A Quest to Climb the Highest Point of Every State

I have decided to try to climb the highest point of every state in America. Why? I am not sure I have a really meaningful answer other than I enjoy hiking, it is a good way to see the country and I like a challenge.

This decision was made right around my 50th birthday so maybe one could surmise that it is the result of a mid-life crisis. And I am not sure I know what a mid-life crisis is other than the reality of death is starting to have some real meaning and for me, this a way to stall that inevitability.

This was a trip to Mt. Katahdin at a tripping camp called Pine Island that I worked at for six summers during high school and college. I love this mountain and found that I was a pretty good hiker.

In high school and college, I worked at a summer camp in Maine called Pine Island Camp that sent out a lot of hiking and canoeing trips. I enjoyed both but excelled on the trail. There were a lot of good trips that I went on, but Mt. Katahdin was my favorite. The mountain was visually stunning whether standing at the shoreline of Chimney Pond, climbing Cathedral trail, the view from the summit, traversing the Knife's Edge or descending Dudley Trail and Pamola Peak.

I haven't done much hiking between the end of college and now, but I am lucky to live close to some pretty good hiking. So recently, I have started getting into 'training' for this challenge.

So my plan is to climb each of the highest points, not peaks in each state. In most instances, the peak and point are one in the same, but in a few instances, the highest point is really a peak that splits two states and the actual peak is not in the state that you are counting, and often not the highest peak in that state; my home state of Connecticut is a good example.

I did a lot of hiking at Pine Island Camp. When I was a counselor, we would take young men all through out New Hampshire and Maine; a lot of it on the Appalachian Trail. After camp was over, some of the other counselors and I would go do trips on our own. This was at the Pinkham Notch trail head getting ready to go up Mt. Washington via Tuckerman’s Ravine.

Since this idea came about when I was fifty and I plan to do 48 states, I will need to climb about five peaks a year. I am thinking I need to have an endpoint to the challenge and I worry about my capacity to accomplish some of the harder peaks after sixty.

I do not have a specific order other than I am going to try to knock out as many of the biggest ones I can early in the process. And I will try to at least climb a couple at a time to make the associated travel costs as minimal as possible. I do not plan to do Denali in Alaska because I concede that it is beyond both my skills and capacity. So my general description is the highest points in the continental 48, although I can see adding Hawaii as both doable and a good reason to visit the state.

So away I go. You can follow my progress here or on PeakBagger.com

Mt. Katahdin was my favorite mountain and I climbed it many times. It was easily the most dramatic in my limited experience of hiking in Maine and New Hampshire. I thought I looked really cool with the red, white and blue bandana and the Ray-Bans.

Saddleback Mountain

I have stared at this mountain for fifteen years because it sits directly behind my house in the Cleveland National Forest. Saddleback is also referred to as Santiago Peak measuring 5,689 feet. I have always been impressed by this as it eclipses the height of my favorite mountain, Katahdin. I have often been struck that there is a significant peak right in my backyard just asking to be climbed. Unfortunately, it has taken me nearly fifteen years to actually climb it.

This is a typical view looking East in Orange County, California. One of those specs at the ‘base’ of Saddleback is my house.

When I was young, I did a fair amount of hiking, mostly on the East Coast. Then life got in the way and with a wife, kids and a career. I got busy, but mostly tired, fat and soft. Starting to hike again was mostly a passing thought. Something I should get back into. Maybe next month.

I would be reminded that Saddleback was just waiting to be climbed nearly every day. Driving home from work, the mountain was right there just waiting to be climbed. On occasion, I would look on the internet to try to figure out if there was a hiking trail but never really could find anything definitive. I traveled a fair amount and most air traffic coming into John Wayne Airport flies right over the northern end of the Cleveland National Forest. I would study all the fire roads trying to see the route up and try to figure out where is a ‘trailhead’. My efforts were genuine but never resulted in any meaningful results.

Then one day, my wife came home and in her work travels met someone who was talking about hiking Saddleback. She shared this with me and I asked her to get the person’s contact information. If he knew a trail and a route, I wanted to tag along. One of the biggest obstacles for me was trying to go it alone. Wandering around hoping I was going the right way was not something I wanted to do.

The connection and trip were confirmed with this individual, Tex. He was planning to climb Saddleback over the July Fourth weekend. I was in. This was enough to finally get me to check this ‘To Do’ item off my list. Tex was going to meet me at a location not far from my house at 5 AM. He had four-wheel drive, so I was going to hitch a ride into the trailhead, called Holy Jim.

The best part was I convinced my youngest to come with me at the last minute; the night before. Generally speaking, when I ask my youngest to do something like this with me, he turns me down. For him, rejecting my request is somewhat reflexive. In this case, since it was around my birthday, I think I convinced him to do it by leveraging guilt to push him over the line to a yes.

