The Adirondack Mountains are becoming a reoccurring retreat from the norm. As in most backcountry activities, it provides a chance to stop the march of the clock, turn everything off and slow to the rhythms of nature. There was no snow in Keene Valley, but within a few minutes of the trailhead snowshoes became a necessity. We headed up over a pass on a well-marked trail that had obviously not been used much throughout the season. We made some fresh tracks through a frozen top layer of snow. It always takes a few miles before my body comes into agreement with what I have endeavored upon, whether a run, hike, or bike ride. That visceral rebellion probably stops a lot of people from doing a lot of things.
This lean-to sits on the frozen Lake Colden about six miles from the road head. Tents would be a warmer option, but this provides some space to cook and hang out. The temperature dropped to sub-zero during the nights. Our water froze immediately after it was poured forming interesting lattice structures in the bottles. I doubled up on the sleeping bag putting my 15 degree bag inside the 30 degree bag. In the morning, the water bottle that was left out froze solid and we had a fresh layer of snow.
Algonquin is the second highest in New York. The trail winds up a stream valley from the lake. Just as it gets above the tree line the the trail reaches a saddle in the range and the west winds blistered through our peeled layers of clothing. The last 500 feet are up a rocky face marked by cairns and completed with the official National Geologic survey medal stamp indicating the height of the peak. We sat behind a rock outcrop to shelter from the wind and eat some lunch.
On the return, we glissaded down the trail, winding through trees, yelping like ten year-olds, guiding ourselves with our hands and the back tips of our snowshoes. Glissading in this way is basically a butt slide with speeds similar to the epic gradeschool snowdays where half the neighborhood dragged their sleds to the hill in the local golf course. Rather than the 30 feet of elevation in those days, each of the slides were a hundred feet or more.
This lean-to sits on the frozen Lake Colden about six miles from the road head. Tents would be a warmer option, but this provides some space to cook and hang out. The temperature dropped to sub-zero during the nights. Our water froze immediately after it was poured forming interesting lattice structures in the bottles. I doubled up on the sleeping bag putting my 15 degree bag inside the 30 degree bag. In the morning, the water bottle that was left out froze solid and we had a fresh layer of snow.
Algonquin is the second highest in New York. The trail winds up a stream valley from the lake. Just as it gets above the tree line the the trail reaches a saddle in the range and the west winds blistered through our peeled layers of clothing. The last 500 feet are up a rocky face marked by cairns and completed with the official National Geologic survey medal stamp indicating the height of the peak. We sat behind a rock outcrop to shelter from the wind and eat some lunch.
On the return, we glissaded down the trail, winding through trees, yelping like ten year-olds, guiding ourselves with our hands and the back tips of our snowshoes. Glissading in this way is basically a butt slide with speeds similar to the epic gradeschool snowdays where half the neighborhood dragged their sleds to the hill in the local golf course. Rather than the 30 feet of elevation in those days, each of the slides were a hundred feet or more. 
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