Hiking in the Dacks

The trip went well. We got in early Friday morning, 6:30 or thereabouts, parked at the Adirondack Loj, and shipped off shortly after. We hiked six miles to Lake Colden, which is nestled between Algonquin, Marcy, and the mountain of its namesake. The journey was mostly flat but still took about four hours to complete with our thirty-pound overnight packs strapped to our backs. We found a lean-to up on a ridge towards the southwestern tip of the lake, which became home for the next two nights. After a quick nap, we packed our day bags and headed for Mount Colden to get a peak in before dark.

The trail we took from the lake was steep and rocky in a way I've only ever seen in the Adirondacks. The hikes up there are all puzzles of slick stones, jagged cliff face, and evergreen branches. A new challenge presents itself every hundred feet or so. Each time you think, "How will I get around this?" And then you do and it's on to the next one. You also wonder, "How will I ever get down?" because the ascent seems so steep as you're scrambling up. But it's never as bad as you remember, so things turn out okay. Maybe you have to butt slide a little here or there. At the summit we had a collective realization that we'd been there before and spent a few moments trying to place exactly when. In my head I kept seeing an image of the three of us sitting on a ledge jutting out over heavy fog. One of us cracks a joke that makes the other two laugh and the rest of the hikers turn and stare.

When we got down from the mountain and made it back to our lean-to, three guys were waiting for us. They asked if we were leaving for the night, and when we told them no, two of them went to look for another campsite to stay at. The third who stuck around with the bags was named Eric and he was from Oklahoma. He knew about the Dacks because he'd worked in Albany for a couple of years at the start of the pandemic, which is when everyone found out about the Dacks. The drive up this year was the busiest I'd ever seen the place. It was Labor Day weekend, sure, but even that didn't quite explain the crowds. The parking for Cascade, the range's most popular summit, stretched a half mile from the trailhead in either direction.

Anyway, this guy Eric asked us where we'd been. We told him Colden, and then he talked about how he once summited that mountain by walking up an unmarked creek. This reminded me of a winter hike where we'd done the same, and I turned to Ishan and said, "I guess that must've been the other time we were thinking about," which he agreed with. But then Eric said that this trail had a 4-foot rock scramble as part of it, which I certainly didn't remember navigating, so maybe we took a similar route up a different mountain. Eventually, Eric's friends returned with the news that they'd found a different lean-to up ahead, so we said goodbye and they went on their way. After they left, we packed up our stuff and headed to the tip of the lake to wash ourselves. At the riverbed, I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my pants, and waded in atop the slick stones. I walked until the water came to just below my kneecaps and was debating going out further when Emmett ripped off his clothes and hurled himself in. He splashed around like a caveman, throwing water over his face, underarms, and crotch. I laughed and got inspired to do the same, so I stripped to my boxers, tossed my clothes on the dry land behind me, and sat down where I stood, feeling my nuts shrivel as they came into contact with the cold, clean surface of the lake.

After we finished washing and changing, we headed back to prepare dinner, which we did on the bank of the lake so as not to attract bears to our campsite. On the way, we came across three teenagers who had pitched a tent just down the hill from our lean-to. They were all clambering in as we walked by and I could smell pot coming from inside. I smiled to myself, thinking about how they probably looked a lot like we did ten years ago. Dinner was quick and so was the time before bed; we were all tired from the day. After washing up, the light went off without much ceremony.

I slept like shit and my back was killing me when I woke up. I lay prostrate on the wooden floor of our shelter for a while, silently willing the pain to dissipate. Ishan was the first to get out of his sleeping bag, which is typical on these trips. He left and came back with the bear canister and toiletries we had stowed by the lake. I finally rose, ate an apple, smoked a joint, and brushed my teeth. We were on our way by 9:30.

Our first stop was the spot where we'd bathed the night before, this time to fill up our water bottles. After that, we hit the trail and started our hike to Marcy. Conditions were decent; it had rained the night before and sheets of heavy-looking clouds still hung overhead, but the ground wasn't especially muddy. Still, it took a lot longer to get to the turnoff than we expected. Part of that was because we kept getting told there was going to be a bog blocking our path at some point; anticipation always makes the miles feel longer. Thankfully, the obstacle never appeared.

The trailhead broke off from a small clearing that sat at the edge of another lake, this one about 2,000 feet up from Colden. High altitude lakes are always so untouched and serene, as if they exist in some mirror world that silently reflects our own. The lake opened up like a V from where we stood, and its twin vectors spread out into the distance until who knows when; the air was so thick with mist you couldn't see more than forty feet in front of you.