We met with some others that Tex had included in this trip at Cook’s Corner. My son and I hopped into one of the four-wheel-drive vehicles and we drove to the trailhead. After about twenty minutes, we finally got to the trailhead. The road in was definitely a bit rough in parts. Everyone got ready and we were finally ready to start. We walked through a small collection of cabins where people were actually living and then got on the trail.

After a short period of hiking, it was quickly apparent that most of the group was going at a pretty slow pace. My son and I were definitely in front along with one older lady that kept our pace. Early on, we would stop and wait for others to catch up but after a few times, it was clear that this was not going to work. So we just forged ahead.

The trail was single-track for maybe two-thirds of the way up and then the trail changes to a fire road. It was a fairly long trip up. There was nothing particularly technical or steep, but it was a long trip up. I was very surprised by how vast the Cleveland National forest was. When I would fly over it, you never really sensed how big it was; probably because what you can see at 10,000 feet and going 500 miles an hour.

We finally made it to the top which is mostly a collection of communication towers. There is not an obvious peak, but we did find the marker. The best views tended to be during the hike. There was good visibility West, and hiking back down you got to see a good view looking East. The views were good, but there was not a lot of wow.

The trip down seemed to go forever. I was in descent shape, but not for long hikes. We got down at about 2 PM and I was pretty tired. My legs were quite sore. We had seen our party when we headed back down and there was some question if they were going to make it to the top. At the bottom, we waited for about half an hour. I got desperate to get home and we took the opportunity to hitch a ride out with some kids that had just come down. Getting home, showered and horizontal felt great.

Saddleback or Mount Santiago was a good hike and something I needed to check off my list, but I am not sure I would rush back.

The summit looking West. The Pacific is out there somewhere.

The Dream of a Young Man, Boyan Slat

Boylan Slat and I have a similar dream. He wishes he could rid the oceans of all the garbage, specifically plastic, that mankind has dumped in this critical resource. My dream is that we can and will return the entire planet to a pristine condition. While I wonder if my dream is even possible and have done little to help this cause, Boylan is actually starting to act on his dream. And we desperately need action.

Here is a young man who identified a problem and had an idea of how to solve it. His combination of desire, ingenuity and maybe a touch of naivete has resulted in a compelling strategy to an epic problem. Further, many of the typical obstacles and objections raised for similar ideas like cost and energy consumption, have been addressed and worked through in a simple, rational way. The final result, at least from this layman's view, is something worth pursuing.

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In our world today, we are barraged by an endless stream of news, social likes and regurgitation of information about the increasing speed of Climate Change's impact on our lives. Irrespective of all the very real doom and gloom, it feels like we are doing a lot of talking and not enough doing. I need only look at myself to some degree and see that I too am guilty of this inaction. The fact that Boyan is acting, maybe the best part of his grand and very important project. And yes, with respect to this specific idea, it would appear the doing is limited to testing elements of the plan and not a full-scale test. None-the-less, some action.

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One would hope that based on the number of viewers that have seen this TED Talk and the potential influence and investment that could be made from participants of this audience, that an 'Angel' will invest and help Boyan realize his dream. I think this is easily a situation where it is better to try and fail than not try at all. I wish this dreamer succeeds and we will all be richer for the resulting better world.

Follow Boyan's progress here, The Ocean Cleanup and donate!

Remembering John Hanny

I had no more than a handful of best friends growing up, and John L. Hanny was arguably the most important. Unfortunately, he died prematurely in an inexplicable car crash in his early twenties. I think about him with some regularity, although I must confess with time the frequency of these reflections is not what they once were. I guess time does heal all wounds, but I am not sure in this case that is a good thing. When I do think of John, it is generally wondering what he would be doing now had he lived, and would we still be in contact with each other? The first thought is certainly a lot more important, as I believe almost any life is better than his fate. And would we still be in contact? I would hope so, but the probability is likely a coin toss; candidly I do not have a lot of contact with my best relationships that were made during my first twenty years.

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This is John and I out in front of my childhood home and while I am not 100% certain, I believe we were going to some event related to the wedding of Erik Roberts; the third leg of our friend triangle.

I met John in ninth grade through another new friend, Erik Roberts. I believe John and Erik were new to Kingswood-Oxford and were not a part of my KO Middle School experience. Honestly, the specifics are a bit fuzzy to me on how John and I specifically met. I do recall Erik and I meeting each other in Chemistry class which was taught by a teacher who had a thick southern accent. Her pronunciation of several chemistry terms was pretty hysterical to this immature ninth grade, born and raised New Englander.  So for the first month or so, 'Go Fo' (gold foil), Mo's (moles) and many other southern pronunciations generated a month-long 'giggle-fest' which had the unfortunate result of not paying particularly close attention to the material and poor test scores. The one positive was a strong bond with my fellow chemist, Erik Roberts.

