Climbing the Adirondacks

ADIRONDACK PARK, N.Y. - IT WAS NOT SO MUCH A VACATION AS A QUEST.

Because this was no ordinary road trip; this was the voyage to take our daughter to her first year of college, the classic long-distance drive in a car bulging with pillows, hangers and a laptop. It would be the last trip my husband, Tribune photographer Chuck Berman, and I would take with our older daughter, Robin, before everything changed.

How best to honor the adventure on which she was embarking? How could we acknowledge that she would face challenges and our certainty that she would overcome them?

By doing the same thing ourselves.

We needed to climb a mountain.

Luckily, the Adirondack Mountains are conveniently located for the Midwesterner bound by car for Boston, where Robin was about to start Boston University. The 6-million-acre state park in upstate New York is famed for the High Peaks, the 46 major mountains. The highest, Mt. Marcy, stands 5,344 feet high.

But we picked a low peak -- Crane Mountain, 3,254 feet of challenge and beauty 88 miles north of Albany, near the southern end of the park. It wasn't an easy choice (see If You Go); it may not have been the best one for a family of flatlanders led by a mom having a careless day.

But sight unseen, I was in love.

The view from the top of this lesser-known peak was said to be magnificent. The trail, which gained a steep 1,154 feet in 1.4 miles, would require scrambling over bare rock and climbing two wood 1adders. And to top it off, there was a pond nestled in the high country, accessible only by foot.

I was pawing at the ground. But first, because I had not yet turned careless, I called the Adirondack Mountain Club, known as ADK, and cadged advice from executive director Neil Woodworth.

His advice was a warning. Crane was an outlying mountain. The trail was hard to find and hard to hike.

"Crane Mountain is a very steep climb," he said. "Many Adirondack High Peaks are not as challenging as Crane."

And Adirondack trails in general are difficult and steep, he said. Unlike in the Rockies, where switchbacks allow gradual gains in altitude, Adirondack trails were cut by 19th Century guides who took the shortest route to the top.

I figured we could manage it. But I would come to wish I had listened more carefully.

The first challenge was finding the trail head. At Woodworth's suggestion, I had bought a road map that included even dirt roads. The Crane Mountain trail head was at the end of one.

We parked and walked to the trail sign. The 1.4 miles to the summit didn't sound like much. But within moments, we saw the direction the hike would take: Straight up.

We were climbing up a path made of boulders. It looked like a giant had been rolling rocks downhill, or like a Stone Age StairMaster. (In fact, the harsh trail turned out to be the unfortunate result of erosion. Straight-up trails become the paths of least resistance for water cascading downhill, Woodworth explained later. The water wears away the soil, leaving a path of rocks and smooth bedrock.)

We scrambled up, breathing hard. We stepped high over big rocks; we squeezed through narrow cracks. We stopped and rested, repeatedly. But about a half hour into the hike, our afternoon-mountain-climb took its first bite out of us. Chuck leaned against some rocks, then slid to a sitting position. He had been hit by a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. When he took out his water bottle, the reason was clear.

"Dad, you've hardly drunk a thing!" Robin shouted. Indeed, while she and I had been sipping almost constantly on my hydration sack, Chuck had been too focused on shooting pictures and video to stop and take out his water bottle. He was dehydrated.

As he sipped water and fought for a clear head, we considered our options. He could not continue, but it seemed dangerous to let him descend alone. Should we bag Crane Mountain and attempt an easier one?