First Half of the July Grid

After completing twenty peaks in June, July is going to be a little bit easier, with only twelve needed for the Grid, and then August, which is already complete, will be a vacation from the Catskills.  My attitude is:  dive in and get ’em done, and then go on to other projects.

So far, so good, with the peroneal brevis tendon feeling a little bit better, although I just banged some toes…

  • The forecast calls for a high of 96 F, and the morning is already steamy:  on the drive up to the mountains, the eastern sky is vaguely peach-colored
  • I meet my friend Steve Aaron, who’s working on completing the Catskills thirty-five, and then we head off to Kaaterskill High Peak.
  • After parking, we scramble up and into the abandoned Cortina Mountain Ski Area, today little more than an open field covered in grass and wildflowers, with views to the west of the criss-crossed shoulder of Hunter Mountain, a ski area which is still very much open and in business.  Then it’s underneath an old cable with rusted chairlifts, through a gate, into forest.
  • We’re greeted by abundant dark green bulrush with clusters of spiky ball flowers, still green in the woods (the flowers have already turned brown in the open field)


  • Next up, a little patch of partridge berry crawling along the ground, sporting small white cross-shaped flowers growing in pairs…in due course, small red berries will appear with tiny twin navels where the flowers once were


  • As we walk along past a puddle in the path, there’s a dash and then a splash, and then it happens again: leopard frogs, green with black spots, and a little slow to react, we’re on top of them before they dive for the water…I bend down to scoop one up, but the frog squirms off in the muddy water and eludes my grasp


  • We reach the presumed Native American marker tree below the summit scramble.


  • It’s a warm day, just as was forecast.  We’re in the shade and probably five to ten degrees cooler on account of the elevation.  From a time to time a breeze rolls through the forest, and then it’s pleasant, but mostly it’s still and a little sticky.
  • We scramble up to the summit and cross over to Hurricane Ledge on the southern edge, where the sun beats down mercilessly.  Filaments of cloud criss-cross the sky without apparent pattern, as if the high-altitude winds suddenly calmed leaving the atmospheric vapors to twist about randomly.


Steve’s successfully completed the thirteenth high peak in his quest to summit the thirty-five.  We say goodbye, and after a break for food and drink, I head off to the Biscuit Brook trailhead.

  • The familiar trail takes me two miles in to the lean-to and then crosses a creek, where I pause to filter water, knowing there will be little or none on the ridges above.  Then begins the familiar climb through the forest.  For a little while, the creek splashes down in a ravine to my right.  I nod to a massive triple-trunked black cherry which I’ve passed on this route multiple times before.


  • Many others have passed this way as well, as this is easiest route to the summit of Fir Mountain, one of the thirty-five that’s on every peak-bagger’s list.  The accumulated footsteps have created what’s known as a “social trail” or “herd path,” unofficial, unmarked, unmaintained, and sometimes indistinct, but definitely easier walking than it would be plowing straight through the forest.  There’s a little art to following social trails, however, because they fade in and out, and sometimes the marks of passage are subtle:  a few bent fronds, abrasions on a log, scuffmarks in the dirt, or simply the absence of branches and other obstacles.  Sometimes these clues are so subtle I fear I’ve lost the trail:  then I look off to the sides, because the loose rocks and tangled vegetation on the periphery usually contrast with the path, no matter how obscure.
  • That said, I lose the trail on the final climb and stumble through the undergrowth for a while….but eventually regain it near the summit.  I haven’t used compass or GPS, so this counts as a “Natural Navigation” ascent.
  • Now it’s time to continue a little further north before turning west and dropping downhill in search of the saddle between Fir and Big Indian, where I plan to camp tonight.  The setting sun is stipling the forest with spots of golden light.  Fern glades lend easy passage in some places, while fir stands threaten entanglement, but soon enough I’m at the saddle and unrolling my sleeping bag (no need tonight for a tent).
  • Surface winds push over mountains through the saddles between peaks, which are the lowest points on the ridgeline, and tonight the wind is blowing steadily here, reminiscent of tradewinds at the beach but smelling of damp earth not salt.  After a warm day, this feels cool, even chilly.  Above me, a dome of green and gold, a mosaic of beech leaves gradually darkening, the spaces in between filling with dim blue light, and then everything is dark.
  • Next morning a hermit thrush singing loudly and without pause.  After a cup of tea, it’s off to Big Indian, another social trail on the crest of a ridge that gradually curls northwest — slow and steady progress takes me to the summit.
  • Now it’s time to cross a long ridge to Doubletop Mountain, and here the terrain is pretty tangled:  heavy deciduous thickets full of beech saplings and hobble-bush, stands of fir and deadfall blocking the way, a damp spot with peat moss.
  • Eventually a tiny glimpse of Doubletop appears through a gap in the canopy just a few leaves wide, just a corner of the jagged fir-clad summit, and this glimpse contrasts with some places where sky peaks through, allowing you to estimate the broad outline of the mountain and orient accordingly.


