By J. Stites McDaniel
In July of 2008, my wife Laura and I came and looked at an apartment in Essex. As we were driving through Willsboro and the area to the north of Essex, Laura’s brother prophesized, “you guys aren’t going to want to look anywhere else after you see this place.” A bold prediction, but he was right. And from the outset, from that first day we stood in the front yard of the house and surveyed all of the endless possibilities that the natural surroundings could provide for a couple of city slickers turned mountain folk, the two large hills (or small mountains, depending on whom you ask) have always been focal. During the time we decided to take the apartment and the actual move, we would talk about how great it will be to live so close to the type of outdoor activity we had to drive hours to discover while living in Delaware; how we would be able to walk out of our front door and walk up a mountain (or large hill, depending on whom you ask). In my mind I always saw us walking west towards the Bouquets.
When that dream finally became a reality, we decided that a shorter hike was in order this January day, as the snow and clouds created little desire to hike to the top of a greater peak, only to be disappointed by the lack of views. So the crew assembled at our house, a little later than usual, as most of us didn’t need as much time and preparation to summit this local jaunt. The majority of the hikers hiked with nothing more than the clothes on their bodies and snowshoes on their feet. Having been shaken by the bitter cold and other harsh conditions of our first winter hike up Cascade, I insisted that I felt better about any hike if I had all of the necessary emergency provisions, and left the house with a full pack and no anxiety.
The preliminary hike into the Bouquets is through a field that is now the farm of James Graves and Sara Kurak, Essex’s newest CSA farmers, opening Full and By Farm in 2010. The barns’ outer walls at the road’s edge provided shelter before we hit the field and made our way towards the woods and up South Bouquet. The path was packed down in the preface to the mountain trail. Had it not been, we would have had no indicators as to the correct path across the drifted field. The wind was steady with gusts that continued to make inconsistent snow depth. Few tufts of brown grass were brave enough to be peaking through the snow, as it seemed the wind was always blowing in this Adirondack tundra. Having just solidified our friendship with James and Sara as well as our commitment to an annual membership in their farm, I felt contented learning the ebbs and flows of their rolling field at the base of the Bouquet’s, recognizing that in a few months the vegetables I would eat would be produced in this same soil.
Before hitting the dense deciduous forest, we skirted its edge, making our way into the area directly below the saddle between the two Bouquet Mountains. After we passed curious stacks of cut logs, we stood at the base of the trail that leads up to the saddle. The trail follows a low-lying creek bed as it winds ever so slightly upward. The trees are thin, making the saddle constantly visible, but the underbrush below the loose snow was thick; thick enough to grab a hold of Harmony dog’s booties, pulling them off in the first half mile of the hike. We made plans to return in the spring to try and find them after the snow melted.
After passing a small building that looked like an outhouse, actually a small springhouse on the mountain, we climbed the first severe pitch of the day. It was rocky, but sparsely wooded. Here we made our turn to the left, breaking from the common trail shared by the two peaks and proclaiming with our steps that we had chosen the southern crest. However, as soon as we got above this intersection, the forest changed. The trees were denser and the path was less defined. It seemed as though we were creating our own path and the trees continued to get tighter and tighter until the backpack I was wearing became a nuisance, catching passing trees and puling me backwards the majority of the steps I took. We wound back and forth on an indistinct trail in the heavy forest until we came to the base of a new, distinct area on the mountain.
While North Bouquet has a gradual ridge rising to its peak, its sister to the south had two sections: the mellower pitch through the lower forest and the severe grades of the evergreen forest near the peak. We had made it through the first portion and now began to really climb. It was slow going as Marynell was blazing a trail on a hill that was slightly less than straight up and down. We followed in each other’s steps, using our hands, calves and quadriceps to pull ourselves upwards. Then we walked on a side slope, trying to lean into the mountain on our left to avoid sliding down though a small open glade to our right. Near the top, the mountain gave us mercy and the pitch became nearly flat once again. The clouds were high enough to give us wonderful views of the valley towards the east. All of the farmlands west of the village of Essex were distinct, the white snow and brown hedgerows signifying each changing farm; the buildings, the brick and wooden farmhouses, standing out against this cold winter’s background. The woods at the top were thick enough to offer consistent shelter, but thin enough to offer us views all the way to the lake.
We talked and surveyed the land that we know, the land that we drive through several times a day, but land that we rarely saw from this vantage point and thought of how connected it all feels from above. Whallonsburg, Whadams, and Essex are just names. Clearly, the land does not recognize these boundaries. It just rolls on.
The trip down was quicker and enjoyable. The depth of the snow gave us a safe feeling when glissading. We all laughed as we fell, stood up and fell again over and over before we made our way to the lower, less severe pitches below the saddle. Many seasons have passed since this first hike up South Bouquet. I often hike CATs trails on Bouquet Mountains, trails that take much of the same approaches to the top, save the rock scrambles, and am thankful for this small wonder and what it reveals about my world.
Tags: Bouquet, farms, winter
