Vacation Day 3: A Wise (Old Owl's Head) Choice

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Before summer began, I had planned on taking T up his first High Peak -- Cascade -- but a case of extremely painful knees sidelined those hopes -- no ability to get myself or anyone else into High Peak climbing condition. Two and a half weeks before heading out I finally went to the doctor to find out what the crippling pain was all about and why it wasn't going away. The verdict: chondromalacia patella -- an inflammation of the cartilage under my kneecaps -- with a possible torn meniscus, caused by all things, excessive gardening. Great. I told the doctors they had to put me back together again enough to allow me to hike at least a few easy hikes. I was not going to the Adirondacks to sit around playing cards in the lodge all day. One cortisone shot, two anti-inflammatory medications, two knee braces, a pair of spring-loaded hiking poles, and the sage words from the orthopedist that, "You'll get up OK, it'll be coming down that will be the problem," later, we had set out on our journey.

If there's a will, there's a way. Usually. 

I feel like I got very lucky to get to the point of being able to attempt this. 

And hubs was there to help me whenever the going got tough. I'm lucky there too.

Our second full day dawns bright and clear with the promise of it being a hot one. My knees are testing out OK. We waver between heading for Owl's Head, a mountain I found by perusing the Lake Placid website, or Floodwood Mountain -- one that no one around here seems to know about. We finally opt for Owl's Head. It's short -- three-quarters of a mile one way -- and a manageable steepness -- just a 550 foot vertical rise. The information does indicate that there are some big boulders to get up and over, but we figure we'll see how it goes.

I'm a fan of getting out early to beat the heat and crowds, although I get the impression that this is a relatively quiet mountain compared to the big ones that everyone is trying to peak bag. "A local favorite" is how it's described, and the guy at the store where we bought our hiking socks and water bottles told us that it's easy to drive by the entrance road several times before finally spotting it. A good omen.

We locate the road on our first pass and turn in. It's a bone-rattling rutted dirt surface and I'm not expecting to see much traffic. Except a large van has turned in behind us. There are several private roads and driveways, so maybe the driver is just returning from a trip to Stewart's? We don't have a guidebook for this hike, so I have the directions memorized. Sort of.

I'm thinking we need to drive 2.2 miles on this dirt road, so I ignore the handwritten sign that points to the left, stating "Tram." Odd. I turn right instead, since we're not looking for a tram, but the van behind us turns left. Immediately after that right hand turn, we make a sharp left that doesn't look promising, which prompts my memory that the trailhead is supposed to be point-two miles down the road, not  2.2. I look down and the trip odometer reads .2. We turn around and head back toward the "Tram" sign. Just beyond it is a non-state-official trailhead marker that reads "Owl's Head." Across the road there are several spots large enough to allow a car to pull of the road. 

I do a three-point turn and tuck the van into one of them. Just as I do, the van that had been behind us, but had turned left when we should have, comes back into view. They must have missed the sign for the trailhead -- or not have had my father to teach them how to three-point turn a Sherman tank. And then two cars come up around the corner from the main road. And then another large van. Apparently we've started a trend.

As we are re-tying hiking boots on T and his cousin, Bearie, so that they don't get blisters from their feet flopping around inside them, the door on one of the other vans opens and a bunch of teenage boys jump out. "Are we ready?!" asks a leader-type. "YES!" shout the boys. "Odd," I think. "Why are a bunch of strapping teenage boys so excited to hike such a little hill?"

Perfect placement of the sign and Bearie. She is indeed one smart kid. 

We are soon on our way. I'm a little afraid of how Bearie will handle this, given how much she complained on Whiteface yesterday, but she's totally into it. The kids zip along. If it were just us with T, all we would hear is "Hiking is boring." But with another child along, he's enthusiastic.

Just as the online description promised, there are several scenic overlooks along the way up, and the kids are just drinking in the scenery. Cascade is in front of us and the highway already a little ribbon below.

"And heaven and nature sing...." 

