Climb it 4 Climate Part 3: The Great Journey

By Bethany Garretson

Day 4: Tuesday, August 9

Start: Colden Lake

Mountains: Colden, Tabletop, Phelps, Nye, Street, Wright, Algonquin, Iroquois

Camp: Colden Lake

Miles: 33

In twilight, Andy and I hiked out of camp and 2.2 miles later, we welcomed the sunrise on Mount Colden. On the summit, Andy snapped a few photos. The view before us was a mixture of sun and shadows cast over a blue sea of mountains. We munched on trail mix and reminisced about past Colden hikes: The trap dyke, the bushwhack, the eastern slide, the triple crown (Marcy, Colden, and Algonquin in one day) and the impromptu night hike in which we grabbed a jar of peanut butter, handful of Cliff Bars, a few bananas, and set out with headlamps at 9pm. We parked at the ADK Lodge and hiked Wright, Algonquin, and Iroquois before having a midnight snack on the shores of Lake Colden. High on life, while campers slept and snored waiting for morning light, we trekked over Colden and got back to our car at 4am. Then, once the local diner opened, we had chocolate chip pancakes.

For the thru hike, I saw Andy as my informal coach and while we descended Colden I admitted, “There are times I don’t want to be on trail.” My trekking poles clicked against the rock and I quickly added, “I never want to quit, but sometimes I just don’t want to hike.” The sensation had first crept up yesterday, coming off Cliff, and it presented as a low motivation to keep going. Today was going to be a big solo day of 30-plus miles and I worried about keeping my mind in a good place.

“You think Micheal Phelps wants to train every day?” He asked.

“No.” I smiled at the analogy and imagined Micheal Phelps hiking Phelps Mountain. It was a perfect remedy: A voice outside my own to remind myself I was human and what I was feeling was normal, even to be expected.

“On each mountain, dedicate it to someone you love and think of them as you go up,” he added.

“I like that,” I said. We parted ways – me spurring off towards Indian Falls and Tabletop, and he towards the lodge. As I crossed the river, I yelled over my shoulder, “Colden was for you!”

That left me seven mountains to climb and dedicate. The next person I thought of was my Grandma Loucks. I grabbed the crescent moon necklace that rested against my chest, brought it to my lips and kissed it. “Alright, Grandma,” I said. “This one’s for you.”

As I climbed Tabletop, I transferred my thoughts from sore calves and ankles to the large maple outside her kitchen window from which swings and bird feeders hung. Growing up, I spent a lot of time at my maternal grandparent’s farm. It was from their hillside that I was able to peer down the Mohawk Valley and glimpse the blue rise of the Adirondack Mountains. My first job was picking raspberries by the side of my mother and grandmother at the age of five. I thought of all the flowers that bloomed around her house – from the early lilacs and apple trees to the summer roses and lupines. In my mind, I followed the tractor trail down to the fields and old railroad tracks. Before I knew it, I was on the summit of Tabletop. I sat down, stretched, and ate. The day was clear, and I was comfortable and content to be by myself in the mountains.

I dedicated Phelps to sisterhood and empowerment. I thought of all the amazing women I’d hiked with – Janet Stein, Marin George, Sarah Hart, and my two sisters Mallory and Celia. I thought of the girl’s groups from wilderness therapy that I’d lead, pushed, and cheered up mountains. I thought of the moments when a student realized how powerful she was after a long period of doubting herself. If she could hike a mountain, what else could she do? If she really believed that she couldn’t do it, that she wouldn’t do it, that the only reason she kept going was because her group supported her – what else in life had she held herself back from? Our fears are powerful forces that bind our hands and blind our eyes. It’s a beautiful day when we free ourselves. On the summit of Phelps, I recognized where I found my freedom. It was in the mountains: in the snow and rain, under the heavy weight of a full pack, by the warmth of a fire, sitting on the edge of a lean-to, and looking up at the stars.

I got to the ADK Lodge 15 minutes to noon. The parking area was full and people filed in an out of the lodge. Trails were noticeably busier today and Colden was the first maintained mountain I’d climbed. My arms and legs were bruised from multiple jabs by shrubby trees on the hard path peaks of Days 1-3. I signed in at the register and flipped back to find the names of my Aunt Colleen, Uncle Bobby, and cousins Stephanie and Lauren, who were in pursuit of Wright and Algonquin. I saw their names and smiled. I wrote them a note, walked over to a picnic table and set up my stove. After a few bites of lunch, I resealed the packet and stored it in the brain of my pack. I clipped in and felt the first mental hurdle of the day coming on. Street and Nye were nine miles out and back. Then, I’d have to go up and over Algonquin to get back to camp. Five more mountains, 18 miles. I shook my head, “Here and now, Bethany. One step at a time.” I reached for my MP3 player and put in my ear buds. One of my favorite songs played, lifted me, and encouraged my feet to move.

