All the names were very “scary,” but the route couldn’t be that hard, right?
“Devil’s Path in New York’s Catskills is widely considered one of the hardest, most dangerous trails on the East Coast,” according to Gemini AI. That claim needed to be put to the test with the added elements of winter snow, ice and wind.
In climbing and hiking, it’s all so relative, subjective and a bit ridiculous to constantly rank and compare routes. Looking through SummitPost, AllTrails, trip reports and various AI language models, Devil’s Path was generally considered the third-hardest hike in the East.
There was competition with the Adirondacks’ “Great Range Traverse” and the White Mountains’ “Presidential Traverse.”
And if you’re talking about needing ice axes or crampons, not sure what is harder than Mount Washington in New Hampshire with world-record-setting winds. Or Mount Katahdin in Maine with no-plow roads that require skis or snowmobiles to even get to the base of the mountain in late December.
The vertical ice climbing pitches that I did in New Hampshire may be even more dangerous and insane than all that was just listed. There are climbers in Alaska laughing at this, and mountaineers in The Himalaya chuckling at them and someone doing K2 or Annapurna giggling at all of us.
“What’s in a name?” A butt kicking, that’s what, as Devil’s Pass lived up to its reputation–not in any dangerous, technical or exposure sense, but in the endless up and downs of the route.
The plan: my cousin and climbing partner (we’ve done pretty much every challenging summit together in the east, in winter, including: Mount Mansfield, Mount Katahdin and camping in minus 14 degrees on Mt. Marcy) and I were to leave Sunday, Dec. 28, and drive to the Catskill Mountains of New York.
It was an added bonus that one of my favorite childhood books was My Side of the Mountain, based in the Catskills. On Monday, we’d hike the eastern section, camp in the snow and then do the western route the next day.
Stopping along the way from Ohio to New York at Padmasambhava Buddhist Center for a blessing. Then feeding our bibliophile hunger at Hobart, a tiny town where the whole “main street” is different types of bookstores.
The Devil’s Path was point-to-point, so most local hikers leave a car at one end and drive to the trailhead on the other side. You could also contact Greg Calabrese of Rip Van Winkle Adventure Guides for a shuttle ride if you only had one vehicle.
Once Calabrese dropped you off, that was it — would be a long walk back to civilization or you’d have to complete the path back to your car, 22 miles away, over five mountain peaks.
Calabrese was easy to connect with on Facebook, and he was set to pick us up at 4:30 a.m. at the western trailhead Monday morning, and drop us 45 minutes to an hour away at the eastern trailhead.
Weather was checked every day in the two weeks leading up to the adventure, and it was looking like the Catskills were going to get hit with a blizzard on Dec. 26, the Friday before we were to set out.
On Monday, Dec. 29, hiking attempt day, the forecast was calling for 38 degrees and rain the night before, and all morning, soaking of all that fresh ‘durr. Go early and hike it in a couple feet of powder? Or slosh-step in the melting snow and freezing rain the next day? Lose-lose.
“Weather window has changed and is now Sunday. Be lots of snow, but original day of Monday, gonna rain and wind forecast is 55 mph — not sure we can or want to hike in that,” I told my cousin.
He’d been dealing with a training injury leading up to the climb and it wasn’t looking smart for him to join based on the updated timeline and weather.
Decision time — do I pack up as soon as I could on Saturday, go solo and a day earlier, skip the Buddhist temple and book town, and drive through the night to catch the weather window with limited sleep, even with the deep snow?
Messaged Calabrese on FB about going a day earlier: “Yeah, I’m available tomorrow. We got over a foot of snow overnight. Route 6 and 214 will probably be plowed, but I doubt either parking lot will be yet. And the trail will most likely not be broken out. You will most likely be breaking trail the entire day. I figured I’d let you know before getting here that we got pretty slammed with snow, and I highly doubt anyone got out today on the DP [Devil’s Path],” Calabrese wrote.
At that point, camping halfway didn’t seem realistic if I didn’t even know if I could access trail heads and it was hard to predict how I’d be moving in that much precipitation. So the goal had to be switched to the western section of the path. So much of winter hiking and climbing is about logistics and roads and weather, before you even get on the trail. Even driving along the Great Lakes is a crapshoot with lake-effect snow.
I decided to go it alone.
THE DRIVE EAST
The first half hour after I leave for any climb is always the hardest– why am I doing this, I should just turn back, I should go drink and smoke all day in my buddies death garage, I can’t do this hike alone, people and animals will kill me.
Then directly after there’s the calm, the embrace of the wheel, cruise control set, eyes glazed by the beams of oncoming traffic, the American road trip rite of passage.
