50+ Peaks
SCOTLAND
Ben Nevis, summited 8-14-95
the valley as we ascended
cold but satisfied on Scotland's roof
Excerpt from journal: “Apparently we were too loud when we got in from the bar last night. This morning after breakfast the hostel owner kicked us out. We had to scramble to find a new place, but we found a nice little pink one-room B&B run by a Mrs. Simpson and headed to the mountain. We took a cab to the base, and began, switching up with the backpack full of food. It was a lovely day, soon we could see for miles. As ususal, however, the top of the mountain was enshrouded in mist. The hike was very rocky, curling with switchbacks up the side of the hunchback, past a small mountain-top lake, and then up. Along the way we talked with an elderly couple, and the man sort of chastised me for allowing Erin, a woman, to carry the pack. So I, the man, took it. Whatever. The whole hike was a great view down into Glen Nevis and out into and across the Scottish highlands. We laughed and wept, knowing we only had a few more days together. We eventually got into the clouds and found our way past the observatory gully and into the triangulation post at the top, 4,418 feet above sea level. The remains of an observatory were there, as well as an emergency shelter, by which we ate our lunch. Delicious. There was also a peace memorial commemorating various people and expeditions in a huge stone cairn. Bit of old plastic wreathes still blew about. We ate bread, smoked cheese, turkey, mustard, orange Lucozade and bananas. Unfortunately the weather was FREEZING and we were getting wetter so we hoofed it down the mountain with a spring in our step. Erin said the springs trickling down the mountain looked like silver necklaces.
Ben Nevis, summited 8-14-95
the valley as we ascended
cold but satisfied on Scotland's roof
Excerpt from journal: “Apparently we were too loud when we got in from the bar last night. This morning after breakfast the hostel owner kicked us out. We had to scramble to find a new place, but we found a nice little pink one-room B&B run by a Mrs. Simpson and headed to the mountain. We took a cab to the base, and began, switching up with the backpack full of food. It was a lovely day, soon we could see for miles. As ususal, however, the top of the mountain was enshrouded in mist. The hike was very rocky, curling with switchbacks up the side of the hunchback, past a small mountain-top lake, and then up. Along the way we talked with an elderly couple, and the man sort of chastised me for allowing Erin, a woman, to carry the pack. So I, the man, took it. Whatever. The whole hike was a great view down into Glen Nevis and out into and across the Scottish highlands. We laughed and wept, knowing we only had a few more days together. We eventually got into the clouds and found our way past the observatory gully and into the triangulation post at the top, 4,418 feet above sea level. The remains of an observatory were there, as well as an emergency shelter, by which we ate our lunch. Delicious. There was also a peace memorial commemorating various people and expeditions in a huge stone cairn. Bit of old plastic wreathes still blew about. We ate bread, smoked cheese, turkey, mustard, orange Lucozade and bananas. Unfortunately the weather was FREEZING and we were getting wetter so we hoofed it down the mountain with a spring in our step. Erin said the springs trickling down the mountain looked like silver necklaces.
ENGLAND
Mt. Snowdon, summited 7-15-95
Erin and I near the summit
view from the trail
Excerpt from journal: “This morning Maggie, Erin, Kevin, David and I had a good regular breakfast with beans, eggs, sausage, bacon, etc. and stowed our gear at The Heights, right down the street from Crw Fair, our hostel for the night. Then it was off to Snowdon. The hike started off in concrete, passing volunteer dry stone wall builders repairing the trail, then it went on into grass and shale, past herds of sheep up into the mountain. After a while we made it to the halfway house, which the map said had snacks and coffee, but it appears the building had been broken down and dilapidated for several years. The scenery was beautiful; we could look back and see the lake, Llyn Padarn and all of Llanberis. We stopped beneath a railway bridge and broke out the bread, fruit and mead. We were inside of a cloud. While we ate and laughed, drinking the cowslip mead, a lone dirty sheep came up and tried to eat our lunch! It was great. We headed out and were soon on the ridge, weaving upwards. The crags and sharp rocks looked like gravestones. It took a long time, winding up through the grass, and then we were there, gathering around a stone pillar marking the highest point in England and Wales. We could go no further. We talked quietly, enveloped in cold mist and wind. A while later this old man came up, apparently struggling hard to get to the top. He wanted it bad—wouldn’t let anyone help him at all. He grasped the stone pillar with a thankful seriousness and it was amazing. Our group, spry in our young age, had basically sauntered up the hill. But to this fellow, this was the trip of a lifetime. It was written in the lines of face, the way he grasped the pillar tightly as his breath returned. Eventually, he looked up and grinned. He had arrived.”