There was a gang of very average and 'not the cool kids' that made up my social circle. John and I were squarely in that circle, but Erik not only spent time in our realm, he also did a little dancing in the world of the cool kids. I can not decide if I just do not remember some important moments that galvanized my high school long bond with John, or most likely our friendship slowly grew over some period of time. I do recall early on in our friendship that we would spend many hours at John's house playing on his Apple II computer. That was cool to have one of those and he was the only one I knew that had a computer. We would play the video game Decathlon for hours and hours, relentlessly beating two keys on the keyboard trying to run faster than each other. The 'icing on the cake', (sometimes literally) was an endless stream of food that his grandmother, Mum Mum, and his mother would bring downstairs to his basement. They could not have been nicer and Erik and I grew close to them.  Also, their basement was large and finished in a very nice way so it was a good place just to hang out. John's house was definitely a 'go-to' spot and I shudder to think how much time we spent there.

As we got older, we of course became mobile as a result of getting our licenses. However, I think John ended up doing the bulk of the driving. He was given either a Firebird or a Trans Am by his father. I can't remember which kind it was but I do remember that if you called it the wrong one, John would always correct you and let you know that it was the other and the one he had, was clearly the better of the two; I think it was a Firebird. Either way, it definitely elevated our collective and anemic social status. At the very least we thought we were cool. I lived relatively close to the school so I was either taking the bus, riding my bike or walking. John and Erik lived far enough away were driving was their only option so they had cars on campus. My view of the world during this time was mostly from the 'shotgun' position of their cars.

John and I had countless adventures during high school; as I recall some of the better ones, I will add them to this part of the story. One memorable episode occurred during Halloween when we climbed up on my roof with several dozen eggs. We spent about an hour lobbing them at unsuspecting trick-or-treaters. The consternation this caused in front of our house had my father on high alert and neither he nor the targets could figure out where they were coming from. My father even went so far as to call the West Hartford police who cruised by a few times with no success of catching the perpetrators. After we ran out of eggs, we crawled down to a lower roof to get back in the house through my brother's bedroom window only to be busted by my father. He feigned anger, but quite honestly, I think he was happy to have solved the mystery. There were also many evenings of reckless consumption, house parties and just hanging out in the local woods or some parking lot. Fairly typical for that time, but it was good and memorable to us.

All three of us went on to college and we stayed in touch. We would reunite during holidays, summers and even put together a pretty raucous road trip to Daytona Beach where I went down to Franklin & Marshall to meet up with John, and later picked up Erik at Wake Forest. After college, we all moved back to the greater Hartford area where we rekindled our friendship and spent many nights going to our favorite watering holes and marching in a parade of stupid and immature activity. The Metro, Piggy's and The Moose were all favorites often ending in a greasy, but very tasty meal at Steak'n'Eggs. These were very good times and a particularly memorable portion of my youth.

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This was a party Erik, John and I went to during a holiday break from college. I think it was some party in Boston but not sure exactly. What I do recall is Erik and I pretending we were both back from a semester at Oxford as Rhode Scholars. Whatever the story was, it was ridiculous and we had more fun entertaining ourselves than anything else.

After some time, I had an itch do something more and different. Erik had a sister who was living in San Diego and I think was moving back to Connecticut. John and I baked up a plan to move out there with Erik who I don't recall being particularly enthusiastic about the plan. However, his participation was an essential element of this scheme since his parents owned the house. Long story short, the plan fell apart and neither of them was going to move to California. For some reason, and I am not sure exactly why I was determined to get out of Connecticut. Maybe it was my way of distinguishing myself in our social circle? Anyhow, I had an 'Uncle' (technically a cousin) who lived in Palo Alto and I decided to call him and invite myself to live there. He and my Aunt were quite gracious and said yes; thank you Stu and Louise! My father was baffled as to why I was moving to California, and maybe he had every right to be as I cannot recall having a specific reason other than 'just cuz'. My brother and I spent ten days driving out west (hopefully more stories to be recalled in another post) and there I was living in California.

I lost touch with Erik some, but John and I spoke on the phone a couple of times. I wanted to let him know how great it was in California and how badly he was missing out; suffice it to say that I may have exaggerated a few stories. I went back to Connecticut over the next few years for events like the holidays, my grandfather's failing health and Erik's wedding. Each return visit resulted in great reunions and lots of fun times. In many ways, it was like I had never left and that is maybe the key reason they both were such great friends. However, geography and time made this leg a bit wobbly on our three-legged friendship stool.

