35-30-25 (Day 2)

I was very familiar with the course we were to travel day 2.  In fact, over the course of that day, I was to cover the same distance as I had done in 5 days in A Not So Brady Sequel.  Even if my oars had been replaced with tooth picks, I am confident that this would have been a better trip then the adventure with Brady.

This was a perfect day.  It was bright and sunny as we started and Long Lake is one of my favorite lakes in the Adirondacks.  Per its name, it is about 22 miles long.  Although there are some houses, most of it is designated as wilderness so there is a lot of shoreline with forests. The lake is also plenty wide enough that there is ample room to pass other slower boats.    This was one of those perfect days where the lake stayed almost glass smooth the entire morning.  So it was fast travelling. 

I don't know if this is from the year we did it, but coincidentally, you can see a guideboat in the foreground of the picture in the bottom left corner.  The boats are travelling away from the photographer, so even though the guideboat is in the foreground, it is actually behind all the other boats in the picture!

Jim and I had learned our lesson from the day before, so we made sure that we took a couple of minutes on every hour to munch on some trail mix and stay hydrated.  We reached the end of Long Lake and then transitioned to the Raquette river.  There had been a bit of a drought that year, so the river was a bit lower than usual.  We were travelling with the current, which is always nice.  It is a pretty gentle current, but it is nice to take a small break and notice that you are still making forward progress.  Unlike Brown's tract, the raquette never got so narrow as to make it uncomfortable.  The biggest obstacle today was the carry.  There was only 1, but it was 1.5 miles and particularly the beginning involved a fairly steep climb.  So steep, that there was a rule that you were not permitted to run during this part.  It was only for a race like this that you would need to have a rule like this.  In all my other times doing this carry, it was just a push to get people up the damn hill!

The payoff for this carry is that the end of it is very pretty.  The carry is around a set of waterfalls and the end of the carry goes no further than necessary to avoid these falls.  Usually, we would have lunch here and swim in the rapids.  Today, we had to push on.

Not the best picture, but this is the put in at the end of the carry.  It is usually very crowded, even on non-race days.  

This last part of the river I always think is shorter than it is.  I knew we were on a lookout for a parking lot called "The Crusher".  I never knew why they called it that.  It was a small unassuming lot.  My buddy thought it might have been because it was not paved, but rather had crushed rock.  I don't know. So we would pass bend after bend, but no crusher.  We were involved in a bit of a race against a fellow guideboat.  We had not been in contention with them the day before because of the big slow down.  Each time we would pull within passing distance, they would pour on the coles and surge ahead.  But, you could tell it was getting to them.  Finally, we made a big effort and pushed hard, and we were buy them.  At first it looked like they would challenge us again, but we put some distance between us.  The beauty of the guideboat was that Jim could see what was ahead, and I could see what was behind.  Perhaps it added a bit of motivation to my rowing to see the distance increasing.

Finally, we made it to the crusher.  Once again, it was all class.  They had volunteers in the hip deep water who would help you out of your boat and guide you to shore while your boat was whisked away by some other volunteers.  Unlike the day before, there was a relatively small area, so it was necessary to move quickly to avoid congestion.  Day 2 was far better than Day 3. I was tired, but not exhausted.  I looked forward to day 3.  See you tomorrow!

35-30-25 (Day 1)

I realized a couple of things. 1. The post entitled 35-25-20, was originally supposed to be about the Adirondack 90 miler, and the numbers represented the miles paddled/rowed on each day. However, like a good engineer, I got basic addition wrong and only accounted for 80 miles. 2. I never changed this already wrong title to reflect the actual story. We'll take another crack at her then.

Every September, there is a great event called either "The 90-miler" or the "Adirondack Canoe Classic". I think most refer to it as the 90-miler because of the way it rolls off the tounge and is pretty descriptive. "Adirondack Canoe Classic" is a bit prettier. I think 90 miler won out, much like "The Load" won out over "The Well Dressed Waterboy" (Although, it is pretty impressive that both nicknames contained the definite article "The".)

The Adirondack Guideboat was born, not surpisingly, in the Adirondacks. It is a beautiful craft. It combines the sleek lines of a canoe with the mechanical advantage of rowing. I first fell in love with this craft when I was 16 or so. Keene Valley is the gateway for the high peaks of the Adirondacks and there is a lovely store called "the Mountaineer". Although relatively small in size, there is a great deal of gear packed in there. If you need it for the outdoors, particularly backpacking, hiking, rock climbing or ice-climbing, you can get it at the Mountaineer. Most of the gear in the Mountaineer is on the first floor, but there is a small loft where they keep sleeping bags and tents and some other gear. Hanging from the ceiling is an Adirondack Guideboat. Ostensibly, it is for sale, but to my knowledge it has been hanging there for close to 20 years. The price tag, a cool $15,000! It is fashioned out of cedar and beautifully varnished. Completely handmade, it is as much a work of art as a useful craft. Each time we would visit the Mountaineer I would stare at it, but that was all I could do. At that point, I considered bottled beer quite a luxury, so it wasn't like I had $15k laying around.

Time passed, I deployed to Afghanistan and was able to save up a bit of money. Also, a company started to make guideboats in kevlar and fiberglass, rather than cedar. This meant that you could get a guideboat for about 1/5 the cost, which still not cheap, was more reasonable. So, I ordered a guideboat. I didn't tell my wife until it arrived in a large crate, but she was surprisingly understanding about it. I tried to sell it as a family craft, and indeed, we did enjoy taking it out with our daughter.

We haven't tried taking it out with both girls, you really need one adult to watch the kids full time, because the boat is pretty tippy.

At the end of the summer of 2010, I sent Jim an e-mail and asked him if would join me on the next 90-miler.  Even though we had not seen each other for many years, he instantly agreed.  It was a good 14-16 hour drive from Chicago to the Adirondacks, but the girls were troopers and we made it in one shot (mostly by driving at night).  Once we got settled, I got in touch with Jim, who had a much shorter trip.  When we finally met up, it was the evening before the race.  We figured we ought to get at least a little bit of practice in before the big event, so we set off on Lake Flower just as the sun was setting.  

When rowing the craft solo, you sit in the center of the boat.  When rowing with a partner, you row from the bow, and the paddler paddles from the stern.  The paddler provides some extra propulsion, but more importantly steers the boat.  When rowing, you face opposite the direction of travel, so when rowing solo,  you have to keep looking over your shoulder to see where you are going.  With a partner though, you can just focus on rowing.  Since Jim had a fair amount of canoeing experience, he figured it out extremely quickly.  We soon fell into a comfortable rhythm, but noticed that the light was quickly fading.  So we headed back to shore.  

