A Little Taste of Everest

Adirondack High Peaks

Weeks ago I wrote that I had officially joined the 30's Club.  As a birthday gift Weldon suggested the two of us tack on some time before my family’s annual reunion in New York & Vermont over Columbus Day weekend.  We decided to fly one-way, rent a car, and do a mini camping tour of the White (NH), Green (VT), and Adirondack Mountains (NY).  In New Hampshire, we drove the famous Auto Road up Mt. Washington to the peak at 6,148 feet where a long-standing world record for wind speed was recorded at 231 mph in 1934.  In Vermont we met up with friends in Burlington after devouring the nautical tidbits on display at the nearby Lake Champlain Maritime Museum.  As our couple’s trip drew to a close we set up our tent at Adirondack Loj near Lake Placid, NY.  A friend of ours, an unofficial expert of the 46 High Peaks of the Adirondacks, gave us a tip about Adirondack Loj and the hike at Mt. Jo.  This hike, my friend assured us, was short and boasted as good a view as any of the majestic High Peaks region.  We took the bait and on a stunningly beautiful October afternoon last week we began our trek.  “It’s only 3.5 miles,” I shrugged…but then I added the Outdoor Idiot’s famous last words, "How bad could it be?”

Decisions, Decisions

From our paltry research online we knew there were two options to reach the summit of Mt. Jo: the Long Trail and the Short Trail.  (How imaginative!)  Being unabashedly aware of our physical limitations, Weldon and I opted for the Short Trail.  After a few days of wind and rain it was refreshing and inspiring to be out in much more pleasant elements.  We gleefully charged into the pine- and fir-drenched forest.  Within a few hundred feet and around a very large boulder or two we began ascending a rocky staircase.  Unlike the mathematically precise human engineers that so often pave my path, Mother Nature is not so methodical and doesn't necessarily have my comfort in mind.  The steep “steps” twisted this way and that ranging in size from bowling balls to Volkswagen Beetles.  I began to glisten and chant to myself, “You can do this! You were the captain of your soccer team for Pete’s sake!”  Never mind that my athletic accolades saw their peak over a decade ago, somehow this train of thought was supposed to reassure me of my present capabilities as we lumbered up, up, up, up.  My scalp began to tingle – my body’s typical warning bell that it’s getting awfully hot and uncomfortable!  I trudged on, woefully aware that my stubby inseam would be required to heft me over who knows how many more rocks at least thigh-high.  After an eternity, we stopped for a break.

I looked behind us and took in the rise in elevation, the peaks in the sunny backdrop, and the conifers like Venetian blinds framing the view into strips.  Surely, the unobstructed view from the top couldn't be too far. Could it?  I about-faced and was abruptly deflated by what lay ahead on the trail. Skyrocketing in front of us was a steeper, rockier staircase that only Richard Simmons or Frodo Baggins would dare to climb.  We trudged on.  With each mounting step I formulated a definitive rebuttal to Weldon’s recommendation that we take the Long Trail back to camp so we could see more of the terrain.  “I’ve seen plenty of terrain! You call this terrain!?!  I call it terrible!  I’m enjoying the sites and smells, but the thumping of my chest against my rib cage and the scorching sensation of my thighs are a little distracting at the moment!!”  We paused two or three more times to let other hikers (usually twice our age or half our weight) pass by.  This also allowed the stinging of our muscles to subside...in very minute degrees.  All the while I could hear the realist within me offer a bit of friendly truth, “It’s your own fault, you know.  You have only yourself to blame that you’re this out of shape.”  Thanks a lot. 

This was only the baby beginning...