The approach to Street and Nye is long and winds through cedar trees along a river bend before opening into a maple and beech hardwood forest. The ascent follows a drainage. Usually a good source for water, this summer, it was dry. My body felt the humidity was much higher than yesterday and I smelled the dry earth and balsam more sharply. Once the trail steepened, my clothes became damp with perspiration. I listened to a Springsteen album on the way up Nye and dedicated the mountain to my father – an avid Springsteen fan who took me to my first concert in 2002, when I was 16. My mind was a bit restless as I approached the juncture, because I felt like I should have been there 10 minutes ago. I took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from my brow and pulled out my food. A group of hikers descended past me and I moved to the side of the trail. Fifteen minutes later, I was on the tree-covered summit of Nye. I tagged the tree, turned around, and made my way to Street, whom I dedicated to my mother.

Though I was alone, I could feel the support of my mother very strongly. I wondered what she was doing at 2 o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. Maybe she was picking sunflowers or blackberries. Or maybe making a batch of dill pickles. The passage to Street was quick and on the summit, I looked out to Algonquin and thought of my family. I hoped to see them when I passed through the lodge. I sent a thought up to the sky, “Send me someone to hike with.” Out of all the mental obstacles I foresaw of the trip, I’d overlooked the power of loneliness.

Two miles from the lodge, I hit the flat section and put my head to the ground, trying to push myself physically to pop out of my mental slump. I rounded a corner and Janet stood before me. At first glance, I thought she was a mirage. She opened her arms and hugged me.

“How are you doing?” she asked, grabbing my arms and looking me up and down.

“Good,” I said – realizing it was half truth and half lie. Physically, I was strong. Mentally, I was struggling.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said. I leaned forward and gave her another hug. We laughed and talked about life, mountains, and the environment. I took point and we hiked out at a quick pace. At the river, I stopped to refill water bottles.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said. “This is amazing. I wish I had done more things like this when I was young.” Her gaze drifted down the river and I looked away, giving her space in a personal moment. I watched a leaf float by, ebbing and flowing with the crystal water. Carefully, I rock hopped over to Janet and stood beside her.

“Janet, you’re amazing and I’m doing this because I’ve been inspired by people like you,” I said. She nodded and we crossed the river. A few minutes later, we came across a young slender man wearing a Paul Smith’s College t-shirt.

“Are you Bethany?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’m here to hike with you,” he said. “My name’s Dylan.”

“Excellent! Nice to meet you,” I smiled. Just an hour ago, I’d been lonely and wishing for someone to share the trail with and now I had two angels in my wings. It was a powerful moment on the thru hike and I sent a silent “thanks” up to the sky. Janet said goodbye in the parking area with another firm hug and wished me well.

“You got this, girl,” she said.

“Thanks Janet.”

It was just after 4 when Dylan and I flipped through the register book and saw my family had signed out at 3:45.

“Ah…” I sighed. Our timing was closer than I’d imagined and even though I didn’t see them, I’d felt their presence all day. And now, I was setting out for the mountains they’d enjoyed – this was the last leg of the ADK Lodge loop. Dylan was a recent Paul Smith’s graduate, a natural athlete, and an avid paddler. This was our first introduction and I apologized for not being too talkative – at this point of the day, my mouth was dry and once we hit the uphill, I felt the need to conserve energy.

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll be doing a lot of stopping and stretching.”

“Are you sure?” Dylan asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded – pulling off the trail. Dylan continued upwards to Wright. The humidity hung in the air and I dumped a cup of treated water in my mountain meal to make a soupy, salty mixture. I took a few slurps and proceeded. On the way up Wright, I thought more about what Janet had said at the river. The look in her eyes, wishing she had done more climbs at my age. Would I look back at 60 and regret a path not taken? Janet was twice my age and I considered her a peer, a kindred spirit, a guru, a teacher, and an inspiration. I certainly didn’t see her as someone who had sat and watched their life pass by. We all second guess ourselves at some point and some things are certainly more trivial than others: did I order the best entree at a fancy restaurant? Did I make the most of my life?

