3 September 2015

You’ll always remember your firsts. Your first day of school. Your first bike. Your first kiss. Such is true with highpoints. It seems fitting that my first American highpoint was one of the first America states.


It was a grey day, cold and still, in the northwest corner of Massachusetts. After a drive from Ann Arbor, through Canada, and a night spent at an upstate New York rest area; my friend and I realized we had forgotten boots. Seeing as snow was still littering the roads in early March, we stopped at a Wal-Mart to purchase weather-appropriate footwear. The prices were a bit out of budget, so we bought duct-tape and $6.99 machetes instead. Priorities in order, we arrived in the town of Adams in the late afternoon. Duct-taping our tennis shoes and pant bottoms, we set out on the snow-covered trail to the summit. It was a race against the setting sun.


We arrived at the top with little difficulty. But the cold air and sight of the massive stone monument stole our breath. We wandered about the summit, admiring the blowing snow and impressive structure, but were unable to enjoy a view. The sky was white. It was thick as paint, coating the tree-lined edge of the peak in a foggy haze. Drunk on the moment, we drew our machetes and dueled about the base of the monument, clashing steel to steel as our duct-taped feet danced upon ice.


Mount Greylock. 3491 ft / 1064 m. 2 March 2013.