Mt. Marcy | New York ( #35)

An Adirondack Adventure I’ll Never Forget

Mount Marcy, the highest point in New York at 5,344 feet (ranked 21st among U.S. state high points), became my 35th state high point — and one I’ll never forget.

Most of my summit stories begin with sweeping views and triumphant moments. This one began with rain sweeping sideways, fog swallowing the treetops, slick boulders running with water, and wind strong enough to push you off balance. And yet, in its own rugged way, it became one of the most meaningful Adirondack climbs I’ve done on this journey.

Marcy gave us no views.
But it gave us a story that will stay with me forever.
And a group of friends who found their way through all of it together.

In terms of sheer intensity, this climb rivaled — and in some ways exceeded — my experience on Mount Katahdin.

Different mountains, different terrain, but the same reminder: when conditions turn, the margin for error disappears fast.

The Stats (Because I Always Start Here)

• High Point: Mt. Marcy, 5,344 ft
• Trail: Van Hoevenberg Trail
• Distance: ~15.4 miles (actual)
• Elevation Gain: 3,924 feet
• Total Time: 11 hrs 40 min
• Weather: Constant rain, cold fog, 35 mph summit gusts
• Traffic: Only two groups seen all day
• Difficulty: Hard, even for experienced hikers
• Summit Views: Zero
• Summit Satisfaction: 100%

Photo: Spotted at 5,344 feet: fog, wind, and this plaque.

How This Adventure Even Began

Two years ago, when I started the quest to summit all 50 state high points, my childhood friend John told me, “If you ever hike Mt. Marcy and our schedules line up, I want in.” They never did. And Marcy sat on the list, waiting — the only high point east of the Mississippi I hadn’t done.

Then 2025 rolled around.
Our Cornell reunion was set for June in Ithaca, and suddenly the idea clicked.
This was the moment to finally do it.

The group slowly came together:

• John, childhood friend and fellow Cornell alum, who insisted he wasn’t going to reunion… and then went anyway.
• Yasamin, a dear friend, always up for an adventure, and my reunion host, was in as soon as I mentioned it.
• My sister Vicki, part of the upstate NY hiking mafia with Yasamin and me, retired and somehow busier than ever, who initially said she’d sleep on a sofa if she joined, and ultimately committed.
• Steve S., John’s friend and fellow Cornell alum, who drove up from the Hudson Valley to meet us.
• And a couple who thought about joining, then backed out early (perhaps sensing the Adirondacks had plans for us).

It was, in so many ways, the perfect mix of personalities: old friends, new connections, people who’d never hiked together before, and a shared curiosity about what Marcy might have in store.

Leading up to the climb, news of rescues on Katahdin and of a hiker carried eight miles out of the Adirondacks reminded us that this mountain — especially in bad weather — demanded respect.

And respect it got.

A Warm-Up in Ithaca (and an Omen)

During the reunion, I offered to lead a short hike at Buttermilk Falls, mainly as a warm-up. Only Yasamin and a classmate, Roberta, took me up on it.

What was supposed to be an easy outing — a 4.5-mile loop with modest elevation — quickly turned into a baptism by rain. It poured the entire time, and we were completely soaked by the end.

I didn’t know it yet, but the Adirondacks had been taking notes.

Photos: Buttermilk Falls Hike (3 Day before Marcy): Yasamin and Me | The Gorge | Roberta and Me

Photo: 2 Days before Marcy: Cornell Class of ’85 – we showed up in force – and no rain.

Fuel Before the High Peaks

Before heading to the High Peaks, we stopped at Mill House Market in Pulaski, where I had an herbed crepe filled with smoked salmon, capers, and red onion, topped with a fried egg and served on a bed of arugula. It was indulgent, rich, and perfect fuel.

By pure chance, we ran into John there. He’d stopped because I’d mentioned the spot during the Cornell reunion, even though I had no idea when he was heading up to the Adirondacks.

If you’re in the area, it’s absolutely worth a stop.

Photos: Mill House Market | Smoked Salmon Crepe | The calm before the storm, literally.

Basecamp at Ampersand Bay Resort

We reached Ampersand Bay Resort that afternoon and were greeted by our friend Steve S. and Brian, the GM, who gave us a tour of our spacious suite — five beds, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a full kitchen, and room to spare.

Brian even brought us a charcuterie board and champagne to welcome us. Everything about our stay felt warm and meaningful, especially knowing the owner, Jacob, is a fellow Cornell Hotelie.