After a few moments' rest we began the final 1,000-foot ascent of Marcy. The climb went by quickly until we got past the tree line, from which point on we were stuck in a giant rain cloud. Water droplets hung suspended in the air while 30-mile-an-hour winds berated our backs, leaving us perpetually soaked and fighting to stay upright. At one point we stopped to try and get a sense of how much farther we had to go, but when we looked up towards the peak there was only the sheer face of the mountain rising relentlessly before us, disappearing into the dark grey sky above. No end was in sight.

When we finally did reach the top, it was just as miserable as the climb. Ish and I ate our sandwiches huddled against a rock that offered some respite from the gusts, but not the rain. There wasn't much to do but begin our descent as quickly as possible, which was treacherous though, again, never as bad as you imagine. We reached the same clearing we had embarked from and immediately began our ascent of Skylight, which sat directly across from Marcy. The hike and the peak were much more peaceful, my favorite of the trip. The mountain's crest unfurled like an island suspended in the clouds, a slate blue dome covered in neon green lichen and tufts of rugged alpine flora. The sky was nothing but a looming glow of silver that you couldn't see past or through; it surrounded us from above and below. I spotted a tiny orange newt making its way along this alien surface, its color sliced through the landscape like an ember on canvas.

It was getting late so we had to descend quickly to grab Grey on our way back to camp. That hike was nothing but mud and tree limbs and walls of broken rock. 900 feet in a half mile, what do you expect? I want to say it sucked, but looking back, there was a sort of charm to it. We met two guys coming down as we were going up, and they said, "Its only redeeming quality is that it's short," which I like for a peak, very to the point.

We were mostly silent during these climbs, save for the occasional conversation about music, the one topic that always comes up when we're together. There were some brief attempts at larger life updates, but no one wanted to engage beyond general details; we were all holding our cards close to the vest for whatever reason. I got fed up with everyone's walls and charged ahead, just needing to walk off my excess energy for a bit. The nice part about hiking with Ishan and Emmett is that I feel like I can do those sorts of things and not get castigated for it. We've been walking these mountains for over a decade now, been friends for even longer, there's a trust that we all know what we're doing, and if somebody falls, the other two will pick him up.

By the time we reached our lean-to the sun was about to set. We were soaked from spending all day in the clouds, so we grabbed some fresh clothes and headed back to the lake to wash up. On the way there we ran into a park steward who wanted one of us to show him where we were storing our food. I volunteered and took him to our bear canister, then met back up with Ishan and Emmett, who had waited for me on the trail. It was pretty dark because of the delay and we all had to bathe with our headlamps on. There were a few other lights dotting the water further up, haphazardly illuminating the bodies of other campers who were washing themselves against the backdrop of tall black pines. Emmett took off his boots and got the shit scared out of him by a crab he at first thought was a spider. The little thing stood there with its pincers raised menacingly. I couldn't help but laugh, we all know only the world we know.

We cooked at the lean-to because no one wanted to stand in the mud down by the bank. Emmett and I had a tough time finishing our meals. He complained about being full two bites in, but I forced him to push through the rest because we needed the space in the bear canister. After that, I stowed all our food and toiletries and went to bed. I slept much more soundly that night, save for being woken up at 1 by the sound of something moving outside. Ishan called out "Huh," into the night, but got no response. I lay motionless on my side, facing the wall of the shelter and hoping the rustling would stop on its own. After another minute or so, I finally turned over to take a look at what was making the noise, only to see Emmett flailing about with his headlamp on, trying to get his footing on the rocks in front of the lean-to. The next morning, he told us he was going to the bathroom.

I woke up at 6 having to pee, but my bag was so warm I didn't want to leave, plus I knew my socks and shoes were soaked. I stayed there for an hour, feeling my bladder push against my belly and getting a kind of perverse enjoyment out of it. Eventually the pressure became too great and I got up to relieve myself. No one was awake when I returned, so I crawled back into my bag and slept for another hour until I heard Ishan start to move. I sat up to eat once he brought the bear canister back, and then slowly began packing my things. Emmett wasn't even halfway done by the time Ish and I finished, so I snuck around back to smoke the last of the joint from yesterday. We finally left around 10 and decided to circle the lake from the opposite side because the way we'd taken in was muddy even before yesterday's rain. The return trek zoomed by; it was only six miles, but usually that shit takes forever, especially when everyone is tired and sore from several days' worth of hiking. The pads of my feet felt like they had become one big blister, but we were making such great time that the pain didn't really bother me. Back at the car, we unloaded our gear, took a few trips to the bathroom, and drove off without much fanfare, stopping in Lake George for pizza before Emmettdropped us all home.