Christmas Bird Count Season

The holidays have crept up on us once again, and along with the traditional holidays comes the excitement of Christmas Bird Count season. Christmas Birds counts are a tradition dating back to the early 1900's where volunteer birders spend an entire day between mid-December and early January counting birds within a set area. There are Christmas Bird count circles all across the country, some going back more than 100 years (For a more in-depth history of this tradition see my blog post "Christmas Bird Counting" from December of last year). In the Adirondack Region there are a number of count circles, providing numerous opportunities to get involved. Most years I volunteer for two different counts, one centered on Plattsburgh (which I help coordinate) and one centered on Saranac Lake. But this year I have more free time than usual and am setting a new personal record by participating in not just two counts, but four. That's four days of birding dawn to dusk, and four opportunities to enjoy good food in good company with fellow birders. At this point I've done three counts and have one to go, and it's been very exciting so far.

This Rough-legged Hawk was one of the highlights of the Magic Triangle

Of the four counts that I'm participating in this year two of them were entirely new to me. The first of those was the Ferrisburg, VT count, which includes much of the Lake Champlain shoreline on the NY side spanning from Westport to Essex. Since the count spans two states there are count organizers on each side of the lake, and just a small group of 8-10 birders helped cover the NY side. Even though the count area is small it has a variety of habitats, including open water, open fields, and mixed forests, thus providing the opportunity to see a diverse array of bird species. Our count morning started at the Westport boat launch, where we were able to find Common Loons, Horned Grebes, Common Mergansers, and an adult Bald Eagle on Lake Champlain. From there we ventured to the wastewater treatment plant where we were surprised to find a male Green-winged Teal, an attractive duck that is usually further south by mid-November. At that same spot we also heard a Carolina Wren, a species that is widespread further south but has become a more frequent sight in the Champlain Valley in recent years as the species' range expands north. From there our group broke off into pairs to cover the remaining territory, and I was fortunate to be sent north of Westport to cover the area known to birders as "The Magic Triangle". This area is comprised of Clark, Cross, Whallons Bay, and Lake Shore Roads, which run through features such as open farm fields, Webb Royce Swamp, Whallons Bay, and Split Rock Mountain. The "magic" triangle gained it's fame when the swamp at its core provided excellent habitat for marsh birds and was home to a large rookery, but the swamp has filled in over the last decade and most of those species have been lost. The triangle is still quite magical in the winter months, however, as the open fields make it the best place in the region to see wintering raptors, sparrows, larks, and buntings. The lack of snow thus far delayed the arrival of Horned Larks and Snow Buntings to the area, but the open fields did produce a good number of wintering raptors. Throughout the day we were treated to 3 Rough-legged Hawks, 3 Northern Harriers,  4 Red-Tailed Hawks, and 2 more Bald Eagles. Last year a small number of Short-eared Owls were seen in this area on the count, but we didn't have any luck with those. While scanning the fields for raptors we were surprised to see a late flock of about 400 Snow Geese flying so far overhead we couldn't even hear their honking, just a gorgeous site against the deep blue sky. We didn't see any birds along the recently constructed DEC trail to Webb Royce Swamp, but a late-day walk into the woods of Split Rock Mountain from the trail that begins across from Cross Rd. was more productive, as the scrubby woods around one of the beaver ponds was bustling with a large flock of Tree Sparrows. These birds breed in the far north and are an uncommon sight here in winter, making them a nice end to a productive count day.

Pine Grosbeaks are often seen in ornamental crabapple trees in early winter

The very next day I woke up well before sunrise yet again to volunteer for the much more familiar Plattsburgh CBC. We began the day at Ausable Point, walking the roads in the campground in search of waterfowl on the lake and songbirds in the woods. We saw many of the expected waterfowl species, including loons, mergansers, goldeneye, and a lingering Great Blue Heron. Out in the marsh we saw a perched Red-tailed Hawk, a hunting Northern Harrier, and a fly-by Bald Eagle. We spent the remainder of the day in the warmth of the car driving the roads of Peru, searching people's yards for active feeders where chickadees, nuthatches, and woodpeckers would be found. While the increasing price of bird seed has resulted in a lot of empty birdfeeders we did find quite a few elaborate feeding stations where less common birds like Tufted Titmice and goldfinches (most of which have flown south) were found. One house had at least a dozen birdfeeders tucked into the woods behind their house, and perched just above them was a Cooper's Hawk planning its next meal. Coopers and the smaller Sharp-shinned Hawks are common sights at bird feeders, as hawks in the Accipiter family are agile flyers and quite capable of taking down other birds in flight (By comparison the better-known Red-tailed Hawk, in the Buteo family, is much bulkier and unable to manuever quickly enough in flight to hunt other birds). Earlier in the day we had a quick glimpse of another Cooper's Hawk flying at top speed in pursuit of a smaller bird in a housing development. Our last bird of the day was a small flock of Pine Grosbeaks that we found feeding in some crabapple trees outside the Valcour conference center. Just a few weeks ago there were numerous grosbeaks in the area, but most of them continued further south where fruit is still abundant. The erratic weather of last spring, with warm temperatures followed by late frost, made for a very poor fruit crop in our region and forced most frugivores to venture further south, making our sighting a good one to end the day with. 