Mt. Snowdon, summited 7-15-95
Erin and I near the summit
view from the trail
Excerpt from journal: “This morning Maggie, Erin, Kevin, David and I had a good regular breakfast with beans, eggs, sausage, bacon, etc. and stowed our gear at The Heights, right down the street from Crw Fair, our hostel for the night. Then it was off to Snowdon. The hike started off in concrete, passing volunteer dry stone wall builders repairing the trail, then it went on into grass and shale, past herds of sheep up into the mountain. After a while we made it to the halfway house, which the map said had snacks and coffee, but it appears the building had been broken down and dilapidated for several years. The scenery was beautiful; we could look back and see the lake, Llyn Padarn and all of Llanberis. We stopped beneath a railway bridge and broke out the bread, fruit and mead. We were inside of a cloud. While we ate and laughed, drinking the cowslip mead, a lone dirty sheep came up and tried to eat our lunch! It was great. We headed out and were soon on the ridge, weaving upwards. The crags and sharp rocks looked like gravestones. It took a long time, winding up through the grass, and then we were there, gathering around a stone pillar marking the highest point in England and Wales. We could go no further. We talked quietly, enveloped in cold mist and wind. A while later this old man came up, apparently struggling hard to get to the top. He wanted it bad—wouldn’t let anyone help him at all. He grasped the stone pillar with a thankful seriousness and it was amazing. Our group, spry in our young age, had basically sauntered up the hill. But to this fellow, this was the trip of a lifetime. It was written in the lines of face, the way he grasped the pillar tightly as his breath returned. Eventually, he looked up and grinned. He had arrived.”
ALABAMA
Mt. Cheaha, summited many times
(This is not my photo)
Having grown up in Alabama, I’ve obviously been here a lot. It’s accessble by road, too. Cheaha is one of the best places to camp in the state, and we’ve spent many a night at Devil’s Den falls, Lake Chinnabee, McDill Point, and others. The cool thing is that Cheaha is on or near the Pinhote Trail, an old Indian Trail running south from Talladega, which will one day be part of the International Appalachian Trail, which will run through Alabama. I’m proud to say I helped cut part of the trail north of Cheaha, though only for a day. Every little bit counts, though.
Mt. Cheaha, summited many times
(This is not my photo)
Having grown up in Alabama, I’ve obviously been here a lot. It’s accessble by road, too. Cheaha is one of the best places to camp in the state, and we’ve spent many a night at Devil’s Den falls, Lake Chinnabee, McDill Point, and others. The cool thing is that Cheaha is on or near the Pinhote Trail, an old Indian Trail running south from Talladega, which will one day be part of the International Appalachian Trail, which will run through Alabama. I’m proud to say I helped cut part of the trail north of Cheaha, though only for a day. Every little bit counts, though.
MAINE
Mount Katahdin, summited 10-9-99
Excerpt from my journal: Well Saturday night I met Rubicon and we agreed to hike in the morning, wake time 4:30. Watched Carlito’s Way, drank some beer. Awoke and we drove w/good conversation to the mountain, picked up Jason, a dude traveling around the country, parked the car and departed. Rubicon’s an ex-navy man, sharp, leadership-oriented, friendly and loud, talkative. As we began ascending we talked of flying, the trail. The yellow countryside expanded as we climbed, using bars in the rocks going up and over dramatic ledges, gorgeous. By the time we were at Thoreau Springs the mountain was socked in, colder. The excitement was there, walking along the tableland, a mile or so, then a slow up and there—though the mist and clouds, was the sign. We stopped and breathed it in, that mysterious thing that meant so much, and yet it was so simple. We embraced it. We walked around it. It looked newer than than in many photos I’ve seen, but beautiful. We yelled the yawp and smiled the only grin that can express how meaning-laden these rocks had become. How truly alive was this encounter. It felt damn good. Even though I still had 300+ miles to go, I finally knew what it is like to truly earn Katahdin, to know the last white blaze. A sense of completion was planted within me, began the process of digesting the experiences of the last five months not as isolated memories but as one singular occurrence, the thing itself. We summited on Sunday, October 17, exactly 5 months after I began my trek up the approach trial at Amicalola.
