Hiking away decades of self-doubt | members only access

The Mount Tammany trail begins with steps wedged into the mountain’s rocky terrain — lots of steps. For more than an hour, I continue climbing up along the steep ascent, fueled only by my

determination to reach the top. Fatigued and breathless, I stop suddenly at the sight ahead: Massive stacks of boulders loom, scattered across the path, blocking the trail. “What fresh hell

is this?” I exclaim. “It’s a rock scramble,” my husband, Greg, replies. “We have to climb over it.” I am a 5-foot-2-inch, 61-year-old pear-shaped grandmother, so clamoring over a scramble —

of any variety — holds no place in my world. Surveying the unfathomable obstacle, I note the height of the rocks. Clearly, some rival my leg length. Finding a way up and over appears

unlikely. More annoyed than concerned, I choose to move ahead because, after all my huffing and puffing, there’s no way I’m going to miss the summit of one of New Jersey’s most popular

mountains. Carefully placing my hiking poles into the crevices between the stubborn stones, I inch my way forward, moving up and over the rocky mess at a pace that would embarrass any

self-respecting snail. As a well-meaning teenager glides past me, she says, “You’re amazing. My grandmother would never attempt something like this!” How thoughtful. Except I never told her

I was a grandmother. Courtesy Marshall Arriving just in time for sunset, I take a moment to bask in my accomplishment as I gaze over the Delaware Water Gap at the rolling hills of

Pennsylvania in the distance. After a few moments, Greg becomes restless and suggests we start our descent via another trail. “We just got here,” I reply. “I worked hard for this sunset and

don’t want to rush the experience.” He shrugs and waits beside me. Then, as the brilliant orange sun sinks below the horizon, leaving a pink-tinged sky, I realize the obvious: When the sun

sets, darkness rapidly envelops a forest, meaning we’ll now have to make the 3.5-mile descent to the bottom of Mount Tammany with nothing but headlamps to show us the way. Uncertainty and

anxiety ensue, given my inherent clumsy nature, the innumerable loose rocks underfoot, and my native New York City husband’s complete lack of knowledge about wild animals and reptiles

residing in the forest. Lamenting my frustrations all the way down the mountain, I remind him countless times that he chose this ridiculous route, and that it would be the last time he would

choose a hike without my giving it a thumbs-up.