It just so happened that we were staying at a house that was very near the finish of the race.  Consequently, it was a pretty long drive to the start line the next morning.  Luckily, my brother in law is always up for an insanely early start to the day and volunteered to drive us to the start line.  The race started in Old Forge.  This was the only part of the course I had never canoed before, but with hundreds of boats and a straightforward course, there was no real risk of getting lost.  This first day was to be the most challenging, both in terms of miles paddled and there were 4 "carries" where you had to get out of the boat and carry it anywhere between 1/2 a mile to 1 and 1/2 miles to the next lake.

There was a lot of excitement at the starting line, but since they had been doing it for more than 25 years at this point, it was extremely well organized.  There were various classes of craft, based on the type and number of paddlers.  The start was organized by heats depending on the class of the boat.  The guideboats started pretty late.  There were about 10 boats total, most of them with 2 people in each boat but a few that were paddled solo.  One boat that immediately caught our eye was paddled by a solo female.  She was the only female in the guideboat class at all, even more impressively she was paddling solo.  

Amazingly I was able to find this picture through a google search.  While the boat was fast it was still 70 pounds or so, a lot to carry on your own.

Finally, they sounded the starting horn, and we were off.  It was amazing how fast everyone went for the first 200 yards or so, just tons of adrenaline pumping.  I have never had the boat anywhere close to that fast before or since, but we had a nice little bow wave going and probably could have pulled a very small child on water skis!  Soon though, we settled into our cadence.  Unlike the canoes, Jim and I faced each other so it was very easy to talk to each other.  Additionally, particularly in the beginning of each day, you would either pass or be passed by a number of different boats, so it is pretty exciting.  We soon settled into the middle of the pack of the guideboats.  The fastest ones pulled away pretty early in the day and there were 3 of us that were kind of jockeying back and forth for position.  Similarly, there were a number in the back that were just taking her easy.  

Soon we were coming to the first carry.  Up until now, the experience had been pretty similar to other experiences paddling in the Adirondacks.  Granted, people were pushing harder and we were certainly setting a far quicker pace than I would with trek groups.  In fact, we were scheduled to paddle 35 miles that day, which is about the same distance as we would cover over some of our shorter five day treks.  The carries were a different experience altogether.  

Most of the craft carried wheels that would affix to the center of the craft.  The wheels were pretty large, probably 2-3 feet in diameter and the boats would be perfectly balanced at hip level.  The crew simply needed to run along side the craft and guide it along.  The first few carries in particular were over smooth surfaces.  I had planned that we could use wheels too.  Unfortunately, I had purchased a very small set that went at the very stern of the boat. The wheels were  So our boat was not balanced at all, we had to lift up the front to waist level and fight it along.  About 1/2 way through the first carry we realized that this would not work, our forearms were burning.  But, we pushed on determined that we would change our method for all other carries.  Incidentally, the top performers in the guide-boat category simply took the boat out the water, lifted it up to shoulder height and took off at a jog as if they were carrying a pair of ski-poles.  The first day, particularly the first half of the first day, was about an hour of rowing and then a carry, and so on.  For all the rest of the carries, I carried the boat and Jim took the oars and all the other gear.  Because there was a yoke for carrying the boat it was not too difficult.  It was infinitely easier than that first carry.  We had a good pace and the weather was pretty good.  There was a bit of clouds and rain, but nothing too unpleasant at all.

At the end of the 2nd to last carry of the day, there is a section called Brown's track.  This is a very narrow very windy section.  It sucked.  It was so narrow that there were times when my oars could touch the banks on either side.  Fortunately, by this time, Jim was an expert navigator and he would direct me on which side and how hard to paddle.  This would have been by far the worst section to have done solo.  Once we finished with this,  we had a good amount of rowing to do across some pretty big lakes.  I didn't realize it at the time, but Jim and I had not taken even small breaks to eat or drink.  It caught up to me at the last carry, I tried to eat some food but it immediately came back up.  That carry, although short was a real struggle, I was just running out of gas.  We lost a lot of ground during this last part because I had to take frequent breaks.  The last chain of lakes, eagle lake to Utowana to Blue Mountain I have done many times.  Usually it is the start of our canoe trips and it seems to fly by.  People who passed us could tell that I was drained and they shouted encouragement.  So we pushed on and eventually made it to the takeout.  I sat by the side of the lake for a long time just resting.  

That was the end of day 1, certainly the hardest.  We had fallen a bit in the rankings just because the last few miles were so slow.  But, the hardest day was over, and it felt good.  

(Day 2 - tomorrow)

Voyageur: The Good, The Bad, and the Denver Omlette - Part II: The Voyageur's Perspective on Guide Safety Preparedness

 I had similar experiences to the Load at camp school. Perhaps they did away with the formal written evaluation when I went through, or perhaps I have forgotten about it, but I am sure that it was not a stellar evaluation. I did get a warning on the first day of the trek when I was zig-zagging all over the lake and purposely canoeing under low branches. I had viewed it as fun outing rather than a training course.

To be properly certified, we needed to get trained in first aid, CPR and a course called BSA Lifeguard. I don't know why the standard life guard certification that everyone else uses wasn't good enough, but it wasn't. Even more bizarre, our trips involved almost no swimming. In the rare instant a canoe capsized, everyone had life jackets on. Sometimes we would swim at the campsites, but typically people would not go very far from shore. Nevertheless, it was a requirement so we complied, sort of.

For as many years as I can remember, John C. ran the health lodge at camp. I think he was certified as an EMT, but he worked in this pretty big building and most of the time he was all alone. The crazy part was that this building had the capacity for 25+ beds, but typically no more than one was ever in use. If a kid got really sick or hurt he would be taken to the hospital. John C. was quite a guy. He was probably in his late 40s or early 50s when I worked there. Pretty normal looking guy. He had enormous hands though. He wasn't that tall, probably 6' or so, but he had the hands of a giant. You could always count on him to do his morning run around camp, precisely at 6 am every morning. He was the only one at camp who consistently obeyed the camp speed limit of 10 mph on the camp roads. He would just cruise around to wherever he needed to be. I think he was initially assigned the Wagoneer, certainly he treated it far better than anyone else.

One brief story about John and how calm he was. M.L. and I were riding our bikes down one of the trails and I wiped out. It wasn't that bad of a fall, but I got some nasty cuts and scrapes on my face because I happened to fall almost directly on a rock. I think it looked worse than it was, because cuts to the face tend to bleed a lot, even if not particularly deep. The story I heard is that someone relayed to John C. that I needed medical attention and he asked what had happened. Apparently, without even seeing me, he surmised that it wasn't that serious and said that he would come up after he finished his lunch. That is one calm guy.

