Jenkins Mountain: There and Back Again

Rain poured out of the sky when I woke up on Sunday. Ugh, it would be a gym day. By the time I fed Ziggy and sat down to my own breakfast, it was sunny. Maybe a run was in the cards after all. Half an hour later, the sky clouded over. One thing I’ve learned since moving to Saranac Lake: If you don’t like the weather, just wait.

The sun came out again; I checked the weather forecast. Fifty percent chance of showers. The heck with this, I was going out. I mixed up a batch of sports drink, made a recovery sandwich and headed for Paul Smith’s Visitor Interpretive Center — the VIC.

Back in October, I’d taken a shot at Jenkins Mountain. But I’d made the mistake of meandering around the VIC for 90 minutes first. A third of the way there, I realized that I’d bitten off more than I could chew for the day. I bailed.

At just under 2500 feet, Jenkins is far from being one of the Adirondack High Peaks. But there’s still a lot of snow at higher elevations, and I don’t yet own snowshoes. The previous weekend, I’d learned that the hard way above 2800 feet on Loon Lake Mountain. Thought I could get away without micro spikes or snowshoes. Wrong.

Instead of parking right at the center, I drove to the VIC’s Black Pond trail head on Keese Mills Road. Although it would be out and back with no chance of making a loop, this looked to be the most direct route. I shrugged into my hydration pack and set out.

The first mile, the trail ran alongside Black Pond. I heard spring peepers and saw turtles sunning themselves on a log. As I passed the end of Black Pond, I heard a loon’s mournful cry. The forest opened up again as I came to Lost Pond. I stopped for a moment, looking around. There was the loon, in the middle of the pond. It dove underwater and surfaced 30 seconds later, several yards away. Always fortunate to see one of these birds.

Lost Pond dead-ended into the Jenkins Mountain ski trail. I turned left and kept going. A couple of longish hills. At a bend to the left, there’s a privy which I think marks the jumping off point for the Ron Kon backcountry trails. A little bit further, and there’s a quite sophisticated beaver pond with two lodges and two dams. I crossed the dam and climbed up a little rise. To my left there was a second beaver pond that the first one drained in to. Sophisticated critters.

Leaving the beaver ponds, the trail narrowed from fire road to singletrack. I ran along the top of an esker for a while before the trail dropped down. For a mile or more, it followed the contour lines. Typical Adirondacks: a longish, relatively easy trail before the final push to the summit.

The sky clouded over again, and I felt a sprinkle of raindrops. I trotted out a technique that’s gotten me out of trouble many times over the years: Out loud, I said, “No rain until I’m within a mile of my car!” The rain stopped.

Deciduous trees were budding. Trout lilies blossomed. A big, hooking right turn, and the final push to Jenkins’s summit loomed. Not as steep as some — I’m looking at you, Mount Colden — but I slowed from a run to a walk. After half a mile of steady climbing, another turn. Thirty meters away, yellow blazes marked DEC land as I scrambled up the final rock face. At this elevation, one is still below tree line, but there were a couple of open ledges that afforded a view.

With the overcast, I couldn’t see as far as I might have liked. Without the sun, I guessed that I was looking south due to the many lakes. I took a couple of photographs and had a snack. Then it was time to go.

As I turned back onto the Lost Pond trail, my right knee reminded me that it’s nine months overdue for a gel injection, and I slowed down. Run eight steps, walk a bunch. Repeat. On cue, it started raining, with less than 1.5 miles left to my car. The loon was gone for whatever shelter they use in foul weather. On Black Pond, a dozen boaters paddled around in canoes and kayaks, some of them casting for trout.

If there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s that if one takes a chance when the weather looks sketchy, one often comes back with a good day. Today was one of those days.