Not Climbing Over It!

 

How many times have I ridden passed Storm King, considered its summertime bald head, its wintertime blank stone face, the slash of the road cut through it?   Today though, was not a ride down metro north on the Hudson line.  Today I was up and on the face of the Storm on the west side of the river.  My sister and my brother and our families had decided to meet there today and hike a hill.  We’d also wanted to see the Storm King Art Center.  On-line, it became clear that visiting the Art Center was not to be pursued off-the-cuff.  This weekend, next weekend and all the days in between had been reserved.  We were not allowed to spontaneously visit the outdoor sculpture park.

The place I suggested to meet had no parking and my sister advised she’d been directed to the proper parking place in Cornwall-on-Hudson, at the foot of the mountain.  This was, a bit different than what I’d expected.  Pedestrian at the foot of the 1339-foot mountain I quietly considered that this would be a significant climb.  A four-year-old, a thirteen year-old, a sixteen year-old, a nineteen year-old and a bunch of oldsters then, marched across the field as the drizzle petered out.

 

Wet, slippery, beautiful the hill was manageable if commanding, as we made our way along.  The online news had suggested we just park our cars and command the summit but clearly there was more to the ascent than was anticipated  One cross-back and then another switch back.  The kids started to complain, early on.  “It’s too far.”  “How much longer?”  We kept going passed one and then another obvious point of turn around.  Finally, there was a cliff face that looked definitive.  Surmount that and we’ll be home free. 

But just as I reached what I thought was the final bluff, we met some folks on their way down who said, “oh yeah, you’ve got a ways to go,” which felt longer, certainly, then what I’d been promising the folks who were down further on the trail.  A wooden bridge:  My little one said she was not climbing over it!  She did.  A slippery rock face with wet leaves:  "we can’t cross this."  They did.  Now at last there was a long flat shelf that certainly looked like the final stretch.  Downward hikers confirmed, “You’re only fifteen more minutes to go.  No.  It isn’t steep.”  Encouraging!  But from down below I received a phone call:  Mutiny on the Bounty.  People were heading back down.  The progression was over.  We found some rocks near a cliff face and ate the deli sandwiches I'd been carrying in my backpack.  

 

 

 

Saturday, 10/24/20