Great article about back-country skiing. Does this sound like heaven or what? Open invitation to Mike Lynch: How about teaching a family of city slickers the back-country ropes? A sumptuous dinner of your choosing will be awaiting upon descent?
In Marcy’s shadow ... a trek up Phelps Mountain
By Mike Lynch, Enterprise Outdoor Writer
Because of its location, the trail to Phelps Mountain is likely bypassed by hikers and skiers as much as any in the Adirondacks.
The final trailhead to Phelps Mountain is located about a mile north of Marcy Dam on the way to Mount Marcy, a popular destination because its New York state’s highest peak at 5,344 feet.
But on Saturday, the last weekend in March, four of us — Saranac Lake residents Jeff Oehler, Sue Bibeau and Phil Brown — bypassed the opportunity to ascend Mount Marcy. Instead we skinned our way to the summit of Phelps Mountain.
The original plan called for a fifth skier to join our party, but he decided to ski in the southern Adirondacks, perhaps he was also not interested by the prospect of skiing in Mt. Marcy’s shadow.
At 4,161 feet, Phelps is one of the 46 High Peaks, but it is a relatively easy climb compared to some other high peaks. It is the 32nd highest peak.
From the start of the trailhead at Adirondack Loj, it is 3.2 miles to the Phelps Mountain trailhead. From there, it is another one mile to the summit.
Phelps Mountain is named after a man — the legendary 19th-Century guide Orson Schofield Phelps — who may have never climbed the mountain.
“Phelps ... cut the first trail up Mt. Marcy and over the years guided many parties to its summit,” states the Adirondack Mountain Club’s trail guide to the High Peaks Region. “It is thus fitting that this peak, whose view is so dominated by Mt. Marcy is named after Phelps, even though he probably never climbed the peak himself.”
The trip
Prior to the trip, we were cautiously optimistic. The temperatures had fluctuated recently, spending plenty of time above and below the freezing mark.
“I heard the backcountry is icy,” Jeff said as we stood in the Adirondack Loj parking lot.
The Van Hoevenberg trail — which we took from the Adirondack Loj to Marcy Dam — was packed down by skiers and snowshoers, though it was definitely soft enough to ski.
It was also relatively warm at the lower elevations. After one mile — at the turnoff to Wright and Algonquin Peaks — we shed our first layer. (Toward the top, where temperatures were well below freezing, it would return.)
After about another mile, we arrived at Marcy Dam, where a half dozen skiers stood on the bridge admiring the view. They were headed to Mount Marcy.
Looking across the water from Marcy Dam, the sky was a crisp dark blue. The slides on Wright Peak were visible.
Phil tried to convince us to ski the slide on Wright Peak but we stuck to our original plan.
After a short break, we continued up the trail, turning left at the fork shortly after Marcy Dam. This trail leads to Mount Marcy and Phelps Mountain.
Along the way, as we would throughout the day, we ran into numerous people snowshoeing.
At one point, we stopped to talk to a group of about 10 Canadians headed to the summit of Mount Marcy. Only one of them — who happened to be dressed in a ridiculously colorful outfit — wore skis, narrow ones at that.
Phil wondered out loud how he would ski down Marcy with such skinny skis. He responded that he had been on the mountain in them numerous times before.
“I fall a lot,” said the man.
Before long, we were at the bottom of the trail to the summit of Phelps Mountain.
Up until this point, we had managed to ski the uphill sections without our skins. The scales or wax had been enough to overcome the steep parts.
From here, we would need skins. The majority of this one-mile climb is steep.
After putting on the skins, we headed up the hill. About half way up, after finishing one particularly difficult section where I had to sidestep, I headed around a sharp corner. There was a snowshoer sliding down the trail on her backside.
I moved off to the left of the trail and she slid by. Several of her friends followed. They were upright.
As we neared the summit, views of the surrounding mountains — The McIntyre Range, Marcy and others — became visible over the tops of spruce and balsam fir trees lining the trail. We were now stopping often to look around.
As distant scenery became increasing spectacular, we ran into a man snowshoeing down the hill. He informed us we were about 10 minutes from the summit.
Finally, when we reached the top, Phil remarked that Bob Marshall, the first person to climb all 46 high peaks, hadn’t enjoyed his time on this mountain.
Brown would know. He edited “Bob Marshall in the Adirondacks: Writings of a Pioneering Peak Bagger, Pond-Hopper and Wilderness Preservationist.”
Marshall wrote the first trail guide for the Adirondack Mountain Club, “The High Peaks of the Adirondacks,” published in 1922. By the time, Marshall climbed Phelps, much of its surrounding forest had been logged and then burned.
“I climbed this mountain one dark afternoon from South Meadows,” wrote Marshall. “I never enjoyed climbing a mountain so little. There were hours of pushing through terrible fire slash, working up slides and walking logs. Fortunately old lumber roads led up as far as South Meadows Mountain.
“A view over miles of ugly slash toward Heart Pond and a glimpse through the second growth toward Marcy Brook are all one can see from the summit.”
But that was hardly what we found. Instead, on the summit, we discovered an open clearing with great views.
We weren’t alone. A couple from Wilmington, Dela., who were staying in nearby Wilmington, had snowshoed to the top and were equally impressed.
As we ate lunch, the conversation steered toward a man who calls himself Pin Pin Junior. He is a Canadian who has reportedly climbed all 46 high peaks more than 70 times. The Wilmington man had encountered him on one of his trips.
Maybe they should name a mountain after him, perhaps, this one and give Phelps a different mountain. That would have suited the historic trail guide writers.
“It is a misfortune, amounting to an injustice, that the name of Old Mountain Phelps, the great Keene Valley guide, who himself named so many of the mountains, was given to the unimportant peak in North Elba on the opposite side of the range from the locality where he achieved fame,” wrote Russell M.L. Carson in “Peaks and People of the Adirondacks,” published in 1927.
But Phelps would have enjoyed this day had he skied.
Now resuming our trip, we headed off the trail for the descent, making our way through untracked powder more than a foot deep. Beneath the powder were several more feet of snow. High on the mountain, trail markers had been just a foot off the ground. Before long, Jeff fell into a spruce tree hole, burying himself up to his waist in snow.
We hadn’t found any of the ice that we had been concerned about, and we were told later Mount Marcy was just the opposite at the top. Its icy glare shimmered in the afternoon sun, warning skiers to stay away.
Making our way through the trees, we skied on a horizontal slope for the first several hundred yards or more.
Eventually, we found a section where the birches ran through the middle of the thick patches of spruces and balsam firs. We were headed toward Pelkey Basin, which would put out on the Marcy Dam Truck Trail.
The descent was fast and open, with the birches two to 20 feet apart. There was some, but not much, blowdown.
The snow was untouched and deep.