We soldiered on, spurred by the blossoming vista behind us and the self-consciousness that Mammy & Pappy might actually be timing how much longer we took than they to reach the summit.  I continued to lift one concrete leg after another, but my feet felt like pudding.  Even a tree root or pebble appeared treacherous.  Finally, finally, we grew taller than the treetops, the sky opened up, and the glorious High Peaks enveloped us.  We crumbled into a heap on the nearest boulder, gulped deeply of our water, and sipped the clear mountain air on the top of Mt. Jo.  Though we had little breath to take, it really was a breathtaking sight.  We sat in silence long enough to take in the moment and then I promptly asked Weldon for the trail map.  Sure enough they HAD used the word “steep” to describe the Short Trail!  But tucked into the fine print were the distances of the Short Trail (0.9 miles one-way) and the Long Trail (1.1 miles one-way).  You mean to tell me I took the Short "a.k.a Buns of Steel" Trail to save a measly 0.2 miles!?!?!  I swallowed my rebuttal speech and told Weldon I’d gladly go the extra POINT-TWO miles if there was even a whisper of a prayer that it’d be less steep than the climb up.  He agreed…then we went back to the awe and splendor of our surroundings.

Sweet Relief

Except for a short-lived glimpse of another hiker or two we were alone to soak it all in.  We took pictures, Weldon spouted some geology trivia about the quartz we were standing on, and then I contemplated how crazy our friend was for having backpack hiked all 46 High Peaks.  Then it dawned on me -- I just climbed a mountain!  I may have been kicking and screaming the whole time (inside, if not out), but still, I did it!!

Long before I’d ever heard of a “bucket list” I started a little journal where I write things I’d like to do, accomplish, or see during my time on this Earth.  Since starting that journal I've sewn a patchwork quilt, toured the Louvre in Paris, hit the bull’s-eye on a target with a gun from a reasonable distance, learned to drive stick shift, and started a business, among other things.  Thankfully, there are a number of things left on my list.  To name a few, I'd like to take a helicopter ride, see the Aurora Borealis, learn to knit or crochet, write a book, and climb a mountain.  Now, before having stepped foot on Mt. Jo I’d driven to the peak of a number of mountains.  I’d even hiked around on a few mountains.  But I’d never actually set out and climbed a mountain to the peak before.  When that entry made it on my list I didn't specify which mountain or how high in elevation said mountain needed to be in order to qualify.  Soooo, at 2,876 feet Mount Jo fits the bill!

That's our gal!

On our descent, with Weldon in the lead, I thought about my feat (pun intended).  I had just climbed 1/10 of Mount Everest.  I could almost imagine what it would feel like at 29-something-thousand feet with barely any oxygen. Good thing we weren't surrounded by miles of snow!  Truth is, I have absolutely no desire to be a mountaineer.  This shouldn't be a shock because mountaineers surely realize they're climbing a mountain when they set foot on one...and I'm certain they wouldn't blog with satisfaction about having accidentally triumphed over a mere 2,876 feet.  Nonetheless, because petite Jo has been graced with official mountain status, I have indeed climbed a mountain.  There’s no telling if a more monumental summit will grace the pages of my journal.  I’ll leave room for it, but you bet your bottom dollar that I crossed off “Climb a Mountain” from my list as soon as I got back to Kentucky this past week. 

Eezy Peezy

The Long Trail back was astonishingly more level than the Short Trail.  As long as we watched our step and kept moving I was fine.  We paused a time or two along the route to let upcoming hikers pass.  It was during these fleeting moments that I realized I was shaking from the waist down as if I’d padded my jeans with a collection of restaurant buzzers. (You know, the kind that keep your place in line and ensure your appetite is ravenous before you get a table.) The folks coming up while we were on our way down obviously got the memo that “Short” = Punishingly Steep. Good for them.  If only I had come across a helpful blog before our trek. "WARNING to Climbers of Mt. Jo:  Do not be fooled by the name "Short".  If you do not have quadriceps the size of Hercules or legs longer than Cindy Crawford, take the LONG TRAIL both ways -- the view is stunning and worth the climb.  Also Note: Anyone needing to climb a mini-mountain, you're in luck! This little lady IS indeed a mountain."

From my mountain-topping adventure I learned two things:

1. When given the option to take a shortcut, DON'T.  Your legs will burn & you’ll wish you put on more deodorant that morning.

2. If you're going to climb a mountain just to climb a mountain, pick a short one and climb it without the slightest idea of what you're doing.