John C. was responsible for teaching us the required first aid. John knew the first aid very well. He also understood that we were not super interested in the first aid, really just there to check a box. The first aid involved both a practical portion where you would demonstrate on a dummy and a written portion. During the practical portion if you put your hands in the wrong place, John C. would simply grab your hands with his enormous paws and put them in the right place. All that was necessary was to touch the dummy and John C. would take it from there. The written test part was interesting as well. Once John C. had distributed the tests he would inform us that he needed to leave and that he would be gone for at least 30 minutes. Strictly speaking, the tests were an individual effort. In practice, it was a bit different.

Finally, the BSA lifeguard section. It involved a lot of the usual skills, swimming, how to tow a swimmer in distress, how to right a canoe in the middle of the lake. Supposedly there are two ways to do it. First, if you have a second canoe, you can turn the swamped canoe upside down, approach the swamped canoe at a 90 degree angle and then lift it up on the second canoe so it is balanced across it making a big T. Then you turn it over and put it back in the drink, good as new. This method worked well, and was not that difficult. The trickiest part was breaking the initial suction and popping the end of the swamped canoe out of the lake. The second method was used if you only had one canoe. The idea was that two individuals, while treading water, could tip the canoe over (easy) and then lift the canoe high enough out of the water so that all the water drained out. Then while still holding the canoe over your head, you would flip it over. I never saw this pulled off.  Every time I tried, even with a life jacket I found that you ended up dunking yourself. If I capsized a canoe while traveling solo, I would have had to swim with it to the shore to empty it out.

Again, there wasn't much time, so the lifeguard course was kind of compressed. That suited me fine. The most absurd part of the training was that each time we came to an area in the wilderness, the lifeguard was supposed to spend a good hour inspecting the site for hazards before allowing anyone to swim. I think you were even supposed to maintain a log. Naturally, none of this was done. 

Added by the Load - One of the funnest things to do in a canoe, and one of the most frowned upon for safety reasons, is gunwale jumping. (Apparently 'gunnel' is an accepted alternate spelling of  'gunwale.')  Anyway, it's the act of standing up on the back of the canoe and pumping up and down with your legs; this action would lift the bow out of the water and when it slammed back down you would move forward.  You could really get a canoe moving swiftly for a bit!  Eventually it would start to turn and you would lose balance and fall.  Of course I never did this with my trek groups, but boy it looks fun!

 

Voyageur: The Good, The Bad, and the Denver Omlette - Part 1: Camp School

ed. note - the following post was originally part of a much larger one, we've split them up into separate parts so they don't bore you.

It really all begins at camp school, but for me it began a bit earlier than that.  First there was the hour long phone call with Ken Smith, who told me he and his wife worked at a boys' camp in the Adirondacks and were looking for guides.  I was at college at the time and President of the Outdoor Adventure Club, so this sounded like a good gig.  Luckily I had been a Boy Scout all my life; I can only imagine the surprise from people who went through this "interview" process, accepted the job, and then found out it was a Boy Scout camp when they received their contract.  Ken could be really persuasive on the phone.  I later found out he called  every college in NY State looking to be put into contact with their outdoor club leader.  He was a real trooper!

My Mom (yes, my Mom) drove me up to the camp office in Westchester, where I met BJ (ed. note - unless they've given us permission to throw their name in here, the Voyageur and I are going with initials, this one is a bit unfortunate) and Big Bird.  He drove us the 4 + hours up to the Adirondacks and Curtis Read Scout Reservation where I quickly learned that you lift your feet up when going over the Troll Bridge and dark is dark.  I stayed in the Nature Lodge that night and being far removed from the comforts of home it was pitch black when the lights went out and I'll admit to being a bit scared.  The next morning I met Toph, and Ranger Bob and a few others.  Toph would be driving us to Camp School in the green army sedan.  That thing was so old it looked like something you would have seen on MASH.  Ranger Bob was Ranger Bob and I regret that my first year I did not give him the respect he so deserved.  I was a little arrogant back then.  My first interaction with Bob was sausages.  It's what he served up for breakfast.  There was also coffee and eggs, but sausages were really what he was pushing as the best and perhaps only food for you.  He ate a ton and kept exhorting us to eat more as well.  

Then it was off to camp school.  Another hour or so through the Adirondacks to another Scout Camp that was hosting camp school.  The peculiarities of camp school have already been documented, but needless to say it was full of quirks.  The Voyageur section had been set up because Boy Scouts had been traipsing around the Adirondacks for quite a while causing damage, harm, litter, etc.  A week's worth of training was supposed to help cure that.  We would be licensed to lead Boy Scouts in the Adirondacks (a state park) but could not professionally guide others through the park.

I recall 2 1/2 days of lecture on wilderness survival, first aid, orienteering, paddling a canoe, leadership philosophy, cooking, swimming, lifesaving, setting up tents, etc.  Anyone who was sent to Voyageur training was supposed to be well versed in most if not all of these topics.  I did not do particularly well on the initial solo canoe test, but otherwise felt up to par.  It was clear there were quite a few though who were sent by their camp with the hopes they would pass, but without any experience or prior knowledge in the outdoors.  People who seemed baffled at how to set up a tent, enter a canoe, put on a life vest, make a splint, etc.  It was really quite comical, because if they failed -  and some did - their camp lost the investment of sending someone to camp school, and had to look for a new guide to hire without much time at all before the season started.  

After that it was on to mini-trek.  We got to spend 3 days and 2 nights in the wilderness putting to use what we had learned during the lecture time.  This was really cool and helped add to my arrogance.  While everyone else was still stuck in camp, wearing uniforms, attending meals singing songs designed for 12 year old boys and sweating in those damned red-topped green socks, we were canoeing and hiking around the Adirondacks.  This was a lot of fun and I thought I was doing a good job.  When I got my evaluation however I got slammed.  Unless all Voyageurs are horrible guides, I have gotten the impression over the years that most are rated kinda low on their initial evaluation, kinda to knock us down a peg.  Anyway I passed, but I remember being taken to task for going exploring of a little inlet when I was supposed to be "leader for the 1/2 day."  There were two other canoes of Voyageur candidates all over the age of 21 and our instructors in another canoe.  I just wasn't seriously taking the idea that I had to do much to be a leader on a flat pond in this instance.  So my partner and I explored a little inlet and were a few feet out of sight of everyone.  I got slammed for that.  Oh well, turns out I was a pretty awesome guide (and that's not arrogance, that's all the ratings I received from my trek groups).  