Mount Katahdin, summited 10-9-99
Excerpt from my journal: Well Saturday night I met Rubicon and we agreed to hike in the morning, wake time 4:30. Watched Carlito’s Way, drank some beer. Awoke and we drove w/good conversation to the mountain, picked up Jason, a dude traveling around the country, parked the car and departed. Rubicon’s an ex-navy man, sharp, leadership-oriented, friendly and loud, talkative. As we began ascending we talked of flying, the trail. The yellow countryside expanded as we climbed, using bars in the rocks going up and over dramatic ledges, gorgeous. By the time we were at Thoreau Springs the mountain was socked in, colder. The excitement was there, walking along the tableland, a mile or so, then a slow up and there—though the mist and clouds, was the sign. We stopped and breathed it in, that mysterious thing that meant so much, and yet it was so simple. We embraced it. We walked around it. It looked newer than than in many photos I’ve seen, but beautiful. We yelled the yawp and smiled the only grin that can express how meaning-laden these rocks had become. How truly alive was this encounter. It felt damn good. Even though I still had 300+ miles to go, I finally knew what it is like to truly earn Katahdin, to know the last white blaze. A sense of completion was planted within me, began the process of digesting the experiences of the last five months not as isolated memories but as one singular occurrence, the thing itself. We summited on Sunday, October 17, exactly 5 months after I began my trek up the approach trial at Amicalola.
LOUISIANA
Driskill Mountain, elevation 535 feet, the highest point in Louisiana.
Weary and light-headed because of the lack of oxygen, our hero poses beside the highest pile of rocks in the state.
Raise a glass for Jack, founder of the Highpointers Club.
Well, I was on my way out to Colorado in August of 2006, shortly after Mary Pat and I took the bar exam, and it occurred to me that I would probably be driving near a highpoint. After calling Caroline, my internet connection while I was on the road, I found out that Driskill Mountain was only a short bit out of my way, so I headed into the backwoods. The trail, or dirt road, rather, is located behind a church and immediately reaches a sign alerting you that trespassers will be prosecuted. Great. But then I noticed a built-in gap in the fence which alerted me that this hike would probably not land me in jail and I proceeded. The dirt road then brached off into a myriad of other directions, but a trusty sign guided me up the right path. Raccoons and deer joined me as I traipsed up the ever-so-slight incline toward the peak. Before long, as I meandered through the forest road, I beheld the peak and realized I had barely broken a sweat. And with much joy and exultation, I summitted. The sun was setting in the west, leaving a last few golden rays on the pine straw and army ants underfoot, and as I signed the register located in a metal box beside the peak, my cellphone rang.
Driskill Mountain, elevation 535 feet, the highest point in Louisiana.
Weary and light-headed because of the lack of oxygen, our hero poses beside the highest pile of rocks in the state.
Raise a glass for Jack, founder of the Highpointers Club.
Well, I was on my way out to Colorado in August of 2006, shortly after Mary Pat and I took the bar exam, and it occurred to me that I would probably be driving near a highpoint. After calling Caroline, my internet connection while I was on the road, I found out that Driskill Mountain was only a short bit out of my way, so I headed into the backwoods. The trail, or dirt road, rather, is located behind a church and immediately reaches a sign alerting you that trespassers will be prosecuted. Great. But then I noticed a built-in gap in the fence which alerted me that this hike would probably not land me in jail and I proceeded. The dirt road then brached off into a myriad of other directions, but a trusty sign guided me up the right path. Raccoons and deer joined me as I traipsed up the ever-so-slight incline toward the peak. Before long, as I meandered through the forest road, I beheld the peak and realized I had barely broken a sweat. And with much joy and exultation, I summitted. The sun was setting in the west, leaving a last few golden rays on the pine straw and army ants underfoot, and as I signed the register located in a metal box beside the peak, my cellphone rang.
