I begin the hike in my normal speedy fashion, bouncing over the trail mud, roots and all. But I have an uneasy feeling about the trail beginning by going downhill. Every foot of elevation I'm losing will have to be made up later. There's a boardwalk through a swamp and a relatively flat, uneventful 2.3 mile hike to the Marcy Dam. At the dam, there are beautiful views of Mt. Colden, scarred by it's telltale slide and the 50 year old wooden dam itself. The Marcy Brook has been dammed for over a century, but the previous dams were temporary and were used to hold back water that would be used to float lumber down stream to mills.
From the dam, the path meanders up through the path the Phelps Brook carved to the south of Phelps Mt. The trail is muddy, then rocky, then muddy and rocky. The woods around the trail are quite thick, giving everything a dark spooky feel. You really feel as if you are in the middle of a great, inhospitable wilderness. It brought to mind the origin of the word Adirondack. It was originally a derogatory term used by Mohawk speaking people to describe Algonquin speaking people who sometimes forced into the area by more powerful tribes around them. It means roughly "those who eat trees", which is a reference to how living in the Adirondack area was often so harsh that those who did it would be reduced to eating tree bark for sustenance.
At last the trail crosses the Phelps brook and then ascends a stairway of boulders and muddy switch backs. Every 15 minutes or so I let out a little whistle because I'm a quiet thinker when I'm hiking and I don't want any bears to stumble across me. I know it's extremely rare to be injured by a black bear and I've seen firsthand how clumsy and skiddish they tend to be around people. I know my fear isn't rational, but the bears in the Adirondacks are really sneaky. They open the bear proof canisters meant to baffle them and they swim marathon distances out to islands where unsuspecting campers thought they didn't need to hang up their food. Maybe they're tired of eating the bark off trees.
So I whistle, mile after mile, mind wandering in the woods. I bumble on by the sign that says something about severe weather and not proceeding beyond this point without proper something or other... blah, blah (just kidding, I really do take being prepared quite seriously). And after a long, muddy walk I am rewarded with my life blood - the view from above tree line. I stop to admire the view and I'm filled with a rush of adrenaline. Good thing too - I get a view of the summit and an filled with the realization of how far I still have to go. The last 0.6 miles is a scramble which resembles rock climbing more than hiking in some parts.
But past the scramble, I'm again rewarded with serene views. The wind and the large flat surfaces give one the feeling that they're on top the world - or perhaps the moon. The views don't look real. They look like the surface of a raised globe with colors painted on. The view from the top of New York is beautiful.
The trip down is uneventful. I stop once in a clearing in order to take off the wool cap and jacket which I adorned for the windy summit. I then hike the 5 or so miles back down to the dam without stopping to rest once. At the dam I enjoy some home made jerky and drink my last bit of water. I look back to see the high peaks are now completely socked in by clouds. Had I been a few hours late, I wouldn't have seen anything from the summit. Eager to get to my car where I have more water waiting for me, I practically jog the last 2 miles, passing multiple groups of hikers. One asks where I'm headed from and when I tell him "Marcy" he says, "long day, huh?" It rains on and off but I make it to my car before it really starts coming down and I'm on my way home. The entire trip took just over 9 hours, including the time I spent at the top admiring the view.
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