Dial and Nippletop, Fish Hawk Cliffs and Indian Head

“Nippletop Mountain…” spoken with the expected inflection. My friend, Tony, prepossessed to ribald humor, is reading off the list of the 46 mountains of the Adirondacks (traditionally) believed to be over 4000 feet, before stopping to emphasize Nippletop. It is mid-May and he and I are returning from Moreau State Park, which we hiked with another friend, Gordon. During the hike, Gordon and Tony got to talking about the 46 High Peaks. Gordon has done many of them, Tony and I have done none. Little do I know but this is a momentous day. While I have a cursory knowledge of the Adirondacks, I know nothing of the challenge which will come to transform me in the ensuing months. My preoccupation with the High Peaks has begun.

View from the summit of Nippletop Mountain.

I make appeals to the experience of Gordon and hang on his every word. Every hike in the foothills of the Adirondacks is a carefully chosen step towards the final culmination on the top of a High Peak. From the tops of the (comparatively) modest mountains I climb, the High Peaks are far away cloaked in mystery, each rising indiscernibly to the North. There exists a palpable sense of peril behind the hazy mantle of undulations and vertices.

Some two months after doing my first, the day has arrived to tackle the Peak whose name so amused me and Tony months back. By this point, the veil has been lifted off the High Peaks. There is still much to see but the relationship is now intimate — I consider each a friend, even those whose acquaintance I have not yet made.

It is post-Labor Day in the Adirondacks though it feels every bit like Summer, notwithstanding the trails forlorn of tourists. This will be the first hike I do starting from St. Hubert’s, though I have previously soaked in Giant in all its splendor towering beyond the greens of the Ausable Club. (A sight to behold following a hike of Giant, lest its intimidating visage prove overwhelming beforehand). The parking lot for all trails emanating from St. Hubert’s is remarkably close to the Roaring Brook trail parking lot which I erstwhile took to the top of Giant — just across the road (Rte. 73).

The Ausable Club in the morning. Round Mountain in the background.

In order to get to Lake Road, a private 3.5 mile road from which the trails for many memorable adventures radiate, I must skirt the golf course, tennis courts, as well as historic clubhouse of the Ausable Club. The Ausable Club — or Adirondack Mountain Reserve — owns 7,000 acres of land, a tract of land stretching southwest from St. Hubert’s, encompassing both Lower and Upper Ausable Lakes. The AMR was once in possession of as much as 45,000 acres of land, as well as most of the summits of the “Great Range,” but conveyance (after conveyance) to the state of New York has left the once sweeping breadth of privately owned land greatly attenuated. Nowadays the AMR owns no land higher than 2,500 feet — it goes without saying, if you are atop any of the 46 High Peaks, you are on state land.

At first I resented the AMR. I fancied a bunch of tubby tycoons sitting around burning hundred dollar bills as a sort of membership hazing ritual. While my preconceptions could be true, I’ve begun to recalibrate my views of the AMR. Little did I know but the AMR was sprung from a noble cause in the late 19th century — to preserve the wilderness from intruding lumbering operations. The AMR remains a friend to wildlife as well, as hunting is prohibited anywhere on its grounds. Dogs are verboten as well, their time immemorial association with hunters has blown it for them. So if you think Fido may like wallowing in the Lower Lake, you’re out of luck. If you’ve heard (or recounted) any habituated-to-human deer anecdotes, chances are it occurred on AMR land.

Despite the regulations, the AMR is welcoming to hikers and they’ve done an admirable job maintaining trails and preserving the natural beauty of the land they own — so I tip my hat (or beanie) to them in this regard.

The fancy AMR gate of Lake Road.

Beyond the register, the gate for Lake Road is exquisite and belies how long and uneventful the road is which follows. Nippletop and Dial are regularly completed as a loop. I have cogitated the virtues and drawbacks of doing the hike clockwise and counter-clockwise. The latter being the popular choice and I *surmise* easier trip. However, clockwise appeals to me on two fronts: the views get progressively better climaxing with the Nippletop view and I have the option of forgoing the steep Elk Pass trail down the western side of Nippletop if I so desire.

The turn-off for the Leach trail from Lake Road comes quickly and the trail climbs sharply up the shoulder of Noonmark. I am not prepared for this and fear it is a portent of the day to come. There’s all these stunted trees on the shoulder, prickling up in the wake of a forest fire at one time. This leads to a bunch of ledges offering a great view of the lower Great Range and the rolling trail which ensues. Dix Mountain also looms impressively to the south and could easily be mistaken for Nippletop.

