#54. Bear Mountain, NY: 3 May 2025

The drama leading up to excursion #55 involved the weather. The downside of selecting a hiking date three months in advance fully played out for this event. The original plan was for me to fly into New York City on a Friday, spend the night with Katy Bertrand, take the train to Poughkeepsie the next day, and spend the night with a former student-turned-colleague-of-25-years, before hiking Bonticou Crag near New Paltz, NY, on Sunday. This was one of 50 hikes in a book that Bill had gifted me several Christmases earlier: America’s 50 Best Day Hikes. (“Day hike” translates to Sauvignon Blanc and a comfortable bed at the end of the day.) Tara Sullivan lives less than an hour from Bonticou Crag and had hiked it previously, so she would be the perfect guide. As I reread the section on this hike from Bill‘s book, it clearly stated, “This is a stunning hike but one that should only be attempted in good weather; if the rocks are slick or icy, you're better off finding an alternative trail.”

A week out, the forecast for May 4 was sunny, without a cloud in the sky. As the date approached, the forecast gradually turned to rain with possible thundershowers in the afternoon. We held out hope until Friday, two days before the hike, at which point I emailed Tara: “I’m so disappointed…”

Katy sensed my disappointment and “didn’t want Mom to be sad.” She suggested we hike a day earlier on Bear Mountain, New York, a state park an hour north of Manhattan. My initial reaction was negative. First, how could I “betray the initial plan” by canceling on one hike, but go on a different one? Second, from what I had heard of Bear Mountain, it wouldn’t be nearly as challenging as Bonticou Crag. But Katy continued to promote the idea. “At least we’ll be out in nature,” and I had to agree that I would enjoy that. 

When we awoke on Saturday morning, Mountain Forecast predicted evening thundershowers on Bear Mountain, but sunny or cloudy skies in the morning and afternoon. We were in! We began our preparations, which included packing the necessary for Peanut, Katy‘s Dachshund rescue, who would be accompanying us in the dog carrier backpack. Several times I commented on what a luxury it was to be leaving on a hike without any time pressures.

We made our way to the subway station, got off in Harlem, walked three blocks (sketchy” was how Katy described them), and found the platform where our train was to depart. We reached it just as our train was pulling out of the station. The next one: an hour later. The croissants and blueberry scones at the nearby café helped the hour pass quickly. We caught the next train, got off in Peekskill, NY, bought our turkey wraps for lunch, and called a Lyft that took us 10 minutes to the trailhead. Finally, by 1:30 PM we were on the trail.

If I had thought this mountain was going to be a walk in the park, it wasn’t, at least for someone with a bad knee. I had felt no ill effects from climbing Guadalupe Peak two weeks earlier, but I couldn’t rid myself of the niggling fear of doing irreparable harm to it with one false step. Yet today, I had a new problem: a corn on my right foot that caused a sharp pain with each step, even before we reached the trailhead. The extra Band-Aid I put on for cushioning was minimally useful, and as we started up the mountain, I was surprised to be more concerned about my throbbing toe than my weak knee. 

The first 20 minutes consisted of a gradual ascent along a wooded dirt path. When we had doubts about the direction to take, I realized it was time to put AllTrails on my phone – something I should have done from the start. Soon thereafter, we started up a steeper incline. The trail consisted of small boulders, and occasional slabs of rock, interspersed with welcome stretches of dirt path. By now, Katy had Peanut out of the backpack and on his leash. A rescue dog who had lived at least a year in a crate, Peanut loved the freedom and smells of the great outdoors and did an amazing job jumping from one rock to the next. Katy turned back to me. “Go ahead of us if we’re too slow.” I assured her that her pace was just fine.

As the trail became steeper, Peanut went back into the doggie backpack and Katy picked up the pace. It quickly became clear that Peanut was not the only slow one on this hike. The ragged, irregular rocks on the trail made it difficult to anticipate a secure foothold, and I had long since lost the ability of younger hikers to billy-goat up the trail. Still, we were all thoroughly enjoying our commune with nature, even if it wasn’t Bonticou Crag.

