Memorial Day Triple: Rhode Island, Connecticut, and Massachusetts

We had to start early if we had any hopes of getting back to West Point at a reasonable time. Judging from Google Maps, the ideal could be as little as 8 or 9 hours. It wasn't ideal. Cutting through Connecticut on I-84, the mist was lying low in the valleys, posing for postcards with white church steeples reaching through trees and clouds. When we shifted onto highway 44 East of Hartford we began curving this way and that, startling fly fishermen awkwardly stepping over guard rails to catch some holiday relaxation before their late-day BBQs. Crazy quilt gravestones leaned in churchyards, tired from age, names and dates washed away by weather as though bringing an end to grief. Gaily arranged nurseries and antique stores with gold-lettered signs came past every few miles, along with churches and homes and the seemingly out of place commercial enterprises. All along the winding wooded ways of Connecticut.

Finally, Rhode Island. We zoomed right past the sign, because it wasn't there. Another sign was in its place, much smaller. So after a mile or two we turned around and parked at the right spot, where my Pastor friend David Roseland was waiting all along. The trail to the highest point in the Ocean state was about a hundred yards, gaining all of a few inches of elevation. It was beautifully forested. Highpoint number eight down.

Our plan from there was to cut across Connecticut on highway 44, all the way to Salisbury, the launching point for Mt. Frissel. Hmm. We forgot that it was Memorial Day, and small towns like to have parades. Between Killington and Hartford there were four or five parades, three of which caused us significant detours. Then, there came the near fatal mistake. 44 cuts through North Hartford, which is very bad. We were totally in the hood, and very nervous for several blocks as glares penetrated our windows. When we got home and remarked about this, Clare Miller told us that she barely escaped a carjacking in North Hartford. Noted. Don't go through North Hartford ever again. On the other side of the capital, again there were several parades - and in Avon and Winsted we had to detour several miles. Yep, way behind schedule.


After a McDonald's stop in Salisbury, we began to navigate our way down delightful gravel roads to the trailhead for Mt. Frissel, on the Mass-CT border. Leaf-dappled sunlight guided our way over six miles, and then we began the second hike. This one was tougher, scambling and clambering over sharp rocks to the top of Round Mountain, and then down again to the saddle, and up to Mt. Frissel, whose summit is in Mass, so you have to go around to the south side to bag the high point. Sweat was dripping off my cap brim in a stream, and my shirt was soaking, but the occasional vista to the North was enough to inspire a rest stop or two. We dodged the poison ivy, greeted a few fellow hikers (but oddly not a single high pointer was met by us this day), and headed down again. There were huge Lady Slippers along the trail at a few places. Neat flower.


We had to backtrack to Salisbury in order to get straight again toward Pittsfield, Mass, and Mt. Greylock 15 more miles to the north. We were stalled by holiday traffic again as we wound through southwestern Mass, and it seemed to take forever to get up to Mt. Greylock. But the top was awesome, towering above the surround terrain by over a thousand feet. Well over. We took pictures quickly, and started back home, more than two hours away, while we listened to the country music Memorial Day Special. Great stuff. We arrived back in West Point at 7:30 PM, 5 hours beyond expectation, but happy.

We live in a great nation, great because of the beauty of its land, but also because of the hearts of the people. It is worth defending.

Interlude: Graduation Day

This is one of those days that make everything else seem pretty insignificant. It was a perspective day. I know we're getting in some high points this extra-long weekend, but the real reason we're here is to witness the graduation of Caroline "Coco" Miller, a seventh generation West Pointer. She grew up in our little church in Denver, Colorado, but had West Point stars in her eyes as long as any one of us can remember. And today, the culmination of her dreams, and her hard work, came to fruition. We are proud to have a small stake in her life but she is the one who deserves the credit. It takes sacrifice to what she did.

The second great blessing is one that goes on and on, fellowship with dearly loved friends with whom we will spend eternity. To that fellowship we will add the face to face presence of the Lord, but days like this are a reminder of what is unique to our faith: the sure promise of eternal life in Christ Jesus, a fantastic eternal life of good things.