View of The Great Range from the shoulder of Noonmark.

Dix Mountain, center, may at first be mistaken for the end objective, Nippletop. Rather, Nippletop is out of the photo and to the right, beyond Bear Den Mountain, the right most peak pictured.

From there, I descend to the col (a recurring theme) of Noonmark and Bear Den Mountain. Trails like this do little to boost flailing morale, as the fruits of one’s labor quickly dematerialize with an aggressive descent to a col.

Tread warily on Bear Den Mountain: a black bear, a brown bear, and a Tahawus pygmy green bear (very rare) could strike at any moment. But, it’s all in my mind. 

As far as I’m concerned, Bear Den Mountain affords little in the way of views. I tread warily, however, as the specter of (presumably man-eating) bear for which this mountain has been named lingers. I encounter no such bear. It’s a long haul from Bear Den to Dial. As far as I’m concerned, Dial’s summit is not marked. On Bear Den the sign said I was so many miles away from Dial Mountain and on Dial the sign there said I was as many miles away from Bear Den — so I suppose, on deductive reasoning, it is my confirmation of my summiting Dial. The summit of Dial Mountain isn’t much more than a rock from which, upon mounting, there is a good view. The Great Range is shown in all its glory as well as the remainder of the ridge to Nippletop.

The view from Dial Mountain.

Leaving Dial, I descend steeply to a col, this is perhaps the steepest portion of the Leach trail. Alas, the col to which I descend is not shared with Nippletop but another anonymous mountain on the range. The trail gets muddy as Nippletop draws nigh. Thankfully, I have come during a drought, I cannot imagine the trail conditions otherwise, especially around notoriously muddy Elk Pass.

I am keen on seeing the view from Nippletop — given the panegyric heaped upon it. Bob Marshall and James Burnside share the views from two summits inside their top five: Algonquin and Nippletop — the latter appearing higher than the former on both lists, 3 and 4, respectively. To outrank a 5,000+ feet up, 360 degree view, this view from Nippletop must really be a sight to see.

As I draw close to the summit of Nippletop, inaudible chatter permeates through the trees. It cannot be — I have not seen another hiker at all on the trail and no one was signed in before me at the register; surely my recompense should come in the form of summit solitude. I reach the two boulder seats of the “Nippletop summit theatre,” a French Canadian couple recumbent on the left, the lady catching a drag with the affectation of a noir film actress. They have come by way of Elk Pass. I find a cigarette to be a dubious indulgence for the exertion of a hike. But who am I to pass judgement?

Another hiker bursts into the summit area and the couple departs soon after. This hiker, from Massachusetts, has just popped his High Peaks cherry, but he shouldn’t be mistaken for a novice. He is a 48er — having done every mountain above 4,000 feet in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Nippletop strikes me as an odd introductory Peak. As far as the High Peaks go, it is intermediate in just about every criterion. Well, with the exception of one. The name tends to jump off the list — or, dare I say it, nip out.

“I wanted a view which would give me an idea of where everything is,” the man avows. He goes on to say compared to the Whites, “everything is more concentrated here.” From what I understand, in the Whites there isn’t a mountain, save for perhaps one, from which you could see most of the other peaks. The Adirondacks may be the largest park in the contiguous United States, but the High Peaks are confined to a comparatively small swath of land within it.

Consider the man’s stipulation met on Nippletop. Marcy, central, soars above all others. It resembles a pyramid. So does, the second tallest mountain in New York, Algonquin, off of Marcy’s right flank, though smaller and less conspicuous. The Great Range is full of detail, all of what is generally meaningful is there. Given the wealth of mountain-scape yonder, one may not notice the indistinguishable runt of a mountain in the foreground — It is Colvin. Then (to the left) Blake, the entirety of the range rolls into the haze, whereupon Elk Lake steals one’s gaze.

I had to raise my arms into the air above the trees to snap this picture of Dix Mountain (and Hough Peak), as if the trees were a rowdy audience at a rock concert. 

Some of my preconceptions of Nippletop were off. For one, I thought the summit was more southern facing, an encompassing view of Dix and its gleaming slides, along with the the rest of the Dix family. Not so. An exceptionable view of Dix is to be had, except it exists behind the trees. There may be a clearing somewhere, but I cannot seem to find one. I also believed there would be a glimpse of one of the Ausable Lakes. I failed to realize Colvin (and its range) stands in the way.

