We’ve lived to an age where we can fearlessly admit the follies of our youth. In this case it is that, in our forties, fifties and early sixties, we trekked mountains—high ones in the Andes, Alps, Rockies, Himalayas and other places where we strained to breathe thin air. Not technical climbing but trekking with light packs and helpers to offer hot tea to begin the day. It was enthralling, mesmerizing and rewarding. After struggling up to a 17,000-foot-high pass, looking at the clouds and snowy peaks below and high fiving family and friends, one is overjoyed with a sense of accomplishment and the privilege of experiencing nature’s great beauty.
That was then. Now, we don’t set our sights so high. We get out of breath in Denver.
So, we just returned from a week in lower mountains: Adirondacks, Green and White (hard to differentiate) Mountains, the Berkshires and Catskills. We were prepared to drive up Mount Washington at 6000+ feet but fickle weather thwarted that. Some notes and pictures follow.
Beautiful lake in the Adirondacks. If you think the two flying are us, think again.
Blue Mountain Lake
North of Lake George
Where New Jersey had too much rain this year, things were better a few hundred miles north. I’ll add a couple of pictures as proof
Views from the Granite State
On to New Hampshire–White Mountains
Hotels.com directed us to the Profile (Old Man of the Mountain that collapsed a few years ago) Inn, which proved to be the same age as the old man, but charming nonetheless. Close to the Franconian Notch that my cousin and I hiked in our late teens. It aged better that I did. Beautiful mountain views here.
Loon Mountain had a comfy cable car to take us up the 3000+ feet up–and down again. A long time ago we learned that it is not wise to walk back down the mountain after a ride up, especially if you haven’t done mountain trekking recently. A week of painful calf muscles follows.
You have mountains, you get waterfalls
Our last stop was Lenox, Mass, next to Tanglewood (Boston Symphony summer home), beautiful woods and The Mount, Edith Wharton’s 1902 mansion. We drove through the Catskills, so they count too.