Lake Placid 2012 Vacation Day Seven -- Part II -- Thank Goodness for Gu!

Wright Peak's summit knob, overlooking Heart Lake and Mt. Jo -- 

look how tiny! -- and mountains beyond mountains all around.

We left off with us making a spur of the moment decision to ascend Wright Peak instead of our planned stroll into Marcy Dam -- without any additional food, water, or "be prepared to spend an unexpected night out in the woods" gear.

Wright peak and Marcy Dam share the same path for the first nine-tenths of a mile, then the trail to the McIntyre range -- Wright/Algonquin/Boundary/Iroquois -- splits off to the right. And the climbing begins. At first it is no more difficult than Mt. Jo. My confidence perks up. I've heard about how big the boulders are on this trail, but since it was snow covered when I went up Algonquin, I don't really know what to expect.

We make decent progress and again, Bearie is the one asking for breaks, so I don't have to. I'm more than happy to stop and take a breather and a few sips from my CamelBak though.

We pass the Grand Central Station intersection that confounded Mountain Goat and me previously and I note that that the herd path trail is now blocked off with a huge brush pile. "Smart move," I think. Then we hit a large rock that I remember trying to climb over when it was snow covered and getting stuck and having to climb back down to find another way around. The path steepens considerably right here and the rocks and boulders increase dramatically in size. This is now tough going. Tough, but not insurmountable. I just wonder how it's going to be for my knees on the way down.

The air temperature is heating up quickly on this heat wave day, and I'm sweating. I take sips of water from my CamelBak to replenish my fluids as we walk. Usually when I've planned a strenuous hike, I have both water and Gatorade and switch back and forth to replenish my salts and carbs in addition to hydrating. But on this trip it is just water, since it was supposed to be an easy walk to Marcy Dam.

Stopped for a break at a break-stopping point that several others have chosen to break at, we ask someone how familiar he is with the trail and how long before we can expect to reach the junction where the Wright Peak trail and the Algonquin trail split. Note to self: it's time to put reading glasses in the backpack so I can actually read our map.

He pulls out his map and we decide the McIntyre Waterfall is a half mile away, and the junction is a half a mile beyond that. "Ok, we're doing fine," I think. Someone coming back down -- already!! -- informs us that there is no water at the waterfall. I hope we'll recognize it when we get there.

We climb up and over boulders. We scramble up and over boulders. We pick our way around boulders. It's like a giant vomited boulders down this break in the woods. We hike and hike and hike. And finally --  we reach the McIntyre waterfall. I can't believe we've only gone half way to the trail junction from where we looked at the map. We stop for a food break. I don't usually get hungry when working this hard, but I am hungry. I think I eat a 90 calorie granola bar from our good-enough-for-Marcy-dam, kind-of-pitiful-for-a-high-peak bag of snacks. Working like this, we need food with calories, not food that is low on them. But we make do. T eats a 90-calorie bag of fruit gummies and Bearie has a bag of craisins. Refreshed, we move on up.

Unbelievably, the trail on the other side of the falls is even steeper than what we've already come up. It's going to be a long half mile to the trail junction, but we soldier on. Up boulders on our feet, hands and knees, whatever it takes. Using a smaller boulder to hoof up onto a larger boulder. Boulders, boulders, boulders. Having hiked Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, all I can say is at least these rocks stay in place instead of wobbling underfoot, pitching you off in a directions you didn't intend to go.

After considerable effort, we reach the trail junction. Several other parties are stopped there, rehydrating and restocking on the calories it will take to have the energy to  make it to whichever peak they are attempting, if not both. We are actually a rarity in choosing to do only Wright; most people are doing both Wright and Algonquin, but I suppose the one smart decision I make in all this is that we are most definitely not prepared, either in supplies or physically, to do Algonquin too. Although T and Hubs could probably have handled Algonquin without a problem.

I'm concerned about how I feel. I'm anxious, thinking I've bitten off more than I can handle physically. And yet, four-tenths of a mile to the summit. I have to go on, but I know it's a bald rock knob, very steep, and my fear of heights is kicking in just thinking about it. Plus, how much do I want to keel over from a heart attack doing this last bit, which will be steeper than anything we've come up so far? Low blood sugar and the wearing off of my morning valium are taking their toll on me physically and mentally. After all, we did zero hiking training over the course of the summer due to my bad knees, so the elevation gain on a trail where the topo lines get really close together is a significant workout, and I'm not 40-something any more. I consider sitting at the junction while Hubs and the kids summit.

But dang it. I really want this. I've come so far. And I missed the last crack I had at it.

I dig around in the snack bag --- and find two packages of GU! I picked them up at at the Freihofer's Run For Women expo back in June. I open one, suck out the GU and drink plenty of water. GU is essentially Gatorade in a concentrated gel form. This does the trick. My blood sugar level quickly returns to normal and I no longer feel anxious about my physical ability, although I'm very much afraid of how badly my fear of heights -- which has increased as I've aged --  is going to kick in once we break above tree line. Another note to self: next time pack a couple of valium.

Almost there! But the steepest and scariest part is still ahead of us.