The trail down to Elk Pass has some degree of notoriety for its steepness but it isn’t anything I haven’t seen before. I take my time on the moist ledges. The trail winds around marshy lakes of Elk Pass, before coming to the junction for Colvin. I negotiate a few slabs but the grade of the trail has more or less leveled off. A venerable member of the High Peaks forum to which I belong had suggested I check out Fish Hawk Cliffs and Indian Head. Once arriving at the junction, I estimate it is not much of a digression.

From Fish Hawk Cliffs, Lower Ausable Lake scintillates in the late afternoon Sun. 

The view of the Ausable Lakes from Fish Hawk Clifs exceeds superlatives and Indian Head is even better. If you must do just one, Indian Head is all you need. It is the more spectacular of the two, though both have a similar view.The precipice of Indian Head sits at the watershed of Lower Ausable Lake (where it bends to its dam), in the valley of Colvin and Sawteeth, the serrated aspect of the latter (for which it is named) is observable. I look back whence I came — Nippletop. You would think a mountain with a name like Nippletop would be among the most distinguishable of the High Peaks, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, Nippletop is particularly nebulous as far as the High Peaks go — save for the side it shows Elk Lake. There the nipple is indisputable. Nippletop was, at one point in the 19th century, renamed Dial, since a name like Nippletop didn’t agree with the sensibilities of the locals back then. The story goes Old Mountain Phelps successfully lobbied for it to be changed back.

Breathtaking view from Indian Head. 

Bits and pieces of The Great Range can be seen from Indian Head. What of it one can see is interesting. Pyramid and Gothics look colossal, while all of Lower Wolf Jaw can be seen. At the end of the valley is craggy-crested Hurricane Mountain.

There is a ladder and some ladder-steps coming down from Indian Head. I make the long unremarkable walk the length of Lake Road, revisiting in my mind the spectacular sights of the day.

Mount Colden

August 31st, 2015

With half the High Peaks under my belt, one thing I have come to realize is the inanity in rating the difficulty of a mountain. To start, difficulty is very subjective and driven by circumstance — there’s a litany of factors which could make a trip a cinch or memorably tough. The most salient objection to the process is the multitude of paths (marked or not) leading to the top of many mountains, often of varying degrees of difficulty. Take Mount Colden, for instance.There are three common approaches to its top — from Lake Arnold, which by High Peaks standards is on the “easy” side; from Lake Colden which has the reputation of being one of the steepest trails in the ‘Daks; or up the Trap Dike, perhaps the most precarious and adventuresome undertaking of any. Given how different these three routes are, how could a single number be universally designated to represent a peak’s difficulty? If there is a mountain which speaks to the futility of such a task, Colden is it.

View to west from “False” Summit of Colden. “Real” Summit (left) and MacIntyre Range (center) in distance.

Conventionally, Colden is done as a loop, the Lake Colden and Lake Arnold trails paired together. The former, as it is steeper, is typically chosen for the ascent, with the more genial finish to Lake Arnold. In a flourish of intrepidity (well, not quite), I took Lake Arnold out and back.

On this day, I wasn’t sure whether I would tackle Colden or finish off what I had started with Wright and bag its bigger brother, Algonquin. I vacillated until the trail split, then I veered with great ambivalence to the left, Marcy Dam-bound. This was my first time doing the trail from said split to Marcy Dam, which I could now do blindfolded. (Now there’s an event idea for the ADK club!)

As I arrived at Marcy Dam, Colden had its head in the clouds. I hoped the time it took me to get up there would be enough for the clouds to have had their fill and move on.

I was making good time as I came upon a sign that said Lake Arnold was only half a mile. Shortly after this point, the trail was effectively a rock ridden stream. Time passed and I remarked to myself, ‘gee this is a long half mile.’ By now, I understood, mountain miles and street miles are two different species — but I was convinced I must have gone half a mile, mountain or otherwise. Disconcertingly, I began to descend and was confident Colden was up to my right and growing farther behind me. I was in an unenviable position — continue on possibly more off course or return and, if mistaken, lose hard earned ground which I would have to redo. Obstinate minded, I chose to continue on and grew more concerned with every step. I was really in the wilderness. I tussled with the idea of doing Skylight but I had not researched it enough.

My decision to turn around was made easier when passing over a boggy section on a log, which functioned more like a see-saw than a bridge. The muddy water looked like it was ankle deep until I fell in it and was submerged up to my waist. I would later learn this was the Feldspar Bog which I surmised it was from the map. I headed on back and finally saw Lake Arnold through the trees — I hadn’t before. Moments later, I came upon the sign for the turn-off to Lake Colden. What happened was I had my head down while balancing, like a tight-roper, over some puncheon and completely missed the big sign. All and all, I had unwittingly protracted my trip 2.5 miles (give or take half a mile).