A Northern Shrike is only the size of a robin but is a fierce
predator, capturing and impaling smaller birds

The following weekend I participated in my third count, the Elizabethtown count. This count circle is actually the closest to where I live, but most years it falls on the same day as the Plattsburgh count so I've never been able to join this count before. As count circles go the E'town one probably has the least number of potential species in the region, as it doesn't have any large bodies of water for waterfowl, and it has few open fields. Most of the count circle is mixed hardwood and coniferous forests, but it includes a number of trails for an enjoyable hike, including Hurricane, Bald, and Giant Mtns. My area of the circle included the small town of New Russia and the trail to Bald Peak (which continues on to Rocky Peak and Giant Mtn.). I wasn't expecting much in the way of unusual species on this count, but was pleasantly surprised when our first bird of the day was a Northern Shrike. Northern Shrikes are one of the coolest birds, though they look like a songbird they are actually fierce predators that prey on smaller songbirds. They lack the large talons and bill of larger predators to kill, so to compensate for this they impale their prey on sharp objects such as thorns or barbed wire (cool, huh?). On the breeding grounds males will impale multiple birds on a single tree to impress a female shrike, proving he can provide for her. Though shrikes are uncommon in the Adirondacks they can be easy to spot in the right habitat, as they often perch in the very top of a bare tree alongside an open field. While the shrike was certainly the highlight we still had a number of interesting birds throughout the day, including 5 Brown Creepers, 2 Tufted Titmice, and a male Northern Cardinal. Titmice and cardinals, like the Carolina Wren, were rarely seen in the Adirondacks until about 5-10 years ago, but become more common each year. At the end of the day we took one last look at some birdfeeders where a flock of about 100 Common Redpolls were feeding throughout the day and added one more species, a lone White-throated Sparrow, to our list before heading to the count dinner.

Gray Jays are one of the rewards for braving
the cold temperatures of the Saranac Lake CBC

Tomorrow I'll conclude my Christmas Bird Count season with the Saranac Lake count, which I've been participating in for over a decade. Despite being one of the coldest count circles, the Saranac Lake count is always popular with birders because it includes a number of boreal bird hotspots such as Bloomingdale Bog and the Chubb River. It's one of the few counts where one can expect to see Black-backed Woodpeckers, Gray Jays, Boreal Chickadees, and crossbills and so it always attracts a few out-of-towners. With two feet of fresh snow on the ground  and temperatures in the teens it should be quite the adventure and I can't wait to see which unexpected species turns up this year. And as usual I'm looking forward to reconnecting with some old friends at the end of a very cold day as we all warm up by the fire and enjoy some delicious food.

An Icy Trail to Porter Mtn

After a much-too-long hiatus I've finally returned home to the Adirondacks and the peaks that I love. After four long months in beautiful but flat upper Michigan I was very anxious to climb a high peak upon my return, and chose the familiar trail up Cascade and Porter as a good place to get my body back into hiking elevation. My sore muscles today are a reminder of just how long its been, and I can see it's going to take some time to work back up to the bigger hikes!

McIntyre range from first lookout on Cascade

I climbed Cascade earlier this year in February, but opted out of hiking to Porter as well due to icy conditions that would have been unsafe in my microspikes. Ironically I found the exact same conditions yesterday as I did in February--a dusting of snow at the base, a few inches at the top, and lots of icy sections. Much like last winter the Adirondacks have seen temperatures fluctuating above and below freezing, causing snow to become ice and making hiking conditions challenging. But despite the fluctuating temperatures the trail to Cascade was easy to navigate in microspikes, and a braver person could have even done without them by skirting the few icy sections. While most of the hike to Cascade was fairly easy I did end up turning around at an icy section just below the summit at the final rock scramble to the top for safety's sake. Most people would have continued forward, and two other hikers on the mountain yesterday did, but when hiking alone I tend to err on the side of caution, especially on summits I've ascended before. Plus the view from just below was already worth the climb, always more amazing than I remember it being, and sheltered from the wind that was howling from the southwest. As I sat below the summit and refueled I watched clouds roll in and engulf the Great range, then the McIntyre range, and then Cascade as well. I had reached the top just in time to catch the view before it disappeared.

View from Cascade as clouds rolled in

An icy trail to Porter Mtn

With conditions being much the same as last time I suspected that the trail to Porter would be much icier, and I was right. The trail to Porter had turned into a frozen waterfall for most of the .7 miles beyond the Cascade trail junction, with very thick ice that would be difficult, though not impossible, to grip in microspikes. Fortunately I made the investment this year in a pair of 10-point crampons, and was anxious to try them out. With crampons the path was easy and rather enjoyable. While I've climbed Cascade many times this was only the second time I have made the jaunt over to Porter, and the first time I've done so in the winter. I find the path to Porter much more enjoyable than Cascade, it's much narrower and at times you are enveloped by balsams, which are just indescribably beautiful coated in snow. There was no one else at the summit when I arrived, though I was joined briefly by another hiker shortly after I reached the top. The last time I climbed Porter there were literally dozens of people on Cascade, and the solitude of Porter was a sharp contrast to the bustling nearby peak. Also in contrast to Cascade was the lack of wind on Porter's summit, making it a much more hospitable place to enjoy lunch. So many people hike Cascade instead of Porter, but I think Porter is more worth the trip. The view from Cascade is certainly better, but to me it's not about the view, it's about the entire experience, which I find much more enjoyable on the paths less traveled.

Once again it's nice to be back, and I look forward to continuing to share my experiences.

