The Great Outdoors

By Jimmy Buff

We are headed down the mountaintop from Haines Falls, our bellies full of good food from Maggie’s Krooked Café in Tannersville. It is a post mountain run recovery meal and I’ve just had a cheeseburger for the ages, while my wife has had a grilled chicken masterpiece. Maggie herself has come out from behind the stove to say hello; she knows me a bit from my work at WDST, the Woodstock radio station. Maggie has the station piped through the small, homey café every time I’m there—and even when I’m not, I’m told—and she has ambled across the tilting floor of the old building (hence the “crooked” part of the café’s name) to deliver some freshly made muffins and a song request for later in the week.

A few hours earlier my wife and I left home separately, she to drive up to the North/South Lake campgrounds and beach and me to run there via the South Mountain trail. 90 minutes after we parted, we were reunited on the crowded North Lake beach. I headed out for another small loop around the lakes while my wife continued to read a book in the hot sun, appropriately, about Egypt. Heading up the road to the D.E.C. check in, I passed dozens of campsites, all full with summer visitors from near and far. The camping at North/South Lake is one of the best deals around—just eighteen dollars a night for one of the 219 campsites—and reservations for the spots go quickly. For your eighteen bucks you get access to two lakes, rowboat and kayak rentals and superb hiking trails.

Looping around the far end of South Lake, I headed off road again, ducking under some trees disappearing on a hard to spot trail that parallels the lake shore. Sounds of summer fun echoed across the water and infiltrated the cool dark shade of the woods as I ran and nary a person was on the trail. It wasn’t long, however, before I popped out onto the South Lake beach (which is every bit as crowded as the North Lake beach). Here, the trail mingled with sand and barbeques before hooking up with the old rail bed of the line that ran between Hunter and the mountain houses. A few minutes later and my circuit around the lakes was complete and soon after that I was waist deep in the protected swimming area at North Lake, a wader amongst many waders of every age. It was summer in full bloom and if it was possible to be in love with a season, I was. The essence of barbeque proved too much, so it was on to Maggie’s for the burger too big to finish and the chicken sandwich too good not to finish and afterwards we headed home, nourished by the food and by summer.

Kaaterskill Falls
A couple of weeks earlier, we headed down the mountain top from North/South Lake, post Escarpment Trail Run in a different state of mind. The 31st running of the 18-plus miles from Windham to the finish line near the North Lake beach had been tough for me, as usual, and somewhat disappointedly, I headed home. It was a hot and shimmering summer day and the line of cars parked on the shoulder of the road as we approached the hairpin turns on Route 23A above the trailhead to Kaaterskill Falls was remarkable. There had to be twenty or more cars squeezed between the road and the steep rock wall that rose above it. In some cases, cars straddled a drainage culvert, with their wheels perched on the road on one side and whatever on the other side. The small parking lot that serves the Kaaterskill Falls day hikers was overfilled too, and a couple of New York State Troopers were making the rounds there. At first I thought they were handing out parking summons for the haphazard way people had parked but as we rounded the sharp left turn there, we spotted the flashing lights of rescue vehicles just ahead. In an instant I knew that an accident must have occurred on the trail to or above the falls. It was a scene I have witnessed almost annually since moving here full time five years ago. With help from a flagman, we inched our way around the rescue personnel and vehicles (and people walking down the road still hoping to get onto the trail despite the obvious rescue activity) and made our way home. A couple of miles later, we passed a similar scene of parking mayhem as every swimming hole on the Kaaterskill Creek was filled to capacity in the summer heat. A day later I read about the accident at Kaaterskill Falls. Sadly, a twelve year old boy had fallen from the one of the trails around the falls and had been gravely injured.

