13

Excelsior among the
Bark Eaters

POSTHOLING INTO Avalanche Lake is not an eventuality that bears thinking about, but the ice looks thick, the ‘hitch up Matildas’ seem superfluous and Wendy and I snowshoe out across the surface of the lake like true Bark Eaters. This is the most spectacular hike in the Adirondacks and we aren’t going to turn back now. The wind is head-on and stings our faces with swirling spindrift. Down at Marcy Dam ranger station, the thermometer registered minus 12ºC. We can only guess at the wind chill now. To my layers of thermal vest, shirt, fleece and anorak I add a down waistcoat.

The lake is spectacular – an eye-shaped expanse of ice squeezed between walls of rock that in places rise vertically from the shore. In summer, progress along the shoreline is possible only by following a contorted trail that in places has to resort to wooden catwalks over the water. These catwalks are known as ‘hitch up Matildas’ after a Victorian lady who came here in pre-catwalk days. Too modest to wrap her thighs around the neck of the guide who was attempting to carry her, Matilda slid down his back and was encouraged to ‘hitch up’ before she dipped her nether regions into the water.

In winter, frozen rivers and lakes have always provided the easiest corridors for foot travel in the Adirondacks of northern New York State, and Avalanche Lake is no exception. In fact, it is more easily negotiated in winter than in summer. The frozen surface is carpeted with snow and we shuffle across the powdery surface in our snowshoes. Overhead, cottonwool clouds tumble across the sky, with the sun shining brightly in between to cast ever-changing patterns of light and shade on the snow.

In the middle of the lake, we stop to admire the furrow of snow that marks our progression from the shore. Above us, great rock walls rise in tiers on either side to Mount Colden and Algonquin Peak, at 1,559m the second highest mountain in the Adirondacks and our objective for the day. It’s a fabulous spot. The walls are known locally as slides, after the way in which they were formed, by rock avalanches. It is these avalanches that also formed the lake and gave it its name. The last major avalanche was in 1942, when rockfall raised the water level by three metres.

Snowshoeing through the frozen silence is an exhilarating experience. Winter ascents without cross-country skis or snowshoes are generally impracticable and are in any case disallowed on trails that cross land owned by the Adirondack Mountain Club (ADK), which most do. The rule is in force to stop hikers ruining the trails with deep bootholes, or postholes as they are called.

Crossing Avalanche Lake

Use of cross-country skis on the narrow forest trails is an acquired skill, but snowshoes are easy and addictively entertaining to use. We hire them at Adirondack Loj at the start of the trail, strap them on and simply pad out into the pristine halls of the forest like born Bark Eaters. ‘Bark Eaters’ is a traditional translation of the word ‘Adirondacks’, which Mohawks disparagingly applied to a defeated rival tribe and which locals now call themselves with pride.

We tunnel through vast vaults of whiteness, where the snow lies so thickly on the trees that at times the route before us seems to close down. The trail is of ceaseless interest. There are inclined walkways to climb, fallen trees to clamber over and under, thinly iced streams to jump and icy steepenings to negotiate. We learn technique as we go. On steep ground, I find it is possible to kick steps by flicking the back of the snowshoe up and kicking the metal toe horizontally into the snow, but when I try to walk backwards I end up in a heap.

As we approach timberline the trail steepens sharply and the steel claws on the base of our snowshoes scrabble at the icy surface. Then suddenly we emerge into open air above the tree canopy, with the trail now marked by yellow paint marks on bare rock and sheet ice everywhere. We change into crampons, knuckle down into the bitter wind and crunch our way to the summit.

Although we wear neoprene nose masks, facing into the icy blast is almost impossible to bear. Wendy sits down with her back to it while I force myself to take a few snaps and gaze wistfully across Avalanche Lake to the summit dome of Mount Marcy, at 1,629m the highest Adirondack. Next time. Despite the intense cold, I am loath to leave, but a storm is brewing. The Adirondacks are subject to some of the most savage weather in the world, and above treeline is no place to be when it strikes.

The black storm front approaches relentlessly, seeming to gather pace the closer it gets. It hits suddenly, with such brutal ferocity that it becomes difficult to stand upright or see through snow flurries. Hastily, we make a dash for timberline, where the shelter of the trees enables us to marvel in safety at the raging skies above.

After changing back from crampons to snowshoes, we shuffle and slide joyfully back down the trail to the Loj, reluctant for the day to end. Local experts sit on the tail-end of their snowshoes, which raises the front claw free of the snow, and slide down without constraint… or brakes. We weren’t tempted.

There’s a Latin word that New York State has adopted as its motto: Excelsior. After climbing Algonquin Peak, I resolved that, if I am ever granted a coat of arms, it will be my motto too. It means ‘Ever Upwards’.