New ladders near summit. 

Lake Arnold wasn’t much to look at it, Miyoko calls it spooky and I can see why. Though, it must be a chic resort for mosquitos at the right time of the year. The trip up to Colden wasn’t terribly challenging, there were some brief steep parts but nothing outrageous. I came upon the “false” summit which had a view commensurate, if not better, than the “legitimate” summit. The false, the faux, the ersatz, the disingenuous summit, call it what you may, was more expansive than the real one. I descended back into the trees, over about three ladders down and up from the col, more steps-cum-ladders than the vertical variety. From what I gather, these ladders are new. Before the real summit, I had to sneak under a giant glacial erratic. It felt hazardous — what if the rock decided it was time to move and end its epoch-spanning sedentary lifestyle? Fortunately it did not, presumably it’s still there and conspicuous from the “false” summit.

View to west from “Real Summit.” Flowed Lands and Lake Colden (below to left).

 

Notwithstanding the overcast conditions, I was able to see Colden’s potential. I had expected it to be good — after all, Colden owns a prime piece of real estate, smack dab in the middle of the Macs and Marcy. Colden has bald summit characteristics but it isn’t a true bald summit. The baldness gene runs in the MacIntyre family but Colden’s balding looks like it’s in the early stages. It could use some Rogaine or an alpha-reductase inhibitor to thwart its fate of baldness. (For the record I’m being facetious). It’s not a lost cause like the Macs in this regard though, for the sake of views, visitors wish it were.

View to east: Marcy (left of center), Gray, Skylight, and Redfield. Giant way back in the distance (far left) and Great Range (to Giant’s right). 

The first view I was treated with was to the west, of the Macs, about as good as any, and downward the slide which leads to Colden’s famous Trap Dike. The Trap Dike was not visible though Avalance Lake was, as well as Lake Colden and the Flowed Lands. A gentleman, of foreign descent, peered down the slide and asked if this were a way down. I said technically it was but you ought to know what you are getting yourself into. He heeded my advice and headed back the way he had come. Even Trap Dike enthusiasts are chary of the going down part.

Once the gentleman left, I was alone on the summit. On a nicer day, I am certain this would not have been the case. The two ledges, on either side, were rent asunder by a sea of cripplebrush. On the eastern side, the triumvirate of Marcy, Skylight and Redfield dominated the view, as a mostly foreshortened Great Range wound to Giant. As Colden shows its more interesting side to the MacInytre Range, the view, to the west, of the MacInytre Range, was more interesting and dramatic than the view to the east.

View from descent to Lake Arnold. South to east. Cascade and Big Slide (both left).

It can be argued no peak in the Adirondacks possesses as much character as Colden. Namely for its distinctive shape and its famed Trap Dike. Likewise, my dad thinks it’s the most distinguishable of them all based on pictures I have sent him. I hope to revisit on a nicer day sometime soon.

Cascade and Porter

July 11th, 2015

At the behest of my father, I will (try to) blog about my peaks in the order of completion. I’ve been jumping around. I’ve only blogged about four expeditions, yet I most recently blogged about the 16th peak I’ve done (Big Slide).

Looks like the album cover for a Christian rock band.

As is the case for many, Cascade was my first. If there were ever an award show for the 46 High Peaks, Cascade would win the award for “Mountain with best difficulty/view ratio.” Other nominees would include Big Slide, Phelps, perhaps Wright Peak as a dark horse. The usual suspects. But, Cascade would win it unanimously — and it’s not particularly close. What would companion Porter win? “Mountain in a supporting role easiest to bag”? No High Peak rivals Cascade’s accessibility, hikers of varied experience can do it. Those who have “Hike a High Peak” on their bucket list can accomplish the objective, rather facilely, with Cascade. On top of that, aspiring 46ers, will be imbued with the sensation of progress upon bagging their second peak, Porter, just as easily. Remarkably, for as inviting as Cascade is, Porter is about as easy a subsequent peak as there is in the High Peaks to get to.

I’ve been meaning to redo Cascade, see it with new eyes. As of this writing, I have summited 20 of the 46 peaks since I started on Cascade on July 11th of this year. I never imagined I’d get to so many peaks so soon. At the time I did Cascade, twenty sounded so unfeasible — the purview of mountaineers. Now, it feels fulfilling but feelings of inadequacy still linger, as my standards have risen; I now hold my ADK feats to those of Forty Sixers and I’m still falling short.