Perfect Day in the Lower Dix Range

I know it's been a while since I last posted, having been busy with a new bird research project that has had me working lots of hours and most days, but I promise that it is quieting down now so that I will have more time to write. I haven't had much spare time to hike in the past couple months, but as things are settling down I have been working my way up slowly to some of the high peaks in the hopes that I can climb more of them this summer. I started with smaller mountains like Ampersand and the Jay Range, and worked my way up to repeating Big Slide and finally some new high peaks yesterday--the lower Dix Range.

I am pretty against the concept of "peak bagging", where people set out to knock 3-7 peaks off their forty-sixer list in one day, as I like to enjoy each peak on it's own and am in no rush to join the club. But for many of the high peaks it just doesn't make sense to do one peak and not another, as is the case with the lower Dix range. Macomb Mtn. is a short but challenging hike from the Elk Lake trailhead whose path includes a half mile long slide that is a challenge to ascend but far more dangerous to come down, so the vast majority of hikers continue over Macomb's summit to South Dix and return via a trail that desecends between South Dix and Hough peaks. South Dix is an easy scramble from Macomb, dropping about 600 feet and then climbing another 100 feet to the summit, and by the time you're there East Dix is just another mile across the ridge at an even lower height, so many hikers include that one as well. From East Dix most people opt to return over South Dix to the col between there and Hough, but my hiking partner and I like to plan hikes with as little repeat hiking as possible, so we planted a car at route 73 in Keene so that instead of ascending back to Elk Lake over South Dix we could descend East Dix on it's north side and follow the south fork of the Bouqet River for a scenic continuation of our trip. This idea for a through-hike was the best idea we've had in a while, and made for one of the best days of hiking I've ever had.

The slide on Macomb Mtn.

The most interesting part of the trip by far was climbing the Macomb slide, a half-mile length of bare rock, boulders, and scree, more typical of the types of rocks you see out west than anything I've ever seen in the Adirondacks. As we approached the slide I started to get knots in my stomach, especially since we could see hikers walking the slide and see how slowly and carefully they were climbing. When we first reached the slide I walked right onto the middle of it and my feet instantly slid, kicking rocks and sand down the slide, which made me reconsider the climb. But I quickly realized that there was some technique involved, that there were enough boulders and flat rocks secured to the slide to provide steady footing, and the trick was simply to follow those rocks. Rocky cairns built by hikers helped point the way, and before I knew it I was halfway up the slide, and looking down at an incredible view of Elk Lake below. As we continued up the slide we gained elevation rapidly and a beautiful view of the high peaks started to unfold below. I was almost sad to leave the slide to continue on to the summit and lose the backdrop behind us, but it reappeared at the summit and did not disappoint.

Looking down the slide from above

The slide with a hiker on it for scale

Panoramic View from Macomb's summit

The descent off Macomb was fairly simple, only about a 20 minute hike that drops into a col between Macomb and South Dix. Cols (the dip between two mountains) are quickly becoming one of my favorite places in the Adirondacks. At high elevations these cols are little microclimates in the sky, where protection from the winds that plague the summits allow vegetation to flourish and trees to grow to medium heights, providing excellent habitat for a number of birds. Boreal chickadees, Blackpoll warblers, White-throated Sparrows, and Dark-eyed Juncos are common sights in these cols, and I saw many of them on yesterday's hike. The highlight of the day came in the col between Macomb and South Dix--a Bicknell's Thrush. Bicknell's are an Alpine species of bird that in the Adirondacks is only found above 3500 feet on summits that have dense thickets of Balsam Fir and Spruce. So this is where I have to admit that I've never seen a Bicknell's Thrush before, even though I've been birding the Adirondacks for more than 10 years, because I rarely get the chance to climb high peaks in the summer when the birds are present (I'm usually working 2-3 field jobs). So yesterday's sighting was a life bird for me, and I was very excited to see it and actually get a so-so photo of it. I admit that I cheated, using a recording of it's call to get it to pop out of the thick balsams to get a look, but it appeared only for a few seconds then quickly disappeared back into the thicket. After taking a few minutes to regain composure from the exhiliration of seeing a new bird we made the quick scramble over some open rocks to the summit of South Dix.

Bicknell's Thrush in the col

Looking back at South Dix and Macomb from East Dix

By this time of the day the wind was gusting to what I assume was at least 25-30 mph on the summits, so we took a short rest and then began the descent to East Dix. Getting there involved a small descent into another col, where I was treated to another better sight of a Bicknell's Thrush, and walking about a mile and making a short descent up to the mostly open summit of East Dix. The view from here was spectacular, looking mostly to the east down to the Champlain Valley and the Green Mountains of Vermont. We spent a long time up here soaking up the warmth of the sun while being cooled down by the whipping wind, making for perfect temperatures. The wind, though gusty, was much appreciated because it kept all the bugs away and allowed us to relax. I wanted to stay there forever, but our hike was only halfway done, we still had the challenge ahead of us of five more miles and finding the path back to the car.