Bearie needs enough rest breaks for me not to have to be the one calling for them. And the two of them want to climb every large boulder we encounter. Hiking with adults is an up and down event. Hiking with kids -- well, you need to anticipate double the time. If you make it a forced march, they will not want to do it again. So you let them stand on the dinosaur's body and then a few feet later on the dinosaur's head. And appreciate the opportunity to take a few sips of water.

Atop the dinosaur's head.

We do some boulder scrambling and then head back toward the forest. Just then we encounter a large group of teenage boys coming back down already. We stop to let them go by. This gives the other group of teenage boys time to catch up with us. They're going to be faster than us, so we let them pass too. They're carrying hard hats and have carabiners and rock climbing shoes hanging off their packs. Aha. Now I know the reason for the adolescent enthusiasm for this mountain. I remember that the description mentioned a cliff where you often spot rock climbers testing out their skills. 

Soon enough we arrive at the rock wall. We decide it will be fun to watch the boys, but can tell it's going to take some time for them to get set up, so we'll pause for the viewing on our way down.

Some more scrambling up the boulders to the left of the cliff and we arrive at the summit. The views are, as promised, stunning. Cascade and Porter off to our right. Hurricane, the one with the firetower, off to our left. Giant sitting in between, and many other blue peaks filling in the horizon. 

The kids are checking out everything. T is happily standing at the edge of the upward-sloping rock that comprises the summit, being photographed with the mountains behind him. "Is there anything below that edge, or is it just a drop-off?" I ask. Daddy grins sheepishly. "It just goes straight down." 

I panic. "Get away from the edge right now!" So very Mom of me! Meanwhile, Bearie is sitting on the edge to the right a few feet. I want her to move too -- at least she's sitting and thus relatively stable -- but she assures me that there is a ledge below her. I check it out and indeed there is, about 15 feet down, but not fatal looking.

I want to see if Daddy was right about the cliff, so I crawl over on my hands and knees to look over. I take a peek and retreat. They tell me I didn't get a good enough look. My knees aren't really loving the rock, but I give it another go, this time getting on my belly so I can peer over even further. "I feel like I'm going to throw up," I announce as I see the vast nothingness below. I don't think there are any trails down there, so I probably wouldn't bless any unsuspecting hiker's head, but I pull back anyway.

T and Tiggie, our summit mascot, enjoying their time atop Owl's Head. 

We eat lunch, explore some more, and then start hearing what will become a constant refrain of "Are we going to the beach?" So even though I could stand there for hours soaking it all in, the kids have had their fill and are ready for the next activity. We pack it all up and head down, along with the two other families who were in the cars that pulled up just as we were parking. 

The rock climbing is just getting started as we head down, so we stop to watch and video. As it turns out, this is an outing for a rock-climbing YMCA camp, and these boys are novices. They are not going all the way up to the top -- just to the carabiner located about two-thirds of the way up, and then rappelling back down. They make it look difficult. An experienced climber would probably yawn his or her way up, but these kids are working it. The first one succeeds. The second one is wearing regular hiking boots, not rock climbing shoes, and he just can't get his toes into the cracks. Our kids start arguing over my hiking poles, so we decide we've gawked long enough. I reclaim my poles and we set off.

The rock climbing cliff. 

It's slow going for me, as promised by my orthopedist. I've always found the up easier than the down, but this down is especially challenging with the knee braces and trying not to over-exert my knees. I pick my way down very carefully, planning each footfall. The kids could just run down, and do a lot of that, but are good about waiting up as soon as they lose sight of us. Bearie even comes back regularly to touch base once she realizes they've ditched us. Once we're in sight, they're off again. They climb the same boulders on the way down as they did on the way up. 

We pass many, many groups of people heading up. While this is off the beaten high peaks path, this is a surprisingly popular destination. Some of the people we encounter are local, and tell of people who do this hike on a daily basis. I have to say, if I lived here, I'd be inclined to follow in their footsteps. Owl's Head may not be a 46-er, but it's a gem. I hope we'll stand atop it again.

                                          "Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
                                          For I would ride with you upon the wind,
                                         Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
                                         And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”
                                      --William Butler Yeats, The Land of Heart's Desire