Photos: A glimpse inside our lakeside suite at Ampersand Bay Resort — rustic Adirondack charm, huge windows, and views of Saranac Lake from practically every room.

Photos: Charcuterie Board | Ampersand Bay Resort – Our Suite was the top floor | View of Saranac Lake

Later that day, we took one of the resort’s pontoon boats out onto Saranac Lake. I captained — poorly — but we still made it around without crashing, which felt like a small win before the big climb. The lake and surrounding mountains were absolutely stunning.

Photos: Views on Saranac Lake | Captain Steve

After the boat ride, we headed into town for dinner at RiverTrail Beer Works, a local brewery with great food and an easygoing vibe. And because this crew loves soft serve, we made a beeline for Donnelly’s Soft Ice Cream afterward. Donnelly’s is quirky and beloved, offering only one flavor a day, always served as a twist. On our visit it was chocolate and vanilla, my favorite — served flat. Check out the pictures — flat ice cream is exactly what it sounds like.

Photos: Rivertrail Beerworks | Jamaican Crunch Wrap | Fish & Chips

Photo: Soft serve and hiking, a ritual. Steve S. and John thought this was optional. It was not.

Hike Morning: The Energy Was Electric

Everyone was up by 5:00 AM — excited, buzzing, and ready. As Yasamin later said, “My most memorable moment was waking up and seeing everyone already up and excited. The unknown made it even more fun.”

We left the resort at 5:45 AM for the 30-minute drive to Adirondack Loj. All five of us piled into the car, and along the way the three of us pointed out a potential post-hike soft-serve stop — because that’s our tradition. The upstate NY hiking mafia always finds ice cream. We even slowed down to take in the massive ski jumps at the Lake Placid Ski Jumping Complex — an unexpected bit of sightseeing before the work began.

Parking was straightforward: $18 for the day. With no real cell service to rely on, you’ll need to go old school and fill out the envelope by hand, so bring a pen. And yes — it’s cash (exact change) or a check, if you somehow still travel with a checkbook. Once we geared up, we stepped onto the trail at 6:32 AM.

Photo: Our pre-hike optimism at Adirondack Loj – before the rain, the wind, the boulders, and the character-building began. (L to R: Me, Vicki, Yasamin, John, Steve S)

The forest was damp, foggy, and quiet — the kind of calm that makes you think the day might unfold perfectly.

In a way, it did. Just not the way we imagined.

Photos: Early miles from Adirondack Loj to Marcy Dam — fresh legs, good spirits, and the last dry moments we’d see all day.

Marcy Dam — Still On Track

The first 2.3 miles to Marcy Dam are gentle and mostly flat. We hit it right on schedule. The fog hung heavy over the trees, but spirits were high.

It was around Marcy Dam when we felt the first light drops — nothing dramatic, just enough to make us glance up at the sky. The real shift came after the Phelps Brook crossing. The rain picked up, the air grew heavier, and the trail slowly began turning slick.

Photos: Me, Steve S, John at Marcy Dam | Bridge over Creek |
Creek | One of the Many Trail Signs

Photos: Phelps Brook Crossing | Phelps Brook | Yasamin, Vicki, Steve S, and John

Indian Falls: A Brief Refuge

By the time we reached Indian Falls, the rain had settled into something steadier. The lookout — normally known for sweeping views — offered nothing but white mist. The trees around the falls gave us brief shelter, and we took a few minutes to refuel and recalibrate.

We didn’t know it yet, but this would be the warmest we’d feel until we reached the bottom again.

Photos: Indian Falls — the only “view” we got all day, and even that came wrapped in fog, rain, and a very slick reminder that Marcy was just getting started.

The Weather Turns Mean

It was after Indian Falls when the rain went from steady to constant. Higher up, the temperature dropped sharply. Clothes clung to our skin. Gloves soaked through. Wind pushed us sideways on exposed rock.

This was where the small challenges began adding up — Vicki slipped and hurt her knee. Yasamin, like all of us, grew cold, wet, and exhausted. As Vicki later said, this was probably one of the hardest hikes she has ever done, both in terms of terrain — a rock scramble for what felt like 75% of the way — and the conditions, with pelting rain and cold at the top.

Photos: After Indian Falls, the trail stopped pretending to be a trail and fully committed to being a river — and we just kept climbing.

