LOCALadk Magazine

58 Winter 2018 LOCALadk Magazine LOCALadk last high peak seemed like a mere speck far in the distance. "Oh, why did he have to start with Big Slide? " Adam com- plained with a smile. We looked down at the valley. Lower Wolfjaw rose up on the other side —a huge elevation chal- lenge right off the bat. "One peak at a time," I said and clapped my hands togeth- er. We hiked down to Johns Brook, running the sections that weren't too wet, leaf covered, or rocky. Along Wolfjaw Brook, we ascended through a hardwood forest that transitioned to conifers as we gained elevation. On the tree-covered sum- mit of Lower Wolfjaw, we looked back at Big Slide and smiled. We were just standing there two hours ago. Between Upper Wolfjaw and Armstrong I heard a "thunk" and "ow". I turned back. Adam stood under a fallen limb with a hand on his forehead. Blood trickled down be- tween his eyes and fell off the tip of his nose. "You alright? " I asked. "Yeah," he said. He looked back at the limb with a frown. I walked over and checked the crown of his head. It was a small wound and the bleeding had already stopped. Though the front of his face looked like he had just stepped off the battlefield. He sopped up the sweat and blood with a black hat and soldiered on. Along the range we dis- cussed a variety of topics, from the High Peaks of Marshall's era to ours, pushing human limits, and access to wilderness. With a blood speckled face, Adam commented, "Most of the time when we think we've reached our limit, we're only 40 percent of the way there." I couldn't have agreed more, and I kept that as my mantra for the rest of the hike. We arrived at Mount Marcy at 3:15 p.m., precisely around the time Marshall did. On the summit, we changed our socks and munched on trail food. We were a little more than half- way through the traverse. In 1932, Herb Clark brought Mar- shall lunch at the spot we now sat. Another notable Adirondack figure atop Mount Marcy that same day was preser vationist and wilderness advocate, Paul Schaefer. He recorded, "Here came Marshall, right on sched- ule, heading for us at a dog trot. He was a stocky, powerful, ruddy man, dressed in a well-worn plaid shirt, blue denims, and sneakers." A conversation ensued about the threats to the Adirondack wilderness and Marshall proclaimed, " We can't let the American wilderness be destroyed," before am- bling down to Skylight. It is speculated that this conversation inspired Marshall to help organize the Wilderness Society in 1935. On the summit of Iro- quois, Adam and I watch the sun dip below the horizon line. We put our heads down and march up and over Algonquin. The full moon provides us with ample light, and no headlamps need to be turned on until we hit the tree line. In the dark- ness, I think about tramp- ing over the same ground Marshall did and I feel his presence. In 1939, he died at the age of 38 of heart failure. His death was sudden and stunned those who knew him. Even though he was young when he passed, he left a large legacy that would help preser ve and protect millions of acres of wilderness in the Unit- ed States. Ascending Wright, the cairns look like sentries standing at attention. On the summit, I pause in the moonlight and look back toward the cur ved summit of Algonquin. In the early hours of the morning, Wright had seemed like an impossible distance away. Now, only one more mountain remains and I feel the success of our expedi- tion mounting. As we make our way to the Adirondack Loj, I see a headlamp in the distance. "Andy!" I call out, knowing my husband is hiking in to join us for the last leg. With him, he brings gifts of bananas and Gatorade. Adam and I graciously accept and fuel up one last time. Mount Jo is a small mountain, one mile up and down from Heart Lake. On fresh legs, you can barely feel it. Our Bob Marshall, Herbert Clark, and Ruth Marshall Courtesy of Adirondack Experience

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