  • The final climb to Doubletop’s summit is a little steep, but then there’s a path through the boreal spruce-fir zone to the canister, where I sit down for a moment, drink some water, and let the flies crawl all over me and tickle my ankles (but they don’t bite).
  • Back across the ridge, and now five miles of trail with a pretty mountain creek on the left, but too far down to go get water, so I ration what I have a few swallows at a time.
  • Passing through fields of Indian hellebores turning yellow, brown, and black, wilting, and many falling over now, but some of them have produced tall spiky flower stalks, and no doubt they will be back in force next spring
  • Chipmunks chirping away, a gray squirrel climbing a tree, I pause for a moment next to large dead birch log and discover two kinds of slime mold:  scrambled eggs slime mold and chocolate tube slime mold.  What strange creatures….thought to be of ancient origin (nearly a billion years old), they consist of individual amoeba-like cells scattered about in the forest floor which under certain conditions migrate together and form a moving, pulsating blob which grows stalks that release spores.  And from these spores, the next generation of slime mold is produced.  An interesting parallel to humanity, since we operate independently from each other to some extent, and then come together for many purposes, too, including reproduction.  Scientists are amazed at how slime molds interpret and adapt to their environment: they display considerable intelligence for creatures without nerves or brains — it makes one wonder whether people are as clever in the grand scheme of things as we like to believe — hopefully over time we will do our jobs as well as the slime molds have.
  • That evening, I’m feeling the effects of two days out in the hot humid summer forests.  Skin reddened, I drink and drink, feel tired at dinner, and it’s off to bed early.

A few days later, it’s time to hit Bearpen and Vly, for the 11th and 10th times, respectively, and then off to Rusk, for the 10th time.

  • Glorious summer, hot and humid, another day in the 90s, another steamy morning, the mountains indistinct in the haze and merging along the horizon into featureless white.
  • Hickory trees blooming along the road, and so are the male specimens of the staghorn sumac with spiky yellow flowers growing from their uppermost branches, while the females are producing small maroon-colored feathery fruits.  The road to Bearpen passes some wild celery with yellow flower clusters mixed in with some purple-stemmed angelica, and orange tiger lilies.
  • Today’s goal:  mix in some running, so I charge up the hill, reflecting on how once upon a time this gravelly road was so painful I almost gave up, but now I’m trotting along barefoot without a care (it may be, too, that the shoulder’s been widened to accommodate lumber equipment, leaving a strip of gravel-free dirt on the side).
  • Machinery is moving about in the woods, and there’s a huge pile of ash logs off to one side — waiting to be carted off, or perhaps the wood’s been ruined by the ash borer and the logs have been abandoned.


  • A snowmobile trail leads to the summit, and the little bit of extra light getting in through the canopy encourages a wide variety of “plant people” (as Muir might call them):  orange hawkeye, blue eyed grass, berry canes and stinging nettle growing tall, meadow rue now blooming with spiky white petal-less flowers, and all sorts of mysterious grasses.
  • From the top of Bearpen, a hazy view of the Schoharie Reservoir


  • I run all the way back down to the saddle between Bearpen and Vly, in a crouch with knees bent, which is the proper shock-absorbing form according to barefoot guru Ken Bob Saxton.  And now I charge up Vly, mixing a brisk walk with a few running intervals.
  • On the descent from Vly, here are three hikers coming up, Steve, Rick, and Tom.  Tom is close to completing his first Grid, Steve Emanuel (Grid #22) is close to completing his second Grid, and if I heard properly, then Rick Taylor (Grid #21) just completed his second.  Impressive!  We all agree that Connie Scuitto (Grid #3), who is close to completing her third Grid, has taken things too far (but we don’t really mean it).
  • Inspired by this chance encounter, I run all the way down to the car, exulting to be breezing through the warm damp sweaty grimy air.
  • On the drive out, huge cumulus clouds are moving over the valley, and where their vapors boil up high enough, the convolutions catch the sun’s light, become illuminated, appear massive and discrete, convey a sense of force — such a contrast to the morning haze


  • On to the parking area at the end of Spruceton Road through a spatter of rain.  Exiting the car, the air is once again heavy and humid.  I break off a spruce branch and swish it around at the insects like a cow waving its tail
  • The gravel road is painful, but only half a mile or so until it’s time to step into the woods and onto the social path towards the summit.  Past a huge broken ash tree whose trunk has split into two sections which fell in separate directions.


