Please Don't Ruin This For Me

As a child I would fantasize about the Viet Cong waiting to ambush me as I hiked around the woods near my house.  We would constantly scan the trees looking for trip wires and other tell tale signs of imminent danger.  It made an otherwise routine walk around a rather routine park seem exotic and perilous.  If the hiking wasn't so dicey at least the perceived threat of capture and torture spiced up the stroll.  But if you think the threat was totally imaginary you would be mistaken.  Hempstead Lake State Park on Long Island might be surrounded by the entitled but it is also situated adjacent to the not so privileged.  And one day they wanted mine and my brother's bicycles.  A ten year old on his new five speed Schwinn sting ray and his twelve year old brother on the latest ten speed Peugeot with Simplex gears cruising down the bike path only to be stopped dead in their tracks by a felled tree laying across the path. And two sixteen year old boys from the hood laying in wait.

Fortunately they were outfitted with two beat up old bikes.  So when they demanded our rides we just high tailed it the hell out of there.  They chased us but their single speed banana bikes were no match for our high tech steeds.  The only reason I bring up this true story is to illustrate the fact that my backwoods trepidation is not totally without merit.  While traipsing about in the woods, I have learned to always be prepared.  Even if the woods you are traversing are a five acre lot between your house and the Walgreens parking lot.

Even at the age of 51, I like to pretend that a winter hike in the Catskill Mountains is an epic adventure worthy of the planning and preparation of an Ernest Shackleton expedition to Antarctica-even though we are at most 6 miles from the parking area.  It wouldn't even occur to me that we could be driving along on our way to a luncheon date and suddenly decide to take a hike.  But that is what looks like occurs with many of the people we meet along the trail; that they just hopped out of the car, with not so much as a canteen or map, and started up the trail, not realizing that there is ice, rocks, snow,  thorny brambles, slick roots, two hundred foot drop-offs, and angry bears.  Not to mention the always imminent threat of  sleet, rain, wind and/or blizzard conditions.  Any of which could lead to a twisted ankle or worse.  Thereby necessitating a potential night out on the mountain while waiting for the rescue helicopter to arrive.  Which might or might not ever show up because there is spotty cell service and no record of their whereabouts either, because none of these people ever bother to sign the trail register.

Here is a-quite possibly incomplete-list of the minimal gear I have in my pack for a winters day on the mountain: Small first aid kit, emergency foil blanket (the type you thought only Boy Scouts purchased), headlamp, matches and/or lighter, whistle, knife, compass, map, water purifier tablets, toilet paper (and hand cleaner), 1-2 qrts of water, lunch, snacks, puffy jacket (down or polyester), rain jacket, hat, gloves, and quite possibly some type of rope.  On my body there is not a single fiber of cotton.  I am not even a big fan of cotton/poly hybrids for winter hiking.  I am wearing a first layer of polyester underpants, long sleeve undershirt and Smartwool hiking socks.  Layer number two is a microfiber hoodie or sweatshirt and softshell pants.  I wear a sofshell jacket to top it all off.  Unless it is very, very cold, you should not hike in your down jacket.  You will quickly overheat on the first hill.  If I may dispense some advise at this point  it would be that you should always start out a little cold on a hike.  I cannot tell you how many people I pass within a few hundred yards of the parking lot who have already stopped to shed layers.  On my feet are leather/Goretex hiking boots and my micro spikes if the trail is immediately icy.  Finally, in my hands are a set of trekking poles to save my knees and prevent a bad fall. 

So when I come upon some inappropriately dressed hikers at an altitude of 1000 feet above sea level or greater during the months of December thru March I take their nonchalance quite personally.  On my most recent winter hike, pictured above, I happened to pass one such group coming up the trail as I was walking down after an exhausting hike to the summit of Panther Mountain.  They were two young couples literally looking as if they expected for there to be a nightclub on Giant Ledge, a nice view point on the way to Panther summit.  Granted, Giant Ledge is only 1.5 miles from the parking lot but the trail is steep and very icy as you can see in the picture above. While I was stumbling down the icy trail praying I wouldn't slip and break my neck, this group of four came sauntering up the hill dressed very nearly like the woman pictured below.  Except I believe one of these hikers was even more fashionably dressed than her.  She was wearing a cowl neck sweater, sexy looking leggings, lace up boots and no coat of any sort.  And their attitude was the same as this woman's as well.  As in "What's your problem, nerd?".  Or perhaps that thought was just in my own mind.  The men were equally ill-prepared in jeans, cotton shirts, Yankees baseball caps, and leather bomber jackets.  But there they were on the same dicey trail as me.  A trail, by the way, on which I slipped on some ice after taking off my spikes near the car.  My rib is still bruised.  It could be broken.

Nor was this a one time occurrence.  A few weeks ago on Slide Mountain, the highest peak in the Catskills, we came across an older couple (our age) at the summit, during a snow storm, wearing jeans and the man was wearing a jeans shirt as well.  He looked as if he were horseback riding in Arizona during a Memorial Day vacation.  She had on a fashionable wool (acceptable) sweater and scarf but the ensemble looked more like the kind you would wear while window shopping in Manhattan during Christmas.  They had the good sense, at least, to be wearing real hiking boots. But what really got my attention was the paper bag and muffin from Dunkin Donuts she pulled out of her pack and proceeded to eat as if she were sitting in a downtown coffee shop.  There isn't a Dunkin Donuts for fifty miles around!  I have seen plenty of gourmet food being eaten at the top of a mountain but it is usually repackaged in zip lock bags.  These people looked like they decided to hike up the highest mountain around, during a snow storm, on their way to a baby shower in Albany.  And lucky for them, they had stopped on the Thruway for a cup of coffee and donuts.  But the most off-putting thing of all was that they were standing there on the summit, next to me, oozing with a galling nonchalance . This after my half day of planning, packing, anxiously watching the weather reports, and fighting with Tammy about her gear. 


Well, at least I have the summer hikers to look forward to: