Adirondack Peeks Winter 2025

A window of sunlight, the peaks stand visible, Majestic, towering, imposing . . . impossible. Vision sends crescendos surging through essence. Breathtaking splendor and feeling God’s presence. Dredging deep for true grit, you dig in your toes, And all past aggravations somehow just go. The first part of Basin is really tough, You hang right out there . . . really scary stuff. No hand or foothold that will hit you just right. Friendly hands free you from this terrible plight. A hand from above and a hand from below, And in this slow fashion you somehow go, From one pocket of safety to the next above, Ever grateful for a friendly behind shove. Over Basin and Saddleback, to sheer Gothics’ slide, With huge safety cables bored into its bare sides. Connie and Marty walk holding hands, standing tall, Straight up and smiling they walk up this wall. I’ll remember forever this splendid vision, Watched from hands and knees, my secure position. The sky was their backdrop, a beautiful blue, They walked up that mountain, a heavenly view. Proceeding on all fours in fits and starts, Catching my breath and then making a dart. Not looking up or down, nor left or right, I climb the whole stretch clutching every rock tight. I can hear Connie and Marty already on top, Close voices encouraging, bidding not stop. We make the summit with time gaps between, Bedraggled and bruised, a sight to be seen. The flat, safe zenith is a welcome abode. Packs and people drop, relieved to unload. Oblivious of sharp rocks, we all stretch out. Slaked thirst and rested, essentials grown stout. Renewed by sustenance spilled from our packs, And the few minutes spent lying on backs. We survey and scrutinize our morning’s travail. The miniature Ausables and distance of trail. Euphoria, exhilaration inflate from perception, A radiating supremacy my personal detection, Incredulity of the feat really grabs hold, We made it, we made it, is exchanged and extolled.

Skinned knees, bruises, and the biggest bites yet. Our clothes are dirty, and a few places torn, And the rag socks and boots are the ugliest worn. Thus, naked without raiment to shore up our being, The true person emerges and is found worth seeing. This quest that has bound us, time will set adrift, But to have known this connection, a treasured gift. Nudged from reverie, we’re urged to move out, Muscles have stiffened and their function we doubt. One last quick look at the beauty all ’round, We collect our things and start our way down. Pyramid goes easy and my angst is relieved, Where are those cliffs at lunch we perceived? Resorting to fannies we slip down steep drops, Grip at limbs, hoping the inertia will stop. Ever watchful for roots tucked knurled and benign, That topple by launching or grabbing from behind. We forge through the forests dense and steep, Aware now of time and the bus we must meet. This woebegone lot, eyes elevated one step ahead, Quickens its cadence, to be late is a dread. Tired and hurting, our exhilaration depleted, We emerge from the trail, thanking God it’s completed.

Then quiet time descends, we all retreat, To within ourselves and thoughts replete. A glance about at my comrades this day,

Makes me proud to have friends as good as they. All worldly pretenses this endeavor has peeled, Exposing an inner beauty not yet revealed. It’s true we are dirty with smudge marks from sweat,

ADIRONDACK 46-R book by Margaret Jacobs #3576

WINTER 2025 | 27