So I passed, but didn't pass.  I had not yet done my 1/2 mile swim or American Red Cross Standard First Aid.  So on Saturday morning at 4 am all Voyageur candidates were woken up by clanging pots and pans and marched around a lake to a campfire and a ceremony, which was kinda cool - especially since I had not been drinking the night before, otherwise it could have been ugly.  I was asked to stand aside at the ceremony and was next to the two guys who were not going to graduate.  The leader made a comment about some of us passing, but not completing our other requirements (me) but I think everyone looked at the three of us and assumed we all hadn't made it.

I'll never forget the ride back to camp.  Toph had gone for camp director or something and BJ and I had been in Voyageur training.  It was only early June but we had had several days of 90 + weather and rain and we stunk.  No showers for a week and, except on trek, the same unflattering Summer Scout uniform.  Including the red-topped,  green, knee-high socks.  Ours were so stinky and full of sweat and muddy rain water that we held them out the window of the green army sedan and closed the window so that only the tops were inside and the rest were outside.  I can imagine the sight of us cruising down route 28 and Interstate 87 in a green army sedan with 3 pairs of socks flapping out the window.  

Epilogue:  The Voyageur and I will write about how easy it was to pass Standard First Aid later, but I got my half mile swim done being followed in a rowboat by a lifeguard; she was also director of the horse program and also showed me that Boy Scout camp did not mean you couldn't find a girlfriend if you tried. 

Come at me Flipper

As a Judge Advocate in the Navy, my focus is pretty narrow.  Particularly as a prosecutor, you end up seeing a lot of the worst people in the Navy.  Just part of the job.  However, there are some bright spots.  For instance, today a group of us listened to a presentation from a Master Chief who works Explosive Ordinance Disposal.

Master Chiefs are usually pretty cool guys.  They have reached the highest enlisted rank and they have a bit of swagger to them, but they can back it up in spades.  This guy was the real deal, he has been all over the world doing different missions.  When I was in Afghanistan, we lived in fear of improvised explosive devices.  We got some training on what to look out for.  The problem was the guidance wasn't that useful.  For instance, they told us to look out for suspicious garbage piles.  However, it is difficult to pin down what makes one pile suspicious and another one not.  It isn't like a garbage pile has shifty eyes or a menacing scar.  Similarly, they told us to look out for broken down vehicles.  In Afghanistan, all the vehicles are either broken down, or right on the verge of it, so once again not that useful.

Unlike the normal person, an E.O.D. guy actually seeks out these I.E.D's and disarms them.  Pretty heavy stuff.  They are also trained in anti mine warfare and some other high tech stuff.  But the most interesting part of the story involves the dolphins.

The Navy has trained dolphins to do two missions.  First, the dolphins can locate mines.  Really well and really fast.  Once they locate a mine, they will surface and signal where it is as best they can.  The other thing they can do is patrol an area for swimmers who may be carrying explosives.  They carry a device on their snout and when they detect a swimmer they will hit the swimmer with this device which activates a dye pack on the surface.  Of course, they just think it is a big game.  Part of the EOD mission is to train these dolphins, and act as intruder swimmers to give the dolphins some practice.

As you can imagine, when you go against a dolphin in the water, you lose.  Now if anyone could have beat a dolphin it would have been this Master Chief.  He was a pretty short guy, but incredibly powerful, like a bulldog.  Like a bulldog that beats up lesser bull dogs.  The way he told it is that some of the dolphins, particularly the big males get really into this game.  They like nothing more than swimming up at top speed, 40 mph or so, and just barreling into people.  Apparently a number of guys have broken ribs or suffered some pretty good facial injuries.  I am sure for these guys it is a source of pride though.  I just love the idea of someone swimming along and a dolphin coming out of nowhere and tagging the guy. (go to 30 second mark)

35 - 25 - 20

I met Jim in college,  we lived together in the same dorms freshman year.  He too was a boy scout and we hit it off pretty quickly. He also looked a lot like Dawson from Dawson's creek. Jim and I had a couple of adventures together that cemented our friendship and what follows is definitely the best one.

I think it was our sophomore year in college, Jim and I were both involved with a sports team that was travelling to Daytona Beach, FL for a competition.  The plan was for the entire team to meet at the airport on a Monday morning.  Neither Jim or I had a car.  Instead of arranging for a taxi or for someone with a car to drive us to the airport, we decided that we would simply walk to the airport.  Of course, since we were leaving in the morning and the airport was about 7 miles away, we had to leave in the middle of the night.  Fortunately, our good friend Kelli had gotten a job at a local brew pub.  This was a fantastic place, they actually brewed the beer on site, it had this wonderful dark smoky atmosphere, and most importantly it was on the way to the airport.  Kelli was nice enough to run us a tab that never came due for payment!  After numerous bowls of loud mouth soup, we set off on the journey.  All in all, it was relatively straightforward, both of us had our gear in backpacks so it was easy walking along the streets of Buffalo.  Then we reached the airport.

Since we had gone on foot, we had to stick to side streets and not take the major highway that most people take to get to the airport.  Consequently, when we reached the airport we realized that we were nowhere near the entrance to the airport.  Rather, we were clear on the other side.  To reach the entrance we would have to walk completely around the airport, several miles and then likely have to walk on a pretty major road.  So, we went with plan B.  Plan B evolved at the instant we realized that we were on the wrong side of the airport.  Even though this was way before September 11, there was an approximately 12 foot tall fence topped with barbed wire that surrounded the airport.  Plan B involved scaling the fence and taking the direct route across the airport, even if it meant crossing a runway. We probably discussed it for less than 30 seconds before we decided to go for it.  So, we threw our gear over the fence, scaled the fence, used our jackets to put over the barbed wire so that we could get over it and just like that we were inside the fence line.

To this day, I don't know how we got away with it.  We saw the lights for the terminal off in the distance and just started walking.  Amazingly, a couple of airport employees drove by us in a pick-up truck and didn't even slow down.  They had to know we didn't work there.  Here we are, two guys on foot carrying giant backpacks just traipsing across taxiways and runways.  As we were crossing one runway, all of a sudden a large rotating yellow light came on.  At first, I thought the jig was up, but it was simply a signal that a plane was inbound.  It is pretty incredible to experience a jet landing just a hundred feet or so from you, the noise and the wind blast is incredible.  I don't know if the pilots saw us or not, if they did, they didn't alert anyone.

