Neil
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- Joined
- Apr 26, 2004
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It was a gorgeous sunny Thursday. I had chosen the faster hikers’ trail from Marcy Dam so it only took me 2 hours to get to where it merged with the slow trail at tree line. The ranger was there as usual and I fished my credit card out of my pack. After swiping it he handed it back to me.
“No ticket for me today?” I asked. Normally you got a ticket with a bar code that you attached with a plastic tie wrap to your pack
“Not today, sir, we’re going green with a new streamlined system. No more tickets to throw out. All I have to do is swipe your card when you come back and the machine compares the times.”
“Same rates as last year?”
“I’m afraid they’ve gone up sir. Now it’s forty dollars if you want to summit. You’re good for an hour today but on weekends and holidays your forty bucks will only last 30 minutes. And, it’s a dollar a minute if you go over your limit.”
Looking at the high-res LCD display on his device he said enthusiastically, "I see it's your 7th trip up here. Very good sir."
“Wow, a buck a minute! After spending forty already just to be on the summit. By the way, how does your card swiper thingy know that my card is good, son”
He pointed the instrument’s antenna towards the tower on the summit of Mt. Marcy, 300 vertical feet above us. “The signal goes through that tower directly to your credit card account. If you’re card is no good then I am empowered by the state of New York to stop you. If anyone resists then I physically restrain them. If necessary, I can place them under arrest and have a chopper with backup and dogs here in 10 minutes.”
Considering he was 6 foot four and built like a linebacker, AND had a truncheon, pepper spray, a gun and handcuffs attached to his belt I sincerely doubted he had to call in the reserves very often, just because someone who’s card had expired wanted to climb the final 300 feet to the summit of Mount Marcy.
I stowed my credit card back in my pack, connected my ear plugs and got into the line as it slowly inched it’s way to the revolving viewing platform. I hoped I’d get a good seat. The soothing voice in my ear crooned caressingly, “you have 59 minutes remaining, Neil”.
Once I got close to the platform I felt reckless and lawless so I jumped the fence and went over to the true summit, which is out of bounds to hikers. To my surprise I became the subject of this conversation:
“Da-a-addy, why does that man have a patch on his backpack?”
”Stay away from him dear. That's a peakbagger. Peakbaggers almost succeeded in destroying the wilderness a few years ago.”
”How did they do that daddy?”
”They formed a club and then they all went and trashed the pristine forests that I am teaching you and your brother Billy to love, sweety-pie.”
”How could a club destroy the forest daddy?”
”Well, they all went out and climbed the High Peaks by following the same trails and in so doing they created erosion honey.”
”What's erosen daddy?”
”Erosion, love. Erosion is what happens when the peakbaggers get together and trash the wilderness. They put on special boots and then they trample everything and wear down the mountains.”
”Daddy?”
”Yes honey?”
”Will you save me and the mountains from the 46ers?
”Oh, don't worry sweety-pie. The 46ers were disbanded by government decree before you were born.”
”Oh phew! "
"You don’t have to worry; thanks to people like your Daddy the mountains are safe from hikers now."
"I feel better now. Can I drive the ATV over to Algonquin?”
"Sure sweets but make sure you stay on the pavement and don't forget, we need to gas up at Lake Colden, OK?”
"OK daddy, I love you, and I sure love the mountains and the forests."
They roared off leaving a trail of blue exhaust behind them and I climbed back over the fence and found a seat on the viewing platform. I had 24 minutes left.
“No ticket for me today?” I asked. Normally you got a ticket with a bar code that you attached with a plastic tie wrap to your pack
“Not today, sir, we’re going green with a new streamlined system. No more tickets to throw out. All I have to do is swipe your card when you come back and the machine compares the times.”
“Same rates as last year?”
“I’m afraid they’ve gone up sir. Now it’s forty dollars if you want to summit. You’re good for an hour today but on weekends and holidays your forty bucks will only last 30 minutes. And, it’s a dollar a minute if you go over your limit.”
Looking at the high-res LCD display on his device he said enthusiastically, "I see it's your 7th trip up here. Very good sir."
“Wow, a buck a minute! After spending forty already just to be on the summit. By the way, how does your card swiper thingy know that my card is good, son”
He pointed the instrument’s antenna towards the tower on the summit of Mt. Marcy, 300 vertical feet above us. “The signal goes through that tower directly to your credit card account. If you’re card is no good then I am empowered by the state of New York to stop you. If anyone resists then I physically restrain them. If necessary, I can place them under arrest and have a chopper with backup and dogs here in 10 minutes.”
Considering he was 6 foot four and built like a linebacker, AND had a truncheon, pepper spray, a gun and handcuffs attached to his belt I sincerely doubted he had to call in the reserves very often, just because someone who’s card had expired wanted to climb the final 300 feet to the summit of Mount Marcy.
I stowed my credit card back in my pack, connected my ear plugs and got into the line as it slowly inched it’s way to the revolving viewing platform. I hoped I’d get a good seat. The soothing voice in my ear crooned caressingly, “you have 59 minutes remaining, Neil”.
Once I got close to the platform I felt reckless and lawless so I jumped the fence and went over to the true summit, which is out of bounds to hikers. To my surprise I became the subject of this conversation:
“Da-a-addy, why does that man have a patch on his backpack?”
”Stay away from him dear. That's a peakbagger. Peakbaggers almost succeeded in destroying the wilderness a few years ago.”
”How did they do that daddy?”
”They formed a club and then they all went and trashed the pristine forests that I am teaching you and your brother Billy to love, sweety-pie.”
”How could a club destroy the forest daddy?”
”Well, they all went out and climbed the High Peaks by following the same trails and in so doing they created erosion honey.”
”What's erosen daddy?”
”Erosion, love. Erosion is what happens when the peakbaggers get together and trash the wilderness. They put on special boots and then they trample everything and wear down the mountains.”
”Daddy?”
”Yes honey?”
”Will you save me and the mountains from the 46ers?
”Oh, don't worry sweety-pie. The 46ers were disbanded by government decree before you were born.”
”Oh phew! "
"You don’t have to worry; thanks to people like your Daddy the mountains are safe from hikers now."
"I feel better now. Can I drive the ATV over to Algonquin?”
"Sure sweets but make sure you stay on the pavement and don't forget, we need to gas up at Lake Colden, OK?”
"OK daddy, I love you, and I sure love the mountains and the forests."
They roared off leaving a trail of blue exhaust behind them and I climbed back over the fence and found a seat on the viewing platform. I had 24 minutes left.
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