New Jersey: Freeways, Scenic Byroads, and a Surprise

We get up early, really early in Colorado, to catch our 7:15 AM flight to Newark, New Jersey. We have to be in West Point, NY for the Baccalaureate service at 7 PM, and that includes hitting the Jersey high point, getting to our temporary residence, changing, and arriving at the Cadet Chapel. The flight (including a great view of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building), the baggage, and the rental car all go really well. Cue slightly ominous music. We head up the New Jersey Turnpike, and the signs are kind of confusing, because there are TWO NEW JERSEY TURNPIKES. Eenie Meenie Miney Moe. Yep wrong one. Inside I'm thinking that I don't want to go to New York City. Not through the Holland or Lincoln Tunnels, not over the George Washingtom Bridge. Not by ferry, either. So we pay our money for the turnpike after waiting ten minutes to do so, and then find our way to I-80 West, and everything feels better. And it is. We're cruising, now.

We take the highway 15 exit and head northwest, and with the freeway MPH we are actually gaining our lost half hour back. Now, we are all starving, and finding a place that has food and drink is increasingly a priority. We go through various small towns, and they are more and more charming the deeper into the woods we get. It is Spring Green and gorgeous at every turn on our winding road, and with the blue sky and warm weather life is really good, and, after missing a Mickey D's in Sparta because of a weird exit where you had to turn right to go left, and another gas convenience store that didn't look all that great, we find a respectable looking deli in Coleville, just a couple of miles from our high point. The stuff looked positively scrumptious. One problem. The guy there was super polite, and several really nice people came in who were friendly, but man, he was painstakingly slow at making the sandwiches. They were delicious, but suddenly we're a half hour behind schedule. We grab our bags and head for the road, and our first high point since New Mexico, last September.

Now here's the nice surprise. It is speck tack u lar. We break out of the forest, and across a little lake we see the half size or so replica of the Washington Monument - that's it! What a beautiful sight. And then, the panorama is also amazing. So we take our picture next to the monument, and looking down we notice gazillions of caterpillars crawling around the ground. How cool. The only disappointment is that the monument is closed.

Next stop: West Point. We are behind schedule thanks to the World's Slowest Sandwich Maker, but oh well. We get there, we meet Col. and Mrs. Lynch, our hosts. We change. We get to the church on time. Wow. God made beauty in Jersey, and man made beauty at the Cadet Chapel. And then, maybe best of all, faces of people that we love. The Millers, the Corliss's, the Johnsons, and of course the graduate we came to see, Coco Miller. Coco sings the solo in the Cadet Choir for the service, and hits it just right, and then we get to catch up with everyone afterward. We are blessed. Monday morning Turner and I will rise early hopefully bag three in one day - Rhode Island, Connecticut, and Massachusetts.

Texas No Step

Since our September excursion to New Mexico, Turner and I had been looking forward to getting back on the highpointing trail. Our big plan was to hit Texas' Guadalupe Peak as part of our spring break trip to visit family in Houston. A late season blizzard cut across the Texas panhandle, and brought wind, rain, and snow to the Guadalupe Mountains on the one day that we had planned for hiking. Sorry kids, Wally World's closed! Suffice it to say we are re-planning.

Winterlude

Summer of Falling Stars

Alpine meadow dances and laughing we join.

Flowers riot and tyrant clouds deny
Shadow-sun-shadow upon their pleading faces.
So little time, so little time,
Then the snowy kiss of death.

A brook chuckles by, joining our mirth,
But soon a silent ocean destiny.

Birds look in, curious and indignant,
Hunger-proud and leery, unaware of human desire,
And their own southward urging.

Long shadows march and die to alpenglow,
Herald of another day, another summer gone,
And the rose-tinged prophet of our parting.

Tonight, one last darkness, midsummer-brief.
The light of distant suns close age-long journeys in our eyes,
And falling stars, the showy suicide of dust.

Long past now,
That summer lingers -
A star-white trail across
The dark expanse of memory.

