I took another step forward, bargaining with my legs to keep working. The rugged trail beneath them had been beating them down for 14 hours now. Having just summited my last mountain of the day, I had thought the hard work was behind me but I was wrong. Ladders, roots, cliff faces, mud pits. My brain had not been able to shut off and mindlessly hike since I got out of my car more than half a day ago. Each step had to be thought out, each move calculated, and the mental exhaustion made the physical tiredness amplified as I continued down the trail.

I had just moved back to the Adirondacks after four years on the West Coast. I was a 46er before I left New York—these trails were all I knew—and sure, they hadn’t changed much in that time. But now, after being away for so long, here I was immersed in the middle of the Great Range Traverse. Eight High Peaks in a day, over 20 miles, maybe without the right training or preparation. If I had any energy left in my legs, I would’ve kicked myself in the ass for underestimating these trails.

If I had any energy left in my legs, I would’ve kicked myself in the ass for underestimating these trails.

There were no switchbacks to be seen on the Great Range. No evidence of a gently laid out trail cleared of all obstacles. No soft cushion of earth for your tired feet to land on with each step. This hike was a grind with no “easy” section anywhere to be found. Once I got away from the parking lot that morning, the ruggedness of the Adirondacks began to show themselves. And if there is a rhyme or reason to the layout of these trails I have yet to find it. A straight shot up, it follows streams or is carved around massive boulders through remote sections of forest. And when no real trail exists, the builders threw up some cables or tossed down some paint on the rockface and hoped for the best.

Credit: Brecka Mayo

The High Peaks are truly Mother Nature’s playground—There’s nothing else like them out there, especially out west. It’s easy to take for granted the mountains in your own back yard, especially if you are lucky enough to grow up around them. Maybe you see them every day, or you hike them every weekend. Maybe you’ve completed the 46 two or three times over and you start to forget the beauty and fun in those demanding trails. I know I did. I have hiked in Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Washington, Oregon and Canada. And while each place has been uniquely incredible in its own right, there is just something about those Adirondack trails that keep me coming back for more.

4,000 feet sounds grossly underwhelming in comparison to 14,000 feet with hours of exposure above tree line. And while the big boys out West are nothing to step into lightly, if you pick the right mountains, preferably any of the Class 1 or Class 2’s, it can often feel like a walk down the Ausable Club’s Lake Road, just with a lot less oxygen. A decent number of the trails out west have been carved into the side of the mountain as a switchback. Rocks line the clear dirt path as you gradually make your way up the peak, with the summit often in view from the parking lot. And while elevation sickness and the threat of daily afternoon storms are nothing to take lightly, the path itself might make you miss grabbing on to roots and hurling yourself up boulder after boulder in New York.

I had spent the last few years practically yelling “Not New York City!” at anyone who had asked me where I was from. I never wanted to be mistaken for someone from anywhere in New York that wasn’t the Adirondacks. And now I was remembering why I was so proud to hold so many grueling and beautiful memories in those High Peaks.

After summiting 25 of the 14,000-foot peaks in Colorado, I had forgotten what those East Coast trails felt like. The Great Range was a harsh and exciting reminder of what Upstate New York has to offer. I had spent the last few years practically yelling “Not New York City!” at anyone who had asked me where I was from. I never wanted to be mistaken for someone from anywhere in New York that wasn’t the Adirondacks. And now I was remembering why I was so proud to hold so many grueling and beautiful memories in those High Peaks.

I was 14 hours in to my hike and still hours from the parking lot. My tired mountain brain was taking over any logic as I dreamed of laying down on that rough trail for a quick snooze before continuing on. Any thoughts I had of being in shape were now long gone as I wondered how anyone could do this easily. Mother Nature had kicked me off of my west coast high horse, but I was actually ok with it. I was remembering once again how humbling and rewarding those Adirondack Mountains could be, and how much they had changed my life when I stepped into those woods for the first time six years prior, and I was grateful for that.

Credit: Brecka Mayo

I would finish the Great Range Traverse that day, with a type of exhaustion and bliss that I had never experienced before. And afterwards, as I limped my tired and dirty body into Stewart’s for hot dogs with meat sauce, I felt home again. I was humbled and beaten down. But I was happy. And I was home.