View of Dix from north side of East Dix

When we planned this hike I had read trip reports that describe the path to East Dix from route 73 as difficult to follow, so we were both prepared for some rough trail conditions and possible bushwhacking, but the path turned out to be well worn, completely cleared, and easy to follow so long as you were paying attention. Though the entire route of our hike was technically "trailless", we never had issues knowing where to go and the path was clearer than many "maintained" trails I've hiked. The descent from East Dix parallels a slide that could also be used to ascend the peak (maybe next time), and after about 2 miles it begins to follow the headwaters of the Bouqet River. Usually by the 7-8 mile range into a hike you are walking back through terrain you already passed, through monotonous woodlands, and you can't wait to get back to the car, but at this point the hike was still just as exciting as it was going up. The path winded back and forth across streams and then the river, revealing waterfalls, gorges, and swimming holes at every turn. We found an amazing swimming hole about 10 feet deep and stopped to take advantage of it only to find the water chillingly COLD! So cold in fact that my aching knee actually felt better after a few minutes of swimming, as though I had put ice on it! We passed a number of other swimming holes along the way but never one as nice as that one, and I can't wait to hike back to later in the summer when it warms up a little. In the last few miles we passed a few large beaver meadows, where beavers had flooded the woods and killed the trees years ago and huge open meadows subsequently grew in after the beavers moved on. The Bouqet River winded around us sometimes at our feet and sometimes 100 feet below, sometimes raging and sometimes still. At our last crossing over the river, just a few hundred feet from our car, we both stopped and just admired the river for a few minutes, reluctant to leave. This was such a contrast to most hikes, where I practically sprint to the car with my last bit of energy, relieved to have made it back. When I finally made it to the car I only had three thoughts--I'm hungry, I have to drive back to Elk Lake to get the other car (the only downside of a through-hike), and I can't wait to hike this trail again.

Beaver meadow

The Bouqet River

Perfect swimming hole

Waterfall along the Bouqet

Return to paradise

Male Rose-breasted Grosbeak

It is a relief to finally be back in the Adirondacks, and back to sharing my experiences here. I couldn't have possibly chosen a better weekend to return home, as the entire weekend that I returned was sunny, warm, and full of bird activity. I returned home last Saturday evening, and was greeted by a lovely assortment of birds, many of which just returned from their wintering grounds. The highlight was two male Rose-Breasted Grosbeaks squabbling over space at my bird feeder, one of the most colorful large birds we have here. A pair of bluebirds has taken up residence in a box that my roommate placed near the house over the winter, and the pair has been courting one another right near my living room window. There is still a fair number of Pine Siskins visiting the feeder daily, and a young-looking bird was begging on the ground yesterday. Pine Siskins are normally a winter visitor, returning to Northwestern Canada to breed, but in some years they will stay on their wintering grounds to breed if the food source is good, and this seems to be one of those years. Our first hummingbird came by on Sunday, I quickly set out the hummingbird feeder and it was well received, there have been both males and females at the feeder. I've heard a few warblers singing in the woods around the house, including Ovenbirds, Black-Throated Greens, and Blackburnians. A Winter Wren, one of the most amazing calls from such a small bird, has been calling from the pines and hemlocks across the street. Blooms on the apple and crabapple trees are abuzz with bees and butterflies, spring has certainly arrived.

On Saturday evening I drove to Lake Placid to see the friends that I've missed, and on the way there I was able to admire a gorgeous sunset that painted the mountains in orange. A few hours later on my drive back the mountains were painted in a different light--a warm white glow from the "supermoon" that graced the sky Saturday night. It is truly spectacular to drive past the Loj Road and admire the high peaks under the light of a full moon.

Bellwort

Purple Trillium

 On Sunday I was anxious to get on a trail and on top of a mountain, to get a view of the mountains that I've missed. Being in flat Michigan so long has weakened my hiking muscles though, so I opted for a fairly easy hike to Owl's Head Lookout. I chose this trail because I was also hoping that the winding streams and lower elevation would make it a good spot for birds and wildflowers, and I especially wanted to find some trillium in bloom. That was certainly the case, as Purple Trillium was in bloom along most of the trail, and warblers were abundant. There were good numbers of Yellow-rumped, Blackburnian, Black-throated Green, and Black-throated Blue warblers, and a fair amount of action from Hermit Thrushes and White-Throated Sparrows chasing their mates around the forest floor. The forest floor was also alive with wildflowers, Trillium were most abundant but there were also smatterings of Bellwort, Trout Lily, and Spring Beauty in bloom, and a number of other species were still budding. With the rich forest floor and moisture from the streams this trail looks like it will be blanketed in wildflowers in a few more weeks.

Red Admiral

The top of Owl's Head lookout was just as I remembered it, with a nice clear view of the north side of Giant and a view that stretches to the shores of Lake Champlain and Vermont to the east. It was a gorgeous day to bask in the sun, not a cloud in the sky and only a faint wind, so I laid on the summit for over an hour, happy to have found solitude. The trailheads at Hurricane and Baxter were full of cars, but here I only passed two other hikers all day. While sitting on the summit I was visited by a number of butterflies, mostly Red Admirals and Mourning Cloaks, that are also in peak migration right now. It always amazes me that creatures so small, with such fragile wings, can migrate hundreds if not thousands of miles.

View from Owl's Head lookout

Yesterday I had to begin work at my new job here in the Adirondacks, so I couldn't spend the entire day hiking again, but it was such an amazing morning that I had to get out for a little while to at least see some birds. I decided to hike a trail off of River Rd. in Lake Placid that was once in the guidebooks as the North Notch Trail that is no longer maintained by the DEC, but is still passable. The trail starts at a stream that empties into the Ausable, but quickly leaves the stream and follows the edge of a wetland, which makes it an excellent spot for birds. There were birds everywhere, including the first arrivals of Magnolia Warbler, a bird that is abundant in coniferous woods in the Adirondacks, and is strikingly beautiful if you can get a good look at one.They like to skulk in the thick undergrowth of young trees, making them difficult to spot, but if you can identify them by song they will usually respond to pishing. The highlight of my morning was when I pished and a Magnolia and a Black-and-white Warbler both popped out of the woods onto a branch just a few feet away from me, they were both such handsome birds! I followed the trail as far as Holcomb Pond, where a campsite sits on the edge of a serene pond, where Tree Swallows darted through the air and Red-winged Blackbirds called from the pond's edge. I sat there a while just taking it all in, feeling the cool morning air, the sun on my face, listening to the bird song that filled the forest. It was a perfect feeling of being in paradise.