The mountains bring out deep questions and they also provide the solutions. Just like the view on top, “You’ll see when you get there.” Coming out of college seven years ago, disheartened by the state of humanity, I began hiking the high peaks and found a reassuring lesson. It might sound cliché, thrown in with all the other mountain analogies like, “Life is like a mountain full of ups and downs,” or “Sometimes you get lost along the way.” Really, there are many ways it can go and this is where I take it: In life, stay focused on the present moment, the majority of the time. Look at the step in front of you – if you look too far ahead or too far back, you’ll miss the small gifts life has to offer. However, if you never look forward or backward, every now and then, you might miss your turn and get off trail because you lost sight of your dreams or overlooked the importance of your past.

Knowing that Dylan was ahead of me and waiting gave my mind a welcom distraction. He’d power ahead, I’d catch up, and we followed this pattern for Wright, over Algonquin, and down to Iroquois. On the summit of Iroquois we stood together and admired the view.

“I started over there,” I said pointing to Colden. With the sun at my back, the summit of Colden was now going under the shadow of Algonquin. In the morning, it had been the reverse – Colden’s shadow on the rocky summit of Algonquin.

“Thanks Dylan,” I said. “I really appreciate you coming out. It really helped.” The view, and knowing that I was on my last mountain, triggered the third wind of the day and we dropped down to Lake Colden quickly and full of conversation. Near the Colden Outpost, we flicked on headlamps and parted ways. I dedicated Wright to my aunt, uncle and cousins who were embarking on the 46. Algonquin went to my trail angels: Janet and Dylan. The final mountain of the day, Iroquois, went to the Paul Smith’s College community. At Lake Colden, I sat on a log, and looked across the water to the many headlamps that flickered at campsites and lean-tos. The moon and stars shone above me and I lay back. I was exhausted, but I’d have to search long and hard for a time I’d ever felt more alive. This is where I wanted to be.

Day 5: Wednesday, August 10

Start: Camp on Colden

Mountains: Gray, Skylight, Marcy, Haystack

Out: John’s Brook Lodge

My heart beat against the rock. A layer of sweat covered me. It was like I’d just emerged from a sauna. The fog had burned off and I was exposed in the midday sun, full packing over the Great Range. My mind couldn’t make sense of it, Where had this weather come from? I braced my hands against the large rock and pushed back. A splotch of wetness remained. But, the weather reports… the weather reports I’d been checking for two weeks… I would never have set out under 90 degree skies… It didn’t make sense, but it was my current reality and one I didn’t want to face. Last night, I’d heard whispers in camp of predicted temperatures that would break summer records. Weather reports can be wrong, I’d told myself. Or right, I bitterly admitted. Tears rose up and I swallowed them. “There’s no point in crying,” I told myself. Instead, I unclasped my pack and let it fall to the ground. Tempted to chuck it off the side of the mountain, I put my hands on my hips and tried to regain my composure. The pack was my weight, it was my support system and also my sinker.

My head knew it was done. Any way I tried to rationalize it, it didn’t pan out. I could slow down, but that would add an extra day; I’d run out of food. I could refuel, but then it wouldn’t be an unsupported effort. This was the end: 23 mountains, 130 miles, and five days. My heart wasn’t ready to let go. It protested, and I paced at the juncture, debating whether to continue or call it quits. Nestled between Haystack and Basin, I waited for a sign.

The day had started foggy with a few drops of rain. I packed up my gear and at 6pm Andy and I hiked out of camp. We followed the Opalescent to Lake Tear of the Clouds.

“Wow, it’s humid,” I said when we reached the high mountain lake – the source of the Hudson River. I placed both hands on my face and pushed back the sweat. Andy stayed at the outlet while I pushed up Gray. It was a quick journey and a nice break from the full pack. After Gray, Andy and I trekked the .5 miles up Skylight from the four corners. On top, we were socked in by a heavy fog. It was refreshing and I pulled on my rain jacket. For fun, we set up the camera and I did a cart wheel in honor of the Rio Olympics. On the backside of Marcy, I stretched out my calves. The fog was beginning to burn off and partial views were opening. My gut wrenched with the first nerves of an incredibly hot day brewing. I lowered my head and continued to the summit. On top of Marcy, Andy and I were greeted by Summit Steward Ryan Nerp, a PSC alum. We took a $200 photo (Andy PSC Staff, Ryan PSC Alumni), exchanged some mountain banter, and descended. At the juncture, I turned right for the Great Range and Andy continued straight for the ADK Lodge.