I remember getting the call from my father in my San Francisco apartment to let me know John had been killed in a car crash. This news really caught me off guard and It was hard to believe. The physical distance and the time that had passed between us made it seem like it was not real. I had lost another close friend earlier in my life, but because our friendship was more current and active, the news was immediately devastating.

As I recall, there was some sort of delay for the funeral and it happened about a week after John died. Complicating emotional matters for me was a trip I had previously planned to go to San Diego (ironic as that is where John and I had planned to move) and then a road trip to Ensenada with some friends. This was going to take place over a long weekend before John's funeral, which I recall being on a Tuesday. That was a strange and hard few days where I was supposed to be having fun and engaged in stupidity, but torn by how I was supposed to honor my friend. I ping-ponged between celebrating his life with gusto and just wanting to leave. My travel buddies were not going to be deterred from partying and it was all I could do to extract myself from that trip to get back to San Francisco and catch my flight to Connecticut. By the slimmest of margins, I managed to make it on time for the wake, and then the funeral the following day. Making this bad situation very strange for me was 'parachuting' into my past and being a bit on the outside looking into John and Erik's current lives. Of course, that reaction was completely selfish on my part.

I really do not remember the service itself, but I am sure it was pretty involved and formal as John was Catholic. In High School, he would always order Fillet-o-Fish at McDonald's when we would go out for dinner on Fridays. A practice I think was more out of respect for what his parents wanted for him, and less about his actual faith. What I do clearly remember about these couple of days is being at the gravesite for his burial and every moment that transpired. To this day, I remember that scene in almost every detail, like a picture.

As I recall the story of the accident and what happened to John was something to the effect that he and his girlfriend were driving down to the coast of Connecticut on a clear sunny day. Apparently, with no other interaction from another car, they drove off a two-lane highway, down an embankment and crashed into a tree. John died and his girlfriend lived but blacked out and she had no recollection of what happened. John was always a good driver. The only odd circumstance was they had a kitten in the car, but no one was sure what caused him to go off the road.

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This is from John's senior page in our yearbook from Kingswood-Oxford Class of 1983. He was an accomplished guitar player and loved his Pontiac Firebird.

John Hanny was a genuinely good soul and a true friend. He was smart, talented and despite our social circle in high school, he turned out to be quite the lady's man.  He was also a very accomplished guitar player who had some good success in a few bands at both his college and later back in Hartford. I blame him for another episode in my life where I thought managing bands and starting a record label was a good idea. OK, that is totally on me but it makes me feel better to blame him. Most importantly, John was a good son and brother and had a lot left to accomplish. I often wonder if we had moved to California, would he still be alive? I would like to think so. When I do think about him, it is as a result of recalling one of our many adventures. Life is definitely not fair and can really suck sometimes! RIP John L. Hanny, RIP! (1966-1993)

Inspiration to be a better writer

I have never been a great writer and I want to be better. This is born both out of a general desire for self-improvement and maybe more importantly, to make my grandfather slightly proud. Nelson P. Farquhar was very cerebral and quite the academic. He set a high intellectual standard.

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This was after my college graduation ceremony which I am guessing was a point of pride, surprise and relief to my grandfather.

When I was in high school, English was not my best subject. I went to a good prep school and the classes were pretty rigorous. My grandfather taught at this school for most of his career as a teacher, ran the English department and was also the Headmaster for a few years as well. I am relatively certain my writing skills and grammar knowledge were disappointing to him. In an attempt to keep the family's good academic reputation in tact, he put in a considerable amount of time drilling me about writing strategies, sentence structure and lots of grammar. He was both very patient and determined. I have very clear memories of sitting at his desk, which I use now, for hours and hours in the den of his condominium.

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Well what can I say, Mr. Poirot was a bit of a ball buster, but for the most part, I earned that grade.

My grandfather would also write me letters with some regularity; a tradition that is quickly disappearing. My children and I think their generation in general, is considerably removed from the notion of communicating with a hand-written letter. Further, the skill and effort required to crank out even one page, in one shot, either by hand or using a typewriter, is something I have never witnessed and suspect they will never do. Nelson P. Farquhar was very accomplished in all forms of the written word. He would send letters pretty regularly when I was at camp, college and moved to California. Further, every major event, and often minor ones as well, would be acknowledged with a thank you note. And they were quite good in content, structure, and of course grammar; but who am I to judge the last two. He wrote to me because of his genuine affection for me, and writing letters is what his generation did. I am sure there was also a desire to show me how it was properly done. Once a teacher, always a teacher.

All of my grandfather's efforts certainly have had some benefit. Since it has been about twenty years since he passed away, my father, also very academically accomplished, has carried the torch of English, grammar and speech excellence. So to both of them, but mostly my grandfather, thank you for your persistence and help. Hopefully, all the posts that follow will reflect all his effort, to some degree.