It's good to be home.

Colvin and Indian Head

Giant from the Colvin trail

Last week I joined some of my new hiking friends from my Nippletop hike to make a wintry ascent of Colvin and Blake peaks. We got a late start, leaving the Ausable club parking area at about 9am, which would cause us to leave Blake for another day. The lake road was covered with a thin layer of sticky snow with a layer of ice underneath, slowing us down a little as we had to constantly stop to knock snowballs off of our microspikes. Once we reached the trail the snow was deep enough to afford better traction and we walked wirthout any traction devices for the first mile of the trail. This entire section felt like deja vu, as we had taken this exact route to Nippletop just last week, only this time the trail was much more enjoyable with a fresh layer of snow covering the ice. Once the trail began to steepen two of us put our crampons to use, while our third partner stayed in microspikes. Once again crampons were definitely the best footwear to have for the day, as there were a number of steep sections along the trail that would have been much more dangerous without them. Our pace for the day was much slower than a week before, mostly my fault because I had been fighting off a cold for two days and wasn't at full speed. My legs felt like lead going up the mountain, and I wondered if I was going to make it. Fortunately one of my companions had a 5-hour energy bottle in his pack, and kindly offered it to me to help. I was skeptical of consuming a bunch of ingredients I can't pronounce, but I was desperate, so I took it. It turned out to be a good decision, because it definitely gave me a burst of energy to move me forward. I now think that keeping one of those in my pack is a pretty good idea, and just may start doing so.

The slide of Nippletop

Cliffs below the summit

With a new burst of energy we continued up the mountain. It was a fair day, with the sun peeking in and out of the clouds for most of our ascent. The forest was alive with the sounds of birds calling, more so than any other winter day that I've hiked this year. We came across numerous flocks of Pine Siskins and chickadees, heard one Boreal Chickadee, and even saw a few flocks of White-winged Crossbills. The crossbills were actually singing, which I rarely hear, so that was a nice treat. The trail up Colvin isn't nearly as scenic as Elk Pass, but within a half mile of the summit we began to get gorgeous views of Giant. The first view came just after the first of many steep icy sections, where we had a clear view of the sun illuminating Giant in what was an otherwise shaded landscape. That was good motivation to move forward and reach the summit while the sun still shined.The summit, though not far from there, proved to be the most challenging climb I've done from a technical standpoint. The last two tenths of a mile was full of steep sections that skirted the rock walls just below the summit, requiring careful footing with the snow and ice. One section in particular was downright scary, as it required crossing a very narrow steep ledge across a crevasse in the rock that would result in a 20 foot drop if either of my crampons didn't hold. Thankfully I had someone braver than me to coach me across, and once we were across the summit was right above us. The view from the summit was gorgeous, a snow-encrusted landscape of the Great Range and the Ausable Lakes below. Nippletop loomed over us to the left, and we had a great view of the slide on it's north face. At this point we were still thinking of continuing on to Blake,  but when we computed how much time it had taken us to ascend Colvin and how much time we would need to ascend Blake we realized there wasn't enough daylight remaining. So we relaxed on the summit for a bit, and then headed back down. Traversing the 20-foot ravine was even scarier on the way back, and we all breathed a sigh of relief when we all crossed over it safely.

Panoramic view of the Great Range from Colvin

Lower Ausable lake from Fish Hawk Cliffs

 We still had a good amount of energy remaining (yay for energy drinks!) so we decided to loop over Fish Hawk Cliffs and Indian Head on the way back, which would add another mile or so to the trip. It sounded easy enough, but we didn't expect the trail to be nearly as steep as it was. The walk to Fish Hawk Cliffs was mostly level, and the view down to the lakes was well worth the effort. By this point a storm had started rolling in, however, and we couldn't see the peaks on the other side. We continued onto Indian Head, which ended up being just as steep as the trail to Colvin, and created many new challenges. By the time we reached the top the storm had arrived and the snow and fog obstructed our view from the cliffs completely. We quickly started our descent, which involved a few more challenging steep sections, including a fairly long ladder that took us a while to climb down. But the fresh snow at least provided traction and cushion for our feet, and made the woods a beautiful sight. By the time we reached the lake road darkness started to set in, and the snow had turned to rain. Needless to say the 3 mile walk back was not the most enjoyable part of the hike, but surprisingly we passed two other groups of late hikers on the way, so we were not alone in being late in the day. We got back to our cars and headed for the nearest restaurant, the Ausable Inn, where we all dried ourselves by the fireplace while we waited for our meal. Wet, cold, and starving, the hike was still worth all the challenges of the day.

 
Sadly the hike up to Colvin is the last hike I'll be able to do this winter, as I'll be away from the Adirondacks for the next two months. I'm writing this blog from the upper peninsula of Michigan, where I'll be working until the end of April. I miss the Adirondacks already, but at least when I get back spring will have arrived, and I'll have plenty to write about. 

