Working the Upper Works

Some trips feel like checklists. This one felt like an awakening.

Upper Works is one of those Adirondack gateways where the day can branch in a dozen directions, and standing at that trailhead with a full overnight pack, I could feel all of them at once. The signboard, the trail names, the weight on my shoulders, all of it pointed to one thing: commit and go.

It was July: dry trail, pleasant temperatures, and that warm, fuzzy feeling of contentment all day long. This was my first solo High Peak overnight, and I could feel that in every early mile. Solo miles are quiet, but they are never empty. Every step asks a question. Is my pace right? Is each footstep placed well? Is this confidence, or just momentum?

Calamity Brook arrives quickly as both place and reminder. Passing the memorial marker gives the route gravity and perspective before the day really unfolds. The brook takes its name from David Henderson, who died here on September 3, 1845, after his pistol discharged while he was scouting water sources near Calamity Pond for the iron works at Adirondac. In a landscape this beautiful, you can still feel the weight of history.

From there, the trail settles into that steady Adirondack language of roots, stone, and gradual gain toward Flowed Lands. I enjoy the grind of a slow uphill ascent, and the rocky, rooted terrain only seemed to grow as Flowed Lands drew closer. With an overnight load, it is honest work, and in these dry July conditions the uphill completed the trilogy with only one thing missing: a good dose of Adirondack mud. Since this was my first time approaching from Upper Works, each crest, each bend, and each opening in the trees felt like a fresh reveal.

At Flowed Lands, the trip opens wide. Water, sky, and mountain lines suddenly stretch the horizon, and the day shifts from tunnel vision to panorama.

One of the best surprises of the trip came right there at the outlet: an unadvertised view toward Iroquois that stopped me in my tracks. It felt like a gift from the route, one of those moments you cannot plan and would miss entirely if you were rushing.

The walk between Flowed Lands and Lake Colden keeps delivering one strong frame after another. Boardwalk, shoreline, slide scars, and mountain walls compress into a corridor that feels both heavily traveled and completely wild.

Lake Colden itself felt like a threshold. Crossing the dam and moving along the waterline made the route feel bigger than a simple overnight. Everything around the lake has scale, and every turn hints at another major feature ahead.

With camp set for the night and a first-light Mount Colden climb planned for morning, I took an evening side trip to Avalanche Lake to see the Trap Dike, then looped back around the far side of Lake Colden. That detour brought the "one big feature after another" feeling fully into focus. Even from across the water, the Trap Dike has a presence that grabs your attention immediately.

Back at camp near the Opalescent, the day settled into that quiet backcountry rhythm. I hung a hammock and fully expected I might get the classic bear knock in the night. I am very bear-aware, so that possibility was never a fear point, just part of being responsible in that corridor and owning my decisions in the backcountry.

Summit morning started at first light, crisp and clear, and quickly turned into a summer bluebird day. While the approach to Mount Colden is shortest from Lake Colden, in my mind it is also the most intense. Each bend delivered another long set of stairs or another slab of rock to ascend, and more than once I wondered whether I was walking up a never-ending roof or a mountain. The climb from the lake side, including that extremely steep ladder section, was the crux physically and mentally. As my first solo High Peak summit, it felt less like checking a box and more like stepping into a new level of personal responsibility.

Soloing in terrain like this gives you uninterrupted, undistracted space for personal time with your Creator. It also asks something practical of you. You tune your skill, assess each foot placement, and accept that no one else is carrying your margin for error. There is a real comfort in your own skin that grows out of that process.

For me, soloing is more than trying to get away; it is a going-to: going to walk with God, to talk, and to better understand what my faith, family, and life mean in this season. The landscape views, the micro-world of tiny plants, the insect life, and the way all these natural systems interact remind me that I am part of something much greater than myself. The absence of distractions can only draw you deeper into this natural world.

What stays with me most is the sequence: Upper Works to Calamity Brook, the rise to Flowed Lands, Lake Colden, Trap Dike and Avalanche Lake, camp by the Opalescent, a first-light push up Mount Colden into perfect weather, then the long downstream walk out with the day settling into gratitude. It was not one headline moment. It was a chain of revelations.

If there is a trip that marked the point where backpacking shifted from something I did to something I needed, this was it. This route did not just show me views. It changed how I move through wilderness alone, and it sharpened what that solitude means to me.