No, I’m not talking about having a cocktail. Since fishing the Ausable River when I was in my teens and watching people climb the sheer rock cliffs of the Adirondacks, I was intrigued with rock climbing. But it was another 50 years before I had my fingers gripping a tiny crevice in a nearly smooth rock cliff 160 feet above the ground.
Now I’ve got to tell you — I was afraid of heights. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We were camping at West Canada Creek just north of Poland. I had picked up a local publication that told visitors everything there was to do in the area. As I read it, an ad jumped out and caught my attention. “Rock Climbing Adventure. Equipment and Lessons on Moss Island every Saturday.”
“Hey George,” I yelled to my buddy on the next campsite. “Want to go rock climbing?”
“Sure, where we going?”
Immediately my wife broke in. “You couldn’t step off the ladder out onto the porch roof, and you’re going to climb rocks,” she said with a chuckle.
Now, George couldn’t go on Saturday, but I discovered that Eastern Mountain Sports offered lessons on Thursdays on the Shawangunks near New Paltz. Well, two weeks later we were heading down the Thruway on a new adventure.
I’ll tell you. It’s a good thing I wasn’t driving, but George tried to calm my nerves. “Don’t worry. At our age they won’t take us up very high. You can do this.”
Before long, we pulled into the parking lot of Eastern Mountain Sports. We were each fitted with a climbing harness, a hard hat and climbing shoes. Then it was off to the cliffs.
Our ‘Gunks guide took about 45 minutes to teach us knots and climbing safety. Then we were off. Before long we stopped at the base of a cliff. I looked up and all I could see was fog. I couldn’t see the top of the cliff. Actually, that was probably a good thing. Our guide climbed up, disappeared into the fog and hooked a ring to a tree that grew from the rock. Once down, it was time to go. George went first and topped out at 50 or 60 feet. Then he rapelled back to the ground. I hooked my harness to the belaying rope and started up.
Now, hand holds and ledges were smaller than I expected, but I inched my way up. I was about halfway up when my heart started pounding in my chest. I clung to the rock like a spider with my toes on a narrow half-inch-wide ledge and my fingers wedged into a tiny crack. I wondered what I was doing there, but I talked myself into going on. I said, “When you were a kid you climbed the side of the silo. This is far easier. You can do this.”
I did. With a belaying rope connecting me to the tree above, there was no way I would fall, so up I went. And the rappel back down… that was fun.
We made two more climbs the day — one up a narrow chute and the other with a couple of longer reaches, but I made it.
George and I went to Moss Island at Barge Canal Lock 17 at Little Falls and climbed several times over the next couple of years. It is beautiful rock. Then it was back to the ‘Gunks. Jim Diliberto, the adventure director at the Clark Sports Center in Cooperstown, went along as lead climber, and we did our first major climb up a route called Frog’s Head. Jim went up and hooked into some bolts about 60 feet up and belayed us from there. George and I hooked into the bolts while our guide went up even higher. I went first on the second pitch and hooked into the next set of bolts. The last pitch was rather interesting. There was a small roof sticking out from the ledge a foot or so that we had to climb over. It’s funny — my fear had long passed. I made it to the top and loved the rappel back down.
We climbed several more times over the last few years, but never got back to the ‘Gunks. But trust me, it was something that I’ll never forget. Like the guys on those Adirondacks cliffs many years ago – I did it!