On my way to Haystack, the remaining fog burned off and I felt the fiery breath of the sun on my neck. I set my full pack to the side of the trail and took a fanny pack with a baggie of food and liter of water to the summit. On Haystack, a foreboding feeling crept up and sat next to me. The heat, the full pack, the exposed terrain – combined, they had raised a red flag and I knew I’d be unable to ignore it. In front of me, gazing at Marcy, I was able to see the majority of the mountains I’d climbed. Haystack was #23. I returned to my pack and pulled out the map. I traced the Great Range with my finger. Basin was next. Between Haystack and Basin, there was a trail that led down to John’s Brook Lodge. It could be my exit. I felt rushed in my decision making. Andy was hiking into my campsite near Gill Brook, under the assumption I’d come down the Range. I’d have to get out and call him before he came in. It was just past noon. I tucked the map away and carried on. The air was thick. My mind bounced back and forth between optimism and despair.

Near the juncture, I threw down my pack and waited for a sign. You can still finish this, a voice inside me said. Climb it 4 Climate’s mission was much bigger than obtaining the unsupported speed record. It was about awareness, resilience, and education. You can still finish the remaining 23 high peaks by August 20. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something to ease the ache. I cupped my head in the palms of my hands and nodded. I was done.

I strapped onto my pack, blew a kiss to the summit of Basin, and took a left at the juncture. The heat was stifling and I continued to sweat as I descended to John’s Brook Lodge. With a bit of distance, I began to feel more confident in my decision to abort the thru hike. Dehydration, heat exhaustion, and heat stroke were serious matters in the backcountry and from the lessons had learned on Allen four years ago, I wasn’t going to put myself in the same situation. At the Lodge, I walked across the mown lawn and leaned my pack on one of the picnic tables. On the shaded porch, hikers sat in Adirondack chairs with cups of lemonade. The weather forecast for the next five days was written out on a blackboard next to the screen door. It was going to be a scorcher: 90, 95, 90, 85, and 85. At this point, I shook my head and chuckled, “What the…?”

Inside the Lodge were rooms of simple bunk style lodging, a communal dining area, and a shop with an array of candy bars. I asked the young woman at the counter if there was a phone. She hesitated and looked over her shoulder; I explained my situation. “I’ve been thru hiking the 46 and my husband thinks I’m headed to Gill Brook on the other side of the range. But I came down because of the heat and I need to reach him before he hikes in.”

“Oh, okay.” She smiled and let me into the kitchen area.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” I punched in our number and Andy answered after a few rings.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said.

There was a pause. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I’m fine. I’m at JBL.” I explained the heat, my red flag feeling, and that I’d be at The Garden parking area in an hour.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” I shifted my weight and looked out the window. “I’ll see you soon.” I handed the phone back to the young woman and thanked her again. At the picnic table, I watched the lazy flow of hiker traffic and ate a salty trail mix. The young woman who’d let me use the phone stepped off the porch barefoot with a hula hoop in hand. She twirled around the lawn and we talked about rock climbing. A college student on summer break, she enjoyed working at the Lodge and hiking or climbing whenever she had a day off. In my Nalgene, I dumped a large dose of electrolytes, swirled them around, and took a long swig. I put on my music and waved goodbye. When I emerged at the parking area, Andy was waiting for me. He opened his arms and folded me in a hug, full pack and all. I buried my head against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “I’m okay.” He nodded and I loaded my pack into the car. In the window, I caught a glimpse of myself and noticed my cheek and collar bones were more defined. My stomach was flatter and pants looser. As he put the car in drive, he looked straight ahead with a dazed stare. He was my coach and biggest fan. Since May, he’d watched and helped me plan – he knew what the hike meant to me, and now it was over. I felt like it was the championship game and I’d missed the winning shot. I knew tomorrow was going to be hard. There was no part of me that wanted the journey to be over, but I trusted my gut, my instinct, and I knew I would have made the same decision 10 times over.

That night I lay in bed and watched the ceiling fan churn above me. Washed, clean, smelling of coco butter and lavender – I felt far away from where I woke up that morning. Though when I closed my eyes, I could still feel the sun, the sweat, and my heart beat against the Great Range.

Read part 2 of Bethany’s Climb it 4 Climate articles here!