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Marta Bolton Quilliam A Nice Day Becomes an Ice Day After hiking 7.5 miles to Uphill Lean-to, we split up with two of the guys; they want to climb Cliff Mountain. Our bushwhack with snowshoes up 4,606-foot Mount Redfield, the second-highest trailless peak in the Adirondacks , is difficult, through thick trees, so we opt to ascend via frozen Uphill Brook as far as we can. I am now in the lead, breaking trail up the snow-covered brook and trying to be cautious. We come upon a frozen waterfall, hidden underneath snow, looking like nothing more hazardous than a steep climb. I get to its base and suddenly—crack, snapple, pop— I’m floating on a sheet of ice. Tom reaches out to grab me but somehow I slide off and go down into the freezing water. I’m now up to my waist in water, not even touching bottom, screaming for help, in danger of going under the ice and drowning or—at the very least—getting completely soaked on this very cold day. Tom tries to pull me out, but only gets a grip on my coat. This keeps me from going in any deeper. He is worried that the ice might break under him, as well, if he gets any closer. Mike and Joe snowshoe down the steep bank to help; by distributing their weight to get better leverage, the three men are finally able to pull me out and back onto firm ice—it takes all of them to rescue me from the icy waters. We bushwhack up the bank, find a clearing, get dry socks on my feet, then put plastic bags over them before putting my boots back on. I don’t want to ruin this hike for the others and urge us to continue. The men keep asking me how I’m doing. Because I desperately want to push ahead, I say that I’m okay and hope for the best. But within 10 minutes, my feet are feeling like two iceboxes. I cry silently to myself—my feet are so frozen—and I worry. Finally I have to admit that it isn’t working—the fresh socks are already wet and the boots are very cold. We turn around and descend to Uphill Lean-to as quickly as possible. I lie down in the lean-to while Tom and Joe remove my frozen snowshoes , boots, and wet-again socks, put me in a space blanket, then rest my 176 pe a k e x pe r i e n ces frozen feet under their jackets on their bare chests. Mike gathers wood for a fire. It takes 20 minutes before my feet feel better, but meanwhile my body temperature is dropping from inactivity, increasing the danger of both frostbite and hypothermia. I go into a shiver even though I’m wrapped in the space blanket to preserve body heat. Before Mike can get a fire going, we all agree that I have to get moving to increase my circulation . The men put dry socks on my feet—our only concern is to get out the 7.5 miles as quickly as possible. Luckily I run into a friend at Marcy Dam; I don’t hesitate to ask for dry socks, which she has. I feel like the Dry Wool Socks Thief. Now I always carry more pairs of wool socks with me—another lesson of winter hiking. I received mild frostbite to my toes. Cliff Note Tony Goodwin writes in Guide to Adirondack Trails: High Peaks Region, “It is imperative that persons travel in groups of not less than four and be outfitted properly when winter conditions prevail.” Climbing the high peaks in winter requires a team effort in most cases—for breaking trail, climbing cliffs, sharing advice, ensuring safety, and keeping spirits high. Strong friendships are forged in these shared experiences. For example, consider this bizarre incident: while camping with a large group, Jo and Cindie pitched their tent in what looked like a snow-covered meadow—but was actually the snow- and ice-covered Opalescent River. When Jo left the tent to answer the call of nature, her headlamp conked out and she fell through the ice up to her waist. Cindie heard a faint call and struggled out of her sleeping bag. She found Jo, helped her back to the tent, then stripped the clothes off Jo’s lobster-red body. The two friends...

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