Finding Winter on Nippletop

The topic of conversation between everyone in the north country this year is the bare grass on everyone's lawn and the icy trails in the backcountry. Everyone keeps waiting for a big snowstorm to finally hit, to give the skiers and snowshoers just a few days of fresh powder, but it's starting to look like that may never happen. Three inches of snow was forecasted to fall three days ago, but temperatures stayed above freezing and brought rain instead to most of the north country. But surely it must be cold enough for it to snow somewhere, right? In the past few weeks I've been climbing peaks, expecting that at the very least the high peaks must have a snowpack by now. Last week I ascended Phelps in search if winter but found only numerous sections of steep ice, and green trees on top. Tabletop was much the same, with some snowpack on the ground but not on the trees. What makes winter hiking so beautiful though isn't the snow on the ground, it's the snow and ice on the trees that make the landscape so spectacular. A wintry landscape has been tough to find this winter, but yesterday I found that if you climb high enough, you can still find it.

Our group of 6 ascending Elk Pass

Yesterday I embarked on my first ever group hike, with a wonderful group of 6 people from the Adirondack High Peaks Forum, an informal group of people on-line who share information such as trail conditions and advice on outdoor gear. I've always been leery of group hikes, since I prefer to hike in solitude and spend a long time at the top of the peaks just taking it all in, whereas groups usually keep moving. But group hiking has its advantages, such as safety in numbers, motivation, and conversation to keep your mind off how many miles are left. In the winter the safety advantage is the best selling point for me, as I don't feel safe hiking alone in winter and in steep icy spots extra hands are a great help. I'm sure that some groups are better companions than others, but I have to say that I couldn't have asked for better companions in yesterday's hike up Nippletop and Dial. The group had such a great sense of comraderie, everyone helping each other across tricky spots,  keeping one another's gear in working order, and making sure everyone was in good spirits. And the pace was enjoyable, with enough breaks to keep the pain in check but few enough to make it back to the car in daylight. I've been converted, and hope to go on more group hikes (at least in winter) in the future.

Our hike was a 13.1 mile trip from the Ausable Club parking lot up Elk Pass (known as one of the steepest trails in the Adirondacks) up to the summit of Nippletop, down to the summit of Dial, then up and down a smaller peak known as Bear Den and lastly up and over the shoulder of Noonmark to loop back to the 

parking area. It can also be

View from top of Elk Pass

The summit of Nippletop looming ahead

 travelled in the opposite direction, but I'm really glad we chose to go the way we did, since the incredible experience on Nippletop made the entire hike worthwhile and gave me the motivation needed for the rest of the hike. At the parking area, where there was barely a dusting of snow on the ground, we all decided to leave our snowshoes behind because recent trail conditions haven't warranted using them. Everyone started the hike in microspikes, and about half of us wore crampons from Elk Pass to the end of the loop. While the microspike wearers were able to get by with the help of the people in crampons, I was happy that I paid $15 to rent crampons from EMS the day before, as it was definitely the best footwear for the icy conditions. Once we reached about 2000 feet in elevation there was a fresh layer of 3-5" of snow, which was a welcome comfort to the bottoms of our feet and made traction a little easier. When we started the steep climb up Elk Pass, it finally started to look like winter. At about 4000 feet the balsam and spruce trees began to be blanketed in snow, and in some places there were snow drifts up to a foot deep on the trail (turns out we could have used snowshoes after all). At .2 miles below the summit of Nippletop the trail diverges to Dial, and it was from this junction that the best part of the hike began. It was late morning and the sun was peeking through the clouds, making the snow sparkle on the trees. Here, at about 4400 feet, was our first sight of trees that had been encased in ice for weeks, with icicles hanging from their boughs and a fresh blanket of snow covering all the needles. This part of the hike was like walking through a crystal fortress, and I couldn't stop taking photos. Ahead of us we could see the pointed summit of Nippletop, poking out of the sky, with the snow-flanked slides of Dix right next to it. The view from the summit was incredible, looking out over the Great Range to the snow-capped slides of Gothics, the pure white summit of Marcy, and the trails of Whiteface, as well as countless other peaks. The sun was shining and the wind was calm, it was the perfect moment, and definitely the high point (in more ways than one, as we were at 4600 feet) of the day.

Panoramic view from Nippletop's summit

Having reached our highest destination the hike was far from over, as there was still 6.5 miles of up and down hiking left. We descended to the col between Nippletop and Dial, with great views of Dial ahead of us. The summit of Dial is just a single large boulder that affords a nice view of the great range, which had begun to be obscured by clouds by this time of day. After a few photos we continued our descent, which involved climbing over two more smaller peaks, neither of which were easy with our tired feet. We anticlimactically climbed over the hump of Bear Den Mtn, which had a sign at the summit but no view. The hardest part of the hike was climbing up over the shoulder of Noonmark, which itself is just shy of high peak status and has very steep sides. Climbing up over the bare rock shoulder, recently cleared by a forest fire, took every bit of energy I could muster, but at least from there it was finally all down hill, though the last 3 mile descent was frustratingly icy and slow going. After 9 1/2 hours of hiking we made it back to our cars, a long exhausting day, but well worth the effort.

View from Dial's summit with clouds rolling in

People who know me and know my dislike for winter are baffled by the fact that I've been climbing so many mountains this winter. It's true that as much as I love the outdoors I usually hibernate through the winter, happier to be in a warm house than out in the bitter cold. But since my first wintry climb back in November in the White Mountains, where I saw snow-capped twisted balsam trees for the first time, I have a whole new outlook on winter. I have a hard time putting the experience of walking in the alpine zone when everything is covered in snow and ice into words, and the only words that come to mind are ethereal and spiritual, like you've entered another world. I never thought that I, of all people, would work so hard to seek out winter at 4600 feet, but sometimes life surprises you.