The first steep, bare slab of rock proves to be a challenge. About 15 feet long, it's wet and muddy and the kids keep trying to go up, only to end up sliding back down. Not an auspicous start to the final ascent. They finally get enough momentum to make it up and over, onto the next slab of rock. Now it's my turn. "Trust your boots; trust your boots," I tell myself, but the mud just doesn't allow the boots to grab the rock. I'm sliding too. Hubs all too willingly gives me the old hiker's helper -- a hand on the butt to push me forward. Somehow he makes it up just fine by himself on the first try.

People are coming down in droves, eager to hit the junction and head on over to Algonquin. Everyone is in a good mood; most comment on the gorgeous views, and how windy it is up there. A few people caution us to hang on to T once we beak out of treeline because of the wind conditions. This last piece of advice is not helping my nerves. The trees become scrubbier and scrubbier until we are above them and all that's left is rock and space and wind.

The kids look back and exclaim, "Wow!"

That freaks me out. I'm clinging to the rock on all fours, looking at what seems to be an ascent only slightly short of needing an assist rope. I can't look back -- or even to either side. I can only look up far enough to find the next marker -- whether a cairn or a yellow paint mark. We've warned the kids to be very careful to stay on the trail -- and off the vegetation -- but fueled with summit fever, they are jetting up the mountain. Trying to watch them and watch where we all need to go is stressing me out. I want them to stay near Hubs and me so we can grab them if the wind tries to pick them up and throw them. It can happen. But they are not going to be corraled. They keep scrambling on up ahead of us. Fortunately we have them well trained on finding the trail.

We pass two men in their 60s or so coming back down. One points to the kids, who are just grinning with excitement and not showing any signs of fatigue, and says, "I think it's great that you're bringing them up here. You're doing a good thing getting them started early." He smiles approvingly
and then continues on down. T is definitely the youngest child on this mountain today, and already an acknowledged member of the fraternity of mountain hikers.

I think it's pretty cool to be sharing my love of the mountains with my son, and hiking with him on his first Adirondack high peak. And Bearie too. I hope I'm instilling in her a sense of loving being out in nature and experiencing the world from the tops of mountains. Maybe some day she'll be a 46-er.

The trail circles around to the south side of the mountain and then after a few instances of having to haul ourselves up onto ledges above rock faces that are as tall as the kids, we are standing  just one body-length below the summit knob, which one ascends via a final easy walk up the ramp-like rock.

And the world is all below us. Except for Algonquin over to the south, but Mt. Jo that we did two days ago looks like a toy mountain from here. The wind is whipping and perched on that knob, I'm just terrified. The other three are just drinking in the scenery; I'm clinging to the knob for dear life. Hubs finds a summit steward to take our photo -- it's me clinging to the rock and the others gathered around me. Really pitiful. 

Clinging to the rock for dear life.

I find a V-shaped nook on the north side of the mountain, out of the wind, which is coming from the south. I wedge myself in and then allow myself to look around. I still feel wigged out by the height. I have no idea how I'm getting back down. The others join me and we dig through the snack bag. Ideally we'd actually have a lunch bag. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Cheese and crackers. Gorp. But the kids each have a plum and some gummy fruits and Hubs and I share an apple.

I remember that this is the mountain where a bomber crashed on a training mission out of Plattsburgh, back when Plattsburgh had an airforce base. Men died there, so it is supposed to be treated with reverence, although the wreckage has been plundered by idiots with no sense of decency. Hubs and the kids want to go see it, and I do too, but I'm not feeling up to it, still adjusting to the dizzying height. So they go off, and while I wait for them, I walk around the summit area. As I do, my fear dissipates and I actually begin to enjoy myself. I'm sorry I let my fear get to me, actually. Now it seems just dumb.

I think I would like to go over to the wreckage, but they are expecting to find me here, and I don't want to inadvertently miss them by going over in a slightly different way than they went. I stay put and consider having us all go back over once they come back.

Even with the 40 mph winds, I can feel the sun's rays beating down on me. It's not 88 degrees at the summit, but none of us have felt in the least bit cold even with the wind chill, which is good since we have no fleece anything with us. We are very much unprepared to spend a night in the woods -- a classic no-no. Waiting for the three to come back, I take another sip from my CamelBak -- and suck air.

I can feel my eyes open wide in shock. We are at the halfway point in our hike, and I am already out of water.

This.Is.Not.Good.

It's a long way down to that place where we started, and it's going to get hotter and hotter the further down we go. Even though I've been drinking all along, I've had a couple of dehydration-related muscle cramps.

Hubs and the kids return. I abandon all hopes of seeing the wreckage and announce we need to start back down. We assess the water situation. Bearie drank quite a bit coming up, but she's got about a third of what she started with left. Hubs and T are both camels and both have most of their water left. Hubs assures me that I can drink his water -- he won't need it. T also offers to save his water for me.

So off we go. Hiking back down the bare rock, I again feel foolish for being so afraid coming up. It's glorious up here. I always hate to leave. I try to burn the image of 360-degrees of mountains into my memory.

It's a less than ideal situation heading out thinking of needing to conserve water on such a difficult trail on such a hot day, but at least we didn't run out on the way up. We'll just have to hope for the best. It's okay to make a mistake in the mountains as long as you live to not make the same mistake again.

To be continued....

T and Tiggy at the summit.