A Decision Point on the Mountain

Right before the steeper scramble, Yasamin made the smart call to pause and wait in a sheltered spot that looked a bit like a cave. It’s one of the most important lessons in hiking: knowing your limits isn’t a sign of weakness — it’s good judgment. I genuinely admire her for listening to her body and making the safest choice in tough conditions. It’s never easy to stop when the summit is close, but it was absolutely the right decision, and it’s one I respect deeply.

We thought she had her emergency blanket and we thought we’d be quick. Well, we were wrong on all counts. But we did see two hikers coming down and asked them to check on her. 

In hindsight, we all agreed: we shouldn’t have left her alone. It was also a good reminder of a simple best practice — always carry a pencil, an index card, and a small plastic bag so you can leave a note if plans change (for example, “headed down with the two women”). Just one more proof that mountains don’t care about our plans. But in the moment, with the weather worsening and the summit so close, we continued upward.

Photos: The first big boulder scramble |
Heads down and focused in the rain

The Boulder Scramble:
Vicki’s Quote of the Hike

At noon, our target summit time, we reached a slick boulder scramble in heavy rain. This section required careful footing, teamwork, and, at times, a bit of humility.

This is where Vicki delivered the now-legendary line of the trip: “All three guys touched my butt, but I didn’t care.”

She meant it literally — climbing assistance — but in that moment it summed up the conditions perfectly: slippery, awkward, and requiring absolute trust in one another.

The wind grew fierce. Rain hit sideways. And the false summit played its cruel trick.

This was no longer a hike. This was a determination test.

Photo: This was the spot — the slick, slanted scramble where Vicki delivered the quote of the hike: “All three guys touched my butt, but I didn’t care.” Conditions explained everything.

The Summit: Nothing to See,
Everything to Feel

We reached the top, but could barely tell. Zero visibility, no sweeping Adirondack panorama, no dramatic reveal — just wind, cold, and the knowledge that we’d made it.

I was so focused on moving forward in the wind and rain that I didn’t even realize we’d reached the summit until John or Steve said, “Here’s the plaque.” In those conditions, the top looked exactly like everything below it — fog, rock, and more fog — just with angrier wind.

John later shared how intense it really was: “I tried to go up to the area above the plaque and was literally pushed back down the wet bedrock by the wind.”

We snapped a few quick photos — leaning into gusts that felt like they could lift us — and began heading down almost immediately. There was no lingering, no celebratory panorama, just a brief moment to acknowledge that we’d made it.

Vicki later echoed that while the sense of accomplishment was huge, it was the camaraderie and the way everyone supported each other under such extreme circumstances that made the summit meaningful. For all its wind and fog, it became a moment defined not by the view, but by the group that reached it together.

Photo: Soaked, freezing, wind-whipped… and absolutely thrilled. Our “no-views summit photo” at the Mt. Marcy plaque — proof we made it.

Photos: Summit Photos: Sister and Brother | John and Steve S.

The Descent: Slow, Slick, and Full of Worry

The descent tested us more than the climb ever could. The first part of the descent was brutally slow: steep, wet boulder scrambles, gusts of wind, and tired legs. As John later summed it up, it was “a bit more grueling than expected,” and the weather really was “a bitch.”

When we reached the cave and Yasamin wasn’t there, my stomach tightened. We assumed she’d gone down with the hikers ahead — she is nothing if not resourceful — but the uncertainty hung over us. No signal. 

As we continued our descent, the mood shifted. The forest felt darker, the rocks wetter, the footing more unforgiving. For the most part, conversation disappeared. Each of us slipped into a quiet, focused rhythm.

Carrying the Responsibility Down

For me, this is where the weight of responsibility fully set in.

I was cold, tired, and hurting. But I was also the leader, and leaders don’t get to fall apart.

As John later put it, the way down was where the strength of the group really showed — helping Vicki after her fall, waiting for him when he slowed on the slick rock, and worrying about Yasamin the whole way.

Even exhausted, soaked, and fighting the wind, everyone looked out for one another.

I watched every member of our group while simultaneously watching the trail:
Was Vicki’s knee getting worse?
Was John still steady?
How was Steve holding up?
Were their hands getting dangerously cold?
How much daylight did we realistically have left?

Every footstep mattered. Every decision mattered.
And beneath it all was the quiet worry about Yasamin.

Hours later, when I finally got a signal, her message came through: She was safe. She had connected with two women who had passed earlier. Relief hit instantly.