Yes, I had reception on the mountain-top.
I was
discouraged at first, since my solitary peak-bagging extravaganza had been shattered by the long
impersonal reach of technology, but it was my cousin Ray and I was glad to talk to him. And frankly,
the peak was rather boring. Really more of a clearing in the middle of a nondescript hardwood forest.
But it was the peak nonetheless, and I considered it bagged.
MASSACHUSETTS
Mount Graylock, summited 9-6-99
Excerpt from my journal: Today I woke up in the church in town feeling better than I had, stopped at the Shell station and had breakfast, talked to some guys briefly, headed up Graylock in a humid air. Reached near the top and talked with some guys, now here at the lodge chilling for $27.00, which I will work off tonight by helping around the kitchen. I had a shower, some more grilled cheese, met Swiftriver and some dude from Georgia, talked the former into staying, as he seemed like an interesting fellow. I scored a free dinner, too: had turkey and gravy, corn on the cob, lentl soup, lemonade, and beautiful clouds as we cleaned, the cleaning easy. Afterwards, Saquatch, his buddy Swiftriver and I sat and rapped in humor about the trail, funny when Swiftriver expressive how your pack is your defense against whatever Nature throws at you. Bring it on indeed. Then we relaxed by the fire in big cushy green and red chairs, our boots lined and warming, talking of beauty and the accurate evolution of the senses, and how right Kant was. I like Swiftriver—he’s a good guy, uneducated but so incredibly open, so willing to talk about the world. I like surrounding myself with people who retain a sense of wonder at the world. It was a great time. This is not the best picture, but it is the tower on the top of the mountain, a very beautiful structure inside.
Mount Graylock, summited 9-6-99
Excerpt from my journal: Today I woke up in the church in town feeling better than I had, stopped at the Shell station and had breakfast, talked to some guys briefly, headed up Graylock in a humid air. Reached near the top and talked with some guys, now here at the lodge chilling for $27.00, which I will work off tonight by helping around the kitchen. I had a shower, some more grilled cheese, met Swiftriver and some dude from Georgia, talked the former into staying, as he seemed like an interesting fellow. I scored a free dinner, too: had turkey and gravy, corn on the cob, lentl soup, lemonade, and beautiful clouds as we cleaned, the cleaning easy. Afterwards, Saquatch, his buddy Swiftriver and I sat and rapped in humor about the trail, funny when Swiftriver expressive how your pack is your defense against whatever Nature throws at you. Bring it on indeed. Then we relaxed by the fire in big cushy green and red chairs, our boots lined and warming, talking of beauty and the accurate evolution of the senses, and how right Kant was. I like Swiftriver—he’s a good guy, uneducated but so incredibly open, so willing to talk about the world. I like surrounding myself with people who retain a sense of wonder at the world. It was a great time. This is not the best picture, but it is the tower on the top of the mountain, a very beautiful structure inside.
NEW HAMPSHIRE
Mt. Washington, summited 10-3-99
(sign at base of trail up to the peak)
(me at the edge of King's Canyon on other side of the mountain)
Excerpt from my journal: Temperature was 28 degrees when I left this morning, a rather difficult climb above tree level across Pierce, etc, the rain changing to snow, to ice, arrived at lakes of the Clouds cold but full of energy. Ate and pressed on past the “Danger, people have dies here” sign, made it onb up to the top in good time, got all my packages. Now here in the summit house warm, drying out some stuff, the cafeteria closed dammit, read the list of deaths, crazy. Found out the constant website camera on top, trying to get dad to record it, somebody.