Our destination was Anthony‘s Nose, 2.5 miles from the trailhead. The trail provided us with frequent views of the Hudson River below. About an hour into the hike, I pulled out the AllTrails map and verified that we were about halfway there. By now it was 2:30 pm and the next section of the path promised a steep descent. As we were deliberating whether to push on or return, we heard the low rumble of thunder in the distance. The decision was mutual, unspoken, and immediate. We turned around.

I understand the risk of afternoon thundershowers only too well, even on a relatively short hike. In 2018, I’d organized a hike for nine family members during a Trowbridge family reunion, ranching in age from 9 to 69 (me), to Bear Mountain in Connecticut. On that occasion, as we reached the summit, it began to pour. Although we immediately began to scramble down, it wasn’t before at least three members of the party got skimmed by lightning. Mercifully, no one had long-term consequences, but it was a terrifying event for all concerned, and it gave me a newfound respect for afternoon thundershowers. I did not like the uncanny coincidence that the earlier incident occurred on Bear Mountain in CN, and we were on Bear Mountain in NY.

As the claps of thunder repeated, seemingly closer each time, my concern over my throbbing toe and weak knee was surpassed to a far more immediate fear: that we’d get caught not just by rain but also by lightning. My old lady caution of inching down over the rocks gave way to a much speedier descent, except for the occasional steeper parts. We were well over halfway down when we dead-ended on a large rock ledge with a significant drop off. Curiously, there was a blue trail marker right before that ledge, so the trail had to be someplace, but where? We began retracing our steps to see if we’d missed the turnoff.  I got out my AllTrails map, which showed that we had retraced our steps three times over the same path. For a good 10 minutes we frantically tried to figure out where we’d gone wrong. By now I had a fourth concern to add to the weak knee, throbbing toe, and thunderstorms: getting lost. It seemed preposterous on a short, well-marked trail, but for those who know me, getting lost is usually part of the experience. Katy made one last check at the top of the rock ledge, and soon I heard the welcome shout: “I found it.”

Small bursts of thunder echoed in the background every three or four minutes, although we had not yet seen any lightning. By now, it was painfully evident that we were paying the price for our leisurely departure that morning. I reflected on the rapid reprioritization of my worries over the course of this hike. Something that had started as a considerable annoyance (the pain in my toe) was quickly eclipsed by the prospect of lightning. The phrase “it’s all relative” took on new meaning.

Ten minutes from the trailhead, the steady drizzle of rain continued, but the sun broke out through the foliage overhead: that rare and paradoxical combination of rain and sunshine. I took it as a good omen that we would make it safely back with no additional mishaps.

We arrived at the trailhead, totally drenched, including Peanut, whose doggie backpack had not provided much protection from the rain. We spread ourselves and our extra clothes over a large flat rock, hoping to dry off as we waited for our Lyft to take us back down to the train station in Peekskill. There, we rewarded ourselves with a margarita and a dish of guacamole and chips before boarding our train back to Harlem. By the time we returned to Katy’s apartment, we barely had the energy to shower. We decided that our half-eaten turkey wraps from lunch would suffice for dinner.

If I had thought this hike wasn’t going to be challenging enough, I need not have worried. This relatively short hike (less than two hours start to finish) taught me that it’s not just distance and gain in elevation that contribute to the difficulty of a hike, but also the nature of the trail and the physical capacity of the hiker to navigate rocky terrain. Yet if we’d been looking for adventure, this excursion delivered.

**************

Epilogue:

Three days later, I traveled by train from NYC to Baltimore for a "Farewell" to the many staff of the Center for Communication Programs at Johns Hopkins who had lost their jobs because of the draconian funding cuts to USAID. A very familiar face boarded the train at the Wilmington stop. He reached over the seat and shook hands with two of us in the row behind him. I could barely stammer, "Thanks for the excellent job you did as President."

*************