Kaaterskill Falls is a stunning natural wonder and its draw is apparent to anyone who has ever ventured the half-mile or so in from the 23A trailhead. The two-tiered falls is touted as the tallest in New York State, with its total height listed as 260 feet: 180 for the upper tier and 80 for the lower. The flow of water can range from a torrent over whose roar it is difficult to hear or a trickle, depending on season and rainfall. It has been celebrated in art, first in 1826 by Thomas Cole, the founder of the Hudson River School of Art and by scores of other artists since. The 23A trail takes people to the base of Kaaterskill Falls but it is also accessible by the top via Laurel House Road. It is the top of Kaaterskill Falls that scares me most, as daytrippers swarm around the deadly drop off there hoping for a spectacular view. The Kaaterskill Creek at the top of the falls is not wide across and the inclination can be to try and cross the narrow band of water. Slipping there—and it is easy to do—is deadly: Once you have gone over the edge there is nothing to stop you until you hit the jagged rock, 180 feet below. In addition, many of the trails that surround the falls are dangerous too and it is from one of them, apparently, that the latest casualty of the falls was hurt.

Truthfully, it doesn’t take much to do serious damage to the frail human body. A fifteen foot fall on the type of rocky terrain found around Kaaterskill Falls, in the Catskills or in the nearby Shawangunks or Berkshires can cause devastating injury. What may seem like an easy day hike on a perfect summer day can turn deadly with one misplaced step. For experienced hikers and outdoor enthusiasts, that danger always registers and, hopefully, is respected. The casual hiker or visitor to the area often doesn’t realize the perils that exist in these beautiful mountains and, disturbingly, in the case of Kaaterskill Falls, isn’t really warned or protected from them. At Bash Bish Falls in the Berkshires, for instance, a large plexi-glass covered bulletin board greets explorers with dire warnings about the danger that the 80 foot high cascade presents. To drive the point home, a dozen or so newspaper articles about death and injury at Bash Bish Falls over the years have been reprinted and posted on the board.

Even the walk to the Kaaterskill Falls trailhead is perilous. There is no official walkway or trail from the parking area a few hundred feet away, and hikers are subjected to the traffic going up and down the mountain. In some spots, the distance between vehicle and human being is a matter of inches. A trail up and over the roadway is one suggestion the D.E.C. might consider (the idea is from my wife, made while we waited to pass a long line of hikers on the road one day); Expanding the parking area is another long overdue needed change as well. There is a trail at Bash Bish Falls that runs up and behind it. It is a steep and challenging trail and it has—purists be warned—a handrail along the most treacherous parts. It seems time for the D.E.C. to consider doing the same at Kaaterskill Falls, at least along the most dangerous and exposed—and easily accessible—top portion. When it comes to the outdoors, buyer beware, in some cases, is fair. Take for, instance, the 51-year-old experienced whitewater kayaker who died on the Esopus in July. No doubt, she knew the dangers of the sport and apparently took the proper precaution. Nevertheless, when doing something that is inherently dangerous, stuff happens. It is, however, wrong and maybe even accountable, for people to walk un-warned (or not warned directly and in no uncertain terms: People Die Here!) into a place for what is expected to be a nice country outing and for what ends up as a day that ruins lives.

Redemption
A year ago, I watched my good friend John Holt struggle across the line at the Vermont 100 Endurance Run. Having just covered 100 miles in a little over 24 hours, struggling could be expected. It was an awesome achievement; in the days and weeks afterwards, however, John seemed to not be reveling in the accomplishment. There is a gold standard at most 100 mile runs (believe it or not, there are dozens of them around the country each running season) and that is to finish in under 24 hours and last year John had finished 36 minutes past that mark. To most people, that is pretty darn close and, damn, you ran 100 miles? For John, though, the lingering dismay about his performance had less to do with how close he came to 24 hours and more to do with the spiritual, emotional and, of course, the physical crashes he experienced during the event. On a smaller scale, I have endured the same self-incrimination (most often having to do with the aforementioned Escarpment Trail Run) and I think its source is a belief that we failed ourselves and our ability.

The despair about the run lingered for longer than John thought it would, yet by January his resolve had returned and he begun to train again in earnest. Last month, at 4 o’clock in the morning on Saturday, John once again found himself in a field in the mountains of Vermont ready to take on the crucible of running 100 miles. 23 hours and 9 minutes and some odd seconds later, he crossed the finish line, having erased the specter of the year before. John had broken the 24 hour mark on a course that was deemed three miles longer this year (measuring 100 miles on back roads and trails in the mountains can be an iffy thing) and, equally important, had done so in manner that reflected his resolve and resilience.

