Fastpacking On the High Peaks

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Fastpacking lesson #2: Question usage of the word “need”

One of the reasons I couldn't hike 20-miles-a-day a decade earlier was because I was carrying all the items other hikers told me I "needed." But there I was, many years and many miles later with Jardine's "I don't need it" quote stuck in my head.

Since I don't cook breakfast and start early, I covered Calkins Brook, Mud Pond and Raquette Falls Trails by 10 a.m. and T-boned Coreys Road, a dirt pathway that wound east toward the Seward Mountains. After completing this three-mile road walk in one hour I reached the Seward trailhead. I continued east on Blueberry Trail and Ward Brook Truck Trail back to Duck Hole, revisiting this quaint pond by mid-afternoon. Thus I had completed the western half my figure eight loop in only two and a half days.

From Duck Hole east I backtracked under building storm clouds. I raised my pace to more than three miles an hour just in time to dive into the Wallface lean-to as the rain came down. After hiking 28.6 miles and climbing 3,200 vertical feet, dinner went down faster than normal.

Fastpacking lesson #3: Dissolve traditional thought

I wore sneakers even though most people I talked to claimed I'd sprain my ankles. I did not treat my water though most believe water sources are infested with diseases. I threw other traditional approaches to the wind realizing that just because something has been in place forever doesn't mean it's correct.  

With some good hiking legs under me by day three, I set out through cold rain into Indian Pass, its western flank being 900-foot-tall Wallface Cliff. Indian Pass was a massive jumble of wet, geologic obstacles. "Unpleasant" is the word that describes my sloppy, slippery experience through this area, craggy enough to have ladders bolted to bare rock. The descent down the north side of the pass was equally challenging—at times I was hiking in a trail-turned-streambed.

With Indian Pass behind me by 1 p.m., the day accelerated in excitement when I took a "shortcut" on the Mr. Van Ski Trail. It turned out to be an overgrown deer trail blocked by beaver damns instead of the thoroughfare I hoped for. At times a bushwhack, I eventually managed to navigate to the South Meadow trailhead.

Next was Klondike Notch Trail to Johns Brook Valley, then Woodsfall Trail into the Great Range where judgment beat machismo. I decided to cut my day short due to the chance of cold rain turning to bitter snow. I ate dinner and was sound asleep by 5 p.m. after hiking 17 miles and climbing 3,500 vertical feet.

Fastpacking lesson #4: Pack for the near-worst

Though my base load was only 11 pounds, I managed to stay warm through 40-degree rain. It's tempting to pack too little. The key is light, yet safe.

First thing in the morning I completed a climb to the summit of Lower Wolf Jaw Mountain, one of the two 4,000-footers in my route. With my hope of a view negated by thick clouds I started the 3,000-vertical-foot descent on W.A. White Trail to the East Branch of the Ausable River. At 1,300 feet above sea level, the river marked the lowest point on my route.

I traversed Old Dix Trail between Noonmark and Round Mountains to reach the North Fork of the Bouquet River and started the biggest climb of the trip: a 2,500-foot push up Dix Mountain. I followed Dix Trail to the bottom of a massive rockslide and veered from the trail, taking the more wild option. Walking and friction climbing up the rockslide to a point below the summit, I then bushwhacked up and west, to regain the trail. From there it was only a short walk to the top.

The view was amazing—one of the best I have enjoyed since it was so hard-earned. I gazed west from the highest point on my route and could see where I was just two days earlier—to the west of the Seward Mountains. It seemed ridiculously far. At 26 airline miles away, I had trouble believing I wound a course double that length through undulating terrain.

After enjoying the view, I started the second biggest descent of the route, down-climbing nasty eroded sections of trail and butt sliding steeply-angled bedrock. Only three hours later I reached the Elk Lake trailhead where it all started. The trailhead was lonely still—only a few cars had been added since I stood there five days earlier. My last day totaled 19 miles but included a thigh-burning 6,000 vertical feet of climbing.

Fastpacking lesson #5: Concentrate on the experience, not the gear

It's not about speed, but about seeing more each day. It's not about cutting-edge gear, but about simplicity and comfort. It's not about ounce counting—it's about common sense.

When I recall my traditional backpacking philosophy from 13 years ago I remember pain and complexity. When I think of fastpacking I produce a welcoming hand. The time is now for us Northeasterners to find our own level of enlightenment. But to be fair, old-school backpacking's blown knees, slipped disks and crushed shoulders are still being discussed by those out West. Chances are they're in backpacking stories of days past. 

The author of Thru Hiker's Guide to America, Erik Schlimmer's still on the Internet, even when he’s out fastpacking: ErikSchlimmer.com.

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