The unwelcome view of Noonmark's shoulder, our final climb

The slides of Dix

Trail below the summit with Whiteface in the
background

Cascade in Winter

Nearby Porter Mtn with Algonquin in
 the background

Last week I set out to climb Cascade Mountain, the easiest and most accessible of the 46 Adirondack high peaks. With a trailhead that is located right on a state highway and starts halfway up the mountain, Cascade is arguably climbed by more people than any other high peak in the Adirondacks. The climb up Cascade can instill a false sense of confidence to aspiring 46ers, since it is only 2.7 miles to the top and lacking any really steep pitches. It is quite the contrast to the the other high peaks, most of which require at least 10 miles of hiking round trip, and many of which require some hand-over-foot climbing to reach the summit. Of course, ease of difficulty is all relative to the person's climbing experience. I have to admit that the first time I climbed Cascade, shortly after moving to the Adirondacks 11 years ago, I would not have described the hike as "easy", and certainly found it a challenge to make it to the top. I suspect that many of the Lake Placid tourists who attempt Cascade as a leisurely family hike would say the same. But for those of us who've hiked so many other peaks, Cascade really is just a leisurely walk compared to the other peaks, which makes it the perfect peak to climb in wintry conditions.

Ice rime on the trees near the summit

I have to admit that I have never been a fan of winter hiking, and usually can count on one hand the number of mountains I climb in a winter. On cold snowy days sitting by my fireplace with a good book just sounds so much more comforting than navigating snow and ice to reach a peak where its unlikely that the snow showers will break long enough for me to have a view. Not to mention that I have very little tolerance for cold, and after a winter hike I'll be chilled to the bone for days. I've never been able to see the draw to winter hiking, since a landscape covered in snow just isn't as exciting as a summer landscape full of life. It took a friend of mine dragging me up one of the White Mountains in November for me to realize the draw of winter hiking to reach snow-capped summits. Reaching above treeline and looking down at a stand of stunted balsams so covered in ice rime that they look like a crystal fortress is really a surreal experience, and creates a much more interesting view than a landscape covered in green. In the summer every minute of my hike is exciting because I'm always taking note of a bird singing, a wildflower in bloom, or a mushroom at the base of a tree. Winter isn't as full of life, but the snow still tells a story that I can read as I pass through. Tracks in the snow tell me that there is life--like grouse, marten, squirrels, and hares--but that I just don't see it because my footsteps crunching the snow loudly warns them of my presence.

The final rock scramble to the top, bare in late January

Another advantage to winter hiking is that it is much easier to find solitude in the mountains, especially on a weekday. Even in winter the trailhead to Cascade fills with cars on the weekend, but mid-week there may only be a few cars if any. I chose a fairly warm, clear day for my hike, and so I was not entirely alone but passed only a couple of others on my way. In winter I actually prefer the company of others for safety, since the likelihood of falling is much higher in winter, and especially in this winter. This has been a very poor winter for snowy activities, with each snowstorm being followed by a warm front that reduces the snowpack to ice almost immediately. The entire trail to Cascade was a sheet of ice, and I feared that the final scramble to the top over bare rock would be too icy for the gripping ability of my microspikes. On the way up I passed a hiker with a pair of snowshoes and a set of crampons in her pack, but she informed me that she never used anything other than microspikes to reach the top. I wondered how that could be, but when I came to the final rock scramble I saw the reason why--rather than being covered in ice the rock above treeline wasn't covered at all, it was mostly bare. This was quite a shocking discovery for the middle of winter in the Adirondacks, and made my final ascent fairly simple. I met another hiker near the top and he was simply hiking in bare boots, no traction devices necessary (he was also only 2 peaks shy of becoming a winter 46er). I was exhilarated to reach the top, as it seems I have only about a 50/50 success rate with winter hikes, often choosing to turn back if I reach a steep pitch. Just last week I didn't even make it to the top of little Owl's Head because of one steep section near the top, a result of too much ice and not enough snow. I suppose that the purchase of some crampons and an ice axe would expand my winter hiking capabilities, but with winter more than half over I think I'll save that investment for next year. Usually my snowshoes would be sufficient for the peaks I wish to climb, but with the lack of snow all I've been able to do so far this year is carry them around in my pack in the hopes that I find enough snow to wear them.

View from Cascade, Left to right is the Great Range, Marcy, Algonquin and Wright.

If you've never ascended a peak in winter, I highly recommend Cascade for an incredible view of the high peaks and Lake Placid below. The 360 degree view is amazing any time of year, but in winter I think it's really special. Such a hike does require purchasing microspikes or snowshoes, but it is well worth the investment and opens up the possibilities for many other hikes. Winter hiking is certainly more challenging than other seasons, but the key is just to go slowly and think about every step. You'll get there eventually and it will be well worth the extra effort.

270 degree view from Cascade with the village of Lake Placid on the right

Bloomingdale Bog--A Boreal Bird Hotspot

In the winter Bloomingdale Bog is hands down the best trail to walk in all of the Adirondacks. Its use by snowmobiles keeps the trail packed down so that skis and snowshoes aren't even necessary, you just have to choose times such as early morning or during the week to avoid the snowmobile traffic. On our walk yesterday we didn't come across any snowmobiles until after 10am. A winter visit won't have as many birds as a summer visit, in fact you're likely to only see a handful of species, but the many boreal specialties are still present and are easier to spot in the winter. The best place to see these species in winter is on Bigelow Road, a seasonal road off of Oregon Plains Road that provides a more open view and more upland habitat than the main bog trail. This was the route we took yesterday, and we had much success. 