The most bizzare part of the experience was that as we got close to the airport we ended up walking through a sort of fueling station for aircraft.  It was like a filling station you would see on a highway, but massively scaled up and incredibly brightly lit.  The fact that it was just like a regular filling station, but so massive in size made the experience so surreal.  It felt like I was in one of those movies where the actor is shrunk.  Where a blade of grass is all of a sudden the height of that person.  That was exactly how I felt, you pull a jumbo jet into this area and refuel it.   We got really lucky here because it was deserted.  Certainly anyone there would have seen us pretty clearly because of the bright lights.  That added to the awe factor, it was very quiet and you could hear the insistent hum of the electric lights and it just seemed so strange that this area existed and was completely deserted at the time.  We didn't linger very long and were just about at the terminal. I patted my pockets and had that horrible feeling that I had lost my wallet.  I panicked and checked again, sure that I had put it in the breast pocket of the shirt I was wearing.  I don't know why I had placed it there, but I was sure I had.  I informed Jim and told him that I thought it must have fallen out when we scaled the fence.  Ever a good friend, he agreed to accompany back.  As strange as it seems, we now felt significantly more comfortable walking around the airport, we walked back, once again crossing active runways and taxiways, once again no-one saw us, or if they did took very little notice.  It was probably around 3 am, so the airport was not super busy.  Once we reached the fence I couldn't find my wallet anywhere.  I then guessed that it must have fallen out when I was on the other side of the fence, and was about to scale it again. Jim, was smarter than me though.  He urged me to check my pockets, all my pockets, one last time.  Sure enough, my wallet was in one of the cargo pockets of the pants I was wearing.  Most likely I had moved it when we were getting ready to go over the fence and simply forgot about it in the excitement.  Most people would have been pretty infuriated that I had turned a one way trip across an airport into a 3 way trip.  Jim just laughed it off, called me an idiot (in the nicest way possible) and we set off again.  3 trips across an airport, 3 opportunities to be caught and amazingly we never did.  Most of the details are pretty clear in my mind, what I cannot remember exactly is how we got into the terminal once we reached it.  Surely all the doors would have been armed and would have required a special pass.  I think we ended up climbing the fence on the other side and then we simply walked the 100 yards or so to the terminal entrance.  We were both pretty wiped at this point and we had a few hours to kill.  So we both kind of slept in the baggage claim area until later that morning when all of our teammates arrived.  I don't think they ever believed us 100% that we walked to the airport, but we absolutely did.  That was the first time Jim had shown me what a great friend he was, but it certainly wasn't the last.

My dad died suddenly when I was a junior in college, I got no warning, he  had a massive heart attack one night and passed away shortly after.  At the time, I didn't tell anyone, not even Jim.  I took off for a few days to go to the funeral and when I got back Jim was kind of ribbing me about skipping class and how it wasn't like me.  When he asked me where I had gone, I replied in a flat voice "To my Dad's funeral"  I shouldn't have said it like that, I only realize how selfish it was now.  How terrible I made him feel.  There was no way he could have guessed that.  Of course, he didn't call me on it, he just offered his friendship again when I needed it most.  He made it a point to check on me, but did it in such a manner that it never seemed overbearing.  He made it clear that he was there to listen, but never pushed me to talk.  When he would travel home to visit his family, he would always invite me along and made me feel part of his family.

One night, there was a bunch of us hanging out in the hallway of the dorm room.  At this stage, early on in the grieving process, I had no control of the emotions.  One minute you would be fine, but in an instant, all the feelings would come crashing down and you were helpless to resist it.  I don't know how he knew, but he knew that the wave was coming.  He could see my lips quivering and the tears welling in my eyes.  I hadn't told anyone else yet.  All he said was "Do you need a hug", and I did.  I held onto him in the middle of that dorm room and perhaps for the first time let all the emotion out, sobbing uncontrollably and barely able to stand up.  It got better after that, the release of all that energy made it easier to handle.  Once again, he had shown his true colors as a selfless friend.

Bluff called

I am pretty sure his name was Jeff.  Every summer, there would be members of staff that had returned from the previous summers and new staff members.  Some of these new members eventually became regulars, but there were a lot of one hit wonders.  They came up for one summer and then moved on to other things.

Jeff was one of these one hit wonders.  He and I were about the same age, about 20 at the time.  Jeff was an amazing mechanic, one of those guys that could fix anything.  He is the only person I know that bought one of the vehicles from camp, one of the old Air Force trucks and fixed it up.  He took a vehicle that had previously been ruled only street worthy enough to drive on camp roads and made it into a vehicle that could run all day on the highways.  The other thing I remember is that he was an incredibly finicky eater.  At lunch, he would just eat bread.  Seriously, just 5 or slices of white bread.  He would have been incredibly happy if he was a duck that all the people fed, but weren't supposed to.

Jeff is in the back row, all the way to the left.  Voyageur is in the back, 4th from the left.  

Although he acquired the truck at camp, he had originally come up to camp on a motorcycle.  Up until this point, I had never ridden a motorcycle.  My first motorcycle experience was to come, but it did not involve Jeff's motorcycle.

Chris Kenyon was the camp director for Waubeeka that summer.  He had a truck and a motorcycle.  That summer, I had neither.  One evening, I was joking around with him and asked if I could borrow his truck to go to Lake George.  He said no, but said that I could take his motorcycle.  I think he was pretty sure I wouldn't take him up on it.  He was wrong.  Jeff gave me a quick crash course on how to drive a motorcycle.  Since I knew how to drive a stick shift, it wasn't that difficult, just that the clutch is operated by hand rather than foot.

Then, Jeff, me and a lovely little blond lady were off.  Looking back, it probably was not the best plan.  We went at night and chose to go by way of the NYS Thruway to Lake George.  I think the posted speed limit was 65, but traffic moved at about 80+ mph.  The bike I borrowed was only 250 cc, I had that sucker wide open and still had trouble breaking 70 mph.  The entire way, I was concerned that I was going to get pulled over, but of course we didn't.  I was absurdly attired.  I think my riding outfit was a pair of shorts, a thermal underwear top and this gore tex jacket that I wore unzipped because it was particularly warm.  So I had this big jacket just billowing behind me in the breeze.  God it was fun.

I can't remember exactly what we did that night.  I am sure Jeff ate some bread.  The ride back was even more fun, because at this time I had become pretty comfortable with the bike.  The last 8-10 miles back to camp involve driving around Brant Lake.  For some absurd reason, the speed limit on this road was set at 55 mph, even though there were tons of sharp curves and it was a pretty small road.  I remember the moon reflecting off the lake and going just fast enough that there was a lovely lean associated with each turn.

Chris was surprised that I had taken the bike for such a long journey, but he was happy that I returned it in one piece.

The Nexus of the Universe

"I'm at first and first, how can the same street intersect itself, I must be at the nexus of the universe"

Cosmo Kramer

To quote the great Neil Diamond, "Where it all began, I can't begin to knowing"

I don't know exactly when I met the load.  We both started on staff in 1993, but we definitely did not run in the same circles then.  He was a bit older than me. (I suppose he still is).  When you are in your teens, a few years age difference is a big deal.  It is the difference between being able to drink or able to drive etc, doing both at the same time is frowned upon, at any age.  Also, I worked at Camp Buckskin while he worked at Summit Base. 