Cascade also represented my first trip to the High Peaks — not just to hike, to visit at all. I had never been to Lake Placid (I didn’t get around to visiting the Olympic Village itself until after doing Whiteface, my 15th). It was my first experience negotiating the winding, ever scenic Rte. 73. First time seeing the great ranges of the High Peaks sprawled out from Marcy Field. First time involuntarily veering into the oncoming lane while Chapel Pond and Cascade Lake diverted my gaze. Furthermore, though I thought otherwise, I didn’t really know the position of one mountain to the other very well. A summit steward atop Cascade humbled me. I got a few right, Algonquin and Marcy, but map study ensued when I got home: “Oh so the Great Range forms a ‘V’ with Algonquin, Colden and Marcy coming in from the Northwest.” Now, I can pretty much identify any peak from any angle.

Also, little did I know at the time, parking is not something to take for granted in the High Peaks. On this particular day, I did not suffer. In fact, I got lucky. Parking goes to those who arrive early, but my timing was just right and unusual enough (people were leaving) for me to grab a vacant spot on first passing. It was a sunny (albeit hazy) Saturday in July. I arrived at around 2-ish with two close friends from Long Island. Cascade is unique in yet another respect: It is arguably the only half day hike in the High Peaks. Half day as defined as half day to nearly anyone who climbs it. Surely experienced hikers can make half day hikes of many of the High Peaks, but Cascade can be hiked in a handful of hours by the masses.

As expected, the ever popular Cascade was hopping on this nice Saturday in July. Throngs of people were coming down as my friends and I ascended, not to suggest we weren’t in the midst of others going up — just more coming down, given the hour we embarked. I now see it as a blessing in disguise arriving two hours later than I planned. I’m sure parking would have been harder to come by two or so hours earlier. In terms of parking, it probably boiled down to arriving very early or mid-afternoon like I did, the danger lied in the in between.

Cascade does not have an “approach” like most peaks. You park off the shoulder of Rte. 73, then the ascent begins right after the trail register and does not relent until the top. By no means is it challenging, the ascent is comparatively gradual — there is just no pussyfooting on Cascade, you go up, comfortably, no extended stroll through the woods leading up to the actual climb. This factors into the mountains accessibility.

After a short-lived smooth rock pitch — which affords the first great view of Marcy, Colden and Algonquin — there is a junction. Cascade is to the left .3 miles and Porter to the right .7 miles. Upon doing Cascade, my friends and I retreated to the junction, then did Porter. The trail to Porter feels less maintained (and narrower) but not difficult. We first descended to the col between the two mountains then ascended. It isn’t much of a climb either way.

View from ledge before junction.

The summit of Porter is just one rock outcrop surrounded by torso-high trees. I scoured the summit for a marker but could not find one. I worried I would return home to find out I had not reached the summit and was thus merely one peak in. However, the trail sign with the distance to Marcy Field lent some assurance I was at the summit.

Dix, Nippletop, Great Range, and Marcy, from Cascade.

While the view from Porter is not as good as Cascade, there are worse views in the High Peaks. My friends and I were alone on the summit the duration of the time we were there, as the light of an expiring sun appeared to have incised the slides into the western face of Gothics. Looking over, Cascade was still swarming with hikers. The solitude offered by Porter was something to relish. The small-ish summit wouldn’t have been able to accommodate many more. I think I heard somewhere Porter referred to as a “beer summit.” I don’t know what that means exactly but it seems to work.

View from Porter, looking south.

If Cascade were a drug, it would be the gateway drug, marijuana. It is easy to get to and makes people interested in trying other things. I guess that means Couchsachraga is methamphetamine and Allen is the overdose. You get it all on Cascade, in moderation. A High Peaks sampler: a taste of ledges; yellow blazes guiding climbers away from the fragile arctic alpine vegetation; a great 360 degree view; and another easily obtainable peak thrown in for good measure. Pretty much everything you want in a High Peak and you don’t have to work terribly hard to get it.

Big Slide

October 7th, 2015

Great Range from First Brother at Peak Foliage.