First I have to apologize for the lapse in postings on account of the fact that I was away from the Adirondacks for the past two weeks, vacationing in the southwest. I wanted to blog about the amazing mountains of Nevada and California, but it didn't seem as that would be appropriate for a blog about the Adirondacks. Maybe on another blog...

While I haven't had the chance to get my snowshoes out and tackle any peaks yet, I did have the opportunity to lead a walk for the Northern New York Audubon Society yesterday to one of my favorite places--Bloomingdale Bog. In fact it ranks as my second favorite place in the Adirondacks behind Stony Pond. While there are larger and more scenic bogs than the one in Bloomingdale, it is by far the most easily accessible of our lowland bog complexes, and the first large bog I ever visited. Bloomingdale bog isn't an ADK maintained trail, so you won't find it listed in any of the the ADK guides, which helps limit the amount of use on this trail. It is one of the few trails of its size that is more popular with locals than with park visitors, as it's miles of flat trail provide a great spot for leisurely walks, and is a great place to bring dogs. It is also widely known as a mountain biking trail, and in fact George W. Bush was seen mountain biking here last summer. In the winter the flat grades make this a perfect trail for winter activities such as skiing, skijouring, and snowmobiling. But what really makes this bog unique from the other trails in the Adirondacks is something few of its visitors realize--that it is one of the best places in the Adirondacks to see boreal birds.

A Pitcher Plant, which traps insects to
 obtain the nutrients that it can't get from
 the acidic peat

In the Adirondacks the term boreal refers to habitats that have the same composition as the boreal forests of Canada, a habitat which extends south to just a few places in the northeastern states. These boreal habitats consist of lowland bogs where the presence of peat creates acidic conditions where only certain plants, such as heath shrubs, tamaracks, spruce, and pitcher plants, can survive. While the lack of nutrients in the soil limits the biodiversity in these habitats, the species that are found there are specialized to the harsh conditions and therefore many of them are not found anywhere else. In the Adirondacks our boreal forests are found mostly at low elevations, though a few patches can be found on some of the high peaks. The largest amount of boreal habitat is the western Adirondacks, where large bogs like Spring Pond Bog and Massawepie Mire stretch for miles. Bloomingdale Bog isn't as large as these, but it's location more central to the Adirondacks and the fact that an old railroad bed crosses right through it make it the most accessible bog in the Adirondacks. Despite its smaller size it is still large enough to support most of the species of plants and birds that one would find in the larger bogs.

Bloomingdale Bog in the summer

Spring and summer are definitely the best times to visit Bloomingdale Bog in search of birds, as there are dozens of species breeding there. The trail following an old railroad bed traverses a number of habitats ranging from cattail marsh on its western side (which begins on rte 86 north of Saranac Lake), to an open bog mat about a mile in, to an alder swamp that gradually changes to upland conifer forest on its eastern edge (After crossing rte 55 just north of Bloomingdale). Such a walk is about 5 miles long, and is best done with cars parked on either end of the route, though I like to visit a different part each time I go rather than walk all the way through. Each habitat brings different breeding birds such as Canada Warblers, Olive-sided Flycatcher, Lincoln's Sparrows, Palm Warblers, Ruby-Crowned Kinglets, and Yellow-bellied Flycatchers. The bog in early summer is alive with the songs of warblers and sparrows, but is also alive with black flies and mosquitoes, making fall and winter more popular times to visit.

A male White-winged Crossbill, which migrates south from boreal Canada
when cone crops are poor further north

Boreal Chickadees are one of the species that birders visiting the Adirondacks always hope to see, but they are much more elusive than their Black-capped cousins, and you need a little luck to get a good look at one. Yesterday luck was on our side, though, and we had amazing looks at not just one, but two boreal chickadees. Both birds came out of the thick spruces to feed on seeds in a bare branched tree just a few feet above our heads, a rare treat. Shortly after that we were treated to a sighting of another elusive bird--the White-winged Crossbill. These birds only visit the Adirondacks in some winters, and usually in fairly small numbers. Even when they are abundant they are usually seen or heard quickly flying overhead, and are rarely seen up close. Yesterday I used a pishing sound to draw in a pair of male and female crossbills, who cooperatively perched at the tip of a nearby spruce for about 5 minutes. This was plenty of time to admire their criss-crossed bills, which they use for prying seeds out of cones. Also present in the bog yesterday were hundreds of Pine Siskins, which continue to be abundant this winter. We finished our walk with a short visit to the bog trail, where we knew the Gray Jays would be waiting for handouts. We only saw one, but it approached us immediately for some handouts.

The Boreal Chickadee is common in boreal Canada,
but is only found in small numbers in a few U.S. states

In most birder's books a day of birding with only 8 species would be a disappointment, but on a single-digit snowy winter day 8 species is pretty good, especially when we had such good looks at rarely seen species. The three hardy souls that came out for the walk, all residents of the Adirondacks and active birders, had never seen either a Boreal Chickadee nor a White-winged Crossbill, so it was surely a rare treat to see them so up close. Experiences like that are why Bloomingdale Bog is my favorite Adirondack birding spot at any time of the year.