 Even though the summit staff was very small in 1993, they knew how to party.  Most of the staff who worked at either of the other two camps on the reservation lived in tents.  Unfortunately they did not look like this:

They were functional for the most part, even though they may have leaked, you tended to learn where the leak was and just move most of your belongings out of the way.  Summit staff had two full on buildings that they lived in.  The rock house was a small cottage like structure.  Upon entering, you walked through a narrow hallway.  To the right, was the "living room", there was an old couch a couple of other chairs, a dartboard and all sorts of pieces of wood that had been drilled into the wall to practice climbing.  On the left was the living quarters.  Basically a bunch of cots a few old dressers and the like.  There was a loft as well.  It was pretty small, just room for a couple of cots.  Finally, there was a bathroom with indoor plumbing and a shower.  We often joked that we cleaned ourselves in the dirtiest room in the house.  It really was right on the verge of collapse, the handle for the hot water for the shower broke off and was simply replaced with a vice grip.  Not as an interim fix, but as a permanent fix.

The other permanent structure was the "Voyageur Cabin", supposedly named because the voyageurs or guides slept there.  It was an even simpler structure, an A-frame structure with just one big room.  There was electricity, but no plumbing or other amenities.  The circuit breakers for the Voyageur cabin were located in the Rock House because building codes were pretty much ignored.  The two buildings were probably about 150 feet apart. It was always a fun prank to cut off the power to the voyageur cabin while in the rock house.

The advantage of these structures was that you could shut the door, which you really cannot do with a tent.  Consequently, these buildings lent themselves quite well to parties.  Nevertheless, I was never really invited or felt comfortable going up there my first year.  Perhaps it was my second year, while still working at Buckskin that I ventured up there a few times.  That year, the summit staff had expanded and there were a couple of guys my age who worked up there.  At some point, I must have talked to the load, even though he wasn't yet known as the load.  We had a lot in common.  Both of us had English parents, we shared a love for Monty Python and other absurd comedies, and he was just a real nice guy.

The following summer, 1995, marked a turning point.  I had started the summer as the provisional troop assistant scout master.  Most scouts came to camp with their home troop, but some wanted to come to camp either for an extra week or without their troop.  These scouts formed what was called a provisional troop, and I was the assistant scout master.  My duties were pretty easy, just ensuring there was some adult supervision.  During the day, the scouts would all be off doing merit badges or other activities, so I had limitless free time.  I spent most of my time up at Summit Base, helping out on different events.  Even though I was still part of Buckskin staff, I definitely considered myself part of Summit.  Then, a wonderful thing happened, at least for me.  One of the guides got sick.  The rumor I heard was that it was venereal disease, so of course I will repeat it here as if it were incontrovertible proof.  They needed another guide.  Because I had been defacto working at Summit by this point, I was offered the position.  Needless to say I jumped at it.  I wrote a post about this a little while back.

It was none other than the load who gave me a crash course in guiding.  I am pretty sure we drank a few beers, climbed Mt. Stevens, promptly fell asleep and then he showed me how to cook the typical trek meals. On trek, we mostly ate freeze dried food.  The big advantage was that the food was dehydrated, so it was quite light.  It tasted like shit, but it was light. Preparing the meals was easy, you would boil some water so it was purified, and then dump the contents into the boiling water.  Stir, and eat.  The breakfasts, in particular were awful.  So load and I cooked up a batch of freeze dried eggs, just so that I could learn to use the stove and how the meals worked.  I think we scattered most of the eggs all over the mountain, they were that bad.

The load was a damn good guide, and I learned a lot from him.  For the next few years, we liked to joke that I followed in his footsteps.  He had gone to the University of Buffalo, and I went there.  There used to be a catwalk that runs to the scoreboard in the basketball stadium.  The catwalk is probably about 80 feet or so above the ground.  He and I both rappelled off that catwalk.

There is no catwalk any more, apparently, but this pic gives you an idea, we both rappelled down from the height of the scoreboard to the ground.  Strictly forbidden, of course.

Both of us really loved our time at camp, and we began to keep in touch in what the load refers to as the off season.   The load even spent considerable time and effort printing out a summit newsletter that he mailed to all of us.  This was before the days of e-mail, so it was a full 8 pages of what everyone was up to.  I really wish I had kept them, it was the kind of thing that you didn't realize was a treasure at the time.

More importantly, he was there for me when I needed a friend and a mentor.  Load and I never had a great deal of money in those days, but the little that load had, he shared without question.  One winter, he invited me up for a New Years eve party a friend of his was having at Stratton. This was fancy, a condo right on the side of the mountain, and a bunch of people that the load knew.  He included me though.  Even though I didn't know anyone else there, I had a blast because the load made sure that I did.  Neither of us had enough money to ski after the first day, so we went to camp (naturally) and climbed Mt. Stevens in the snow.  We also did some ice climbing right off the highway.  Literally, we pulled our vehicle to the shoulder, walked about 15 feet and started climbing some rocks that had no doubt been blasted away when the highway was first built.  The best part about this party was that there was a lot of beer left over at the end, since I was under 21, everyone unanimously agreed that I should take it all.  I had a full trunk.

He was the best man at my wedding, and I didn't quite return the favor in choosing my +1 for his.  He is one of the few people I still keep in regular contact with.  Maybe that is why I remember camp so fondly, because of the friendships that were forged.  

Picture's Worth a .... You Tell Me ...

I've got a photo album from my twenties (the 1990s) with random pics of a lot of treks and camp stuff.  Here's some of them:

Summit Base Staff in 1993 inside TAC (Tomahawk Activities Center)

The 3 Voyageurs (Trek Leaders) in 1993

The Summit Staff hanging out on the original TAC climbing wall.

Toph, our director, wanted a formal Summit staff pic in 1993.

The very first trek group I led, Troop 28 Croton-On-Hudson.  The small kids' father took that pic.  There was another father and son on the trek (38 miles on Northville Lake Placid trail) but they left after first day.

Summit Base Staff 1994

Most of the activities at Summit Base available to campers revolved around climbing - on our ropes course, our climbing walls, or our cliffs.  We also had a small pond available with a tower and a "zip line" attached to it.  The rule was only one camper at a time on this line, and a lifeguard on duty.  The staff in 1994 had fun taking these pics.

Summit Base Staff 1995

As I think these pics can attest to, this was a fun Summer for me and most of the Summit staff.