All winter, spring and early summer I watched (and sometimes participated) as John set forth on his path of redemption, laying down mile after mile of training. If last year’s training had been good enough to finish, this year’s training needed to be a little bit more than that. In one instance, John ran the Overlook Mountain trail—5 miles from the Meads Mountain Road trailhead in Woodstock to the fire tower and back—eight times in one day. That is forty miles in one training session. I joined John for the middle part of that day, and when I left he had already put in 25 miles. At that point, he was contemplating only one more trip up and back even though he had planned for three more that day. The idea that cutting a little training now could have unwanted consequences later drove John to complete his objective that day.

I was fortunate enough to be at the Vermont 100 this year, first as a spectator and then as a pacer for John. After 70 miles, the rules allow you some company and a pacer’s job is mostly moral support. As we headed out for the last 30 miles together, John was tired. Unlike last year, though, he had been eating consistently through the day and his spirits were high. The sun went down at about the 77-mile mark and as we made our way through the chilly Vermont summer night air, under an impossible expanse of star cover, John’s resolve and attitude never wavered. I didn’t pace him last year; that task had fallen to Joe Brown of High Falls, but had heard tales of John’s struggles through the night. Joe Brown was running the race this year himself and he and John and stayed together for most of the first 50 miles. Joe moved out ahead of John then and was on pace to have his best finish ever at Vermont and, indeed, that was what happened for the unflappable Mr. Brown.

Serene, albeit tired, John moved steadily forward after 70 miles, matching, it seemed the progression of Ursa Major as it pivoted in the sky above us. Bats flew near us, owls hooted and coyotes called back and forth across the valleys as we went. There is an ultrarunning maxim: walk the uphills and run the downhills and flats and John dutifully followed that rule. And each time he began to run after 70 miles, I was both amazed and in awe. John’s big concern late in the night (or early Sunday morning as was the case) was going off course. It happened to me last year as I paced another runner and John didn’t want a repeat of that. Nor did I.

The last section of the Vermont 100 is lined on both sides of the trail with water jugs filled with purple glow sticks; the effect is like an airport runway at night, albeit under a dense canopy of tree cover, and the effect is surreal. I had tried to maintain a comfortable patter with John for the last 30 miles but now we fell silent. In a few minutes you could hear the hum of the generators being used to light the finish area, and as we emerged from the woods, I stepped back and watched as John Holt crossed the finish line bathed by both the artificial light of man and by the inner light of redemption.

A Man for All Seasons and All Mountains
The Catskill 3500 Club is a hiking club dedicated to the climbing of all 35 peaks in the Catskill Mountains over 3500 feet. Membership in the 3500 club comes after hiking all 35 peaks as well as Slide, Balsam, Panther and Blackhead Mountains a second time in the winter, for a total of 39 climbs. More than a few people belong to the 3500 Club; for a numbered few of them, however, it just isn’t enough. For those folks, there is the Grid: Hiking all 3500 peaks, in each of the 12 months of the year. For instance, Slide Mountain, the highest of all of the Catskills, is climbed every month of the year for a total of 12 ascents. Multiply 12 by 35 and you get 420 and that is the Grid. Ralph Ryndak of West Shokan is the sixth member of that exclusive club, having topped out on Kaaterskill High Peak on June 16.

Ryndak began hiking in 1964, when he bushwhacked his way up Wittenberg Mountain near his parents’ summer home and has been hiking ever since. Ryndak has covered 2000 miles in pursuit of the Grid “and many pairs of boots” and says, succinctly, “it’s a good way to stay in shape.”

Two for Two
After making Outside magazine’s Best Outside Towns list in 2006, New Paltz shows up in the upcoming Best Places to Live and Play issue of National Geographic Adventure. New Paltz falls into a category called Best Mountain Towns in the September issue of the magazine.