Adirondack Peeks Summer 2023

Becoming a Forty-Sixer Maija Igbo, #14795 S ix years ago, I visited the High Peaks region where I first exercised the freedom of my two legs upon Wright to Algonquin. Thereafter, I was held captive by its beauty and magnificence. I had found the fortress of the Adirondack Park. Its cathedral cliffs stand in close guard, harbingers of the journey ahead, a glimpse into its past thru the generations of alpine ladening a cloak of dense evergreen between rockslides of gleaming armor. Like the Green Berets, the High Peaks are an elite force to be reckoned with. As an enchanted recruit, I would soon come to admire and respect the feat of conquering them all. Although I grew up hiking the Green Mountains of VT, it did little to prepare me for the unique chal lenge of summitting the Adirondack high peaks. They team up to form a remote network of ranges, loyal sub jects surrounding their majestic queen, Mount Marcy. Although there are 46 high peaks in legacy, none cast

even more breathtaking and to discover each view point was a kaleidoscope of the other. But gazing into their mountainous faces, I would come to recognize their unique shapes and profiles. Some chiseled in the wind; some shrouded my view with bushy krummholz. Others, as Allen, were thickheaded with evergreen fir and emoted streams of river rapids, which complicated our approach. I would laugh tearily as my hiking part ner schlepped across and was surely baptized. Yet my own leaps of faith were seldomly saved by an intimate embrace upon a single dry boulder in the riverbed. With determination and grit, we would attain such aloof peaks to find immense views of neighboring peaks and infinite sights of those beyond. Employing our map, we identified an ever-increasing number of peaks that we had conquered—a sight for sore “legs” that kept them climbing. You may wonder why I hadn’t achieved my 46er title some years ago. But completing the 46 high peaks wasn’t just about reaching a life goal. The experience represented how bigger goals in life are achieved—an example of how persistence while weary, and in the face of obstacles, is necessary for

shadows upon their un listed peers who stand silently beside in equal rank. And while they may lack formal acknowledge ment, they remain intrin sic to the High Peaks re gion. Without Boundary at 4826’, we wouldn’t make it to Iroquois or, worse, never find the Shepherd’s Tooth. And there, stuck between Sawteeth and Gothics is Pyramid Peak at 4597’ to Armstrong, Upper, and Lower Wolf jaws over elevation gains of more than 400 feet. “Armed to the

any great accomplishment. It taught me the importance of finding my bearings and direction in life, as in the for est—to ensure my life’s com pass aligns on the right path before it’s too late. In the vast wilderness of the Adirondack High Peaks region, I found my center: fresh air to clear my head and solitude in nature. Most of all, I learned to ac cept failure when collaps ing a mere 100 yards from Santanoni Peak after catch ing hypothermia. It was the dead of winter when we at tempted to make summit—

teeth,” we’d set off—marching at dawn to make ascents upon nearby mountains within range. As if reaching summit wasn’t sufficient, we’d searched for a bench mark and picnic under an auspice of cumulous clouds. But their billows and looms soon sent us hands-over feet, lifting ourselves down in hemorrhage of hard earned elevation gain. Down we fled on rock faces and rolling ankles, racing to the bottom before light bled from the sky, and the forest’s path trailed off into a shadowy dusk. But staying course and reaching base only meant the beginning of a dark and endless “death march” out. Somehow, and miraculously, our day’s jour ney would end—welcomed by the spectacular display of a brightly starlit Milky Way! In such a fashion, we covered several peaks per range, summiting 19 high peaks in 2019 alone. We traversed 43 peaks in 16 ranges, although devout day hikes were made to Allen, Big Slide, Colden, Marcy, Marshall, and Seymour. We climbed relentlessly to glimpse the first peaking view, only to find the next

breaking trail in often waist-deep snow in an arduous ascent. Above the tree line, a blizzard ensued, blotting both visibility and sunlight. A deep wind chill howled and gusted death threats upon me, robbing the heat from my core body temperature and shaking me in a violent shiver. The numbing cold froze me where I lay, and I closed my eyes in utter exhaustion. In lying there, I knew I would die and soon be buried in a snow-drifted grave. I forced my frozen-shut eyes open, squinting through snow squalls to glimpse the endless evergreen barons below and into the distance. Willfully, I shoved to my feet and fled to their shelter in abort of our mis sion. Yet in the face of failure, I returned to triumph, and we reached summit the following week (see picture). Last spring, I revisited Santanoni Wilderness for the last, and yes least, peak, Couchsachraga. To the mu sic of a roaring Santanoni Brook, I hiked along a snow spined shoulder to Panther’s summit—an early feat that was dwarfed by the daunting task of crossing the infa-

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