A Nice Round Number Seven: Wheeler Peak, New Mexico

The last day of summer started out frosty. There was a rime of frost on the rocks and most of the plants, and our morning trail started way down in the valley, Taos Ski Valley to be exact. It wasn't outright cold, since I stayed with short sleeves, but then again my cold tolerance is way above most, because of my patented internal layer system (others, less kind, may call it blubber). The trail to the top of New Mexico begins with a modest climb of a thousand feet over the first two miles. Turner and I notice that a lot of people complain about this gradient, and then marvel that we've hiked miles more, and thousands of feet more when they feel totally beat. I think our ability to take pain, rather than our amazing physical conditioning, must be the difference. We arrived at Williams Lake, not much more than a tarn of a couple hundred yards across, about an hour after our 7:45 AM departure. No big deal so far, but we know what's next: 2000 feet of climbing in one mile.

The morning light here must be one of the reasons they call this state the land of enchantment. The peaks to our East are bathed in gold, a Cibola light show of great magnitude. I am musing between the adjectives "beautiful" and "awesome." The geological formations are awesome, the stark results of dramatic mountain-lifting power. But they are not beautiful. The light, however, that caresses the landscape, and plays against the crystal blue sky... that's beautiful.

Right from the lake the trail abruptly rose toward the saddle to the North of the peak. First it was through the woods, then up through a gully, breaking out onto the slopes about halfway between lake and saddle. I realize very early on that this is one of those climbs where you put your head down, keep your eyes on the mountain in front of you, and try not to think about how much further it is. Overall the grade is just under 40% for this mile, but there are sections that easily go over 50%. We can touch the mountain in front us while standing straight up. Ouch. But... it gets over with mercifully soon, and after a brief rock scramble right near the top of the saddle, we get over to the summit. Four hours up.

I like the summit feeling. The four others at the top are all giddy as we are, chatting about nothing in particular, but happy and laughing. It ends too soon, and the pain of descent must be faced. We take our time going down, and reach the car in just over two hours. All in all it was a great hike.

I have a wonderful tradition for the road trip home from hiking trips. I like to listen to George Winston's Summer - piano solos - as I watch the landscape roll by. The five hour trip is shortened by the music, and later by listening to another favorite, baseball on the radio. The sounds of summer soon to pass. We are ravenously hungry, but have to wait almost two hours until the Carl's Jr. in Walsenburg, Colorado. The burgers and fries and cokes are beyond gourmet. Turner and I agree that we hope the gracious Lord gives many more such summers as this one. Seven high points, a week in the back country of the Weminuche Wilderness, and many other smaller blessings.

Interlude: Taos

Rene' and I were chatting this afternoon about our day trip to Taos during our honeymoon. Not a lot of detail surfaced: a late breakfast, a visit to an art gallery with Mountain Man Art... (kind of glad that phase is over... it is, isn't it?), a cold winter day. But I remembered also looking out north of town, up the valley and thinking, "Colorado is not so far up there..." Just a couple of weeks before I had heard of a lead on a church that needed a pastor up in Denver, and stored it away as a possible job lead, that I might look into after our wedding and honeymoon. The whole thing worked out pretty well.

Turner and I are in Taos to climb Wheeler Peak, New Mexico, a low thirteener, but the highest point in the state. It will be our seventh this year. What a drive down! The drives to the highpoints have been spectacular, and this one is no exception. We drove over La Veta Pass and through San Luis Valley, including the oldest town in Colorado, San Luis itself. I guess Mesa Verde doesn't count, another tough break for the ancient pueblans. What a charming town is Taos, but Turrner and I were noticing that there are very few young people here. We concluded that this is a vacation town for old folks. There's art, pottery, turquoise, but no waterslides or rollercoasters. B-O-R-I-N-G. Unless of course you're post-kids, well to do, and looking to brighten up your existence somewhat.

Tomorrow, the hike. I've read it's pretty steep, but I feel unintimidated after Mt. Elbert (did I mention it's the highest in the Rocky Mountains?). Less elevation, less climbing, less mileage. Just one stretch of 2000 feet of climb in one mile. What grade is that anyway? Just under 40%? Really glad we're not trying to drive it.