Mt. Washington, summited 10-3-99
(sign at base of trail up to the peak)
(me at the edge of King's Canyon on other side of the mountain)
Excerpt from my journal: Temperature was 28 degrees when I left this morning, a rather difficult climb above tree level across Pierce, etc, the rain changing to snow, to ice, arrived at lakes of the Clouds cold but full of energy. Ate and pressed on past the “Danger, people have dies here” sign, made it onb up to the top in good time, got all my packages. Now here in the summit house warm, drying out some stuff, the cafeteria closed dammit, read the list of deaths, crazy. Found out the constant website camera on top, trying to get dad to record it, somebody.
NEW JERSEY
High Point, summited 8-13-99
(as noted, this is not my photo)
Excerpt from my journal: Well, the rains today arrived for five minutes then stopped. The rest of the afternoon was sunny but muggy. I hiked to the High Point Office, got some water and called Richard, chatted with a fellow with three kids, then did the last two miles to High Point Shelter. When I arrived I met a southbound couple, nice, we talked about the trial, of course, the friary I had stayed at last night, and how churches aren’t exactly "hotbeds of bohemian liberalism." I have no idea how we arrived at that conclusion. The creek was pipefed and pure fast flowing, a welcome change. I cooked dinner in the cooling twilight and now a thunderstorm skirts the sky, brilliant flashes of blue light, and that deep shock of sound which has always frightened me. I believe that lightning or the fear of being struck by it will always make, or awake a primal fear within me. I shouldn’t let it, as the chances are rare, and if I ever did get hit I’d not live long enough to know it. I guess I’m most afraid of almost being hit. Now the rain has arrived and with it cool wind, much appreciated . . . Now the storm has moved on, still shaking the bones of the earth elsewhere, but occasionally a stray bolt falls nearby, Zeus clearing out his nest of clouds . . . Now the storm is approaching again, the night in stark blue flashes, glorious symphonies of friction etched out in dynamos of power. Wow. The lightning is almost continuous, more than I’ve seen. The rain is falling hard , but the tent is working perfectly. Good Lord - a big bolt just CRASHED nearby. This is very exciting, a full-blown thunderstorm, the tent leaking a little bit. And just like that, it slows dowm, gathers its things and prepares another blow. Somehow rain is leaking through the top of the tent, cold splashes on my neck . . .
High Point, summited 8-13-99
(as noted, this is not my photo)
Excerpt from my journal: Well, the rains today arrived for five minutes then stopped. The rest of the afternoon was sunny but muggy. I hiked to the High Point Office, got some water and called Richard, chatted with a fellow with three kids, then did the last two miles to High Point Shelter. When I arrived I met a southbound couple, nice, we talked about the trial, of course, the friary I had stayed at last night, and how churches aren’t exactly "hotbeds of bohemian liberalism." I have no idea how we arrived at that conclusion. The creek was pipefed and pure fast flowing, a welcome change. I cooked dinner in the cooling twilight and now a thunderstorm skirts the sky, brilliant flashes of blue light, and that deep shock of sound which has always frightened me. I believe that lightning or the fear of being struck by it will always make, or awake a primal fear within me. I shouldn’t let it, as the chances are rare, and if I ever did get hit I’d not live long enough to know it. I guess I’m most afraid of almost being hit. Now the rain has arrived and with it cool wind, much appreciated . . . Now the storm has moved on, still shaking the bones of the earth elsewhere, but occasionally a stray bolt falls nearby, Zeus clearing out his nest of clouds . . . Now the storm is approaching again, the night in stark blue flashes, glorious symphonies of friction etched out in dynamos of power. Wow. The lightning is almost continuous, more than I’ve seen. The rain is falling hard , but the tent is working perfectly. Good Lord - a big bolt just CRASHED nearby. This is very exciting, a full-blown thunderstorm, the tent leaking a little bit. And just like that, it slows dowm, gathers its things and prepares another blow. Somehow rain is leaking through the top of the tent, cold splashes on my neck . . .
