Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (NJ)

As a family, we’d been climbing Mt. Tammany at least a couple of times a year ever since our kids were babies. Back then, we carried them up the steep, rocky trail on our backs. Starting at the Dunnfield parking area, we would follow the red markings emblazoned on trees and rocks all the way up to where the earth literally opens up, revealing a broad ribbon of river below. Greedily gulping as much air as our lungs could hold we would settle back on the rocks - 1250 ft. above where we had left our car - and gaze down on a silent world. We’d see the cars and trucks moving along Rt. 80 of course but, from this height, they made no sound – like toys. Below us, too, hawks traced perfect ovals, clearly enjoying the fact that God had given them wings. In those days, our bodies were still well tuned and we never felt the strain of the climb.

Sometimes we’d go again in winter, when the air was dry and raw. The kids were bigger now; too big to be carried. They’d want to stop frequently and sit down by the side of the path, refusing to budge. “We’re tired,” they’d complain. Eventually, we’d be able to cajole them into going at least as far as the first spot from where one could see the valley open up below.

Years later, it would be the kids who’d literally drag us up the mountain. We were the ones who would shamelessly beg for cigarette breaks while our lungs were all but bursting. The kids were merciless, exhorting us to keep going, inadvertently (perhaps) but effectively shaming us for having neglected our health. Despite the pain, the view at the top remained a suitable reward. It had the effect of instant nirvana, facilitating a kind of “letting go”. Our bodies hummed with the rhythm of the universe; our heartbeats slowed, and suddenly we felt ourselves to be wiser than we’d ever been. A cigarette in celebration of this harmonious moment would signal the end of it. Down was easy; twenty minutes at the most; courtesy of gravity.

After the kids graduated and moved away, we too stopped going to the Gap. Then, one day, quite recently, we gathered enough courage to try it once more. Our health was better now. We had been eating better; we practiced yoga; we exercised; we had given up smoking. The climb up Tammany would be a test. Had our focus on healthier living paid any dividends at all? We could only hope.

We climbed quite sprightly. When we reached the top, we could honestly say we‘d been in worse shape. The view, of course, dwarfed all such concerns. We could have died and gone to heaven right then and there.

Peter Koelliker pkoelliker8@yahoo.com