We finished out Sunday night back by the water, swimming, collecting big sticks, and skipping stones. It was then that I felt we set a true groove for the group, which would soon be necessary. Monday and Tuesday were set for a lengthy overnight backpacking excursion. Two days was the compromise, if it’d been up to me I’d have wanted more but as it later turned out, two ended up being for the best. Monday started slowly, as the group one by one slowly came out into the living room in half hour intervals. I’d intended for us to leave for a big early lunch by ten, but after last minute pack shakedowns and fittings, we were bolting out around eleven. It wasn’t my ideal – the mountains weren’t going anywhere, though, and it was a gorgeous day that only required six miles out of us. Time wasn’t of the essence.
We reached Long Lake a half hour later and sprawled out across the town for food. Our original plan was quickly laid to rest when it became evident Wayside Cafe couldn’t cater to Stilly or Melanie. They went off on their own food quest while Audrey, Elaine, and I stayed at the cafe. I could tell Melanie was just itching to get on the trail, almost confused as to why we weren’t already, while Stilly would’ve been perfectly content staying in Long Lake all day. Everybody else fell somewhere within that spectrum, though I think skewing more towards wanting to get on trail as soon as reasonable.
We eventually regrouped and got back on the road, Baby Blue leading the two cars as the roads got rougher, narrower, and windier. It’s funny – those are the sort of roads Baby Blue is built for, and yet every time I still feel a pang of anxiety for every bump we hit. Halfway up the final fire road approach, we were forced to slow down by a two-car caravan with kayaks in tow, hailing from Maryland. I turned to Audrey “I come all this goddamned way, just to be stuck behind Maryland drivers?” We chuckled as I remembered a minute or two wouldn’t make or break us.
The trailhead lot was nearly at capacity as we pulled in. I hoped the cars would mostly belong to day hikers and paddlers, but there was no way to be sure. For context, the original trail we had wanted to hike had been closed down a week prior due to landslides just north of Lake Colden, in Avalanche Pass. This left only one route to Lake Colden, a wet slog through Calamity Brook from the south. Avalanche Pass was by far the more popular route, and our gamble was that the southern route would be too much of a pain to get to and be too wet for folks to come to in droves, leaving the typically-popular Lake Colden campsites fairly empty. The other side of the coin was that there was a good chance that with this now being the only way to safely reach Lake Colden, this route would explode in popularity in the time being, worsening already muddy trail conditions while not leaving the campsites any more empty for us. We wouldn’t know until we reached Lake Colden.
After attempting a pre-trail shit, we were on our way, trail beers in hand. Birch trees and consistent conifers reminded us we weren’t in Virginia anymore as we cruised along for the first mile or so. At our first break for water, Audrey was starting to feel hotspots on her heels and went to apply moleskin. That would become… a recurring theme. I tried to stick to the middle or back of the pack, knowing if I led I’d soon be marching everyone ragged like a general into battle. Another reminder to myself that hiking is better when you pace yourself.
Mile two and Audrey’s heels were gone. As it turned out, she had two insoles in each of her half-dead Vans hiking boots, leading to excessive slipping. We fixed that, she applied more moleskin, and we hoped that that’d be that. By this point, we had reached where the trail went from a nice walk in the woods to a dance between steep inclines and slogging through mud. I – for one – was having a blast, but reactions from everyone else were mixed. It was the sort of mud that would keep you up at night thinking about as a kid – one wrong move and you’d find yourself submerged up to your knees and sinking fast. Precariously placed logs offered some sort of path forward, but it almost felt like climbing on flat ground, measuring each move and hold carefully.
Not to rag on her, but Audrey’s foot misfortunes continued as she took a wrong move and found one leg submerged in mud. After getting her out, we realized one more issue – her socks were cotton. I was honestly annoyed with myself that I hadn’t realized that back at the cabin. Stilly had a spare pair of synthetic socks, and despite them being oversized for her, it was still an upgrade. I don’t know how she kept going with those decimated heels, but she did and I’m both impressed and slightly terrified by that.
Next year, Elaine and Melanie plan on hiking the Appalachian Trail. Every section of mud we’d get to, Elaine would caution Melanie “this is how Pennsylvania will be” like an old frontiersman cautioning young travelers about crossing the Rockies. I don’t think anybody loved the mud, but I think Melanie kept the best mindset on it. I did warn everyone it would be a wet trail.
