Adirondack Peeks Summer 2023

In the twen ty-seven years be tween Gothics and Dix, I grew from a nine-year-old girl to a thirty-six-year-old woman, with an al most-nine-year-old daughter of my own. I celebrated gradu ations from high school, college, and graduate school. I took a year off from hiking the summer I got married. I went four years without climbing when my

* * * Between the Mountains Megan (Betteridge) Soja, #14692 O n August 27, 1995, I climbed Gothics, my first high peak in the Adirondack mountains. Twenty seven years later, to the day, I stood atop Dix and celebrated finishing my forty-sixth high peak. Anyone who has climbed in the Adirondacks has a story to tell. I know I have my fair share: Sinking up to my knees in mud on the way down Haystack. Eating smashed Hostess CupCakes on Big Slide to celebrate my sister’s birthday. Watching a helicopter drop water on a forest fire from Giant and Rocky Peak Ridge on a 95-degree day. Climbing Couchsachraga, Santanoni, and Panther just ahead of a hurricane. Swimming in a perfect crevice of rock in the stream as we hiked out from a long day on the trail. I’ve hiked in pouring rain and on perfect blue sky days when you can see for miles. I’ve spotted cairns, pumped water, slept in lean-tos and lodges, sang and laughed and sometimes grumbled. I’ve told myself the summit must be right around the next bend countless times when, of course, it wasn’t actually right around the next bend. I’ve stood in awe of the vast, rugged wilderness and relished the gift it is to be able to explore and enjoy it. But, in the end, Two-muddy-plastic-bags later, I made summit and was greeted by a pair of Boreal chickadees darting and chirping excitedly as if applauding completion of my last forty-sixth peak. I, for one, would conclude my journey upon a third-charmed climb to Santanoni peak. And what a sweet victory lap it was! I am humbled by and deeply grateful for the experience in becoming a foot champion of our forever wild, majestic High Peaks. For them I am honored to call Upstate New York home. They are the fortress to which we owe our greatness. mous moated mire to reach Couchsachraga.

husband and I grieved the loss of our first baby, then rejoiced when bringing home our second child. There’s a seven-year gap in my hikes when our younger daugh ter was born with a congenital heart defect and bravely battled through five open-heart surgeries. Through all that living, all the changes, all the highs and lows, the mountains were there. A chal lenge, an adventure, an ever-present reminder that life itself is much like an Adirondack trail. There are rough patches to navigate and there are magnificent views to admire. There are stormy days and clear skies. There are scrapes and bruises and tears, both happy and sad. And it is worth every step. When I think about the past twenty-seven years and the forty-six peaks I climbed over that stretch of time, I keep coming back to this: It is not the challenge of the trail, though I’m proud of all I’ve accomplished. It is not the thrill of the summit, though nothing else on earth can replicate that feeling. It is not the designation of 46er, though I’m excited to have that honor. What really matters—what I will always treasure most—is the journey, the people that walked it along side me, and the life lived between the mountains. Acknowledgments Thank you to my dad (William J. Betteridge #8967), who climbed with me every step of the way. To my sister, who began the journey by my side and shared thirty-six peaks with me. To my brother and sister-in law who made the final trek with me. To my mom, who always cheered me on. And to my husband and girls, who encouraged me to finally finish my mountains. It has been the adventure of a lifetime. * * *

what stands out most is less about the mountains and more about the peo ple who shared the trail with me and the memories we made together. Because, really, it’s not about the destination but the journey. And, oh, has it been a journey. Not just a journey of 46 peaks, but a journey of life.

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