On short winter days, summiting a big peak in New York's Adirondack Mountains means starting before dawn.
I set off through the north woods over crunching snow. As the sun rose, there was just enough light to see, but no color: a black-and-white world of hemlock trees drawn in charcoal lines, boughs heavy with snow.
It was bitter cold, but still early enough in the season that I crossed open streams, hopping carefully over icy rocks.
Early in the climb, I passed a towering waterfall with shelf after shelf of ice. Water burbled and bubbled underneath. I paused there to pull on traction gear, little metal teeth that attach to the bottom of my boots to keep me from sliding on the icy trail.
With my cleats digging in, I climbed higher, often clambering on all fours, gripping rocks and tree roots. Whenever I found a view, I sat to catch my breath, looking out through ice fog over shelves of grey and black rock the size of buildings.
People ask me sometimes whether it makes sense to still be doing this kind of solo climbing when I'm in my sixties. Do I truly love being in snow and mountains at this age?
The truth is, it's one of my deepest joys. There are things I can't do anymore, of course, and risks I don't take. My body's not strong or quick enough now.
But one of the beauties of mountains is you just slow down when you need to. You move at your own pace. You find the altitude that feels comfortable and good.
The payoff is a deep kind of solitude I don't find anywhere else. On this day, I climbed into stillness and glimpses of wildness and beauty. I picked my way slowly above the tree line onto Wright Peak's dome of rock. By chance I timed it perfectly. The wind was fierce but the ice fog was lifting.
I trekked across a snowfield just below the summit through one of the most beautiful landscapes I've ever seen. It's a glacial, wild world — snow and ice sculpted by wind.
I could only linger a few minutes in the cold, under a steel blue sky decorated by winter sun. Then I turned back, descending toward the winter forest below.
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