To be fair, it wasn’t what I had expected either. Pictures had led me to believe that we’d be mostly in grassy, swampy land headed towards the lake, not a green tunnel slog through roots and mud. It was beautiful regardless, and we continued to slowly slog our way up. We reached one opening along a stream with a monument to David Henderson, who’d died in that spot in 1845. His monument served as a useful resting spot as we enjoyed a moment in the sun, away from the tunnel. I sort of felt like we were in Lord of the Rings, enjoying a snack among the ruins of stories far before our time before continuing on our way.
It was probably five or six when we reached the beginning of campsites and lean-tos around Lake Colden. It was slightly as we feared – we weren’t alone, not by a long shot. We took the loop counterclockwise, which seemed to have less mud and more promise. Every spot either wasn’t a spot or was filled, and I could sense a collective frustration arising. We got to a substantial water crossing that couldn’t just be rock-hopped. There were two Quebecois gents enjoying their dinner as we provided a complementary show. I, for one, was ecstatic to have a proper water crossing – it’s my bread and butter, my favorite aspect of any hike. Give me a good, quality water crossing and I’m on cloud 9. Baptism in the backcountry, I don’t bother with finding a way to stay dry, I just walk right on through. Stilly, on the other hand, is the opposite. All I could do was cackle as he started his bitching.
Regardless, the water needed to be crossed and I watched from the opposite bank as it took everybody else ten minutes to figure out how to cross a stream that had taken me thirty seconds. After some light bushwacking, the trail opened up again. We pressed on in an increasingly frustrating search for an appropriate spot. We got increasingly frustrated, especially as what seemed like a potential site turned out to not permit camping. We ended up eating dinner there, hoping it’d give us the energy to at least find a spot that would work.
The group consensus was we’d cross Marcy Dam and just pray that for whatever reason it wouldn’t be equally as filled as the side we were on. By this point everyone was wet, tired, and haggard, with Audrey’s poor heels only getting more painful. One last gambit. As we crossed, we saw that to reach the other campsites we’d have to climb up some ladders. Elaine and I were elated, realizing that it may end up acting as a deterrent for other hikers from going to the other side. We were right. We went from full capacity to full vacancy. A tenth of a mile in, and we found the ideal camping site, fully empty, overlooking Lake Colden. We let out a collective sigh of relief. It had all been worth it.
After setting up an intimate camp with our tents practically overlapping, we went down to the lake shore to watch day turn into night. Across the water, we had a clear view of the landslide from the week before. You don’t get sights like that often in the east, and we were mesmerized just looking at it. A raw reminder of the power of nature. I’d later find out it had been named Jackson Slide. We came all this way, gone through all these hardships, just to find me across the water. Here I was. In a way, I’m still there.
I think that was everyone’s highlight of the trip. It was certainly when the five of us felt the most connected, most like one unit. All the frustration from earlier, all the tiredness, everything that was felt or experienced outside of the one square mile radius we were in, simply ceased to exist, if just for one night. As the night got darker and chillier, we slowly worked our way back to camp and into our tents for the night for a well-deserved rest.
And in the solace of moonlight on the water
Reflections of reflections of light, bouncing off my eyes into yours
The complications of the artifices we surround ourselves with
They sink below the surface
It’s not easy, but it’s simple
More to learn in the whistle of the wind than in a thousand conversations
The next morning was picturesque in every sense. My only regret was I didn’t get out of my tent earlier to watch the sun rise, but the comfort of my quilt outweighed all other factors in the moment. Eventually, we all went from being awake to being aware and broke down camp before heading back to the lakeshore for breakfast. I took folks’ pictures between sips of instant coffee. It’s a heavy self-imposed burden, being the group photographer. Once we had our fill of calories, warmth, and photos, we headed back down the trail. Audrey and I cracked open a trail beer each, with the stated goal of reducing trail weight.
By now we had become accustomed to the mud, having gained a sixth sense for what would be the best spots to step in and to not step in. The fact that we were now descending made matters easier as well, as we clipped down at a steady pace.
Seeing Baby Blue at the trailhead after a long hike is as beautiful as any peak or body of water, and this was no exception. Thoroughly stinky and hungry, we headed back to Long Lake to eat at The Park, figuring burgers at an outside-only establishment would be our best move. It was, though to my chagrin they had some gear malfunction and weren’t able to make milkshakes. Stilly and Elaine timed how quickly it’d take me to plow through a massive double burger, with the caveat I was to only eat at my normal pace. One minute and thirty odd seconds. Not bad.
We took shifts showering back at the cabin, with me taking the first shift. Probably the smart move, and it allowed me to be the first to get back on the couch. A good ending to a good two days.