane Mountain. I cheated a bit, driving to the top of Sky High Road before beginning to hike.

The ground around my parked car was littered with shards of ice, twigs, and broken branches. The ground glittered as if strewn with broken glass. A few draperies of ice still clung to the trees above me, but most of the coating was lying under foot. The sun was beginning to warm things enough that the remaining overhead ice occasionally broke loose and dropped with a tinkle, clatter, or crash. The thought that I might want a helmet crossed my mind, but I had left that at home.

The trail was firmly packed, although I carried snowshoes I never needed them. Above Tablerock there were several tantalizing ice flows, once again fatter than I'd ever seen before. The sun rots the ice thoroughly and makes its connection to the rock behind it questionable, so one would have to time an ascent carefully, choosing early morning and cloudy skies to be safest.

I wandered out onto the Viewpoint, took some pictures, and considered climbing straight upward from there; but the snowpack was underlain by a firm ice crust that would send a misstep hurtling down the slab, so reluctantly I gave up the idea and headed back to the trail.

Shortly beyond the highest outlook, the surrounding woods remained cloaked in ice. The sun was just beginning to warm things enough to pull pieces down, but I wondered how long I would have before things really started crashing around me.

At the junction with the Pond Trail, the surroundings were rigidly clamped in thick ice. I walked over broken branches and shattered balsam tops, fought through viburnum shrubs bowed across the trail, their every branch imprisoned in glassy cold cylinders, clattering and cracking as I pushed past.
Above me, the trees were beginning to tinkle as the sun hit and warmed their frozen limbs. Once in awhile, a loud crash marked significant ice falling to the ground. I was definitely missing my helmet now.

The last half mile of the trail was blocked with bowed shrubs and broken limbs. It took so long to push through or work around these obstacles that, hearing the ominous crashes around me, I almost turned back. This was too far to come however, to give up so easily. I worked my way through the tangle toward the big ladder.

The big ladder had shrunk considerably since my last trip up here, or rather, much its length now lay buried beneath a high cone of ice and snow. The slope was so firm I could barely kick toeholds into the surface on the way up to the first open rung, so it seemed unlikely my dog could manage the feat. I intended to run up, take some pictures, and return while he whined and yelped below. But Aslan was determined to remain by my side, and after hesitating noisily, struggled impossibly upward beside the ladder, unbelievably clawing his way up the ice flow. As I reached the top of the ladder, he scratched his way by, turning left onto what I could see was a steep, smooth patch of blue ice. Hurriedly, I sought and found a foothold between us, stepped over and, holding the top of the ladder with one hand, snatched fur and skin as Aslan began zipping downward. Unceremoniously, I flung the poor dog upward to safer ground, and without complaint, he clawed up the rest of the chute to safety.

We walked to the summit in sunshine, though by now the higher altitudes were thinly clouded. The view below us was magnificent, a world encased in crystal. The entire plateau below was glazed, every limb on every tree. A breeze was starting to stir, and those trees rocked cumberously back and forth, murmuring their burdens to each other, occasionally signalling with a crash one's surrender to the load. As I snapped photos willy-nilly, that breeze increased in spurts, and for awhile below me resounded a cacophony of destruction. Now, I was really missing my helmet!
Aslan, on the other hand, took it all in stride. Having just survived a near-death experience, he was once again in his element: close to me, anywhere in the wilderness. Age has taken its toll, so he doesn't run off chasing snowshoe hare or some other random olfactory interest, he just waits for me to get on with the show.

Having taken a bunch of pictures, I turned homeward. Descending the big ladder was an issue; I solved it by tossing all the pointy gear out of my backpack and stuffing Aslan inside. At the bottom, I freed him, reclaimed snowshoes and crampons from their various landings, and then galloped downward. The wind had diminished, but the exposure of my head and neck were strong in my mind as I plowed through obstacles in my rush to get out of the most hazardous zone.

At the little ladder, Aslan lost his footing, slid down about three meters, and ripped a claw out of a forepaw. Immediately he began bleeding, his left paw leaving a scarlet print at every step. True to his nature, he ignored my calls and commands, striving to avoid any further treatment. It took a sustained effort to catch up with him and inspect the damage. The claw hung by the merest thread to his foot. I pulled it off to prevent it catching on something else the rest of the way down, for while it did seem to bother him, he could put weight on it. Once the minor surgery removed the dangling remnant, he was more comfortable. He still bled all the way back to the car, so I wrapped his leg before putting him in the seat, but other than disliking the makeshift bandage I made for him, he offered no complaint.

Now it is Saturday, the sky is crying as they say; up here in the North Country it's a mix of rain, sleet, and snow. The weather is slated to get worse for awhile, so it is a good day to catch up a bit and let everyone know what I've been up to the past week. Even as we look forward to the beginning of warm weather, March is doing its best to shut the promise out. It will come, but up here, March isn't the month to depend on it coming. Raise your glasses then, to April, or May, or whatever month it takes to bring us out of winter doldrums into sunshine and sizzle.

I've placed several additional pictures below. They didn't quite fit in with the text, but they're worth the time it took to take 'em anyway.