LOCALadk Magazine

56 Winter 2020 LOCALadk Magazine LOCALadk I hadn't known Katie long, but knew she loved her brother fiercely. After his death she struggled, and the best piece of advice given was not of condolence or reassurance. It was "You'll never be the same." She tucked the bandana away and we began our descent. On trail you develop mantras. One of Katie's was "Never ever give up." There was a humble pow- er to her that even she was just beginning to understand. I saw it the first time we hiked and she told me about Tim. In the darkness, we clicked on our headlamps and made our way past Cold River to Duck Hole. Green moss looked white and reminded me of snow, which was a pleasant thought on a humid night. My body prefers the cold. We settled in at the lean-to and pried open our jam-packed bear canister. The stove hummed and we enjoyed homemade meals Katie had dehydrated. Some of the ingredients came from her gar- den and I could taste the freshness of summer. Complete- ly satisfied with our first day, I lay down for a solid night of sleep. But it didn't come. I stared at the ceiling of the lean-to. Maybe I had pent up adrenaline? At 2:30, still wide awake, an epiphany came. Caffeine. I'd been drinking Tailwind all day and was certain I'd mistaken caffeinated for decaffeinated. I rotated side-to-side until 4 and our alarm sounded. Like a kid on Christmas morning, awake and ready to roll, I kicked off my sleeping bag and began packing. I wasn't sluggish, but worried how a night of no sleep would feel midday. Katie and I completed our approach to the Santanoni range and switched from full packs to our shared day pack. The morn- ing fog cleared as we descended Panther and we paused. The mountaintops were islands in the sky. With a beautiful crisp and clear day before us, we made the summits of Couch- sachraga and Santanoni, descended and made lunch at Brad- ley Pond. Just over twenty-four hours on trail, our systems were coming together. Katie and I found a rhythm, passing the lead back and forth, stopping for water and taking short breaks. We capped our second day off with Allen, descend- ing in the alpine glow of an orange sunset. Near the flowed lands, we set up our two-person tent and prepared for a cold night. The tent was an ultralight piece of gear, borrowed from a friend. When set up on our training expedition, Katie laughed at the size. "It's a really nice one-person tent." It was a graceful challenge to get both of us in the tent, but once settled, we put our backs together and had a restful, cozy night. Day three was a big one, thirty-two miles, nine peaks and it started with a bang. On a ladder near Colden outpost, Katie slipped, slammed her knees and doubled over. "You okay? " "Mum-hum, give me a sec." Like a champ, she shook it off and we climbed Marshall. In Katie, I saw the fears I'd had in 2016. Solo, I'd worried about injur y, gear failure, and my mind wandered to the mountains I had yet to climb. With a partner, ever ything was easier. We struggled and found strength in different moments. For sunset, we stood on the summit of Phelps and enjoyed the fading rays of light. We pushed to Tabletop and I enjoyed hik- ing at night. The world becomes a small bubble, reduced to the light provided by your headlamp. Our last summit was Colden. Above tree line, we began to see the lights of Lake Placid. On the ridgeline, the wind pushed me sideways and I felt I could walk off the ends of the earth into the vast abyss. It was peaceful and harrowing all in the same moment. The final descent was steep and after eighteen hours on trail, the seemingly never-ending ladders felt like a mean purgator y. At camp we took off our shoes and wiped our feet before crawling into sleeping bags. The rain hit midday. On the summit of Mount Marcy, I clenched my pack cover so it wouldn't blow away in the hur- ricane-force winds. As we made our way from Marcy to Hay-

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