My 46er goal was complete, but there was still one thing left to do. I had always wanted to summit Colden via the Trap Dike.
I had hiked past it numerous times on the Hitch-Up Matildas, watching climbers ascend its rugged path, knowing my 46er experience wouldn’t feel complete until I did the same. I didn’t take the challenge lightly. I read countless trip reports, studied rescues and fatalities on what’s often called “the most dangerous hike in the Adirondacks,” and watched YouTube videos to analyze the route. I identified the crux (depending on whose opinion you trust) and pinpointed the slab exit. The consensus was clear: if you attempt the Trap Dike for the first time, go with someone who has done it before or hire a guide. That’s solid advice, and I don’t want this article to suggest otherwise. But with my climbing background, my experience from completing the 46, and my research, I was confident in my ability.
I recruited my longtime friend Paul—one of my early climbing partners and a fellow High Peaks summiter—to join me. Our schedules aligned for the last week of September. My usual planning involved checking AccuWeather obsessively. The Trap Dike requires at least three to four consecutive dry days for ideal conditions—no waterfall cascading over the crux, no dangerously slick slabs. August and September of 2024 had been unpredictable, and I anxiously watched the forecast fluctuate. Finally, September 29th emerged as our best window. After a few days of rain, it looked like we’d have at least two, possibly three, dry days before reaching the base of the dike. We pulled the trigger.
We parked at the Loj and hiked to the Avalanche Lean-To where we set our hammocks. The next morning we woke to a mostly sunny day, though cumulus clouds broke up the blue. After breakfast, we put on our daypacks and headed toward Avalanche Lake. Once we got onto the Hitch-Up Matildas and could see the dike, I heard what I had been most worried about—running water.
Through my binoculars, I saw some water running down the lower section of the dike and a group of climbers making their way up. Time to make a decision.
Our fallback plan was to summit Colden via the marked trail (Paul hadn’t done Colden yet) if we bailed on the dike attempt. We decided to continue and see how those hikers had managed. At the base, I moved ahead up the scree and talus slope. Voices and scrambling echoed above me. A group of four young men—kids to me in their twenties—were downclimbing. When they reached me, they told me the crux was a waterfall, impassable, and they were turning back.
But I noticed something: they were all wearing full packs, and at least two were in Crocs.
Paul was still below, waiting for my decision. I waved him up. I told him what they had said but shared my doubts. We agreed to continue up to the crux and see for ourselves. If it was truly impassable, we’d turn back.
The crux is a large boulder requiring two or three Class 5 moves to get over. A fall could be fatal—not so much from the height but from striking your head on rock. But it looked fine. The channel to the left, a dihedral, was a small waterfall. I assumed the other hikers had attempted that instead of the more exposed but proper route over the boulder. I climbed up and coached Paul on the hand and foot placements.
Beyond the crux, we navigated damp rock and trickling water, using the “one limb at a time” rule. We exited the dike onto the Hurricane Irene slide, carefully avoiding the slick and steep Old Slide, where past hikers had needed rescues. The final climb was a long leg burner, alternating between steep hands-and-feet sections and walkable stretches.
Finally, we reached the summit. We took a few moments to soak in the views—breathtaking as always. After a leisurely descent back to our campsite, we completed our plan with dinner and stargazing from our hammocks until sleep took us.
For me, this climb was more than just another summit—it was the perfect conclusion to my 46er journey.
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