OHIO
Campbell Hill, summited 2-15-04
We really had to break out the oxygen masks for this one. I called my buddy Brian on a clear, cold Sunday morning and asked if he wanted to bag Ohio’s highest peak. All he said was, “Now you’re talking.” The illustrious peak is on the campus of a community college outside of Bellefontaine (pronounced “bell fountain”), which unfortunately is closed on the weekends. So we drove all the way from Ada, 30 minutes away, to find the peak off limits. But we were hardy souls and would not be deterred. We found a back road that led to the rear of the campus, where we quickly and in full knowledge of the legal ramifications of our actions, scaled the fence. A little stealth peak-bagging action. The peak turned out to be a small promontory overlooking the plains to the west, with a little marble stone, marked with an X, that had been there since 1900. Of course the extremely thin air at that altitude (and the risk of arrest for trespassing) rendered celebrations unwise, so we took a few pictures and headed back down the hill and over the fence to the car. Lucky we weren’t on the peak long, so we suffered no ill effects from the high altitude. We drove away laughing, and triumphant.
Campbell Hill, summited 2-15-04
We really had to break out the oxygen masks for this one. I called my buddy Brian on a clear, cold Sunday morning and asked if he wanted to bag Ohio’s highest peak. All he said was, “Now you’re talking.” The illustrious peak is on the campus of a community college outside of Bellefontaine (pronounced “bell fountain”), which unfortunately is closed on the weekends. So we drove all the way from Ada, 30 minutes away, to find the peak off limits. But we were hardy souls and would not be deterred. We found a back road that led to the rear of the campus, where we quickly and in full knowledge of the legal ramifications of our actions, scaled the fence. A little stealth peak-bagging action. The peak turned out to be a small promontory overlooking the plains to the west, with a little marble stone, marked with an X, that had been there since 1900. Of course the extremely thin air at that altitude (and the risk of arrest for trespassing) rendered celebrations unwise, so we took a few pictures and headed back down the hill and over the fence to the car. Lucky we weren’t on the peak long, so we suffered no ill effects from the high altitude. We drove away laughing, and triumphant.
OKLAHOMA
Black Mesa, elevation 4975 feet, the highest point in Oklahoma.
Close-up of the sign.
View from the trail.
Black Mesa, elevation 4975 feet, the highest point in Oklahoma.
Close-up of the sign.
View from the trail.
TENNESSEE
Clingman’s Dome, summited many times
Picture of me taken by Daniel at the trailhead just below the lookout tower.
Lookout tower from the ground. Not my photo
View from the tower on a nice day, which is rare. Not my photo.
I’ve been to Clingman’s Dome a lot over the years. Mainly because it’s easily accessible, but not always. In 1994 Daniel Crabtree and I hiked from Fontana Dam to Clingaman’s, 35 miles of beautiful uphill trail. We saw a bear on that trip at Russell Field Shelter. We were beat but jubilant when we arrived at Clingman's Dome a few days later, and the coolest thing happened. We were overjoyed and talkative as we walked around the top of the lookout tower, and a group of schoolkids was up there and got caught up in our excitement too. Before we knew it thet all wanted their pictures taken with us, to which we gladly obliged, posing with each one in big smiles. It made their day, and sure made ours too. Being up there has that effect. I hope I go back many times more.
Clingman’s Dome, summited many times
Picture of me taken by Daniel at the trailhead just below the lookout tower.
Lookout tower from the ground. Not my photo
View from the tower on a nice day, which is rare. Not my photo.
I’ve been to Clingman’s Dome a lot over the years. Mainly because it’s easily accessible, but not always. In 1994 Daniel Crabtree and I hiked from Fontana Dam to Clingaman’s, 35 miles of beautiful uphill trail. We saw a bear on that trip at Russell Field Shelter. We were beat but jubilant when we arrived at Clingman's Dome a few days later, and the coolest thing happened. We were overjoyed and talkative as we walked around the top of the lookout tower, and a group of schoolkids was up there and got caught up in our excitement too. Before we knew it thet all wanted their pictures taken with us, to which we gladly obliged, posing with each one in big smiles. It made their day, and sure made ours too. Being up there has that effect. I hope I go back many times more.
VIRGINIA
Mount Rogers, elevation 5729 feet, the highest point in Virginia. Summitted while hiking the AT in 1999.
Mount Rogers, elevation 5729 feet, the highest point in Virginia. Summitted while hiking the AT in 1999.
