The Great Outdoors

It is an hour before sunset in the Catskill Mountains when we suddenly lose the trail and can’t find it again. We are 20 miles into a 25 mile hike along the Long Path, a trail that runs from outside New York City to outside Albany, a distance of over 300 miles. The Long Path snakes through the Catskills on several existing trails, including the one we are on now and though it has been well marked for most of day—in fact, all of the day—the trail markers have abruptly stopped and we have no idea which way to go. The section we are on is a new trail extension from Plateau Mountain to Mt. Tremper and it hasn’t seen a lot of traffic lately, if at all. It is overgrown and thorn bushes have literally left their mark on both of us. Usually, a trail in the Catskills would not be hard to follow; it would be well worn and easily to spot. That is not the case now. Looking up, my hiking companion for the day—and instigator of today’s hike—says cheerfully, in an English accent not tempered by years of living in America, “not to worry, I have a compass.” I think, “oh, great” with a down inflection on “great”. A couple of hours later, after bushwhacking over hill and dale, we find the trail and I again think “oh, great,” though this time with an exclamation point and a smile. Not only does Stewart have a compass, he knows how to use it too. It has been an epic day and as we head down off Mt. Tremper in the dark I can see myself telling the story of how we almost get lost in the Catskill Mountains.

The story begins months ago on a winter hike over the Blackhead Range. Stewart Dutfield of Catskill has invited me out for that day hike and along the way he proposes to hike the sections of the Long Path that run through these mountains. In the ensuing months, we make a few attempts to tackle some of those many miles however more often than not I had to bail out, for one reason or another. Now, in late October, we are poised to cover the 25-ish miles between Platte Clove and Mt. Tremper, on the Devil’s Path for most of the way. What lay in between those points is 4 of the 35 Catskills over 3500 feet including Indian Head Mountain, the double summits of Twin Mountain, the sweet sounding Sugarloaf Mountain, followed by Plateau Mountain. After each summit comes a descent too, with each step down giving back the altitude previously gained. Down into places like Jimmy Dolan Notch, Pecoy Notch, Mink Hollow and Silver Hollow we will go, followed by ascents back up and out to a named summit, with many smaller unnamed dips and climbs to fill out the day. Stewart and I do our usual trip planning via e-mail and perhaps it is the casual nature of the exchanges that lead to my underestimating the day. Truth be told, we would be hard-pressed to cover that distance in the waning daylight of the season had we not gotten lost; a breezy “6 or 7 hours” is my response, however, when my wife asks how long I think we will be out.

The day before our hike, Stewart had enlisted friends to pick him up at the Mt. Tremper trailhead, where he left his car. Our hike would be one way: we would park in Platte Clove, leave my car, hike the trail, pick up Stewart’s car and drive back to mine. The morning of the hike was bright and sunny after a day of hard rain and a chill, one of the first of the season, filled the air. I made my way into the Village of Catskill, to the Victorian home of Stewart and his family. Perched on a hill above the town, the house, I was told, had seasonal views of the mountains we were headed for and an inspiration, no doubt. By 8:30 we were parked at the trailhead on Platte Clove Road and a few minutes later we crossed a fine wooden bridge, a reconstruction of the type used by loggers and travelers in these parts a hundred years ago. The small creek that ran underneath the bridge bubbled with exuberance as the mountain top runoff made its way down towards the Hudson. The trail was wet as we began our first ascent of the day and I carefully picked my way around the deeper pools of water, hoping to keep my feet dry for as long as possible. In contrast, Stewart splashed joyfully through the water and I smiled at the difference in our styles. A measured and accurate man, I could trust the details to Stewart and did so often. He had moved to these parts from the Pacific Northwest and was an accomplished outdoorsman, ultra runner and kayaker. He also seemed always prepared. On the other hand, I was nonchalant about things perhaps I shouldn’t have been—more about that later—and overly concerned about things like keeping my feet dry. We happily trudged along, bantering about this and that and occasionally, as we made our way to Indian Head, we came upon others on the trail enjoying the autumn splendor. 40 or some minutes later we popped out on a ledge and shared the stunning northern views back over Platte Clove and towards Kaaterskill High Peak with a small group of hikers up from New York City for the day. The summit—a distance the trail marker had pegged at a little over two miles—lay a few minutes beyond and after a brief respite at the first of many stunning viewpoints, continued on to the 3573' high point. Our pace had seemed reasonable at this point and I did the math—three miles in an hour so far—and thought “okay, maybe eight hours for the day.” Stewart and I were both traveling light and some running had been planned, and I figured I’d make a cell phone call when we got clear of the trees and could anticipate a signal.

