The trail sign along state Route 9 marking the way to Hurricane Mountain. (News photo — Oliver Reil)

Parking on state Route 9 and looking up at the Hurricane Mountain trailhead Tuesday, March 5, all things pointed to spring. The ground was bare, if muddy, and the sun was shining over a mild, 50-degree day. In the mountains, however, things are rarely as they seem below.

Mountain conditions change rapidly at higher elevations and can be influenced by time of day, weather or even on which side of the mountain one finds themselves. In spring, most every mountain trail will be a slurry of mud, water, dry ground, snow and ice. Mountains are always dangerous to a degree, but they are particularly so this time of year. Preparedness is key.

The trail up Hurricane from Route 9 is 3.4 miles one-way, with an elevation gain of 2,000 feet. At my fitness level at the time, I knew I would likely need an hour per mile on the ascent, and probably one-third of that for the descent. In my pack, I carried extra layers, water and purification, a fire-starting kit, a med kit and, the most crucial this time of year, microspikes.

I set off for the summit at around 7:45 a.m. The well-trodden trail quickly turns to ice after the initial climb to a small overlook above Route 9. Despite being low on the mountain, the shade of tree cover keeps the ice around. This was the first place I donned my spikes, knowing well that I would likely have to take them off again in no time.

As I continued up the mountain, I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of flat stretches and switchbacks, thanks to a redesign of the trail in 2014. Still, the steady incline had my legs aching after the first mile. It felt good.

Just below the summit of Hurricane Mountain, a huge bulb of smooth ice makes microspikes essential during early spring hiking conditions. (News photo — Oliver Reil)

The trail was filled with boardwalks, a very welcome feature to bypass swampy sections and old beaver ponds. If I had to pick one animal to represent the Adirondacks, it would be the beaver. Virtually anywhere I have ever been in these mountains, I find old or new sign of the furry lumberjacks.

Past the wide-open beaver ponds, timber closed the trail to the sky once more. I made a point to not check my map very much as I went because I didn’t want to know how far I’d gone. For me, that’s like being at work and checking the clock every five minutes. At my first check, which turned out to be around the halfway point, the trail opened up onto a sunlit face of the mountain, at which point the ice disappeared.

I took off my spikes and put them back in my pack. Relieved to have a break from the ice, my attitude was quickly rattled by the trail’s sudden and rapid increase in gradient. Looking up, I could see roughly where the summit must be. I paused for a moment of silent laughter.

Up to this point, I felt I was making good progress. Now, however, I knew that my legs were in no position to celebrate. The farther I went, the steeper the trail became. I was happy to be on the trail alone so no one could hear my self-deprecating comedy routine and labored groaning.

The trail continued meandering steeply upward until a brief respite on a wind-swept section of trail. I was starting to understand why the mountain is called Hurricane. After this point, the trail was littered with debris. Trees were down alongside and across the path, making it hard at points to spot the red trail markers that showed the way.

The fire tower on Hurricane Mountain marks the end of a long, steep hike. (News photo — Oliver Reil)

I was nearing the summit now — or so I thought — and the trail was a mess of ice, mud and snow. As I took a moment to rest my legs, a woman and her dog flew by me with a quick hello. I waited a moment to let them pass and continued.

I still hadn’t put my spikes back on at this point, though I was regretting it. For some reason, perhaps just to avoid the hassle, I kept going without them, which slowed my pace to a crawl. It’s a lot easier to take 45 seconds and put on microspikes than it is to tiptoe and leap around ice; and it’s much safer. I managed not to fall for a good while, but I came close. Finally, I got smart and put them on, and started zooming. I reached a very steep section of trail, in front of which I could see bald rock and sky. Finally, I thought.

Breaking out into the open sky, I ripped off my spikes and dropped my trekking pole. I took my hat off so it wasn’t grabbed by the wind and started taking photos. I was relieved to finally be at the summit. Though I enjoy a challenge, it was nice to know I could take a long rest and enjoy the view. My enthusiasm was short-lived.

As I took photos, I wondered why the woman with the dog wasn’t there on the rock. Turning left to take more photos, I paused. I let my camera hang on its strap, and I stared at the fire tower on the summit high above me. With a sigh, I gathered my things and continued on, laughing at myself for being so foolish. Hurricane is known for having incredible 360-degree views, which was not the case on my rock. Even worse, it had a fire tower, which I knew. I let my excitement and relief get the better of me.

I begrudgingly hiked on, back into the woods and up more steep trail. The conditions were getting seriously dicey now; I never would have made it without my spikes. As I pushed hard through soreness and fatigue, the woman passed me again on her way down, not pausing for one second.

The summit marker on Hurricane Mountain. (News photo — Oliver Reil)

I came upon a sign that said the summit was .3 miles away. That’s doable, I thought. Reassured, I kept climbing until the trail opened up under more rock. This time, I knew I was close. I maneuvered a bulb of smooth ice, managing to plunge my left foot into a hole of ice water — above the boot.

I finally reached the summit at around 11 a.m., where I followed the yellow paint on the rocks to the fire tower. The view was magnificent. To the east, I could see Lake Champlain, and in every other direction I could see mountains. I’ve hiked six High Peaks and two Lake Placid 9ers — now three after Hurricane — but I don’t remember a view this comprehensive.

Before resting, I climbed the fire tower. The already impossibly spectacular view got even better. I finally dropped my pack and put on extra layers to fight off the wind. I didn’t stay long in the tower, opting instead to go down and sit on the rock. It feels more connective that way, I find. I sat there, wind coming from seemingly every direction, and enjoyed the peace that only being alone on a summit can bring. After 10 or 15 minutes and half a liter of water, I looked down and saw Route 9 far below. Reality kicked in: I still had to go all the way back down.

I’ve always found the descent much harder than the hike up. By this point, my legs are always exhausted and, especially on steep trails, going down can be brutal on the muscles and joints. In fact, I carried a trekking pole mostly for the return, especially for the icy sections. Nevertheless, there was no chopper on its way to pick me up, and I couldn’t stay.

I left the summit around 11:15 a.m. and arrived to my truck at 12:45. I fumbled with my gear as I loaded the backseat, utterly exhausted. I clambered into the cab and put my head back against the seat for a moment before hitting the road. I chugged the rest of my water and put on the Alice in Chains song that was stuck in my head for the entire hike. As I rolled away from the parking area, body aching and head pounding, I had only one thought: What a great way to start the day.

Hurricane Mountain's 360-degree views make it a true Adirondack gem. (News photo — Oliver Reil)

Looking up at the Hurricane Mountain fire tower. (News photo — Oliver Reil)

A 360-degree map inside the Hurricane Mountain fire tower once helped rangers pinpoint fires in the distance. (News photo — Oliver Reil)