“Everything happens for a reason.” Few words nettle me and my friend quite like these. Emblazoned to many a social media profile; we repeat them facetiously amongst ourselves when the right moment arises. Those who proclaim these words fail to account for the misfortune wrought by the same furtive hand of destiny. Yet, as I clamber to the top of the First Brother, Keene Valley blotched in reds and oranges beneath me, a brisk breeze bracing me, I am thankful of the series of circumstances, minor inconveniences, which schemed to have me here in the Autumn, most especially during peak foliage. If you recall, in the beginning of August, Big Slide was my destination, but the crowded Garden parking lot prevented it from being climbed then, so on that day I did Wright. And 10 other peaks over the proceeding two months. A Wednesday during the Fall and an earlier arrival, just after 8:30, did the trick. Nonetheless, I think I will glue the Garden parking lot ticket to a plaque and hang it on my wall.

Panorama from Second Brother.

Right out of the Garden, Brothers route to Big Slide forks to the right. There is no delay, the climb begins immediately. A little ways in, I begin to tail another hiker. I follow him then grow concerned he has led me astray, as the trail has become unexpectedly rugged and I struggle to remember the last DEC plate I saw, though the trail looks trodden. He decides to backtrack and I continue on to see if I could re-find the trail — which I do right before the First Brother. The conditions are largely cloudy across the greater Keene Valley with the Sun endeavoring to break through the clouds in the east. While the cloud cover may be foreboding, what’s neat about it is that I can reckon its altitude within a hundred feet or so. The tips of Basin and Gothics, the two largest Great Range members in view, are enveloped by clouds while the Wolf Jaws, Armstrong and Saddleback are entirely below the cloud line for much of the hike; my guess is the clouds are hanging out at about 4600 feet.

A typical Rock Scramble up to a Brother.

Old Mountain Phelps imagined a great water slide park. Only in recent years has his vision come to fruition.

White girl mounting a Brother.

The Brothers are very generous with their views, there must be some sort of sibling rivalry as each Brother tries to outdo the other. Tony Goodwin, of the High Peaks trail guide, describes the Brothers approach to Big Slide as “spectacular” and I strive to find a more fitting descriptor. For all the reports I have read about Big Slide, not many have been enthusiastic about the view at the top, but dwelling on this belies the inherent beauty of the trail. On the Second Brother (I believe), the view is 270 degrees, with the north opening up. There is a lot of yellow blaze following, friendly rock scrambling on the Brothers, and once you leave them, they retain their views. I am caught off guard by the distance between the Third Brother and the summit of Big Slide. This trail is relatively flat, uninspiring, muddy, and insidiously long. The views don’t start again in earnest until a tenth of a mile from the summit of Big Slide.

The final three tenths of a mile to the summit of Big Slide is the real climb of the hike, there is one log ladder segment over a series of steep open rock faces. It is a huff and puff though short-lived final three-tenths of a mile. At the summit, I am greeted by clear blue skies, one would never guess it is the same day I spent on the Brothers. The view from the top of Big Slide is better and more encompassing than I imagined. A bunch of hikers abound on the summit and assail me with queries, “which mountain is that?” I was under the impression the view from Big Slide only included the Great Range, of course, and just squeezed in Marcy, too. I was wrong. Not only is Colden visible, but the MacIntyre Range. Even (so far as I’m concerned) Santanoni is visible (though don’t quote me on this). Out to the east, Hurricane, Giant, and Rocky Peak Ridge stand in prominence, Noonmark, Dix, Dial and Nippletop continue on south-ward. It should come as no surprise the view is great, as Big Slide is readily visible from just about every peak I’ve done. Right before the summit, there is one path cut right to the edge with perhaps the most spectacular (and stomach churning) view of all; there is a drop of several hundred feet, if not more, off the 19th-century avalanche engendered cliff. Views of the north are to be had, principally of Cascade and Porter, but it is a tree branch obstructed view which entails some backwoods exploring.

Log Ladder up to Big Slide.

Encompassing view from Big Slide.

Author on the summit of Big Slide.

Some of the mountains seen from Big Slide.

I decide to return via the Slide Brook trail instead of the view lush Brothers route I took out This trail is nice in its own right and a gradual descent to the Phelps trail. The Slide Brook is crossed, then re-crossed, then crossed again, etc. Once I get to the junction, I take a brief excursion to Johns Brook Lodge which I have never seen. Johns Brook Lodge is the confluence of many trails, and distances for many summits and landmarks are provided on signs pointing in every direction. The 3.5 mile hike from Johns Brook Lodge to the Garden parking lot is meandering and mostly flat. The trail is comparable to the one coming out of the Adirondak Loj.

Gothic as seen from Slide Brook.

Along with Cascade and Giant, Big Slide via the Brothers is one of the best family hikes in the High Peaks. It is, similarly, a great choice for hikers of any experience level. However, if unadulterated solitude is what you’re after, there are better options.