By JON HOCHSCHARTNER--
I figured if a couple of geriatrics could do it, than so could we.
My friends Jackie, Tiffany, and I were planning to conquer the Seward range. But a pair of elderly women was holding us up. In the parking lot. They kept chatting—enthusiastically, endlessly—how they were going to climb the same four peaks: Seward, Donaldson, Emmons and Seymour.
Sweet Osteoporosis, they wouldn’t stop talking! But like some nursing home Houdinis, we eventually made our escape. And the captive audience hit the trail.
It’s a 5.4-mile, mostly flat walk to Ward Brook Lean-to, where we ditched our sleeping bags, ground mats, and all the other excess weight we didn’t want to haul unnecessarily. With that, Jackie and Tiffany were ready to go. But the bottomless pit that is my stomach was growling. So we stopped for brunch.
Unfortunately, I'd forgotten most of the sandwich fixings. "Does cheese go with peanut butter?" I asked, removing two slices of bread.
Tiffany made a face.
But Jackie insisted they were a great combination, made even better mixed with gorp. So I sprinkled raisins, peanuts, and M&Ms on top, and inhaled my crunchy creation.
"Lets make like a prom dress," Jackie said, "And take off."
Seward Mt. was named after William H. Seward, one of the founders of the Republican Party, Abraham Lincoln’s Secretary of State, and a former Governor of New York. While trails in the Seward range are officially unmaintained, they’re generally easy to follow. But due to their status, the “Guide to Adirondack Trails” does not even include mileage estimates in their description. So the best I can say is that it probably took us about two hours.
“This is pretty burly,” Tiffany observed after a particularly steep, blow-down covered section.
The summit itself was fairly modest. Just a blank yellow trail marker, with “Seward” scribbled over it announced our arrival.
That, and the old ladies from the parking lot.
“We beat you,” they crowed. Repeatedly.
And I thought grandmotherly types were supposed to be so sweet.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie responded casually.
But out of earshot, we began to wonder aloud how it had happened. With their gray hair and aged muscles, how had they beaten us? You’d think we were having an existential crisis.
Ultimately, Jackie and Tiffany agreed it was my food break that had done us in. With that in mind, Jackie proposed we put off lunch until after we reached the next peak, in order to outrun the old ladies. Not wanting to shoulder the responsibility for another retiree whupping, I readily agreed.
Mt. Donaldson gets it's name from Alfred Lee Donaldson, the author of what the “Guide to Adirondack Trails” describes as “the first and most complete history of the Adirondacks.” I’d estimate it took us less than an hour to reach it.
Secure in our first place finish, we settled down for a leisurely meal of hummus and cheese sandwiches. I’m not much of one for food with ingredients I can pronounce, but they tasted fantastic.
We hung out on the summit much longer than we would have normally. The hope was that the old ladies would arrive and we’d be able to rub our stunning victory in their wrinkled faces. We’re pretty mature.
Finally, we gave up and headed on toward the day’s last peak. Mt. Emmons is named after Ebenezer Emmons, a geologist who led the first recorded ascent of Mt. Marcy and dubbed our area “the Adirondacks.”
From the distance, the path to Mt. Emmons appeared to be an easy walk along a ridgeline. But the trail dipped much further than we expected. I’d always hated descents like that, knowing that we’d only have to regain the altitude. We reached the summit in about an hour. After a quick rest, we started retracing our steps toward the lean-to. On the way, we ran into the old ladies as they pushed along the range.
“I think we beat you,” I said, with a bit too much pride, given that they were at least three times my age.
One swatted at me playfully with her hiking pole. But they were laughing, so it clearly wasn’t the crushing blow we planned.
Tiffany joked that we weren’t hiking three mountains that day, but six. And there was some truth to that as we descended back down Emmons, up and down Donaldson, and up and down Seward before returning to the campsite.
Once there, Jackie began cooking us up some stew, while Tiffany and I enjoyed our tired feet. We scraped our bowls clean, crawled into our sleeping bags, and went to bed.
The next morning, we started up Mt. Seymour at 8:30. The peak is named after Horatio Seymour, another 19th century New York governor.
The “Guide to Adirondack Trails” says that, “that the going is easy.” Maybe we were just dead tired.
As we reached what must have been the third false summit, Tiffany groaned.
“Seriously,” I said.
Once we reached the top, we didn’t stay long. Any view Seymour might have offered was completely hidden in the morning fog.
Plus, it was chilly.
Clutching her chest, Jackie exclaimed, “It’s cold! What are we on, Nippletop?”
So we headed back down to the lean-to and packed up our stuff. The five-mile slog back to the parking lot felt endless. When we finally got there, we all collapsed in a heap.
Unfortunately, there was no cell reception there to call our ride. And it was another six-miles to the highway. We had no choice but to keep walking.
I stopped cars Tiananmen-shopping-bag-man-style. But they either didn’t have enough room or were headed the wrong way. It was beginning to rain.
We were about to give up hope, when a friendly forest ranger picked us up. Bouncing along on his tailgate, he drove us toward cell phone reception and our ride home.
All I know is we beat those old ladies.
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