Hamlin Peak

• Map of all the Maine 14 Peaks - so that you can see what peaks are nearby
• More info on each peak is available at PeakBagger
• Index of Hike Randomizers

Mount Liberty

• Map of all the New Hampshire 48 Peaks - so that you can see what peaks are nearby
• More info on each peak is available at PeakBagger
• Index of Hike Randomizers

Sawteeth

• Map of all the Adirondack 46 High Peaks - so that you can see what peaks are nearby
• More info on each peak is available at PeakBagger
• Index of Hike Randomizers

Windham High Peak

Useful links:

• Map of all the peaks in the Catskills 3500 Club - so that you can see what peaks are nearby
• More info on each peak is available at PeakBagger
• Index of Hike Randomizers

Pitchoff Mountain (Sentinals)

Useful links:

• Map of all The Other 54 - so that you can see what peaks are nearby
• More info on each peak is available at PeakBagger
• Check out the book, "The Other 54" by Spencer Morrissey
• Index of Hike Randomizers

• The Other 54: Randomizer
• Catskill 3500 Club: Randomizer
• Adirondack 46er: Randomizer
• New Hampshire 48: Randomizer
• New Hampshire 52 with a View: Randomizer
• Maine 14: Randomizer
• Adirondack Fire Towers: Randomizer
• VT 4000: Randomizer
• Northeast 8: Randomizer
• Adirondack 6-Pack: Randomizer
• Lake Placid 9er: Randomizer
• Tupper Lake Triad: Randomizer
• Lake George 12ster: Randomizer
• Saranac 6: Randomizer
• Fulton Chain Trifecta: Randomizer

Are there any other Hike Randomizers you'd like to see? Send me a request using the contact form.

I was initially torn. On the one hand I’ve been really dying to hang out with this good old friend. On the other I’m still not myself these days after getting COVID in May when it comes to engaging in activities. Also I got a vasectomy last weekend and it happens to be the first day that the doctor's ban on strenuous activities has been lifted. I have been good and haven’t really been testing out aggressive activities, so I have no idea if skiing will be totally fine, or it could be a bad idea.

I respond, “Sure, I’d love to! I will need to take it pretty easy”.

The next morning I wake up and get my stuff ready and S sends me a text that it’s currently -24°F where we are headed. This season has been like 30 degrees pretty much all winter long so there hasn’t been any opportunity to get used to spending time in this type of cold. I respond without suggesting bailing, nor that we should stick with the plan: “Crikey that’s chilly!”.

S responds: “We’ll get huffing and puffing and it’ll be good”.

“Sounds good”.

This is fairly standard practice in the lead-up to any challenging activity. There’s always some reluctance to get started. A certain amount of bluffing is what gets you through any moments of hesitancy.

I load up the car and at -12°F it really doesn’t feel as cold as it sounds. There is no wind and humidity is low. I put in contacts and hit the road and in a little over an hour arrive at the trailhead.

S brings a friend along named “A”, this will be his first time trying out cross country skiing.

Upon hitting the trail, I think we’re all like, “holy smokes”. The trail is pretty gnarly. We are climbing up relatively steep terrain. It’s manageable, but makes one nervous about the idea of coming back down on the return trip. Thankfully it levels out a little bit.

The trail is still gnarly. But it’s no longer steep. Instead it undulates. There is plenty of perfectly textured snow and the woods are open such that you can ski wherever you like, not being tethered to the trail itself. It’s never fast and smooth, but is perfectly suited to skill building.

After several miles of this, including several good stretches of glorious skiing, most of the nervousness dissipates and it starts to become really comfortable and fun.

It turns out A is an avid forager and has a lot to teach and share about foraging. S points to a burl on a tree and asks about chaga. We gather around the burl which was a very close resemblence, but may not have been chaga.

Along the way A identifies several actual chagas. He explains interesting facts like how the chaga we look for isn't the actual mushroom, its more of a storehouse for the mushroom. The mushrooms grow but *very* rarely, so much so that even photos are hard to find.

I’m amazed at how well my old garage-sale skis are handling the conditions. They have metal edges but are very light and agile. It’s like wearing sneakers except with all kinds of strange capabilities like sliding, bridging gaps between logs, and using the metal edge to confidently stay upright while skiing down off-camber slopes.

Skiing through the untracked open woods feels just like the best kind of downhill glade skiing through powder, albeit at a much slower self-powered pace. This combination of difficult terrain, perfect snow conditions, the right skis for the job, and good company are making this so much fun!

I have a bit of a curfew, so after a few miles we turn back. In some spots it makes for a speedy return, following our tracks back. In others we’re struggling to climb up or descend steep sections.

We enjoy some ciders in the parking lot, then head into the town of Northville and grab a really incredible lunch at J.F. Farm Store & Cafe, get gas, and head home.

One other piece of magic occurred that day. On the walk up the lake road, we looked into a deep crystal clear pool behind a small dam and discussed whether there are any trout in there. It looks so fishy, yet you can see everything and you can see that there are no fish. We guess that if you cast a lure perfectly without the fish knowing you were there, they would come out of some unexpected hiding places. Seven hours later, on the hike out, we tiptoed up to the pool, and watched for a while. Suddenly a fish swam out of nowhere to eat a fly off the surface. I yelled, "fish!", S yelled, "where"? I pointed and the fish surfaced a second time before disappearing into the background.