Summit Base Staff 1996

I think this pic of the Summit Staff in '96 might have violated some of the rules about the rope's course, but it was a new installation and we were still learning.

Tomahawk Activity Center in Summer

Before Summit Base was Summit Base, it was Tomahawk Camp and this building was the dining hall.  It had been long out of commission but there was a fire in I believe 1991 that put the Buckskin Dining Hall out of service for a year.  Tomahawk Dining Hall was quickly brought up to code and used that Summer while a new dining hall was built.  After that this building was renamed Tomahawk Activity Center and was always referred to as TAC.  TAC still had a kitchen and a freezer and food storage locker where we kept the trek food safe from mice.  We did trek pack shakedowns in here and kept the paddles and life jackets in a room in the back.  It had a working bathroom in the back, two climbing walls, canoes,  asbestos filled beekeeper suits in the basement, a few hundred (thousand?) bats in the attic, a working fire place where we held campfires if it was pouring rain, and some old massive stoves.  One Summer during ranger staff, Bob had Keith and I take some oil and some heavy steel scrubbers and scrub the rust off of this stove.  We did.  The stove had been unused for years, was seen by nobody, and  at that point and was in no way considered for use in the future, but when Bob asked you to do something you did.  So a stove that nobody used or needed lost its rust spots on the burners and was a bit shinier, even when TAC burned down sometime in the mid 2000s.  

TAC in Winter with Mt. Stevens behind it.

The Load and The Voyageur

Rockin' the Roger - Waxing at length about climbing in a beautiful setting.

My favorite all time place to climb in the world is Roge's Rock on Lake George.  The setting is beautiful, the difficulty is moderate, the approach is a blast, and the view can't be beat. 

Not me, but similar to many photos I've taken in pre-digital days on the rock.

Climbing is a geeky sport.  What I mean by that is there's lots of technical terms, tons of gear in different sizes and colors and it uses lots of physics and engineering, and there's lots and lots of guide books.  Boy do climbers love guidebooks. Though I had only been climbing for a year and never yet in the Daks,  I had already purchased Don Mellor's Guide to Rock and Ice Routes in the Adirondack State Park.  This was considered the bible of Adirondack climbing and had over 1,000 routes.  I had read them all in the off-season.

For a silly portion of my life (the time roughly documented in this blog) I referred to Sept. - May as the "off-season" in the delusional belief that my Summer job as a guide was my real work and my career as a professional educator was just something I did until the Summer came along.  A wife and kids cures these young delusions.

I'd been climbing for a bit when I first met KW at camp in '93.  He got me really into it and during the off-season I met him at the Gunks for as many good weather weekends as we could.  When we returned to camp for Ranger Staff in '94 I was prepared.  KW and I were going to try a route near to camp called

"Little Finger Direct," (5.5) on Rogers Rock.  KW was game, he was game for anything. When I said I was prepared I mean I had read the book, KW had the gear and experience.  One afternoon Ranger Bob let us off work early (mind you we had been moving and lifting things since 6 am and a sausage breakfast - Bob's favorite).  So we threw a canoe on the car (KW's 1982 Chevy Lynx) and headed out Route 8 to Roger Rock State Campground.  We loaded the canoe and put it in the water and here I discovered one of the most endearing and baffling personality traits of KW:  He doesn't like to canoe.  I mean he hates it with a passion.  KW was 6 feet 2 inches of muscles fueled by gummy worms and mountain dew.  A great guy with the physical ability to seemingly do anything; he was the unstoppable force and the immovable object, yet he did not enjoy canoeing.  No fear of water, just didn't love the 'ole Grumman.  So climbing gear plus two people but only one paddler, me,  and off we went.  It's like a 3 mile paddle from the put in at the state campground to the actual slab.  It took me longer than expected as I was the only paddler.  On the paddle out you begin to realize how special this climb is.  The water is blue, the sky is blue, it's usually clear and hot in the Summer.  This particular early June day was hot, really hot.  Not NYC humidity hot, but thermometer scorching.  As you arrive closer to your destination the sides of the lake get taller and taller, with campgrounds giving way to trees and trees giving away to rocks which rise straight out of the water and go up and up.  By the time you get to Rogers Rock (in typical ADK fashion there's a legend as to how it go it's name) a slab rises 500 feet out of the water.  We arrived at the base of the climb and pulled our canoe up on shore.  You have a small flat area where you can scramble up to the base of the climb, with enough room to get your shoes on, set your belay and relax.  At the end of the climb this is where you jump into the water as well.  KW and I got tied in, put our shoes on and off he led.  Typical of KW, he was fast.  So fast that he didn't notice the heat.  That rock bakes in the sun all day and that sun shines straight down as well as reflects off the water.  However when he was at the first pitch belay, he felt it and as I seconded up the rope, I felt it too.  My feet actually hurt, even through .5 mil of hardened rubber.  We started up the second pitch again with Keith leading and it only got worse.  By the time I reached him, our feet were hurting so much we had made the decision to bail.  Keith led across on tension to one of the rappel stations and we started down.  Behind us on the climb was a guide with two clients.  I'll never forget thinking that it was really getting hot and probably not a good day for climbing.  As we were rapping down, the second client started to feel faint and pass out - on the end of the rope.  He sounded real weak and indicated he had fig newtons and water in the fanny pack on his back.  I rapped across to him and helped him access his pack, which he was too weak to take off and get to himself.  This concerned me as climbing in the heat is a lot harder than accessing your pack.  However after fig newtons and water he said he was okay and the guide made the decision to continue on.  I didn't get it.

That was my first Rogers trip.  The next week before camp started, KW and I hit it again and climbed it in glorious style.  It was another beautiful day, but not a scorcher.  The canoe ride was smooth and I didn't mind doing all the work.  KW led the first pitch, basically a finger width crack up a slab, and the 2nd, and the 3rd which involved the crux.  The crux was a bulge that was rated at 5.7+.  The thing is the crux was protected, while the "easier" way around was not.  KW chose the crux, not because it was harder, but because his style was usually direct and straight forward.  Following, the crux was quite easy, though KW loved to place gear as high as possible to make it difficult for his followers to reach.  This amused him.  The 4th and final pitch of Little Finger is an easy traverse across to the rappel station with pretty much no gear.  This was also apparently my first lead.  KW gave me the rack (which was useless but meant he didn't have to carry its weight) and told me to go.  This was typical of him.  He knew I could handle it and without ceremony told me to do it.  And I did.  I think I placed two useless pieces for what climbers call "psychological pro."  We rapped off in record time, avoiding bushes and snags and took a nice jump in the lake.  

