Unnamed Slim Pond
Sunny skies greet me on my first morning in the backcountry on my nine-day trip within the southern Five Ponds Wilderness of the northwestern Adirondack Park. After some light rain in the evening yesterday, the sun on the tree tops surrounding Diana Pond are a welcome sign, hopefully a harbinger of things to come for the rest of the day. Given the limited progress made yesterday, today is bound to be a long day, and a lot less painful one in nice weather.
Unfortunately, the evening rain was enough to get everything nice and wet, so my early morning bushwhack is liable to be a tad more uncomfortable than necessary. The thought of cold, wet branches hitting my face and lashing my body makes emerging from my sleeping bag more difficult, but an urge to relieve myself finally compels me to do so.
Section Stats:
Date: June 26, 2015
Length: 1.3 miles (1.3 total daily miles; 7.6 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Moderate
The birds must share my trepidation, as the morning chorus appears especially sedate given the sunny morning in late June. The absence of bird songs does not mean it is quiet however, as spring peepers and green frogs continue their calling, as they did throughout the night. Adding to the cacophony, a nearby red squirrel chatters enthusiastically, most likely in protest to my presence.
As I go about my morning chores, the relative quiet is interrupted by the frequent rumble from the west, which I take for artillery practice from Fort Drum near Watertown. At a lost for other explanations, this assumption has to suffice until another explanation presents itself. The rumbles stopped last night around nine in the evening and starts back up again at seven this morning. Although my conscious mind knows it is no threat to me, my subconscious seems to stay alert throughout the day, most likely due to some of my past experiences.
Mornings typically require a flurry of activity and this one is no different. Breakfast needs making, requiring retrieving the food bag I hung the night before, while my sleeping stuff, the tarp and all my other gear needs packing and carefully stuffing into my poor overworked backpack. Only when these chores are complete, can I start off on my journey eastward toward Witchhopple Lake where I plan to stay along the Red Horse Trail for the night.
That is, if I am lucky.
First, it is time for some sightseeing. Diana Pond is first up, as I walk the short distance down to its shore just east of its dammed outlet. Although a smattering of clouds still appear in the sky, the sun from the east provides some great opportunities for early morning photography. After getting my fill of Diana, I trek the short distance west to Bear Pond and give it the same treatment. The sun on the trees along the western shoreline inspires me to hightail it back to my campsite, filling me with eagerness to start my day’s bushwhacking adventure.
It is a little after nine in the morning before my pack is on my back and my feet are slowly but surely moving in an eastward direction. Hugging the Diana Pond shoreline, my path takes me through an old cabin site, where I pick my way over the rusting metal roof of what once was likely a formidable building. Next in line is the old camp’s trash pile, where metal cans, glass bottles and even a few plastic containers lie scattered about, half-buried in leaf litter and other woodland debris.
Diana Pond
Bear Pond
Anthropologists can draw many conclusions from a society’s trash, but from walking over this one, I discern that all this trash should be picked up and packed out. Unfortunately, since my trip is just starting and there is so many more miles to get through before the day is done, carrying any junk around in my overstuffed backpack is not an option. It will have to wait for another trip.
Soon after leaving the trash heap, while still hugging Diana’s northern shoreline, I find a distinct herd path, complete with orange flagging to boot. The path provides some easy going for a short while, but when it turns north, I decide to continue east, since I have no idea where the trail would eventually send me. However, the trail is not done with me quite yet, as I pick it up again shortly after parting company with it.
I guess sometimes you cannot even bushwhack when you wish to.
The orange-flagged trail and I part company once again as Diana Pond disappears in the forest behind me. Heading directly for an unnamed, slim pond to the east requires descending a steep slope, something I would like to avoid with my heavy pack, laden with eight days of provisions. As a way around it, I take a 60 degree bearing, so as to push northward up and over a smaller peak, which divides me from where I have been and where I need to go.
Cabin Roof
Cabin Garbage Pile
Although I started climbing soon after leaving Diana, the ascent begins in earnest now, seemingly becoming steeper with each step. The surrounding forest transitions slowly from a mix of conifer and broadleaf trees at Diana to mostly hardwoods as I attain elevation. Mature American beech dominates but with enough yellow birch and red maple mixed in; an occasional spruce interjects a little more diversity into the mix as well.
At nearly ten in the morning, I reach the height of land and the climbing stops. With a descent in front of me, I once again change my direction, this time heading dead east until the steepest parts have passed to my south, then with a turn southeast, I should meet the slim unnamed pond along its southern end.
At least that is the plan.
Once all the planning is complete, I stow away my handheld GPS back in my rain jacket chest pocket, where I keep it during wet days. Soon I hear a thump as something hits the forest floor with a sudden crash, noticing my GPS lying on the ground. Thinking I must have accidentally placed it inside my jacket instead of the pocket, I pick it up and stow it once again where it belongs. Soon after, the thump occurs again, and again I find the GPS on the ground.
Ridge top forest
What the?!?
Now doing something like putting the GPS in my jacket instead of in the pocket can happen once perhaps, but twice? That seems unlikely. Upon inspection, I find the chest pocket has a gaping hole in it where the seam separated. Luckily, I carry plenty of duct tape, so the pocket is quickly fixed. I am lucky I did not lose the GPS before finding the hole; next time I may not be as lucky.
Climbing down from the height of land takes time, as the going is often quite steep and treacherous. While about two thirds of the way down, I nearly step into a large pile of black bear poop. Although interesting enough to make me pause momentarily, it fails to stop my descent for long. When I finally reach the bottom, there is little time to rest before I start climbing over another, albeit less substantial, ridge finally arriving at the nameless slim pond.
Scanning the rather slim pond, it appears devoid of wildlife. Without any waterfowl to watch, I almost immediately turn southwest, stopping only to remove my rain jacket and secure it into my backpack. My path takes me along the pond, following its western shoreline. As I approach the southern end of pond, the shoreline transforms into a cliff, leaving me little choice but to pull back into the forest a bit to avoid the worst of it.
Ridge top forest
Although steep at the waterline, higher up it seems crossable using a soil-filled crevice that cuts through the rock face. While slowly picking my way along the crevice, I momentarily lose my balance getting around a small tree sprouting within the thin sliver of soil, nearly causing me to plummet down the rock face and into the water below. Thanks to some fancy foot work, I reestablish my balance and keep going, no worse for wear, except for temporarily saturating myself in my own sweat. Good thing I already abandoned my rain jacket!
When I reach the southern point of the pond, it just ends. Just stops – no outlet, no dam, no nothing. It just stops. Feeling perplexed, I continue along the shoreline toward the eastern shore where I plan on continuing east toward Dismal Pond.
After climbing over a small rise, the mystery of the outlet evaporates much like the sweat from my earlier near disaster. A tall dam of sticks, tucked away in the southeastern corner, blocks much of the water from exiting through a cut, apparently flowing to the southwest toward Huckleberry Pond.
With this mystery solved, it is time for Dismal Pond. Hopefully, this water body proves more pleasant than its name implies.
Unnamed slim pond dam
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