From Indian Head it was down into Jimmy Dolan Notch and I wondered aloud who Jimmy Dolan was and how did he get a notch named for him. Stewart did not know the answer and that surprised me because he is always surprising me with the things he does know, of which there are many. We had dropped about 500 feet into the notch and began the climb up and out, towards Twin Mountain. We reached the first, false summit and came out from under deep balsam pine cover into bright sunshine atop the flat stone. Our view was now southeast and close enough to touch, it seemed, was Overlook Mountain. And overlook it does, with the village of Woodstock at its feet, though hidden from our view. We could, however, make out the communications tower that stands near the ruins of the Overlook Mountain house, as well as the fire tower that marked its summit. It struck me that more than likely, on a day as nice as this one, someone was probably on the fire tower—you can climb it if you make the hike there—and taking in the northwest view of Twin Mountain and wondering if anyone was there. I asked Stewart for his phone and made the first of many fruitless attempts to reach my wife to revise our E.T.A. We made a short dip and climb to the true summit of Twin and began a big descent down into Pecoy Notch, a place whose name didn’t inspire curiosity. It was a steep and somewhat treacherous down climb and the first, faint feelings of fatigue tingled through me. The effort so far had been moderate, and though we were moving well, time was not. We passed the three hour mark as we made our way down into Pecoy and headed up the other side to Sugarloaf.

The climb to Sugarloaf was what the guide books call “strenuous” and we did our best to make quick work of it. While progress and momentum felt good, however, the clock started to work against us. We passed a group of hikers near the top and we paused to exchange small talk and itineraries. The other hikers seemed to be led by an outgoing and engaging man who, upon hearing Stewart speak, proclaimed “You are Irish?” His own English was accented itself, perhaps Korean, and he was pleased when Stewart proclaimed “English, actually.” Along the way, Stewart had nicked his knee on some sharp stone and some dried blood now marked the spot. The leader of their group expressed concern for Stewart but was easily assuaged that is was only a small scratch. He was less eased though, when we told him of our plan to hike the trail to Mt. Tremper, having come from Platte Clove. With a low whistle, he shook his head and looked back towards where we had just come from. For my part, I was more concerned about where we still had to go and so off we moved, quickly passing a few more of the large group on our way to the third 3500 peak of the day. The way off the backside of Sugarloaf was more like a small brook than a dry hiking trail as the we sloshed our way down the rocky terrain into Mink Hollow. In the hollow, the Devil’s Path intersected with another short trail. We were over four hours into the day and, according to the yellow lettered brown trail sign, we had covered just over seven miles. The hope was to make better time once we topped out on Plateau Mountain, our last 3500'—and the highest at 3840 feet—peak of the day. I knew from experience that making a left would bring us to a road in no more than 30 minutes. In fact, making a right would do the same and I thought about making a shorter day than planned. My concern was beating darkness and getting word to our wives, but the day had taken on a momentum of its own, so after a food and drink break, we moved onward and upward.

It was still early in the day as we followed the trail markers up the steep slope and winding trail and we passed another hiker and his dog as they came off of Plateau. A little further on we encountered two more hikers heading down and in passing they asked how many peaks we were doing that day. Once again, the response was one of concerned awe. The fact that these hikers were headed down—and presumably out—was not lost on me as we climbed ever higher and moved ever deeper along the Devil’s Path. Stewart was still confident about our progress and despite an occasion coughing fit (a bronchial infection had before simmering in him for a few days) was still very cheerful. In fact, so was I: the day was beautiful, the sky blue, we had food and drink, the companionship was super, and, while we were feeling the effort, our legs still felt good. The top of Plateau Mountain, long and flat, beckoned and on we went. The trail here opened up and near the summit we paused to fish Stewart’s cell phone from his pack once again, though for naught. I was concerned, though not for us; I didn’t want our loved ones to worry. It was early afternoon, near the time I thought we’d be finished, and we were still miles from our destination. We continued on the Devil’s Path though for only a short while longer: There was a new trail connection for the Long Path to Mt.Tremper and when we reached the intersection, we made a south turn leaving the Devil’s Path behind. The new trail had been cut recently and on our hiking maps—Catskills trail map 41 in the New York/New Jersey trail conference series—still showed up as a dotted line with “proposed” written underneath it. Proposed no longer, the trail was reality and was soft underfoot, a welcome feeing after the hard sharp craggy climbs. Those climbs were behind us now and we started to make good time, even managing to run a little. Indeed, a trail sign had informed us that it was just over 10 miles to the Mt. Tremper fire tower and if we kept up the pace we might make it there by dinner time.