Had ChatGPT map out the weather, every 50-100 miles, on all three possible routes, and the best and most direct was I-84, exiting Ohio at its northeastern tip, into Pennsylvania to Erie, passing vineyards of docile wine vines clinging to fences now coated with snow.
I drove into New York and soon saw the exit for Letchworth State Park. Letchworth is only about 4.5 hours from the greater tri-county area in which we reside, and it’s the most slept-on waterfall spot in the east.
The Allegheny Mountains are a series of M-shaped hills stacked in a line, with light protruding from the saddles of the peaks. Barely passed the white line berm of the interstate, snow was plowed mid-car high, showing just how much they’d received in the past two days.
After the fourth minivan or oversized truck going slow in the left lane … slash the semis trying to kill me slash the curves … and darkness and hills and sleep deprivation, I thought, I gotta get out of this car, I’m not cut out for this.
But I’ve found the humans that say that, are actually quite cut out for whatever that thing is. In my case, constructed to suffer ghastly drivers, while commuting without rest or comfort.
THE HIKE
After a couple hours of “sleep,” I was on the trail around 5 a.m. on Sunday morning. 15 degrees but it would warm into the high 20s and low 30s in the afternoon.
From toe to head: wool socks, waterproof mid-ankle green hiking boots (opted to not go with insulated footwear, usually 200 grams insulation), thick long john bottoms, windproof/waterproof hardshell Patagonia black pants.
Over the pants, from shin to shoe, waterproof winter gaiters constructed to take crampon spike scratches and keep all snow and moisture from falling into the hikers. Snowshoes.
Upper half: quick-dry long sleeve with hood, orange EMS sweatshirt over that, thin black windproof/waterproof Patagonia hardshell jacket. Hestra snowboard gloves (with wrist attachers so when you take them off they can’t slide down the mountain), hat, neck gaiter.
In the pack: compass if AllTrails or phone fails, whistle, shiny silver emergency blanket like they give to marathon completers at the end, 2.5 liters of water in anti-freeze pouches (you have to put them in upside down or the lids will freeze), food (PB&J, power gels and gummies, granola bars), sunglasses, goggles (if wind picks up and there’s a whiteout), micro spikes for ice sections, ski mask, water purifying tablets for emergency and first aid kit.
In the “light and fast” mantra, I didn’t take a knife, water filter or headlamp, pre applied sunscreen and chapstick before I left.
Began the jaunt with snowshoes, which kept you from sinking, but weren’t exactly easy to walk in. The snow in the treeline around the trailhead was only about a foot, so in certain parts the shoes were hitting the boulders of the path, so I switched to microspikes over my boots.
It was around 2,000 feet of elevation gain over the first two miles. For perspective, if you’ve ever been to the Pleasant Hill Dam and walked up the endless steps from the river to the top, that’s about 240 feet of gain. So do that eight times in a row, in heavy powder and winter gear you’re just getting started.
The woods weren’t quiet as it is often romanticized. Little rustlings from the ground creatures of squirrel and chipmunk. Large leafless arms of massive Eastern Hemlocks and Yellow Birch swayed and cracked. Birds alerted the forest when I came up over a rock face, saying, “Hey, there’s some moron out here alone, watch out!”
Although taking different ridge lines, most of the trail was in the tree canopies, and you could see out into the vast Catskills, but approaching 4,000 feet just didn’t give you clearance.
Across the 3,500-foot marker, the snow was more wet, and stuck to my microspikes and got stuffed up my gaiters. The stacked ground flakes went from ankle powder to pure pack in the pine groves, latching to the top of the boots for extra weight. Started crashing out having to endless knock clumps of hard pack off my feet, and hit my foot against a rock in rage mode, and that did not feel good.
There were fun little rock slides to wedge in between on both sides of the summits, ice coating the backsides. Almost rolled my ankle, which would not have been an entertaining hike out.
With the recent blanket of white on the forest floor, it was easy to spot new animal footprints. Tons of deer and then I came across something that looked canine-like.
Convinced myself they were cougar tracks, and could have only been hours old, and I was certain I was going to get mauled at any moment. Turns out they were coyote tracks and mountain lions aren’t even in the Catskills.
Views from the West Kill Mountain summit area, the highest point along the path, gave you a sense of the vastness of the region.
The Devil’s Path completely exhausted me and after eight straight hours, I made it to my car with unbelievable soreness awaiting me the next day.
(Adam “Doc” Fox is the digital marketing director for Source Brand Solutions/Source Media. The Ashland resident also writes and climbs mountains.)