Upon arrival at 9am snow was everywhere so I strapped on snowshoes immediately. A decent list of hiking groups were checked in at the trail register, most of them for the day before, all of them heading towards either John's Brook Lodge 3 miles in or the nearby Big Slide Mountain. An interesting choice considering the avalanche warnings, I don't know if it's actually dangerous, but the name sure says so.

I hiked to John's Brook Lodge, the Emerald City of the Adirondack wilderness. I stopped momentarily at the picnic table next to the lodge to take a swig of water. A weird window door opens up and a DEC officer pokes his head out like the Wizard of Oz had just heard me ring the bell. He asks me where I'm headed, and I tell him Mt. Haystack. He says, "it's usually icy so most people bring an ice axe and crampons to get over Little Haystack". I reply, "I have crampons, I'll see how it looks when I get there. What about avalanches?". He said he didn't think there was much avalanche danger on the hike to Haystack. It's funny how I am usually afraid of the wrong things.

I proceed down the path. No sooner do I pass the last turnoff to Big Slide when the trail becomes a lot less traveled. Luckily two people hiked in front of me which make for easy going. It is a winter wonderland out here, and signs abound that this place got hit with a lot of snow this weekend. I make decent time across the John's Brook at Bushnell Falls and up to Slant Rock. I can see tracks leading to the Slant Rock lean-to, however the untouched trail towards Mounts Marcy and Haystack is deep pillowy snow. Hmmmm.

I'm actually kinda thrilled to arrive at this crossroad because all of my hikes so far this winter have either been so concerning that we turned back, or the weather was perfect and the trail was packed down making for a pleasant day. I have been feeling very strong and eager to push through difficult conditions and here is my opportunity. The trail quickly gets steeper as I begin hiking.

The going is slow. One big step at a time. After every few steps my heart pounds in my chest and I need to stop and rest. I know it's roughly two miles before I can expect to reach tree-line. My plan is to just focus on making progress on one mile and see how that goes. I look at the pace on my watch which says... I'm not getting credit for moving.

I approach the turnoff to Basin Mountain where V, J, and I hiked several weeks ago. I stop for a minute and gaze at the icy parts of the trail we had taken on the other side of the col. I am just far away enough and the memory is still fresh enough in my mind that I can sorta see back in time the tiny silhouettes of our party of three struggling up the mountain. I wish us luck as I press onward.

I steer towards Haystack at the turnoff. I fight my way up a rather steep section.

The trail gets tricky to follow and I get off-course. I'm tromping through the thick snow feeling as tall as a mountain. It's just you and me out here, Haystack, two old acquaintances. It's too bad we never seem to convene under better circumstances. Course navigation on my watch gives me a clue as to where I need to go and eventually a nearly buried trail marker tells me I am back on track.

I have been breaking trail for more than a mile. The last mile has taken me well over an hour and it's already afternoon. In a few short hours it will be dark. The trail takes me through a small gully with a faded trail sign that says, "Trail To Mt. Haystack 2.0 Miles".

2.0 more miles!!! I'll be out here all night! I crawl on my hands and knees under a fallen tree and stammer for a long while unable to understand how there could be two more miles of this before the top. In a matter of a few seconds my mood switches dramatically from elated to deflated. I have the emotional range of a toddler which immediately warns me that I'm more tired than I realize. Something isn't right. Either that sign is wrong, or I'm going the wrong way, or the map was wrong... Or worse, maybe I am wrong in which case I can't trust my own judgement! All hope is lost. There's no way I can make it to Haystack if it means two more miles of this. I'm ready to give up and turn back immediately. But I realize it's a rare opportunity to be in wonderland conditions like this. And the next guy that comes through is going to hit this same frustrating moment unless I help pave the way as best I can. "For Frodo!" I press onward.

Much to my happy surprise I very quickly arrive at the final turnoff before Haystack and then I'm above treeline! As it turns out that previous sign is way off.

Little Haystack is too steep and icy to safely climb without stopping to trade my snowshoes for crampons. Ahhh, much better. As I walk up Little Haystack I notice that there is a thick crust of ice on top, with snow underneath, then an icy layer on the rockface. I need to be careful not to trust the crust because when the crust breaks it creates a layer between my crampon and the ice below making me slide. When it's steep I choose to stomp repeatedly to crush the crusty layer before proceeding.

Coming down the other side of Haystack is some of the sketchiest winter hiking I have seen. As long as I stand upright my crampons will help me stick, but if I fall on my butt I'm going to slide forever. So I need to be really deliberate about my steps. I guess that's why they recommend an ice axe for self-arrest.

One step at a time I descend Little Haystack. With only a few more steps to go, there is a dropoff of only about two or three feet. Just enough that I will need to jump down and can't test the ice first. This makes me uneasy. I opt to hike back up and traverse from up above where I can walk more deliberately, but now I'm higher up and the fall will be worse. It's all fine except for two small steps along a narrow crack. It's like walking along a parking block. Piece of cake. Just two steps. I can do it. It's just... If a wicked gust of wind comes, or I trip, or I get scared, I'm going to take a fall I don't want to think about. Before I hesitate for too long, I take the two steps and all is good. After a swim through deep snow, I make the short ascent to the top of Haystack.

The return trip is very smooth. The climb up Little Haystack is much easier than the climb down was.

I follow my tracks back to Slant Rock, two-footed graffiti tags marking my territory all up and down the mountain.

The sun is going down as I make the brutally long hike from Slant Rock. I don't see anyone else. In fact, the only people I saw today were a handful of hikers near John's Brook Lodge. Today I had the world and all it's deep glistening powder all to myself.