An hour later, the trail had gone from clear and easy to follow to thorn-crossed and obscured. The blue trail markers were our only guide and often we found ourselves off trail and backtracking to find a marker. The well trodden Devil’s Path trail, worn clear by years of use by hikers, seemed like an interstate highway compared to the seemingly little-used path we were on now. Our trail map showed the contours of the terrain in front of us and there didn’t seem to be any big climbs left to the day. It was, of course, still the Catskill Mountains and descents and ascents of a few hundred feet occurred with regularity. We tried the cell phone again and still had no luck. Bottoming out in Silver Hollow, we came across an old logging road and once again had a choice: We could follow the road out to Route 214 north of Lanesville or we could soldier on. The epic nature of the day was dawning on me and despite the concerns I knew our wives would be feeling, we were compelled to carry on. Another trail sign said seven miles to the fire tower and I figured two, maybe two-and-a-half hours to it, leaving us just enough time to beat sunset. An hour later, we came upon Warner Creek, a swift moving thirty-foot-wide stream. Stewart cheerfully found a shallow enough spot to cross in the knee deep mountain stream. I headed downstream to find some rocks to pick my way across and finding the stream deeper and swifter there gave up trying to preserve my mostly dry feet. I plunged in to the crystal brook and was pleasantly surprised to find that the cool, clear water invigorated my tired feet. Our lower legs and ankles were raw, too, from the recent miles of thorns we had endured and the water felt good on them as well. We followed the blue markers as they paralled the creek for a while, crossing several feeder streams rushing off the top of whatever hill we now faced. While we thought our climbing was done for the day, we now faced a steep climb up along a rushing nameless torrent. The effort was big at this point in the day and I could see the sun angling low in the trees above. We made the climb with effort while also losing the trial markers a few times along the way.

And then the day turned truly epic. The trail markers just stopped. We got to a place and there was a downed tree with a trail marker on it that someone had propped up and bound to a smaller tree using what looked like a shoelace and that was it, no more markers. We circled around looking for any indication of which way the trail went and found none. Overgrown and lightly traveled, wherever the trail was formerly now lay hidden to us. One of the goals of the day had been to use this new trail to gauge its place alongside other Catskill trails and right about now it wasn’t rating too high. We had hoped the trail would lead us easily from Plateau Mountain to the trail leading to Mt.Tremper and now that hope, as well as the trail, had faded. Until, that is, Stewart smiled and brought out his compass and trail map and laid a course for where he thought we would intersect with the red trail markers of the Mt. Tremper trail. Like a hound with a scent, Stewart followed a compass bearing he thought was right and no matter what obstacle lay in our way, we stuck to it. Over and around large rock outcroppings and though thick tree cover we went. Several times I thought to go a different way, inspired by the contour of the land or what seemed like an easier path but too many stories of survival attempts gone bad had begun that way, so I gave myself up to the leadership of Stewart and followed along. The land was rising again and after an hour of bushwhacking we seemed to have topped out somewhere and lo and behold we found ourselves on a trail with red markers. I resolved then and there to learn how to use a compass and as the dusk deepened we double timed our way towards the fire tower and Mt.Tremper.

It was full on dark when we finally got a cell signal. We were on the carriage trail leading down from Mt.Tremper, our way lit by Stewart’s flashlight—another essential he had pulled from his pack moments earlier—and we could see the lights of Phoenicia twinkling through the trees below us. Concerned, upset and relieved, our loved ones had begun the process of finding us. A call had been placed to a friend who knew the trail and he was on his way to see if Stewart’s car was still at the trailhead parking area. It would not have been too much longer before the authorities had been called and as a bright moon rose over the mountain and almost reduced the need for a flashlight at all, I felt badly to have worried our folks back home. It had been 11 hours instead of six or seven and darkness was all about the region. Rightfully, our wives had been concerned. Rightfully, too, we had hiked the Long Path from Platte Clove to Mt. Tremper and had lived to tell the tale.

Accessing the Devil’s Path and the Long Path

The Devil’s Path or the Long Path can be taken in much more bite-sized pieces than the one we took in October. Accessible by many trailheads and roads with short hikes of anywhere from an hour to several, the trail is nonetheless challenging and a degree of fitness is needed. Also suggested is proper footwear, water and some food. Trails are usually well marked and maintained and the maps can be obtained from the New York/New Jersey Trail Conference. They can be reached at 201 512 9348 or online at www.nynjtc.org

Maps can also be purchased at several locations in the area including Catskill Art and Office Supply in Kingston (845 331 7780), Kenco in Kingston (845 340 0552) and at the Catskill Mountain Foundation (map) bookstore (518 263 2050) in Hunter.