I don't know if we made it up again that Summer, but the next trip I recall was the following May with my friend Jessica.  It was to be my first full lead and my entire rack at the time consisted of two Black Diamond 3/4 inch cams, one BD 1/2 inch cam and a set of Wall Nuts.  Not the best rack, but I was young and in shape and quite brash back then.  We cruised the climb in pretty nice style and I actually enjoyed my first multi-pitch lead.  May in the Adirondacks is quite different than June, July, August though and there was no jumping in Lake George after the climb.  

The following years '96-'00 is when things got out of hand - in a fun way.  Summit staff grew, more of us were into climbing, more staff from the other camps wanted to go up Rogers with us, and more and more people owned lots of climbing gear.  You could do a party of four on Rogers as long as you had three ropes and a lead rack.  And we did often.  We had harnesses and helmets at camp and we borrowed those liberally for these excursions.  The Voyageur already wrote about our climb where I earned my moniker, The Load.  I just want to point out that it was because I was protecting the Weebs from the side affects of sun exposure mixed with his lime disease medication that I took my sweatshirt off in the first place to loan to him.  'Nuff said. 

On another one of these excursions there were five us (the largest group I can recall) and what made this one so memorable was that KW decided our canoe was overloaded and given his already stated disinclination to ride the Grumman, he jumped out and held on to the stern as the rest of us paddled.  He spent 3 miles in the water half swimming and half being towed to avoid the ride.

Another time towards the end of my tenure at camp, I took one last group trip up Rogers.  The Voyageur was there and two or three others (it amuses me that I can't even recall the attendees on these climbs - I would literally take anyone interested).  It was the end of the Summer during what is called referred to as "take down week."  The problem with this trip is we left at about two in the afternoon.  It was about an hour drive from camp over to Rogers Rock state campground, West on Route 8 over to Route 9N and then north on 9N for a bit.  I mention these roads because one of the coolest things on this ride was passing the elephant on Route 8.

On NY State Route 8 between Brant Lake and Hague

I've never stopped on the road to take a pic, so I thank the Internet that someone took one and posted it.  

Arriving at the campground at 3, we then put the canoes in the water, loaded them up and headed off.  Which means a 4 pm arrival and set up - you can see where this is going.  I think there were four of us.  3 1/2 pitches.  I think one person had never climbed before.  It's at least six pm by the time we are atop pitch 1, another 3 hours for the next two pitches, then a further hour to complete the traverse on the last half pitch.  That puts us at 12 am and a long way to go.  It was a moonlit night and we had headlamps (Boy Scouts - Be Prepared, etc.) so darkness was not a problem.  But it was midnight and we had 3 long rappels to do with four people.  Simul-rapping was out, though I had done that with KW on several occasions at Rogers, it wasn't in the cards with this group.  I figured we would be down in a few hours and back to camp by about 4 am; I was two hours off.  In daylight there is an easily avoided bush where your ropes could get seriously tangled on rappel.  As it happens, our ropes got stuck there, several of them.  I can recall hanging on rappel, untangling 160' of 10.5 mil rats' nest by headlight and not loving it.  Eventually everyone got down to the canoes by 4 am and we reached the campground at about 5.  A quick call to camp (on a payphone - this was like 2000) to let them know we were okay - nobody knew we were missing apparently) and then the ride back to camp.  We rolled in just about 6 am.  We sought out Big Bird, one of the head honchos at camp, and copped to our overnight escapades.  As a "punishment" we were told to work the whole day, right after breakfast.   So there was no sleep for this wicked group, but I wouldn't have traded the experience for anything. 

In all I've probably made the climb up Rogers about 18 times.  Almost exclusively on Little Fingers or Little Fingers Direct, though once KW and I scouted out some of the steeper bolted lines on the side.  He led a rather scary 5.9.  I recall getting my ankles mauled by red ants and not being able to swat them as I belayed him up a really dicey crux section.  I fell on second several times on that climb, but KW was KW.  

I've taken my wife up (before we were married) and I had plans to free solo it, naked, with Coady.  That fell through (thankfully?) due to the tires on the '82 Regal blowing out.  According to the garage, they were so old they just rotted away.

The glorious view, the moderate difficulty, the canoeing approach, the beautiful blue waters of Lake George; I love everything about Rogers.  But I missed all of these on my favorite trip.  One summer over Labor Day weekend, Coady and I had a plan to do a "Slab-A-Thon."  We were going to climb as many Adirondack slabs in 24 hours as we could.  We began at Rogers Rock campground.  The idea was to start at 12 midnight.  We arrived at the campground quite early in the evening and tried to sleep to no avail, even with the aid of a beer or two.  We lay awake listening for the alarm to go off at a quarter to twelve.  As soon as it did, we packed the tent and got our climbing gear down to the dock and at 12:01 we were paddling.  we hit Rogers pretty quickly and led off.  We were climbing by the light of a full moon and the rock was wet.  It had rained for several days before we arrived and while the air had dried most of the slab, there was still a stream pouring down the crack in the center of Little Fingers.  This was one of those climbs where everything just clicked: my partner, my physical ability, my climbing ability, my mental preparedness.  Being that the rock was hard to see and pouring water, I should have been nervous or worried, but I wasn't.  I sailed up the pitches, moving over rock that had become familiar to me by now, not feeling any difficulty or hesitation.  At the belays I would stare out at scenery which had always been bright and vibran,t blues and greens, and was now a dark night dotted by starts and punctuated by the moon.  It was simply sublime.  

The rest of the Slab-A-Thon did not go so well.  We got lost finding Moxham Dome, having never actually climbed the slab there.  On the approach we walked through muddy, swampy woods and invited black flies to feast on our skins.  Coady led the first pitch and I could barely make out his body as I belayed with every ounce of bare skin including my face buried in my clothes trying to hide from the flies.  We were miserable when we topped out on that one and then headed up for Chapel Pond Slabs.  We took a nap in the van and then climbed Chapel Pond in the evening when there was a little wind that helped keep the black flies at bay a tiny bit, but not enough.  My neck and ears were destroyed by these buggers, my ears were literally swollen about 2 inches thick.  Coady's mom took him to the doctor cuz he was so badly off.  

I wish we had ended that trip on Rogers.

Below are some random pics from Rogers I took in the early 90's.  In true old school fashion I took a digital picture of the paper one and uploaded it.

KW about to lead up a 5.9 variation off to the side of Little Fingers.

A rare shot of KW with a paddle (unused) in his hand on the way to Rogers.  His friend C in the middle.

The Load's wife rappelling down Rogers.

Me leading  the bulge (crux) of Little Fingers Direct.

My wife seconding Little Fingers.

Same, with bluer water.

One of my funnest pics as it shows my original climbing shoes, my 5.10 Summits.