Photos: Yasamin | Yasamin and the two women who helped guide her down – her trail angels

Later, we found out that the High Peaks Center had unexpectedly closed for staff training. With nowhere else to warm up, she waited in the public bathroom, cycling the hand dryer over and over as the hours passed and she waited for us.

The Mountain Finally Lets Go

As we moved out of the more treacherous part of the trail and descended lower on the mountain, the terrain finally softened. The rocks were less punishing, the grade less severe, and I was even able to snap a few photos. These were the only pictures I took since the summit; I’d been too focused on the group and conserving my battery to take any earlier.

We spotted a bright orange Red Eft (the juvenile Eastern Newt), one of the Adirondacks’ most iconic little hikers. I also noticed Indian Poke, or Corn-Lily, a dramatic, sculptural plant that looks beautiful but is highly toxic. And along the forest floor, we found clusters of Bunchberry, the delicate ground-cover dogwood that thrives in these cool, shaded woods.

Small pockets of color and life that felt strangely comforting after the chaos up top.

Photos: Indian Poke / Corn-Lily | Red Eft | Bunchberry

By the time we stepped off the trail and onto flat ground at Adirondack Loj, it was 6:10 PM.
Eleven hours and forty minutes after we began.

I can’t fully describe the flood of relief I felt seeing everyone safe, together, and upright.

Photo: We made it — tired, soaked, and smiling at the Adirondack Loj finish line.

Lessons Learned

Despite my extensive preparation list, there were still some hard lessons learned on this hike, many of them courtesy of the weather. We didn’t expect the rain to be quite so relentless. Vicki’s phone and backup battery both died because they weren’t sealed in plastic bags. Steve S had his own simple takeaway: Next time, bring waterproof gloves and pack everything in waterproof bags inside your backpack.

Vicki later said that not bringing the right clothing was a tough lesson she won’t forget. You can put up with a lot of bad weather when you’re properly dressed; without the right layers, it’s at best less enjoyable and at worst borderline dangerous.

For my part, I kept my phone off most of the day, only turning it on sporadically to conserve battery in case we needed it in an emergency. Even with all the planning and lists, Marcy reminded me that the mountains always have another detail to teach you.

Back at the Resort:
Food, Wine, and Reflection

We showered, thawed out, and headed downstairs to Sunset Grill for dinner — conveniently located beneath our suite. The food was excellent, the wine well-earned, and the laughter some of the best I’ve heard in a long time.

As Steve S put it: “It was a long slog, but a very satisfying sense of accomplishment at the end.” I had warned the group about the possibility of those nasty black flies – notorious in the Adirondacks during the summer – and Steve S, in his dry humor, summed it up: “The good thing about driving rain and 30 mph winds is no bugs. The bad thing about no bugs is… driving rain and 30 mph winds.”

By dessert, everyone declared, “This is the last mountain we’re ever hiking.” You know that’s not happening!

Photo: A well-earned toast at Sunset Grill — dry clothes, red wine, and the collective realization that maybe… just maybe… we’re not done hiking after all. 🍷

Photos: Two well-earned dinners at Sunset Grill — proof that nothing tastes better than a hot meal after 11+ hours on the mountain | Trout Piccata | Duck with a Cherry Sauce

The Morning After

The next morning, we woke to the faint thump of EDM music floating up through the floor — a surprise from Brian, who had learned I loved it and queued it up in my honor. It was such a small gesture, but it felt like the perfect exhale after the previous day’s intensity. We thanked him for an incredible stay and, before heading out, gathered for one last photo — tired legs, full hearts, and just a hint of disbelief at what we’d pulled off together.

Photo: Our official “we survived” goodbye shot with Brian. Not totally sure why we’re holding up five fingers… maybe to celebrate that all five of us actually made it back down.

Final Thoughts

Mt. Marcy didn’t give us views.
It didn’t give us sunshine.
There was no cinematic summit moment.
It was not a postcard summit.

It gave us something far better:
A story we’ll tell forever.
A challenge that demanded teamwork.
A reminder of how quickly conditions can turn.
Proof of how deeply people can rely on one another.
A shared accomplishment that means more precisely because it wasn’t easy.

As Yasamin put it afterward, she wouldn’t have changed a thing; the unknown of what was ahead was exactly what made it so magical and memorable with this group.

For me, Mt. Marcy wasn’t beautiful. But it was unforgettable.

Catch you on the Summit!

Date of Climb: 9 June 2025

Photo: Summit Selfie