  • I start out aggressively, but then I stub a toe, and then a little while later, this happens again, and now I’m howling with pain.  It’s always the left foot where things go wrong, it seems, and then I stub a toe on my right foot even worse.  There’s nothing to do but go into “stealth mode” — stop cursing, move slowly, keep eyes open — and then I stub the right foot again — so now it’s into “safety mode” with no other purpose but to make it to the summit and back without any further damage.
  • I hang out at the summit for a bit.  A faint breeze stirs the upper branches of the cherry and birch, then subsides.  Another cumulus cloud, large and portentous, moving across the sky as if being towed on a line.
  • I creep back down the mountain, watching each step, and sometimes wincing.  The breeze picks up, the air has cooled some, it’s less humid.
  • The berries are coming out on the red elderberry bushes.


  • Oh my, the gravel road is painful on the way back to the trailhead.
  • Driving out, a cumulus cloud sits above the valley, massive, forceful, dominant, towering above the ridges, glowering in the sunlight, capable of unleashing violence that will over long periods destroy the mountains, answering only to the atmospheric conditions that produced it, with no duty to consider small creatures creeping about in the forest and presumably no interest in us, either


  • My poor toes.  The left big toe required a band-aid and some tape, while the right pinky toe ended up with a purple-red bruise.  Although I was able to run four miles at the track the next day….  There’s a lesson here:  running up and down rough Catskill trails is demanding — so pay attention!  — and if you’re tired, slow down!


Ken Bended Tree (1 of 1)
Credit:  Steve Aaron Photography

Running the Long Path is available on Amazon  (Click on the image to check it out)20170806_110648

First Half of the July Grid

Return to Kaaterskill High Peak

The plan was to run intervals at the track, but it rained during the night, and the morning was cool, damp, misty, cloudy…in a word, uninspiring.  A day crying out to be spent indoors, with plenty of coffee, at work on important tasks.  But of these I had none.  I sat on the sofa, looked out the window, and struggled to come up with a plan to make the day productive.

The irony is, having taken time off from the corporate world….here I am sitting around with time on my hands.  Perhaps I’m suffering from a touch of “Griditis,” a state of fatigue associated with excessive peak-bagging activities.

Further weighing on my state of mind:  a pair of young ultra-runners is out on the Long Path attempting to thru-run the 358-mile trail in 7 days, which would soundly break the current record — which is my record.

I pull up their SPOT track on my laptop and see they are on the move in the Catskills, heading down from North-South Lake Campground toward Kaaterskill High Peak.  Now an idea occurs to me:  I could drive up there, meet them on the trail and cheer them on — and then climb Kaaterskill, scratching it off the list for the June Grid.

The only question, can I face such a grim mountain on such a glum day?

Continue reading “Return to Kaaterskill High Peak”

Return to Kaaterskill High Peak

Finishing March

March started out on a difficult note with four different snowstorms — which left me slogging through deep drifts, sinking up to the knees in fresh powder, toiling upwards one step at a time — just miserable hard work.  On one hike, I’d set out to climb four peaks but completed only one, which put me behind schedule.  As month-end began to draw near, there were seven peaks left — a feasible load — but then conference calls and meetings popped up unplanned for, and time started to get tight.  Now there would be little room for error, especially when the longest, toughest hike was left for the last day of the month….

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Finishing March

Finishing January on KHP

This Sunday I hiked Kaaterskill High Peak — for the 7th time in the last three years– and this completes the Grid for January, which means I have over the last few years managed to summit all thirty-five High Peaks during the month.  With 286 High Peak ascents now under the belt, my journey toward the completion of the Catskill Grid is 68.1% complete, with only 134 peaks left to go.

But 134 is a lot of work, especially with close to half in winter months, when covering ground is so much slower and more difficult.  Indeed, whether the Grid can be finished during 2018 is an interesting question.  The test will be February — a dismal month for those of us who don’t like winter — and for me, with only 15 February peaks complete, this leaves a daunting 20 to climb.  Even worse, all this must take place during the second half of the month, as I’ll be out of town for the first half.  In other words, 20 peaks in 14 days, and the trick is, for someone with aging knees and ankles, to make it to March in one piece, so that I can confront another 16 peaks, and then another 19 in April.  May, however, is almost done, with only a single peak remaining.

“There’s no rush,” I’ve been counseled by people who are older, wiser, and more experienced.  But in any case, we’re getting ahead of ourselves — back to KHP….

Continue reading “Finishing January on KHP”

Finishing January on KHP

Three Miles to KHP

The Grid entails climbing the Catskills’ thirty-five high peaks in each calendar month, and on the drive home from the Adirondacks I planned to swing by and knock out Kaaterskill High Peak, one of two climbs left for August.  But as I pulled into a parking spot on Clum Hill Road, the project seemed suddenly pointless.  When runners cover ground with no particular training goals in mind, they call these “junk miles,” and now that term seemed like the right description for this hike, whose only purpose was to scratch a name off a list.

It didn’t help that Kaaterskill is one of my least favorites.  There’s a long hike in on a wet, rocky path, then you have to cut through the woods to reach a snowmobile trail that’s in truly atrocious condition, and the summit is guarded by steep rock scrambles.  Clum Hill Road offered a slightly shorter route, but I’d never been here before.

I got out of the car, glanced at the overcast sky, and didn’t bother changing into hiking clothes or grabbing my pack, didn’t bring any water, and forgot my compass, but headed out instead wearing a polo shirt received as a birthday present and a clean pair of shorts.

Continue reading “Three Miles to KHP”

Three Miles to KHP

May in the Catskills

The mission was to complete the remaining twelve peaks needed to scratch the month of May off the Grid, and accordingly I arranged to take a week off of work.  But the Rock The Ridge 50-miler left me with a sore ankle, which required a reduction in speed and mileage.  In Henry David Thoreau’s essay, “Walking,” he used the word “saunter” to describe the act of sallying forth into the woods, which was for him the adventure and escape of his day, and he likened this daily saunter to the motion of a stream flowing downhill to the ocean:

The saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea.

— Henry David Thoreau, “Walking”

To complete the Grid for May, I’d need to saunter instead of run — and rather than pushing myself, I’d need to “flow” through the mountains, just like a stream, except I’d be going uphill as well as down…

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May in the Catskills

Losing Traction

Driving up to the Catskills early one morning, it was another dim day, with overcast skies smothering the light and fresh snow blotting out the subtle colors of the winter landscape.  The Shawangunk Mountains slid by in the rear view mirror, slate gray and dusky taupe.  The Catskills’ southern mountains looked like a bank of fog.  The scene lacked energy, but this doesn’t matter when there are mountains to climb….

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Losing Traction

Connecting the Dots

The goal was five more of the Catskills’ high peaks on one of the last weekends before winter, part of a quixotic mission to summit all 35 hiking barefoot.  Odie and I piled into the car right after breakfast, and the drive to Windham went smoothly — except for route 23, where we had to stop at three traffic lights in a row, which sorely tested my patience, and then navigate a construction zone with a needlessly restrictive speed limit.

Yet once out of the car and on the trail, these frustrations vanished quickly.  The path to Windham High Peak was a delight:  smooth dirt at a moderate grade — a rarity in the rocky rugged Catskills — and I moved almost as quickly barefoot as I would have in shoes.  From the summit, we looked south at the distinctive silhouette of the Blackhead range, which Odie and I had climbed just a few weeks earlier.  Back then, we had marveled in the details: traversing three peaks and three notches, experiencing scrambles, slabs, and sometimes smooth trail, and discovering different plants and trees with each step along the way.  Now for the first time, we got the big picture.

From left to right: Blackhead, Black Dome, and Thomas Cole Mountains — looking south from vantage on Windham High Peak

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Connecting the Dots

Racing at Manitou’s Revenge

As I drove through the predawn darkness to the start of Manitou’s Revenge, my thoughts drifted and I wondered, could I win this race?

The idea was patently absurd:  when it comes to technical trail running, I’ve historically finished in the middle of the pack.  But I’ve been getting faster in recent years, even finishing in 3rd place at a 100-mile race earlier this year.  Further, Manitou’s Revenge is not a large event.  There would be fewer than 100 starters, and for all I knew, the best trail runners might not show up, or they might trip and fall on the rocky paths and drop out.  In which case, victory might go to the tortoise, not the hare.

Continue reading “Racing at Manitou’s Revenge”

Racing at Manitou’s Revenge